I have the same name as my father, Antonio Salvatici. Everyone called both of us Tony, but when my father left my mother when I was seven, my mother didn’t want to be reminded of him, so she started calling me Sal. To this day, everyone still calls me Sal.
I lived in a small Brooklyn tenement building until I was fifteen. One hot summer night, my mother told me that we were moving the following day. She told me to start packing. Although I had about a million questions for her, I kept my mouth shut and got my things together. We didn’t talk much, to be honest. That night at dinner, all I asked was where we were headed. A little town in New Jersey, she replied.
When we first arrived at that little town in Jersey, I could tell right away that I wasn’t gonna like it. It’s not that it was a s***hole or anything like that, it just wasn’t really my thing. First of all, it was called Marblebourne, and that’s a real f***ing mouthful. And second of all, it was small, and when I say small, I mean real goddamn small. There were only about fifty houses, and the only other places in the town were a doctor’s office, a police station, a mini market, a barber’s shop, and a general store. Everything else that anybody needed was in the next town over, Valport. I was going to go to high school in Valport in the upcoming school year. And it seemed like the people who did  live in Marblebourne never came out their houses. The streets were practically empty. It was like a goddamn ghost town or something. I don’t like towns like that, never have. I like places with s*** going on.
Anyway, we drove up to a mid-sized, blue house, with a tile roof. My mother told me that this was the house. As we were moving what little we had into the house, it was then that I saw my three future best friends. They were strolling down the street, a cigarette in each of their mouths. They were gabbing away in between puffs. They seemed to be having a mighty good time. “Those guys are punks,” mother said to me, leaning in close. I didn’t respond. I didn’t care what they were, I wanted to be a part of their group.
After three days of living there, much of which was spent staring out the window, I realized that those boys walked by at four o’clock every day. It was like they had a routine or something. On the fourth day, I decided to follow them. I kept my distance, trailing them from about a hundred feet away. I hoped to god that they wouldn't see me and think I was a creep or a stalker or something. They walked along until they reached the general store. One by one, they stepped inside. I thought I’d go in there too, hoping that they wouldn’t suspect me of following them there. I stepped inside. It smelled like pine or something like that. A medium-sized, older man with a scruffy gray beard stood behind the register. He closely eyed the three boys as they grabbed cokes out of a coke refrigerator. The boys were whispering to one another and snickering about god knows what. Once each of them had a coke, they walked over to the register.
    “Will that be all?” the man behind the register asked.
    “Yeah, that’s it,” one of the boys said, slapping several coins down onto the counter.
    The man behind the register gathered up the coins and counted them to make sure the boys had payed enough. He looked up and said, “I wish you boys wouldn’t hang around here so much. I know what you’ve been up to lately, and frankly it’s not good business having you around.”
    “Ah, come on,” one of them said. “We ain’t done nothin’.’’
    “Besides,” said another, “It’s a free country. We can do what we want.”
    The man behind the register gave them a glare as they walked towards the door, towards me.
    “Hey, who’s this kid?” one of them said.
    “Oh, you’re that new kid, the one who moved into that blue house, right?” another said.
    I nodded.
    “How old are you, kid?”
    “Fifteen,” I replied.
    “Hey, same with us,” said one of them.
    “What’s your name?” said another.
    “Ah, you can call me Sal,” I returned.
    They all introduced themselves, and after about fifteen minutes of walking around the little town with them, I could tell I was gonna fit right in. This was the group for me, I didn’t care what anybody else said. They didn’t seem like public menaces to me, they just seemed like some teenage kids who wanted to have a little fun once in a while.
    After about a year of living in Marblebourne, I knew each of them better than most people know themselves. I knew every single secret each one of them had, I even knew who their crushes were. We didn’t keep anything from one another. The only other friend I had like that was a kid named Robbie Bennett, who I met in Brooklyn. I only knew him for a couple years, but it seemed like a hell of a lot longer. He was a shy, blond kid, who always did the right thing. He never cheated, lied, or did anything illegal. And he was always on the move. He traveled from place to place with his older brother, Harry. They wanted to see and do as much as they possibly could, and they had no time to stay in one place. A few days before he left, he said that he had something to tell me that he hadn’t told anyone else about. He told me that he was gay. This piece of news shocked me, and I didn’t handle it right. I said some things that I’ve regretted for every second of my life thus far. And the worst part is, I never got to tell him how goddamn sorry I was.
