The Thief
Leroy Jethro Moore, known as "L.J." to practically everyone who knew him, stood up and out of the brown Chevrolet Impala he owned, shut the driver's door, and took in a breath of chilly New York City air. It was Queens air, if you wanted to be specific, but LJ never got hung up on details like that. In any case, winter was well on its way and would be here soon enough.
It could be worse, Moore thought reasonably. I could be without this nice coat, this scarf, this car. I'm doing all right for myself. A little cold air is nothing compared to a day on Iwo Jima.
That was truth if Moore had ever seen it. After going through an experience like that, well, not much in life could ever be worse, and so not much in life could bother you. It helped that Moore was an easygoing, agreeable man, diplomatic and civil with everyone he met, and always ready to smile and extend a hand in friendship.
As Leroy walked toward his favorite pizza place, Vincenzo's, he glanced curiously at the kid leaning against a streetlamp post some ten or fifteen feet away. He was wearing a well-worn olive-drab winter jacket, probably Army surplus, a dirty pair of jeans and sneakers that had definitely seen better days. His mop of red hair was raggedly, clumsily cut; either the barber had no idea what he was doing or the kid had done it himself.
Shabby though his appearance was, Leroy noticed something about the kid's eyes as he got closer. They were wide open, tracking Moore inch by inch, though he was trying hard to be subtle about it. Those blue orbs were marksman's eyes; they reminded Leroy of many a Marine he had served with. The kid was trying to give off the appearance of being casual, of lounging around without a care, but that wariness in his eyes made Leroy wonder.
Putting his best smile on, Leroy gave the kid a wave. "How's it going?"
The kid didn't smile back. "Fuck off, Pops."
"Do I really look that old?" Leroy said, even laughing a little. He was all for a little joke at his expense if it meant putting this kid at ease.
"I said fuck off." The kid's stare was hard and unfriendly. He added, "I'm waiting for my Dad. He said not to talk to guys I don't know."
"Well, that's some good advice," Leroy answered, nodding, even though he had the strangest feeling that the kid was lying. "I won't bother you any longer. You have a nice night, now."
"Whatever, Pops."
Leroy shook his head as he headed into Vincenzo's. He wasn't used to seeing his irresistible charms fall flat so completely. The kid looked to be all of twelve or thirteen, but nothing about him said he'd known easy living anytime recently.
"Help you, buddy?" the rough-looking, heavyset man with a white apron and big, tough hands said as he looked up from the cash register. Then he noticed it was Leroy, and grinned. "Hey, LJ, where you been? I ain't seen you in a coupla weeks here! You ain't found some pizza joint you like better, right?"
"Small chance of that, Frankie," Leroy said, flashing a smile. "Noplace else I'd rather go for some good Italian food."
"You got decency, LJ," Frankie declared. "1972'd be a lot easier to cope with if everybody just did their manners just like you."
"Well, there's always 1973 to hope for."
"Yeah, and maybe the Red Sox'll win the World Series!" Frankie scoffed. "Tell you what, though, LJ, you bein' a loyal customer and all. You want on'a my 16-inch pizzas wit' extra cheese like you always want, I got one for you on the house this time."
"How about I give you these two dollars I got here and we call it even?"
"You don't gotta pay me for this one, I toldja."
"Oh, now don't be stubborn about this, Frankie."
The big man laughed. "Okay, okay, but you want one on the house sometime, you got it, just lemme know, okay?"
"Sure thing, Frankie."
"Okay, gimme just a minute here, LJ. Place is jumpin', I got orders all over the place. Gimme maybe, I dunno, five or ten minutes and I'll have it for you."
"Could I have one of those Cokes and occupy one of your counter stools in the meantime, good sir?"
Frankie turned and got a glass Coke bottle from the glass-door mini-fridge and handed it over. "Help yourself."
While Leroy waited, he glanced behind him to the big glass window of the storefront, and saw the kid had gone. Maybe his dad had shown up, or maybe he'd just found someplace else to be. Leroy shrugged. He hadn't meant to offend the kid, but maybe the boy had just been in a crummy mood, having a bad day. That happened sometimes.
Once Frankie came up with the cardboard pizza box and proudly displayed its hot, beautiful contents, Leroy smiled, thanked him, and headed on his way. He enjoyed the good-natured relationship he had with the owner of Vincenzo's, and the easy banter they'd get going back and forth anytime they saw each other. Having people you just plain liked was always nice in life, something that Leroy always found time to appreciate.
As he headed out the front door and back out into the cold, Leroy shifted the pizza box into his left hand. Had he put his keys in his right coat pocket, or in his pants pocket? The darned things. He was always checking everywhere he hadn't put them first. Thankfully, he didn't lose them very often.
"Hey, Pops," a boy's voice said from behind him.
"Heh?" Leroy said, starting a little as he turned to his left.
