A Plague Year by Edward Bloor Page B

Warren’s trailer very well. It sat another thirty yards behind Aunt Robin’s and on a higher elevation. It looked narrower by perhaps ten feet across. As far as I could tell, it had no debris around it.
    We parked near the right corner of the first trailer and got out. Just as Arthur reached the front door, someone pulled it open from the inside. Arthur backed up to let Warren step out, followed by Jimmy.
    They both smiled at me and said, “Hey, Tom,” almost in unison.
    Warren was holding an item I recognized from the Food Giant—a fifty-count box of Ziploc freezer bags. He pointed to the driveway and smiled hugely. “Whoa! Check out the new ride!”
    Arthur grinned. “Yeah.”
    Warren asked Jimmy, “Is that the one you told me about, bubba? From Primrose?”
    Jimmy nodded.
    “Sweet.” Warren winked at me, but he spoke to Arthur. “Now I don’t have to drive you to football games? And sit there and watch you lose?”
    “Nope. I guess not.”
    Warren then looked from Arthur to me. “So what are you two gentlemen up to tonight? You goin’ joyriding?”
    Arthur replied, “We’re heading up to the college.”
    “The college? What for?”
    Arthur smiled. “Tom’s got a girlfriend there.”
    Warren poked my ribs with the box. “Is that right, Tom? You’re dating a college girl?”
    I protested, “She’s not my girlfriend. And she doesn’t go to the college. She just lives there with her family.”
    Arthur corrected himself. “I should say we are going to a party at the college, a Halloween party, invited by a friend of Tom’s, who just happens to be a girl.”
    I nodded my approval. “There you go.”
    Warren asked Jimmy, “Remember the time we went up there, bubba? With Ralph? And the Cowley brothers?”
    “I do indeed.”
    “That was some night.”
    “Amen to that.”
    I asked them, “Did you go there for a party?”
    Warren replied, “Not hardly, young Tom. We went there for a fight.”
    Arthur, who rarely looked surprised at anything, looked shocked. “A fight? Why don’t I know about this?”
    Warren pointed at Jimmy. “Because bubba here never told you? So I’ll tell you now. Here’s what happened: Jim’s buddy Ralph got beat up by two college boys. Beat up for no reason except that he was a townie.
    “He was working at the Strike Zone, and these two frat boys showed up drunk. They were acting stupid, acting like they were better than everybody. Laughing at everybody. You know the drill.”
    Arthur nodded. “I do.”
    “So Ralph told them to leave. A few minutes later, he went out to make sure they were gone, and they jumped him. Beat him up real bad. So the next night, him, Jimmy, me, and some other guys went up there to take care of business.”
    “To the college?”
    “Yeah.”
    Arthur asked, “How did you find them? There’s gotta be a thousand people up there.”
    “It wasn’t that hard,” Warren explained. “They got those college bars on the main road, heading up to that big gold dome. We figured two drunken frat boys would be there drinking, and so they were! Ralph spotted their car after about five minutes. Then we all waited until they came out.”
    Warren smiled, remembering. “I believe it was a Ford Mustang. A bright red one. Jimmy took a tire iron to the front and back windows. We gave them college boys as good as Ralph got and then some. Then the bar owner came out, yelling that he had just called the cops.
    “So we left them on the sidewalk, bleeding and crying for their mommies. We jumped into the back of Jimmy’s truck and peeled out of there.”
    Jimmy added somberly, “Somebody coulda got my tag number. I kept waitin’ for the cops all the next day. Waitin’ to get arrested.”
    Warren told him, “Don’t matter if you got arrested or not. We did what we had to do.”
    Jimmy agreed, “Yeah.”
    “They hit us, so we hit them back.”
    “Amen.”
    Arthur nodded angrily. “Yeah, I hear that.”
    Warren raised up his Ziploc box in a friendly wave.