Anyway, before I get too far into the story, I’ll tell you a little about each of my friends. I’m not gonna mention any of their secrets or anything like that, just the basic outline of who each of these guys was.
First, there was Johnny Monroe, a medium-sized, blond kid who always wore a long-sleeved plaid shirt and dark jeans. Johnny was smooth spoken, and always polite around adults, especially around his friends’ parents. Johnny was real good-looking; the girls at school went crazy for him. And he had sort of a theatrical side. He was the star of most of Valports’ plays, the dramas not the musicals. Johnny couldn’t sing for s***. He auditioned for a musical his freshman year and got stopped a quarter of the way through his song. Johnny was generally a good kid, but when he got mad, he got real f***ing mad. When things wouldn’t work out for him, Johnny would throw tantrums and his face would get all red. He was probably the nicest kid in the group, though, at least most of the time.
Then there was Richard Evans, or “Richie.” Richie was short and stocky, with dark brown hair. Richie played football at Valport, and he was pretty good too. He was a running back, and he was damn fast. His dad was a drill sergeant in World War II who had fallen on rough times of late. He had gotten fired from four jobs in the past two years. After the fourth time he was canned, he just stopped working. I guess his work was drinking. He would always beat Richie and Richie’s mom when he was drunk, at least that’s what Richie said. Between football and his dad being an asshole, Richie had a lot of fire. He always got into fights in school and he was constantly getting suspended. Richie had a high-pitched, whiny voice that he used often, especially when he was in trouble.
Lastly, there was Michael Esposito, the other Italian in the group. He was tall and thin, with greasy black hair that he often slicked back with a comb. I guess you could say he was the leader of the group. He didn’t say a ton, but when he did, you listened. He was a real smart kid. He could’ve gotten straight A’s if he had tried in school, he just didn’t. He never saw the point of school, so he ended up getting mostly C’s and D’s. He did a lot of pretty illegal things, but he never got caught. He was a sly bastard. He was probably the most respected kid in school; not because he was the handsomest or the best at sports or anything like that, there was just something about him, a certain way he carried himself, that you had to admire.
The four of us did tons of s*** together, and a lot of it wasn’t too safe. We would often pay someone to buy booze for us, and then we would drink it, and drive around town in Johnny's car that he worked so hard to get. Not a smart thing for anyone to do, but especially for kids. We did it anyway, and we had a mighty good time too. We usually wouldn’t really go anywhere, we would just drive around the little town; occasionally, we would pick up some girls and go to Valport to see a movie or something. There wasn’t a whole lot of room, so they always had to sit on our laps, except the driver’s of course. It was a pretty funny scene in that car.
We committed a lot of petty crimes, like sneaking out of a candy store with a pocketful of candy, or throwing small rocks at cars from bushes. We usually didn’t do anything serious. Usually.
One summer day, almost exactly a year after I arrived in Marblebourne, we decided that we wanted to rob a general store in Valport. And when I say we, I mostly mean Richie. It was really his idea, we just sort of decided to go along with it. He planned it all out, from deciding on the exact time to do it, to figuring out what we would wear to cover our faces. Richie wasn’t generally that smart to be honest, but when he really wanted something to happen, he put everything he goddamn had into it. And you could tell that he was pretty darn into this. He spent much of that day staring intensely at a piece of paper in front of him, and scribbling notes onto it.