It was that kid. He was walking purposefully toward Leroy, hands jammed in his pockets, a look of fierce concentration on his face. That set off alarms in Leroy's head. Marine combat training kicked in, and he instantly dropped the pizza and brought up his hands to fight at the same time the kid kicked him hard in the shins. The kid neatly caught the pizza, tucked it under his right arm, turned, and ran like hell.
"HEY!" Leroy shouted, as much out of surprise as outrage. New York City was a rough place, a far cry from Stillwater to be sure, and crooks and thieves were everywhere. Some days, Leroy might have just let the kid go, figured chasing someone down over a pizza wasn't worth it. But his good mood was suddenly gone, and Leroy wanted that pizza. He launched himself into a full-on sprint, determined to catch up to his robber.
The kid fled at an incredible speed. Clearly an experienced runner, he crossed two streets and darted through a back alley in an effort to shake Leroy off him. When he looked back after two blocks and saw Leroy was still there, his eyes widened in alarm. He sprinted ahead, turned left and shot into an alleyway. Leroy made the turn just seconds later and halted just as six inches of steel sprang into the night with a deadly, well-oiled sniiick.
"I told you to fuck off, Pops," the kid said, his breath harsh and ragged. He held the switchblade out in front of him, trying to keep Leroy at maximum distance. "Now I gotta kill you."
Leroy slowly raised his hands at shoulder height, palms out. "There's no need for that, wouldn't you say?"
"Fucking get lost!" the kid almost screamed. "Get out! Get outta here before I stick you!"
"All that trouble just for a pizza?" Leroy asked reasonably. "Come on. I'm no threat to you."
"You're goddamned fucking right you're not!" the kid yelled. "Get lost! I mean it!"
"Josha?" a small voice asked. From inside a cardboard box, a little kid, emerged. He had a tiny mop of red hair and couldn't have been more than three years old. He saw Leroy, gave a cry of fear, and rushed to hide behind the older boy.
"Chris," the older boy said. His voice was shaking badly. "Chris, stay behind me! Stay!"
"Yes, Josha."
Leroy stared, wide-eyed, at the scene in front of him. "Listen," he said carefully. "I'm not angry at all. I can help."
The knife snapped back up, and the older kid looked dangerously close to using it. He was frightened and feeling extremely protective of the younger child. If Leroy pushed him or scared him any further, the NYPD would probably be finding his remains in the trash dumpster twenty feet into the alley tomorrow morning.
"Pops," the kid said, "I'm not gonna tell you again. Get lost or I'll kill you."
"I don' wan' be hurt, Josha!" the little kid whimpered.
"Stay behind me!" the older boy commanded, steadying his voice. "Stay!"
"Just let me-"
"Jesus fucking Christ, pops! Get lost or I'll kill you!"
"I got forty dollars, all in fives," Leroy offered. "You can have it. I don't need it. That'll buy you some food, won't it? Make things a little easier?"
The little kid whined fearfully, starting to cry. "I gots hungrer, Josha," he pleaded. "I don' wan' the hurts!"
The older boy glanced down at his brother, then at Leroy. He kept the knife up, but he looked like he wanted to cry himself. "Get lost, man. Just go. I-I just wanna feed my brother. Just let me give him something to eat and I'll let you walk. You don't need this fuckin' pizza anyway. Come on. Get outta here, Pops."
Leroy backed up a few steps, and the kid watched him carefully. When Leroy reached for his left pocket, though, the knife was back up. "Don't!" the kid screamed, clearly afraid Leroy was going for a weapon.
Instead, Leroy took out his leather wallet, slowly opened it, removed the eight five-dollar bills and three or four ones and held them out.
"Here," Leroy said. "Take them before the pizza gets cold, Josh."
The kid hesitated, dumbfounded. "Forty dollars? You can't be serious!"
"I am serious."
"But I said I'd kill you! Don't you get it?"
"I had enough guys try to kill me at Iwo Jima," Leroy admitted with a shrug. "They were using guns, mostly, but same difference, right?"
The older boy stared at him. "You were there? Iwo Jima?"
Leroy laughed, pleased in spite of the knife still aimed at him. "You've heard of it, have you? Yeah, I saw beautiful, scenic Iwo Jima on the Marine Corps' dime. Not a vacation I'd recommend."
"Well… mister, don't make me stick you. You're a Marine. I don't wanna do this to you."
"Who says you have to?"
"Josha," the little kid cried, still weeping. "I'm scared. I'm scared."
"Don't," Josh said, and now he was crying himself. "Don't cry, Chris. Everything's gonna be all right." He looked back at Leroy with a pained expression. "Can you lemme get outta here? So I can feed my brother and split before the cops come?"
"No one's called them."
"Can't be sure of that, in this town," Josh said. "You say you wanna help, get lost. Leave me alone." He hesitated. "Chris, eat. Safe, Chris. Safe now."
The little kid pried open the pizza box, fumbled for a slice of pizza, managed to get to one and quickly started munching. He looked up at Leroy with fear and distrust in his eyes, but when his brother folded up the knife and walked over to zip up his little jacket and pull the little hat he wore back in place, the smaller boy soon became focused on eating.
