Crimewood: Grease Fire

APRIL 1954

Life was easier in East Grimewood. Only a few acres of pines away, but it might as well have been another world. Bigger. Wealthier. Safer. So no one thought twice when Bluster said goodbye that afternoon. He did it as he always had. Carelessly, like a cigarette butt tossed over his shoulder. They had no idea that when his motorcycle glided away across the wet pavement, it was going to be the last time any of them would ever see him alive.

And the last time the Cranes would ever feel normal.

The Cranes ruled their side of the city. Technically, they were considered a ‘gang’ in every shape of the word, though they hated being called one. But that’s just how people saw it then, when a group’s life was lived in shared wardrobes, hobbies, and regional pride. But they weren’t your standard group of young greasers; instead, they were the kind of kids that swept the sidewalks for widows and fixed cars for families who couldn’t afford repairs. But that’s how things were done in West Grime. If money was the driving influence on the east, then the west’s drive was like their muddled mirror. Influence wasn’t in the power of the dollar, but rather in the power of the unspoken agreements. Instead of what you owned, it was about what you gave. This wasn’t something you could display like a scoreboard. Instead, it was subtly reflected in the smaller, more intimate ways, like how every car on the west side honked in acknowledgement when passing Bluster, the head of the Cranes.

Only nineteen years old, and he was the most iconic symbol of how West Grime saw themselves. The boy carried his leather jacket like a coronation robe. It wasn’t flashy– just weathered leather with sweat-stained lining and a hand-painted crane soaring across the back. He was one of many who would don the symbol, and while it was just a jacket to outsiders, to West Grime, it felt like a vow to be watched over. An unspoken promise you could trust, even when they didn’t know they needed it. And sadly, the kind of promise that would soon collapse under gunfire.

When Bluster left, the sun had been down for hours, yet the morning rain still clung to the street like a stubborn echo. The asphalt of West Grimewood had a way of holding onto everything, from water to regrets, as if it were its job to remember everyone’s mistakes.

Bluster hadn’t even made it to the forest connecting the sides of the city when trouble announced itself with a black two-door coup slowing at the curb. If only he hadn’t stopped for a pack of cigarettes. He was striking one to life when the sapphire sky suddenly felt darker. The smoke in his lungs sat still, caught between heartbeats. The sedan whispered closer, predatory. Two flashes of muzzle light tore the night like cracks of lightning. Bluster staggered backward. His bike toppled over. Confusion flickered across his face before the pain overtook it. He only saw the flash, then the curb, then nothing at all. The sedan’s tires shrieked as it pulled off, leaving only the screams of the gas station attendant calling for help. By the time that the sirens would sound, Bluster lay lifeless in a widening pool of red, his blood slithering into the cracks of the street, shimmering in the starlight.

He was dead.

***

Ralphie had been the quiet brother since childhood– the older one who read paperbacks in the garage instead of rebuilding engines with his brothers. Since he could remember, he was always the one who was going to get out. And getting out wasn’t a matter of going to the other side of the trees– to East Grime– his destiny was to get out of the city entirely. So, when he’d gone to college, far enough away that the smell of pines and the stench of grime couldn’t reach him, his friends and family rejoiced.

He only returned when he heard what had happened.

The bullets from that night lodged in more than flesh– it sank deep into West Grime like the shots were intended for everybody. And while everyone was in mourning, no one was about to take this harder than Ralphie. Even before he walked through the door of his family’s autoshop, the entire city felt the shift in the air.

Ralphie stood at the foot of Bluster’s cot, pale in the fluorescent lights. He instantly recognized it– it was their grandfather’s from WWII– he gave it to them to camp with when they were young, and Bluster had kept it, substituting his own bed for it. Their grandparents wouldn’t live much longer, so Bluster swore he’d never get rid of it.

Ralphie would sleep on it that night.

His brother Gage hovered nearby, like a storm cloud in the sky, ready to burst open.

“It… it was the Kings,” he said in a whisper, hatred trembling behind breath and gritted teeth. The East Grime Kings were new, but Ralphie had heard about them before. Mostly in brief phone calls, but until this moment, no one ever said anything about them that would make them capable of this. Merely rich kids in crisp leather jackets doing petty crimes, trying to live a life they knew nothing about. What Ralphie didn’t realize was that they had recently been nipping at their side of the pines, looking to expand. Obviously, Bluster had refused them. He believed the Cranes were protectors, not predators, and West Grime had enough petty crime.

But righteousness has never stopped a bullet.

Ralphie stared at his younger brother. He looked so much like their father. Everyone always said he and Bluster took after their Mom, but Gage looked exactly like their father. ‘More like him right now than ever,’ Ralphie thought to himself.

