Rescue 1 got there first, we found two cars in an intersection, moderate damage to both following a MVC. Some kids were milling about, a few said they were injured; I called for an additional rescue. The injured begin piling up when the money wagons arrived.
The accident happened on Rugby Street, near an abandoned factory building that abuts a playground and a few run down rentals. Broken bottles littered the empty parking lot of the factory. The sun brought the shattered shards and pieces to life with its rays, covering urban blight with sparkling gems.
Greens mixed with a few blues, but mostly clear glass reflected the light and softened the image that the rusted chain link fence topped with barbed wire insisted on conveying.
A crowd formed, as one often does at these things, and more flashing lights joined the ones illuminated by the bright midday sun adding more color to an otherwise dreary landscape.
Within seconds, a gang of perhaps forty people had gathered, surrounding us. The occupants of one of the damaged vehicles had run off shortly after the accident. The guys from the remaining car were in their early 20s, covered with tattoos, two wearing skull caps, the other two baseball caps on backwards, and all four could have fit another person in their clothes.
Shots fired
“Rescue 1 to Fire Alarm, can you expedite the police?”
“Roger Rescue 1, nature?”
“MVA on Rugby, hit and run, large crowd forming.”
“Roger that.”
As soon as I returned my mic to its clip the cavalry arrived, one cruiser and a rookie cop.
“Who’s hurt?” I asked the victims, who stayed close to their vehicle.
My neck, my back, my arm, my shoulder, blah blah blah.
Rescue 4 appeared, they took two and I took two. Before we made it to the rear of the rescue police cruisers began materializing, seemingly out of thin air. They had the intersection blockaded; nobody could come or go, including us.
“What’s going on?” I asked the two gangsters with me.
“Don’t know,” they replied.
We couldn’t move, I got out and asked one of the officers what was going on.
“Shots fired, we think the gun is in the car. These guys are from the North End.”
“Perhaps the gun is on the person of one of the victims that is the back of Rescue 1,” I said.
They sent a cop over to frisk the victims, and found nothing.
“Can you stand by till we finish?” asked another officer.
So I did. I sat in the back of Rescue 1 for a while, shooting the breeze with a couple of thugs. They weren’t all that bad, once you got to know them.
“Is there a gun in the car?”
“No way, not us.”
“Are you North End guys still at war with the South Side?”
“What do you know about that?”
“I’ve been working this city for twenty years. I’ve taken at least ten guys your age from that parking lot, some full of bullets, some stabbed. Some lived, some didn’t. See that playground? Last year I had one guy shot in the head under the monkey bars and another over by the swings, bullet holes in his chest. I’ve been to the North End and seen what happens when these things get out of control. Kids get killed. I don’t know why, I don’t live here, but it can’t be worth it, it just can’t.”
“That’s kid stuff; we don’t get into that shit no more. Too busy working,” said one of the guys.
“I’ve got kids now, don’t want nothing to do with any of that. The kids coming up, they have no respect, they’re all trying to make a name for themselves.”
“Huh. We said that about you guys ten years ago. So, what are you now, retired?”
“I guess you could say that.”
“I was in a gang,” I told them. When the laughter subsided I explained.
“What’s so funny? We were some bad assed suburban kids. Even had a name, they called us the Megalomaniacs.”
“Who called you that?”
“Well, we did, actually. It was a secret name.”
“The Megalomaniacs? What is that?”
“Megalomania is defined as an excessive desire for wealth and power. The three of us liked the name so we named the gang after the concept.”
“What, a gang of three intellectuals?” They laughed some more at that, and did some symbolic hand gesture thing.
“You laugh, but we went on a three day crime spree that is about to this day at the Warwick Police Department.”
“Yeah, what you do, shoot up the schoolyard?”
“Worse. We were playing at the schoolyard, got up on the roof and found an open window, so we let ourselves in. Had the place to ourselves for a couple hours. Before we left we filled a pillow case with pens, pencils, chalk and some erasers. Figured we would never have to buy school supplies again.”
“You stole school supplies?”
“Yup. Even took a stapler.”
I thought they would roll out of the rescue at that one.
“Hey, wait a minute, ever been stuck in the finger by a staple? It leaves quite a mark!”
Redemption and reputation
The cops never found the gun, the guys insisted they were out of the gang, one worked at the cable company and the other was with a roofing company. They just looked like hoodlums. Once the thug life is in your blood, it never leaves you. Believe me, I know, I’ve been down that road. Redemption is possible but it is difficult once your reputation precedes you.
Our crime spree ended a few days after our school invasion. As luck would have it, some real criminals broke in the same weekend and stole TV’s, computers, petty cash and destroyed the place before they left. A neighbor had seen our “gang” playing in the schoolyard and told the cops when they canvassed the neighborhood looking for clues.
They took us out of junior high for questioning. We almost went to Juvi but never ratted, even though we were pretty sure who the real thieves were. Gang’s got pride, you know. I was lucky, I got out before puberty hit, and turned my life around. Not everybody is so lucky.
So watch your staplers, and if yours is missing, don’t come looking for me, that was a different life. But if you ever need an eraser or two, I know a guy….
