Self-styled Rhythms
By Patricia Crandall
The New York City canyon echoed with the clogging sounds of dancers performing their routine. An illusion only, as a gang of thugs raced over cobblestones chanting to each other, “gimme the money bag, gimme the money bag!”
“Pass it to me, Slade,” cried out Tech Mulrooney.
Slade Nardski swished his multi-colored long hair side to side. A gold earring flashed in his left ear and a black coat trailed as he clung to his treasure. As leader of the Lynx gang, twenty-one year old Nardski was confident the convenience store had been robbed without camera ID and any other incident. This would make a total of three successful heists in four months. He considered these jobs would earn him the admiration he deserved from rival gangs. He panted, “not ‘til 49th Street. We’ll divvy-up then.”
Eddie Barber’s cherubic face showed signs of nervousness as purple welts erupted on his neck and skin. He pressed close to his sprinting leader and wheezed, “do ya think we’ll pull it off Slade, huh?”
“Ya Eddie,” Nardski assured the kid on his initial run. “If ya get nervous do what Danny does...sing. Ain’t that right Danny...Danny?”
When there was no answer from Danny Dodge, Slade, still maintaining his pace, glanced over his shoulder. A long, empty street stretched behind him. He stopped suddenly and a phalanx of breathless runners encircled him, each hopping to their self-styled rhythm.
“Danny?” Slade searched the group for the tall, gangly member.
A gray car with a flashing red light zipped around the corner, progressed at top speed down the narrow street and then stopped suddenly. In view behind the grill, sat Danny Dodge. He raised his shackled hands. The front doors of the police car flew open and determined officers rolled out.
“Halt! You are under arrest!”
The youths raised their hands. Danny Dodge burst into song. It was Miley Cyrus’ latest single, “Wrecking Ball.” “All I wanted was to break your walls/all you ever did was wreck me/yeah, you wreck me.”
Young Eddie chanted back, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy!”
- - -
I have published numerous articles and short stories in various magazines and newspapers. I have five books in print, Melrose, Then And Now, a historical volume, I Passed This Way, a poetry collection, The Dog Men, a thriller, and Tales of an Upstate New York Bottle Miner, non-fiction, and Pat’s Collectibles, a collection of short stories. I live with my husband, Art, at Babcock Lake in the Grafton Mountains near Petersburgh, New York. Visit me at authorpcrandall.blogspot.com
By Patricia Crandall
The New York City canyon echoed with the clogging sounds of dancers performing their routine. An illusion only, as a gang of thugs raced over cobblestones chanting to each other, “gimme the money bag, gimme the money bag!”
“Pass it to me, Slade,” cried out Tech Mulrooney.
Slade Nardski swished his multi-colored long hair side to side. A gold earring flashed in his left ear and a black coat trailed as he clung to his treasure. As leader of the Lynx gang, twenty-one year old Nardski was confident the convenience store had been robbed without camera ID and any other incident. This would make a total of three successful heists in four months. He considered these jobs would earn him the admiration he deserved from rival gangs. He panted, “not ‘til 49th Street. We’ll divvy-up then.”
Eddie Barber’s cherubic face showed signs of nervousness as purple welts erupted on his neck and skin. He pressed close to his sprinting leader and wheezed, “do ya think we’ll pull it off Slade, huh?”
“Ya Eddie,” Nardski assured the kid on his initial run. “If ya get nervous do what Danny does...sing. Ain’t that right Danny...Danny?”
When there was no answer from Danny Dodge, Slade, still maintaining his pace, glanced over his shoulder. A long, empty street stretched behind him. He stopped suddenly and a phalanx of breathless runners encircled him, each hopping to their self-styled rhythm.
“Danny?” Slade searched the group for the tall, gangly member.
A gray car with a flashing red light zipped around the corner, progressed at top speed down the narrow street and then stopped suddenly. In view behind the grill, sat Danny Dodge. He raised his shackled hands. The front doors of the police car flew open and determined officers rolled out.
“Halt! You are under arrest!”
The youths raised their hands. Danny Dodge burst into song. It was Miley Cyrus’ latest single, “Wrecking Ball.” “All I wanted was to break your walls/all you ever did was wreck me/yeah, you wreck me.”
Young Eddie chanted back, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy!”
- - -
I have published numerous articles and short stories in various magazines and newspapers. I have five books in print, Melrose, Then And Now, a historical volume, I Passed This Way, a poetry collection, The Dog Men, a thriller, and Tales of an Upstate New York Bottle Miner, non-fiction, and Pat’s Collectibles, a collection of short stories. I live with my husband, Art, at Babcock Lake in the Grafton Mountains near Petersburgh, New York. Visit me at authorpcrandall.blogspot.com
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