Gage looked rough. His breath stuttered, short and fragile, skin beaming red beneath the sweat pooling at the edges of his beard. Ralphie felt something in his chest tighten, a question surfacing that he had been too grief-ridden to wonder until this moment. He placed a hand on his little brother’s arm and asked where Bluster was going that night. With tear-heavy eyes, he said he didn’t know.

He knew Gage was lying.

***

The days that followed, Gage became the fury the Cranes wanted, while Ralphie attempted to keep things peaceful. The younger brother would pace the block, in a cloud of cigarette smoke, talking about revenge with anyone who would listen, like it was gasoline waiting for a match. Ralphie would do everything to keep things stable, but, unfortunately, as much as everyone was happy that Ralphie had left and gone to college, he was the brother who had left. He couldn’t possibly understand what everyone was feeling. The Cranes, hot-blooded and easily swayed, followed Gage’s lead. Word was spreading.

The Kings were going to pay.

As much as he tried to calm the situation down, Ralphie had to just watch it unfold with a kind of distant ache. The omniscient gaze of someone who had already lost too much. And yet, the question continued to linger in his mind, ‘What the hell was Bluster doing that night?’

He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but there was only one person who would tell him the truth.

***

While Ralphie had done his best to hold everything together, the levy broke the night Connie called. Her voice cracked through the phone: terrified, crying, begging Gage to help. Someone had broken into her house, stolen everything valuable, and destroyed the rest. Gage grabbed a tire iron before anyone could talk him down. Multiple members of the Cranes tried to go with him– even Ralphie tried to– but deep down, he understood. Connie was more than a cousin; she had always been like a sister to the brothers. And there was no one in this world she was closer to than Gage. But he saw it happening to his brother– the destructive unraveling that had sat at the edge since Bluster’s death. Rage had become his religion, and vengeance was now his God. So to hell with what his brother wanted– for his own good– Ralphie was going to go with him anyway, but Gage was gone before the door finished swinging shut.

The ambush had been waiting.

The Kings planned ahead. They boxed him in before his car could even turn into Connie’s neighborhood. Ten shots. Ten flashes. A storm of light and metal. Like Bluster, Gage died before he even saw what happened. Connie only heard the shots, the tire screeches, and the echoes of her own cries. By the time she got to the hole-ridden car, Gage was barely recognizable, shredded by shots and shrapnel. The police asked as many questions as they could, but both murders happened without anyone seeing a thing. Speculation was all they had to go on, and their budget didn’t leave much for speculating.

Before the sun rose the following morning, the news had already spread through West Grimewood like an infection. Ralphie stood outside the shop alone, the dawn light creeping across the cracked concrete. He couldn’t cry– he didn’t want to– crying only made it real. He only closed his eyes as if listening to a truth he wished weren’t real. That being said, none of this would end until he ended it– and only one man knew how to do that.

His father, Lyle.

***

The prison walls loomed over Ralphie like an old bully, full of nostalgia and spite. The rules of visitation had changed a lot since the last time he had visited, and he was permitted to actually sit in a room with his father. Lyle was as stoic as he always had been, but there was still a sparkle of warmth in his eyes when he looked at his oldest.

Ralphie noticed.

West Grime’s whispers had no issues getting behind the concrete walls of the prison, as their father knew about everything that had happened. The murders, the break-in, the ambushes, and the quest for blood that the Cranes wanted. Ralphie knew that if he didn’t do something soon, they were on the brink of an implosion.

Lyle understood. Before Bluster, there was Lyle. He was the man that everyone turned to for anything. But all it took was one bank robbery, the death of three, and a life sentence– for them to lose their guardian angel. The community was always proud of him, but until this moment, he had never shown an ounce of pride back. What Bluster and the boys built was bigger than one man. Ralphie couldn’t let that die.

Lyle silently listened, keeping his pride in his son to himself.

Ralphie knew that if he didn’t plan a response, the Cranes were going to do one themselves, and it was only going to result in more blood. Ralphie stalled, his words hanging in his throat in hesitation.

Lyle sighed, “I told the boy this was a bad idea.”

Ralphie then learned the truth. Bluster was running drugs for the Kings in East Grime. When they demanded to expand their operation into West Grime, he refused. Ralphie was in awe; ‘why would Bluster ever do that?’

Lyle brushed his hair from his face, his eyes beaming through the cigarette haze of the room. “Same reason I turned that bank, son. When the world don’t look after your people, you look after them. I didn’t make nothin’ but a life sentence on that job. Your uncle Gary, Angie, Tommy– all lost their lives on it. But– you got to go to school, didn’t you?”

Up until that moment, Lyle had never admitted to why they robbed that bank or where the money went. It was a legend at this point– the West Grime Treasure– as many kids had begun to call it. Ralphie was told that a scholarship paid for his college. But in reality, he was only there because of his community’s sacrifice. Bluster knew the truth. Gage knew. Even the Cranes knew.