    That evening, Richie told us the plan. First, we were to drive to Valport at 8:30, a half an hour before the general store was supposed to close. Why 8:30? Well, no one was ever there at 8:30. Richie, Michael, and I were to put bandanas on, hop out of the car, go inside, and demand all the money that they had, which we were hoping was a lot. Richie said he was going to steal one of his father’s guns to use for the robbery so that they had to give us the money. And as for Johnny, he had to stay in the car so that he could be on the lookout for policemen or anyone else going towards the store. Once we had the money, we were going to run to the car, get in, and Johnny was going to drive us away as  fast as he could. We would divvy the money up equally, and spend it slowly so that no one would suspect us of the robbery. It was a pretty simple plan, but it seemed like it was going to work real well.
    The next day whizzed by, and all of a sudden it was the day of the robbery. I basically just lay around for most of the day, occasionally praying. I thought a lot about the plan, and I thought about all of the things that could go wrong. Like, what if there are people in the store? And what if they’re professional wrestlers or something, and they pin us all down? I played out every single scenario in my mind, and each one got more exaggerated than the previous. Nothing was going to go wrong, I kept on telling myself for reassurance. Anyway, at 8:15, we all walked over to Johnny’s house, and by 8:20, we were headed to Valport.
    We sat in silence for basically the whole goddamn drive. When we arrived at the general store, Richie, Michael, and I put on our bandanas. We looked around. There was no one in sight. We stepped out of the car. Though it was muffled, I could hear Richie say, “Let me do the damn talking, alright?” Michael and I nodded our heads. Richie pulled a gun out of the back of his jeans as we walked towards the general store.
“That’s not loaded, is it?” Michael asked.
“Nah,” Richie replied.
We walked right up to the door, and Richie flung it open. Alarmed, the man behind the register said, “Hey, I don’t want any trouble.”
“We want all the f***in’ money you got!” yelled Richie.
“O-o.k.,” said the man, trying to open the register. After about ten seconds, he said, “I-I can’t open it. It-it seems to be stuck.”
“Bullshit,” said Richie. “Open the f***in’ register!”
The man tried again. “It’s not opening.”
Richie hopped over the counter and pressed his gun on the man’s cheek. “Now can you open the register?”
“Richie,” said Michael. “Take it down a notch for chrissake.”
Richie shot Michael a cold stare as the man continued to struggle with the register. Finally, it popped open.
“Now howdaya like that,” said Richie, taking the gun off the man’s cheek. “You got any bags or anything?”
“Yeah, we-we do,” said the man, grabbing a paper bag from below the counter and placing it right next to the register.
“Load the money in,” said Richie. “All of it.”
The man started to place the money in the bag.
“Faster!” said Richie.
The man sped up. As he was getting close to finishing, we heard Johnny’s voice. “Hey, what’s taking so long?” Johnny was standing in the doorway.
“What the f*** are you doing?” said Richie, who was now turned towards Johnny.
Seeing that he wasn’t looking, the man jumped on Richie, bringing him to the ground. Michael and I went to help, but before we could do anything, Richie shoved the man off of him and shot a bullet through the man’s head. Blood decorated the counter.
“Oh, Jesus, Richie,” said Michael. “What have you done?”
Richie just sat there, covered in blood from the spray. He seemed to be in some sort of trance. Michael, Johnny, and I just sort of stood there for a little while, not knowing what to do or say.
Richie stood up all of a sudden, grabbed the bag, and bolted for the door.
“Hey, what are you doing?” said Johnny, stepping in Richie’s path.
Richie elbowed him hard in the gut, and made a run for the car. We rushed out the door, right as Richie was getting in the car.
“Hey, what the hell, Richie?” shouted Michael as we neared the car. Richie held the gun up to let us know that he was in control. Bastard, I thought. He started the engine, and drove off.
“S***,” said Johnny. “There goes my f***in’ car.”
“Who gives a s*** about your goddamn car!” said Michael, taking his bandana off. “We were just involved in a murder!”
“Richie was involved in a murder,” I said, taking mine off. “We didn’t have anything to do with that.”
“Did we come here to rob the store with him? And did he not just kill that guy?”
I couldn’t think of anything to say.
“What do we do now?” asked Johnny.
“We go home and pretend like nothing happened,” said Michael.
“And how do we explain Richie not being around?” I asked.