"I'm just gonna leave this here," Leroy said, setting the money down on the pavement. "It's yours."
The little kid nestled into his brother's arms, seeking warmth and protection. He cast another fearful glance at Leroy, and in that moment the two pairs of blue orbs couldn't have looked more alike. There was no hatred in either of them, just a wariness that kids that age should never have had. Josh's stomach growled loudly, but he kept his eyes on Leroy.
"If you don't wanna hurt us," he said, "prove it by leaving."
"Sure thing," Leroy said amiably. "I hope things work out for you."
With that, he turned and walked back the way he had come.
XX
It took Leroy some time to make it all the way back to Vincenzo's. Once he did, he ordered another pizza. Frankie asked if something had happened outside, as he had seen some movement and heard Leroy's shout, but Leroy just said everything was fine, and that there was nothing to worry about at all. Frankie seemed to doubt this somewhat- he surely considered asking where Leroy's first pizza had gone- but ultimately just got Leroy another large with extra cheese as requested.
Leroy promised to pay for that one next time, but Frankie waved it off, saying "Fuggedabout it, fuggedabout it," in that unique manner of his. Leroy accepted the gift and headed on his way. Once he'd gone outside and warmed up the Impala, Leroy got an idea and decided to drive to the alley he'd chased the kid Josh to. Maybe, just maybe, he could find the boys and offer them some more food, something. It was very much in Leroy's nature to want to help, and those boys were obviously on the run, obviously in need.
But finding the alley again proved harder than expected. They all looked alike in the dark, and Leroy was sure he'd driven past the correct one at least twice by the time he finally found it. The moment he looked into the alley, though, Leroy noticed the carboard box had been abandoned; the backpack that had been lying next to it was gone.
So was the money Leroy had left, though. Feeling a little better, Leroy was about to drive on when he noticed a small piece of paper sitting under a rock, right next to one of the garbage cans. Leroy got out, walked over to it, knelt and picked up the rock. As he unfolded the note, a crude but legible scrawl came into view.
To Pops the Marine:
In case you come back with cops I had to split. gotta keep my brother safe. You understand. Dont try to find me. Sorry about thretening you. Nothing pursonul.
THANK YU
The last two words were even sloppier than the rest, clearly written by someone in a hurry. Someone with places to go. Leroy was sorry he couldn't have done more to make the journey easier for those two, but at least he'd done something. With that, Leroy got back in his Impala and drove home to his apartment, where he finally sat down, relaxed, and had his dinner without ever picking up his telephone to notify the police.
A/N: 12-1-2018.
This is one of my "all in one day" stories. I got the idea of this, started to develop some mental pictures for it, thought of featuring the amiable and honorable Leroy Jethro Moore spending some time in New York City during that long period where he and Jackson Gibbs didn't talk to each other, and things like coming up with a name for the pizza place and thinking of Josh saying "Fuck off, Pops" sealed the deal. I wrote this whole thing in about an hour, did some editing, and here we are.
In part this story is just another look at the life of the pleasant, easygoing soul that is L.J. Moore, played so brilliantly by the one and only Billy Dee Williams of "Star Wars" fame. I liked L.J. from the moment I first saw his character in "The Namesake," and writing this second story of mine about him has been a good time. He's an easy man to write about when you think of things like his World War II service and that irresistible smile.
Well, not entirely irresistible. The 12-year-old kid Josh really would have attacked Leroy, even killed him, if he had felt it was necessary. Being homeless and always needing to improvise ways of getting food and necessities for his brother and then himself, Josh is wary of all strangers and would have had no problem killing to protect his little brother, 3-year-old Chris. Leroy, however, knew what was up and wisely avoided pushing Josh any further. Being a good and generous man at heart, very much given to caring about others, Leroy did his best to help Josh and Chris but after that respected Josh's wishes and let them go.
If you have read my story "The Cadet," you might recognize these two boys. By the end of 1974, they will have been adopted by a Marine sergeant major and taken his surname of Marshall. Their original last name is unknown, and it is possible even Josh doesn't know it. He ran away from his original home, which could well have been New York City or anyplace else in the United States, in 1970, so by the time of this story the boys have been homeless for two years. Josh appears as a man in his late 40s in another story, "Gibbs' Test" by Jenny wrens, a skilled and friendly author I've interacted with on this site since early 2018.
Messaging back and forth so much with her helped inspire this story, because to envision an older Josh Marshall, and to properly depict him in "The Cadet," I had to better develop and understand the character. Many hours spent thinking about the character and sharing ideas and thoughts about him with Jenny wrens resulted in me getting to wonder what Josh's four years on the streets might have been like. And here we are.
$40 in 1972 was a lot of money. It equates to $238.26 in 2018, whereas $40 in 2018 equates to $6.64 in 1972.
Reviews are always welcome. Be just as detailed as you like.