Ralphie waited in silence for a moment, a reflection of his father’s notorious stoicism. Finally, he sat up, overwhelmed with determination.

It was his turn to sacrifice something.

“Okay, Dad. Tell me what to do.”

“Arrange a meeting with them,” Lyle said. “Tell them that you’re taking over the Cranes, and whatever Bluster wouldn’t do. You will. When they agree to meet with you, this is what you will do...”

Ralphie nodded.

***

In calculated understanding– the kind only found in the blind spaces of pride– Ralphie set the plan as his father laid out. He requested a meeting with Needle, the head of the Kings and the man responsible for their decisions. The Cranes objected, unsure of what this would solve. They swore this was going to be nothing more than a setup and begged him to let them come with him. But Ralphie assured them he was in control, that there was nothing to worry about. His plan was going to work. It had to.

He pried open the floorboard under the shop’s front desk, revealing a small pistol. He slipped into Gage’s Cranes jacket, tucked the gun into his jeans, and got onto Bluster’s bike.

***

Bordertree Diner sat between East and West Grimewood, directly in the middle of the forest. It was technically the East Grimewood sector, but it looked like it belonged in the West, as if the wealth of their side of the city was afraid to be that close to them. It was the last thing you saw before you reached the tree-covered road to West Grimewood, its neon sign flickering like an exit sign, casting the passing cars in a strange, electric blush. Lyle’s instructions echoed in his head as he rode into the diner’s parking lot, coming to a stop next to a black sedan.

‘Pick the Bordertree Diner in the forest and tell them it's a good middle ground for you. They’ll feel like they got the upper hand.’

Inside the diner, the air was thick with cooked food and cigarette smoke. Needle sat at a booth in the back, smiling in between bites, the edges of his expensive jacket catching the diner light like it did when he first saw it in a Sears ad. And just as Lyle had predicted, two other members of the Kings sat next to him.

“If he shows up by himself, he is interested in talking. If he shows up with others, it's a trap, son. They’re gonna make you feel heard inside, and then get you when you leave. Don’t even sit down. Just move into the next part of the plan.”

The warning radiated through his body, emphasized by the cold sting of metal against his back. He stood in the diner’s doorway for a beat, fear building in sweat on his brow.

‘It's night. So there should only be one waitress and one cook. If there are any other customers in there, they won’t look at you. If you eat there at that time of night, you know to mind your own business.”

Lyle was right– only a waitress and a cook. A few customers were scattered about. No one even looked his way– no one but the Kings.

Ralphie started walking toward them.

‘Make sure no one in the place is watchin’ you guys. You’ll have to do it quick. Aim right above the chest.’

The Kings didn’t see it coming. Ralphie stood at their table, back to the counter. Concealed. Needle smuggly said nothing. Ralphie exhaled. Waiting. When Needle went to speak, that's when he saw the gun. Bam! The shot rattled the windows. Blood sprayed everywhere. The gun clacked against the tile floor. Needle’s eyes stretched as wide as coffee rings. He screamed. His two men copied. As did the waitress, followed by everyone else in the diner. Coughing in pain, Ralphie fell, his arms folded across his chest.

Ralphie had shot himself.

Screams for the police echoed from the waitress's lips, but the Kings didn’t wait to hear her finish the sentence. In a blur, they scampered over Ralphie’s body, out the diner door, and into their car, leaving nothing but the all too familiar screech of their tires raining into the night.

The cook ran to Ralphie’s side, putting pressure on his wound, demanding to know what happened.

‘Right above the chest, toward the shoulder. And point it up when you do. It will look like they did it. Drop the gun before you fall.’

Ralphie coughed through the pain.

“The Kings… they shot me.”

***

Complications arose during surgery from his gunshot wound, and Ralphie spent the better part of two months in the hospital. When he was finally released, word had spread, and he was no longer the brother who left– he was a hero.

Lyle’s plan had worked.

The ‘public attempted murder’– ‘in the East Grime district no less’– sparked a community outrage. ‘The Kings were dangerous,’ and ‘they needed to be stopped.’ This was exactly what the East Grime police were waiting for. Despite everything the Kings had done, they never had witnesses. Every person in the diner that night spoke to the police about what they saw. The boys in the booth. The gunshot. Them running away afterward.

The next day, Needle was brought in and charged with attempted murder. It didn’t take but two hours for him to turn on the Kings to save himself, informing the cops of everything illegal that they had ever done. Lyle’s plan had worked, and over the next few weeks, each one of the Kings was incarcerated, waiting for a trial. But they would never make that far. They were now in Lyle’s territory– the final step of his plan.

And like his son Gage, Vengeance was also his God.