The Battle of Hillsboro

by Jesse S. Smith

 

Quote One

Note:

Some text has been sanitized for the purpose of posting online.

 

It was just another evening out at the bar with the guys until we decided to start a war.

The music was too loud, a neon sign advertising overpriced piss beer glowed in the window. The bartender was a fat woman who was by turns dismissive and abusive to the patrons. I tipped her anyway and wondered why, as I brought another pitcher back to the table. We were taking turns buying rounds, and soon the four of us would have consumed a whole pitcher each. Even drinking cheap swill, I was feeling more than a little tipsy.

"I'm just so f***ing sick of it," Drew was saying, puffing desperately on his cigarette, as though some disaster was imminent unless he could suck the whole thing down in a matter of moments.

"The game is decided before you start," agreed Victor. "You need all these THINGS to win, but you can't get the things unless you've already won."

"Like what?" I asked, topping off everyone's glasses.

"Take housing, for example," said Johnny. "If you want to rent an apartment, you have to be able to plunk down a huge chunk of cash just to move in, AND you need to be able to prove that you're employed, and usually you have to have a rental history. But in order to be employed, you have to have a house where you can take a shower, you have to own some decent clothes, and you have to have an address and phone number to put on your job application where potential employers can get back to you. If you don't have a place to live, you can't get a job; and if you don't have a job, you can't get a place to live. Catch-22."

"So Johnny," said Victor.

"Yes?"

"You have a place to live."

"Uh-huh..."

"So why don't you ever take a shower?"

We all laughed at that, but when the guffaws died down it was apparent that Drew was still brooding. Drew was employed, as it happened; but his job was a dead end, and did not pay well.

"There's got to be another way," I said sympathetically, "instead of working your whole life for The Man and getting paid dick."

"You still want to conquer the world," said Victor to me derisively.

"I'll drink to that," I said.

"How are you going to do it?" he pressed, a trifle belligerently.

"Well," I said awkwardly, looking down at the table, "I had this great plan to become rich and famous, but…" I paused, with more words in my head than I could get out of my mouth. I decided this was not the time to enumerate my many failures. "It hasn't worked out yet," I summarized.

"Yeah," said Drew, lighting a new cigarette from the glowing butt of the one he had just finished, "it's a tough world to conquer."

"You could take it by force," suggested Johnny.

Quote Two

We each took our places according to Johnny's plan.

I climbed into the back of the truck and found there a heavy-duty chain that ended in a sturdy hook. Victor drove the station wagon around the corner from the store's front entrance and stayed parked at the curb, engine running, lights out, in gear, using the e-brake to keep it from rolling so the brake lights wouldn't light up. Drew walked to the door of the store and waited in the shadows as Johnny got in the truck and drove it right up in front of the store. He hadn't even come to a stop before I jumped out the back with the chain. I don't know where he got that chain from; it was rusty like it had been sitting out in the rain for a long time, but the metal in the links was so thick that I thought it could hold the anchor for a giant ocean freighter. Drew passed the chain under the steel grill that protected the door and hooked it back over on itself while I attached the other end to the back of the truck, using not just the trailer hitch but the frame of the pickup as well. In seconds we gave Johnny the thumbs-up, and he accelerated the pickup as fast as he could; but when the chain had reached its full length and pulled taut, the truck slowed down instead of pulling the grid out of the wall. It was fastened solidly, with heavy bolts deep into the door. I wondered if this plan was really going to work. Johnny stopped the truck, reversed back until the rear wheels were up on the curb, put the truck in neutral while he revved up the engine, and then put it in gear. The truck jumped forward, its wheels squealing, acrid blue smoke coming off its tires. This time when the chain reached its full length, the bottom part of the steel grid popped out; but the rest remained securely bolted to the door. The chain came unfastened from the grid and skittered behind the truck. Johnny stopped the truck and stuck his head out the window to survey the scene. Then he drove off down the street.

"Where the f*** is he going?" shouted Drew.

Johnny was already executing a wide U-turn in the middle of the street. He revved the engine, a block and a half away, and I knew what he was going to do.

"Shit," I said, "get the f*** out of his way." I tugged at Drew's sleeve and ran. I could hear Drew behind me as the truck accelerated, going faster and faster as it got closer and closer until with a catastrophic crunching sound it plowed right into the front of the building. The engine died, grinding painfully. The air bags deployed. Inside the building, a security alarm was ringing.

"Johnny," I said, running back to the truck, "holy shit dude, are you all right?"

Looking somewhat shaken, Johnny nodded and motioned us inside the store. We had to climb over the hood of the truck and kick bits of the door out of the way, but this was easily accomplished, and then there we were.

Quote Three

The people in the bank lobby were completely stunned. One moment they were standing there, going about their business; the next moment there was a blinding flash of light, and the bank lobby filled with smoke, and the terrifying sound of gunshots at close proximity (I fired a few rounds at the ceiling to get everyone's attention – it was incredibly loud in the enclosed space) and next thing they knew they were surrounded by masked, sort of Special Ops looking paramilitary men pointing guns at their heads and screaming "Get the f*** down on the floor! Do it now, before I blow your f***ing head off!"

I was on crowd control with Drew and another of Ramon's guys. We were in charge of doing the shouting. Ramon and Johnny were the ones who took the teller and the manager hostage and went back to the vault with them and returned with duffel bags full of cash. It all went very quickly, and after the first few seconds I hardly had to do anything. I just watched people lying on the floor and occasionally kicked them to encourage them not to move.

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