Friends In Crime
by Michael C. Keith
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: Some mild ones.
Description: It's a crime the way friends treat you at times.
Swearwords: Some mild ones.
Description: It's a crime the way friends treat you at times.
Right actions in the future are the best apologies for bad actions in the past. – Tryon Edwards
For years we all met in the back of what was once Crowley’s Garage on the edge of town to drink coffee and shoot the bull. There were five of us, and we’d arrive early morning and hang out until noon, when we’d finally head off in our respective directions. Since we were all retirees that generally meant heading home for lunch––and an afternoon nap.
These gatherings were an integral part of our lives, because they gave us an opportunity to share what occupied our thoughts––life’s problems and pleasures, mostly the former. We often joked that our meetings were more bitch sessions than anything else. But if that’s what they were, they served a valuable function. We could say things that would surely get us in trouble with our spouses and God knows who else.
It got so we spilled our guts about everything, even those things we thought we’d always keep locked away. It started when Frank Belton revealed that he’d held up a convenience store when he was 18.
“Just a really idiotic impulse. Christ knows what I was thinking,” he said, shaking his head.
He’d hit the clerk over the head when the guy tried to grab him over the counter. Turns out the man ended up with a concussion and couldn’t remember a thing about the robbery. That was back before they had video cameras all over the place.
Thus Frank got away with it and vowed never to break the law again. The whole experience really shook him up. It was hard for us to believe he actually did such a thing, because he was one of the straightest people around. A retired school principal and good all-around citizen. Even taught Bible school, for heaven’s sake. He said he felt so bad for the guy he injured that when he got a few dollars saved up, he sent it to him anonymously. Imagine that. Now that’s someone with a conscience.
The next member of our group that surprised us with what he confessed was Gabe Copeland.
“I think I raped a girl back in college,” he said, his eyes averted from ours.
“What do you mean you think you raped someone?” I asked.
“Well, we were both pretty drunk. She was in my dorm room and my roommate was out. We got kissing and then I unbuttoned the back of her blouse. She didn’t try to stop me. Pretty soon I had her bra and skirt off and was on top of her. When I tried to put it in, she said ‘don’t’, but I kept going. She told me to stop, but I didn’t. When I was done, she just lay there kind of whimpering. I said I was sorry, but she put her clothes back on and left. We never talked after that, but whenever I saw her, she’d give me this look like I was some kind of monster.”
“Hey, you two were drunk. Don’t beat yourself up over it, Gabe. You were just kids, too. We all do dumb things when we’re young and horned out of our minds,” said Sam Connors.
“Yeah, but when I think of what I did, I think of my youngest daughter when she was assaulted at college. She didn’t get raped but damn near did. If it wasn’t for someone hearing her scream, she would have.”
“Wow, didn’t know that Gabe, but that was a different situation. You didn’t attack that girl. You guys were friends and tying one on together. What did she expect? She knew where you were going when you took her clothes off.”
“I don’t know, Sam. It’s kind of like splitting hairs. She told me to stop, and I didn’t,” said Gabe, his voice trailing off.
The following week brought another jarring revelation, this one from Sam himself.
“I double billed my clients to avoid paying so much in taxes. Saved a fortune, and the IRS never caught up to me. That was two decades ago. Finally came to my senses and stopped. But if it wasn’t for that I never would have been able to buy all the things we have or go on so many cruises with Millie.”
“Well, shit, who doesn’t cheat on their taxes?” said Frank.
“Yeah, but not to the tune of a half million dollars,” replied Sam.
“You’re lucky you weren’t caught. The feds would have locked you up forever,” I said.
“Is there a statute of limitation on tax fraud? Like I said, it was a long time ago. Hope none of you guys tell anybody about this,” remarked Sam, now looking slightly anxious.
“Yeah, what do you say, guys? Should we blow the whistle on this income tax evader?” I joked.
“Why not?” said Gabe. “And while we’re at it we can report Frank’s robbery and my rape. A win-win all around.”
“Well, I may as well throw my hat into this ring of fire. And I use that term literally,” said Mel Kagan.
Mel was typically the least talkative of our group, but when he had something to say, it was usually worth listening to.
