"Remind me why we're doing this again?" Rusty Ryan wiped away a small piece of scrambled egg that had slipped from his fork. He and Danny sat on the same side of a booth of their favorite diner, the Shooting Star Cantina. Rusty was obliterating a plate of huevos rancheros as Danny looked on in a combination of disgust and amazement. For years he had put up with his best friend's eating habits, astonished at his ability to eat as much as he wants of whatever he wants and not gain a pound.
"Because we are a proud people and we will not go quietly into the night!" Danny said, raising a clinched fist, like the leader of some rebel army readying his men for a battle to the death with an oppressive king. Rusty swallowed another mouthful and shook his head.
"You're full of it,"
"Better than being full of nothing at all,"
"Been talking to the guidance councilor again?"
Danny moved his hands near his mouth, "So what if I have?"
"You don't need guidance, you need medication,"
"But Frank moved away…"
The bell hanging above the diner's door jingled as a pudgy young man walked in, big sunglasses covering most of his round face. He dressed like a middle-aged businessman, in a pressed grey wool suit and red tie. Without missing a beat, he waved at the cook and waitress before sliding into the seat across from Danny and Rusty.
"Are you out of your god damn minds?!"
The volume of his voice caught the attention of other patrons in the diner. Rusty's eyebrows shot up, surprised by Rueben's sudden appearance. Danny smiled and rested his elbows on the table.
"Hey Rube,"
"Don't 'Hey Rube' me! I know what you guys are up to and I respect you're desire to just jump right back into the shark tank, but get real! You two have so much heat on you right now, I'm going to get grounded just for talking to you!"
"I didn't do anything," Rusty said calmly.
"But being around him as much as you are," Rueben jabbed a thumb in Danny's direction, "You're being watched too. And now I am! I can't risk that, my new social status being what it is. My parents are just getting used to all the fancy-shmancy parties we've been going to and all the hoity-toity friends they've made and if anyone in the upper crust finds out that Mr. and Mrs. Tishkoff's son is hanging around with a couple of delinquents, they're going to abandon me in the middle of the fucking desert!"
Danny gestured for Reuben to calm down, "I need your help, Rube,"
"You don't need my help, you need medication!"
"Told you," Rusty said.
"Okay, let me rephrase that: I need your money," Danny said, looking into the dark lenses of Reuben's glasses. About six months ago, Reuben's father bought a winning lottery ticket. The Tishkoff's found themselves vaulted into the upper echelon of the state's society, wining and dining with Northwood's elite. They hated it so very, very much.
Reuben himself had become something of an exile at school as well. Many of the rich popular kids, whom he was now richer than, claimed his family had rigged the lottery, because they were Jewish and could do such things. Rusty always got a kick out of that.
"Danny, I love you like a distant family member, but I can't give you any money. That would basically be aiding and embedding an escaped convict,"
"Come on, Reuben, it's very important to him," Rusty said. Danny gave him a sideways glance, "…And equally important to me,"
"I'm sorry fellas, but I can't. Not right now," Rueben said. He plucked a few bills from his wallet and placed them on the table, sliding himself out of the booth and past the others on his way to the door. His walk came to a screeching halt when, over his shoulder, Danny said…
"Terry Benedict is involved,"
Danny sat calmly, his laced together, his eyes followed Reuben as he once again sat across the table. Rusty flicked bits of straw wrapper with his fork, like a hockey player.
"Terry Benedict, you say?"
Danny only nodded.
"What do you guys have against Terry Benedict?"
"What do you have against him, that's the question," Danny said.
"In the fifth grade, he humiliated me at the public pool, torpedoed me, I nearly drowned. The kids made fun of me all throughout middle school, called me Tishkoff the Fishkoff!"
"I remember that," Rusty said, chuckling a little.
"I still haven't been able to swim at a public pool since then," Rueben looked down in shame. Danny couldn't tell if it was real or just making fun of himself.
"Then don't you think it's time to get that big, chlorine scented monkey off your back?" Danny said, his eyes shining with the confidence of a snake oil salesman.
"You're both nuts…" Reuben said, defeat in his voice. He extended a hand across the table, which Danny heartily accepted. Rusty shook his hand as well. "I can't guarantee how much money I can get you, but what I know I can get should be sufficient. It all depends what you have planned,"
"It should be plenty, thank you Reuben," Danny said.
"And I assume we'll need a place to meet with the rest of the crew?"
"Of course," Rusty said, "We must entertain our guests,"
"Alright then, that leads me to my next question…Who else did you convince that this was a good idea, huh? Who else is just as nuts as you are?"
-- -- --
Frank Cattan strolled down the hallway of South Shore High School with the poise of a senior, flashing his winning smile at several groups of girls scattered throughout. They giggled and smiled back, some waved cute little waves, which Frank returned with a double gun point. He recently moved to SSHS from Northwood and had an easy time adapting to it, many of the South Shore students forgetting quickly his previous high school loyalty because of the charm he oozed twenty-four hours a day.
He reached his locker and grabbed his books for his next class. While the inside door of the locker was decorated in South Shore yellow and purple, in the far back corner was a picture of a blue and white lobo, Northwood's mascot. He had convinced most of the students he was now a Yellow Jacket, but he grew up in Northwood and loved that town more than anything. He would always be a Lobo.