“If anyone asks us, we’ll just say that we don’t know where he is. It’s as simple as that.” said Michael.
“People know how tight we are,” said Johnny. “No one would believe that we don’t know anything.”
“Well do you have a better idea!?” snapped Michael.
Johnny shook his head.
“What if Richie gets caught and rats us out?” I asked.
Michael sorta shrugged. “Then we’re f***ed.”
“Hey, let’s start walkin’ home,” said Johnny.
When we got to the edge of the block, we saw a cop car coming towards us, and in a hurry.
“Oh, f***!” said Michael. “Run!”
We spun around, and started to run in the opposite direction.
“Let’s cross the street and climb that fence,” said Michael. There was a large plot of land across from the general store where a bunch of buildings were gonna go, and it was fenced off on all four sides.
As we reached the fence, the cop car was only about thirty yards away. We scurried up the the ten-foot, chain-link fence as fast as we could. When we got to the top, we heard “Get down from there!”
“Jump,” whispered Michael.
“But it’s ten feet,” I said.
“Just f***ing do it.”
We jumped, all at once it seemed. And, to my surprise, all three of us landed real smoothly. We started to run.
“Hey!” shouted the cop. “Stop!”
    We didn’t.
    “Stop right there! Don’t make me shoot.”
    We kept on running, expecting that he wasn’t going to shoot. We were mistaken. First I heard a loud, “bang!” and then I heard Johnny shriek.
    “Ah, s***!” he said. “My leg!”
    When we turned towards him, he was bent over, clutching his calf.
    “We gotta keep going,” said Michael. “Let’s support ‘em, Sal.”
    Johnny put his arms around us, and we jogged along as fast we could.
“Damn, it hurts,” said Johnny.
“Tough it out, kid,” said Michael. “We’ll get through this.”
I heard a car door shut; the cop had gotten into his car. I could tell that he was fat, partially because of the way he sounded, but also because he wasn’t running after us. Most cops would’ve hopped over the fence and run after us once they had realized that they had slowed us down.
    After about twenty seconds, I looked to see where the cop was. He was driving along the right side of the fence. He couldn’t see us though. It was way too goddamn dark out.         
    “Hey, let’s go this way,” I said, pointing to the left side of the fenced in area.
    We started jogging over to the fence. When we had reached it, Michael said, “Alright, you’re gonna hafta take this slowly, Johnny. We’ll give you a hand. Sal, you go over first. I’ll help from this side, and you’ll help from that side.”
    I climbed up the fence, and made the transition the the other side. I went down it as quickly as I could. By the time I got to the bottom, Michael had gotten Johnny to the top.
    “Now, get your legs over to the other side,” said Michael.
    Johnny slowly but surely got to the other side. Once he had inched far enough down the fence, I reached out to help him. “I got it,” said Johnny. Once he had made it, Michael did the same.
    Supporting Johnny on either side, we started jogging.  We made it  to the other side of the street, and continued on down an alleyway. I noticed that there was a dumpster about ten yards away, and said, “That cop’s gonna be driving by soon. Let’s hide behind that dumpster.”  They nodded in agreement.
    When we had reached it, we stepped behind it. We waited about ten seconds before the cop rolled by. He was going real slow, and he seemed to be looking this way and that for us, unsuccessfully, of course. We had stumped him. He probably thought that he had us trapped in that cage, but we made a goddamn fool out of him.
    “Let’s go before more cops get here,” said Michael.
    We ducked in and out of alleyways until we got to the bad side of Valport, where all the homeless people littered the goddamn streets. We looked for a good place to hide. “Hey, how ‘bout that house over there?” said Johnny, pointing to a house that was crumbling to the ground. “That looks abandoned,” he continued.
We walked over to the house, went inside, and thought about our current situation. We sat there in that deteriorating house with a whole lot of decisions to make; the biggest was the question of what to do with Johnny and his bullet wound. It was a choice of either trying to treat it ourselves, which would risk Johnny’s health, or go to the hospital and risk getting caught. Decisions. Goddamn decisions.