“You remember the fire that gutted my store seven years ago? That wasn’t caused by faulty wiring, like they reported.”
“Oh, shit,” we mumbled, knowing what was coming.
“Yup, I torched the place. I owed thousands to my suppliers and business was plain rotten. I didn’t want to declare bankruptcy, so I did the nasty. Collected on the insurance, and decided not to rebuild. For a long time I thought they’d reinvestigate the fire, but they never did. I guess like the rest of you guys, I dodged the bullet.”
“Hey, all’s well that ends well, right?” said Sam, and we all agreed.
“So this is a real den of thieves. Who would have thought?” commented Frank.
The next time we got together, I was put in the box.
“Hey, Denny, time to air your dirty laundry. What’s the big, dark secret in your life? Time to fess up, old pal,” said Sam.
“Well, I’m far from perfect . . . that’s for sure. But I haven’t committed any real crimes. Done some stupid things . . . yes to that one. We all have, but not a felony. Got speeding tickets more than once.”
“C’mon, Denny . . . speeding tickets? That’s it?” said Frank, exasperated.
“Don’t hold back. We all leveled about our past indiscretions,” added Gabe.
“Sorry, guys. I just never did anything as . . .”
“Bad as we did, you mean?” scowled Sam.
“No, I didn’t mean that. Guess I just haven’t led as colorful a life as you guys.”
“Well, you got the goods on us now, don’t you?” said Frank, his brow furrowing.
After a long, awkward silence, the group dispersed for the day. When I showed up at the garage the next morning, there was a note taped on the back door:
NON-FELONS UNWELCOME
I was so angry I gave the door a hard kick. As I walked away, I heard laughter rise up behind me. When I turned around, Frank, Gabe, Sam, and Mel greeted me, their widespread arms beckoning.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going, Mr. Goody Two-Shoes?” asked Gabe, and then I was locked in an affectionate embrace by my once miscreant chums.
However, despite this reassuring gesture, things were never quite the same between the guys and me. Eventually, I stopped showing up at the garage because I felt like an outsider. The whole thing made me wish I had committed a crime at some point in my past.
For years we all met in the back of what was once Crowley’s Garage on the edge of town to drink coffee and shoot the bull. There were five of us, and we’d arrive early morning and hang out until noon, when we’d finally head off in our respective directions. Since we were all retirees that generally meant heading home for lunch––and an afternoon nap.
These gatherings were an integral part of our lives, because they gave us an opportunity to share what occupied our thoughts––life’s problems and pleasures, mostly the former. We often joked that our meetings were more bitch sessions than anything else. But if that’s what they were, they served a valuable function. We could say things that would surely get us in trouble with our spouses and God knows who else.
It got so we spilled our guts about everything, even those things we thought we’d always keep locked away. It started when Frank Belton revealed that he’d held up a convenience store when he was 18.
“Just a really idiotic impulse. Christ knows what I was thinking,” he said, shaking his head.
He’d hit the clerk over the head when the guy tried to grab him over the counter. Turns out the man ended up with a concussion and couldn’t remember a thing about the robbery. That was back before they had video cameras all over the place.
Thus Frank got away with it and vowed never to break the law again. The whole experience really shook him up. It was hard for us to believe he actually did such a thing, because he was one of the straightest people around. A retired school principal and good all-around citizen. Even taught Bible school, for heaven’s sake. He said he felt so bad for the guy he injured that when he got a few dollars saved up, he sent it to him anonymously. Imagine that. Now that’s someone with a conscience.
The next member of our group that surprised us with what he confessed was Gabe Copeland.
“I think I raped a girl back in college,” he said, his eyes averted from ours.
“What do you mean you think you raped someone?” I asked.
“Well, we were both pretty drunk. She was in my dorm room and my roommate was out. We got kissing and then I unbuttoned the back of her blouse. She didn’t try to stop me. Pretty soon I had her bra and skirt off and was on top of her. When I tried to put it in, she said ‘don’t’, but I kept going. She told me to stop, but I didn’t. When I was done, she just lay there kind of whimpering. I said I was sorry, but she put her clothes back on and left. We never talked after that, but whenever I saw her, she’d give me this look like I was some kind of monster.”