His cell phone's message alert sounded inside his backpack and he extracted it like a secret agent going for his gun. He read the text message:
hows the shore treating you?
Ocean
Frank smiled and replied:
Danny! Glad to hear from ya! Lifes been boring. U?
Another group of girls walked by. Frank winked as he received Danny's reply:
maybe i can help cure your boredom. i need an inside man. want in?
Ocean
A smile slithered across Frank's face as he closed his locker.
-- -- --
Turk Malloy lay under his restored '69 Chevy Chevelle, his baby, the car he'd dreamed of since his father told him stories of his own. His hands covered in dirt and grime, working feverishly on something in the undercarriage. His maternal twin brother Virgil stood at his feet, leaning against the passenger's door. He stared down at his brother's legs protruding from underneath the car, holding a can full of the oil they just changed.
"I'll bet you I can do it," Virgil said.
"Don't do it," Turk said, his voice muffled from under the car.
"I'll bet five bucks I can do it,"
"Don't do it!" Turk repeated.
"Five bucks is a lot of money,"
"Not to me it's not, don't do it!"
"…Five bucks…"
"If you do, I swear, I'll climb out and drop you like fourth period Spanish!"
"You dropped that class because you couldn't roll your 'R's, not because the class poured dirty oil all over your legs,"
"Virgil, your ass will feel my foot!"
"Rrrrrrrrrr," Virgil continued to roll his 'R's as a drip of oil slapped Turk's bare calf. The sound of skull hitting undercarriage nearly drowned out the sound of Virgil's phone going off. He answered it as Turk angrily yelled several swear words.
"Hey Frank, what's going on?" Virgil answered.
-- -- --
Every year, as each semester passed and became more difficult, tests became harder and homework assignments became more thorough, and that's just the way Livingston Dell liked it. Juniors and seniors came to him to have their work done and they were very willing to pay a hefty price for it. He had practically made a living off of it and at one point considered starting a work-at-home business, but realized he basically already had. Right now, Livingston sat alone in the audio-visual room of Northwood High, tinkering with a card shuffling machine his grandmother had asked him to fix so her nursing home poker night wasn't ruined. He pushed his horn rim glasses up the bridge of his nose and licked his lips, pouring every ounce of concentration on the small precision screwdriver he had inside the shuffler. Livingston heard the door open behind him, footsteps on the carpet.
"Just put your homework on the table, I'll take care of it in a while…"
"It's not your math skills I'm here for, Livingston," a familiar voice spoke up. Livingston whirled around, the tiny screwdriver clattering on the carpet.
"Danny, hi…" Livingston spoke in his usual shy voice. Mr. Ocean smiled and approached the young audio-visual expert like they were old friends. In truth they had only spoken two times before and both had been in regards to helping with Danny's trigonometry homework. Livingston was normally nervous around juniors and seniors, especially the popular ones. And especially the popular ones who didn't want help with their homework. But something in Danny's voice put Livingston at ease.
"What are you doing this weekend?" Danny asked. Livingston's brow crinkled. He had never been asked that question before. By anyone. And it excited him.
-- -- --
"A'right, boys, let it go!"
Strong streams of white foam shot twenty and thirty feet into the air, some straight, others curved and formed beautiful patterns against the bright blue sky. Half a dozen people ran around bottles of soda water, dropping Mentos in at designated times. Basher Tarr watched them all like hawks, and was quite impressed with his work. This had taken months of preparation and would take several more weeks worth for his team to be ready for the State Science Competition. A full ride scholarship was on the line for the winning team, and Basher intended on getting it. His family had moved to America from Britain two years ago and he had gotten himself a reputation at Northwood High for being one of the smartest, coolest, weirdest kids there, a strange combination. But it had placed him in the perfect social status: he had friends who were popular and friends that weren't. Friends that were jocks and nerds, stuck-up and humble, smart and stupid. He had a finger on the pulse of the whole school. He fit in, and he didn't. And it didn't hurt that he had an awesome name.
Danny and Rusty watched as the geysers of foam and mint floated through the air, following a pattern Rusty found familiar, but couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. Since Basher had moved to Northwood, he had formed a great friendship with the two, even participating in a few of their pranks. And now they had another one for him, one bigger than anything that's ever been done before.
"And you just expect me to drop what I'm doing and help you guys out?" Basher said, his eyes covered with lab goggles.
"That's normally what friends consider…" Danny said, most of his attention still on the soda geysers. Rusty was, on the other hand, completely distracted by them.
"Do you blokes know how busy I am with this?" Basher asked.
"I can only imagine," Danny replied.
"I have a full ride scholarship to the university of my choice if I win this thing. I know I'm going to win, that's no bollix,"
"Agreed,"
"So I'm going to win?"
"That's what I've been led to believe, yes,"
"And you think I'm going to risk that to help you with some little grudge you have against that wanker Terry Benedict?"
Danny thought for a moment, "Is it really a risk when you know you're going to win?"
Basher thought for a moment as well, "Cheeky bastard. Fine, you got me,"
Danny smiled, while Rusty finally snapped from his trance and asked Basher, "What is it supposed to be anyway?"
Basher gave him a look of disbelief, "They're the bloody Bellagio fountains!"
Rusty thought for a moment (since it was his turn), "Ohhh, I thought it looked familiar…"