“Hey, you two were drunk. Don’t beat yourself up over it, Gabe. You were just kids, too. We all do dumb things when we’re young and horned out of our minds,” said Sam Connors.
“Yeah, but when I think of what I did, I think of my youngest daughter when she was assaulted at college. She didn’t get raped but damn near did. If it wasn’t for someone hearing her scream, she would have.”
“Wow, didn’t know that Gabe, but that was a different situation. You didn’t attack that girl. You guys were friends and tying one on together. What did she expect? She knew where you were going when you took her clothes off.”
“I don’t know, Sam. It’s kind of like splitting hairs. She told me to stop, and I didn’t,” said Gabe, his voice trailing off.
The following week brought another jarring revelation, this one from Sam himself.
“I double billed my clients to avoid paying so much in taxes. Saved a fortune, and the IRS never caught up to me. That was two decades ago. Finally came to my senses and stopped. But if it wasn’t for that I never would have been able to buy all the things we have or go on so many cruises with Millie.”
“Well, shit, who doesn’t cheat on their taxes?” said Frank.
“Yeah, but not to the tune of a half million dollars,” replied Sam.
“You’re lucky you weren’t caught. The feds would have locked you up forever,” I said.
“Is there a statute of limitation on tax fraud? Like I said, it was a long time ago. Hope none of you guys tell anybody about this,” remarked Sam, now looking slightly anxious.
“Yeah, what do you say, guys? Should we blow the whistle on this income tax evader?” I joked.
“Why not?” said Gabe. “And while we’re at it we can report Frank’s robbery and my rape. A win-win all around.”
“Well, I may as well throw my hat into this ring of fire. And I use that term literally,” said Mel Kagan.
Mel was typically the least talkative of our group, but when he had something to say, it was usually worth listening to.
“You remember the fire that gutted my store seven years ago? That wasn’t caused by faulty wiring, like they reported.”
“Oh, shit,” we mumbled, knowing what was coming.
“Yup, I torched the place. I owed thousands to my suppliers and business was plain rotten. I didn’t want to declare bankruptcy, so I did the nasty. Collected on the insurance, and decided not to rebuild. For a long time I thought they’d reinvestigate the fire, but they never did. I guess like the rest of you guys, I dodged the bullet.”
“Hey, all’s well that ends well, right?” said Sam, and we all agreed.
“So this is a real den of thieves. Who would have thought?” commented Frank.
The next time we got together, I was put in the box.
“Hey, Denny, time to air your dirty laundry. What’s the big, dark secret in your life? Time to fess up, old pal,” said Sam.
“Well, I’m far from perfect . . . that’s for sure. But I haven’t committed any real crimes. Done some stupid things . . . yes to that one. We all have, but not a felony. Got speeding tickets more than once.”
“C’mon, Denny . . . speeding tickets? That’s it?” said Frank, exasperated.
“Don’t hold back. We all leveled about our past indiscretions,” added Gabe.
“Sorry, guys. I just never did anything as . . .”
“Bad as we did, you mean?” scowled Sam.
“No, I didn’t mean that. Guess I just haven’t led as colorful a life as you guys.”
“Well, you got the goods on us now, don’t you?” said Frank, his brow furrowing.
After a long, awkward silence, the group dispersed for the day. When I showed up at the garage the next morning, there was a note taped on the back door:
NON-FELONS UNWELCOME
I was so angry I gave the door a hard kick. As I walked away, I heard laughter rise up behind me. When I turned around, Frank, Gabe, Sam, and Mel greeted me, their widespread arms beckoning.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going, Mr. Goody Two-Shoes?” asked Gabe, and then I was locked in an affectionate embrace by my once miscreant chums.
However, despite this reassuring gesture, things were never quite the same between the guys and me. Eventually, I stopped showing up at the garage because I felt like an outsider. The whole thing made me wish I had committed a crime at some point in my past.
About the Author
Originally from Albany, New York, Michael C. Keith has paternal family roots stretching back to Clan Keith of Caithness and Aberdeenshire. A leading scholar in electronic media in the United States, he is the author of over 20 books on electronic media, as well as a memoir and three books of fiction. Much more about Michael and his publications can be found on his website: http://www.michaelckeith.com