"William Lynch"
by Michael Dell


CHAPTER FIFTEEN     

William had been painting for hours, maybe days.  He started the moment he arrived home after
leaving Meghan's side and had not stopped.  There was no difficulty in finding inspiration.  The
subject matter was obvious.  The approach in dealing with it was somewhat unfamiliar, but it
was the only real choice.  And after all, he didn't own a camera. 
  
Since he wasn't accustomed to portraits, the most difficult technical aspect of the undertaking
was trying to mix the proper colors to capture the flesh.  Her flesh.  It was found with care. 
  
He didn't need a picture to study.  He didn't even have to close his eyes and concentrate.  He saw
her everywhere.  It was his goal to see her on the canvas.  He did not eat.  He did not sleep.  He
left the easel only once, and that was for a glass of water.  Upon returning, he never even
realized he had left.  The next brush stroke fell in time with the last, never wavering from its
predestined path.  

The painting was so all-consuming that William never heard Mark arrive at Meghan's door.  And
he never took notice of Mark leaving a few hours later.  This same ignorance meant that he
could not dart to the peephole and see the bewildered look of dejection on Mark's face, or the
hollow gait to his step.  William was blind to all these things.  He was painting.

Over a background of pale gold, so faint it challenged the eye to find it, William discovered
Meghan.  Normally capturing the essence of a person in paint is an extremely difficult task,
especially someone so dear.  Yet not once did he strike a false chord.  He found her as he always
wanted to remember her, with the contrast of her raven hair framing the unparalleled beauty of
her face, the sparkling innocence dancing in her eyes, the first signs of a smile beginning to
grace her lips.  It may have been the best thing he ever painted.  It was flawless, almost beyond
his ability.  

The work's brilliance did not escape its creator.  He was transfixed by its power long after his
brush fell still.  Convinced there was nothing more left to be done, William broke the spell long
enough to take a seat on the couch.  A consultation with the VCR clock revealed it to be 11:56
PM.  But he had no idea of the day.  All he knew was that the sun had come and gone more than
once during his crusade.  He needed to know for sure.  The television hummed to life with the
push of a button.  The first image it produced was of Dr. Johnny Fever climbing out from behind
a storeroom shelf to talk to Venus Flytrap.  If it was 11:30, and it was "WKRP in Cincinnati,"
then it was Sunday.  

But this wasn't just any Sunday.  This was the Sunday of the Big Boy.  They'd arrive soon and
preparations had to be made.  He forcibly lifted himself from the couch and addressed his
newest creation.  After standing before it in quiet admiration for an undeterminable amount of
time, William carefully removed it from the easel and transported it to the more secluded
confines of the bedroom.  He placed the painting flat on the bed, looked at it a moment longer,
then left the room, closing the door behind him.  

William returned to the living room, putting on his shoes and flannel jacket and passing the time
by eating a few pretzels and drinking some water.  The actual nourishment did little to ease his
mood.  Despite his prolonged sleep deprivation, he was in the middle of a serious adrenaline
rush that made the passage of time seem maddeningly slow.  He waited.  At precisely 3:27 there
was a knock at the door.        

There was no one there.  Just as William was about to step into the hall to check for sure, a
husky figure dressed in all black, including a ski mask, jumped into the doorway and struck a
ninja stance.  Wilson had arrived.  He hesitated a second, without saying a word, and then
barreled his away around William and into the apartment, attempting to punctuate the entrance
with a summersault that was more John Belushi than Olympic gymnast.   

"Nice," commented William as his friend was picking himself off the floor.  

Lou reached his feet, flipped up the mask, and said, "I aim to please.  So I guess I'm the first one
here."

"Yeah."

"Where were you all day?"

"What do you mean?"

"I tried calling to confirm but you never picked up."

"The ringer must be off or something."  Or the phone was in a broken mess in the hall closet. 
Either one.   

"Shouldn't you go check?"

William flopped back on the couch.  "No, it's okay.  Don't sweat it."

"You okay?" asked Wilson, noticing the bizarre look in William's eyes.

"Yeah.  Why?"

"I don't know, you just seem a bit wired."

"No, I'm cool."

There was another knock at the door.  It was Dom and Matthew.  

"Cute outfit," said Dom upon seeing Wilson's tribute to Johnny Cash.  

"I come prepared, jerky." 

"Anyone talk to Norm?" asked William.

"Yeah," said Matthew, "he's a comin'."  Matt then handed William a piece of paper.

"What's that?" asked Wilson.  

"It's the note from the Big Boy," supplied Matt.

William unfolded the paper and read its contents out loud:

"Dear Corporate Oppressors,

I will no longer stand quietly by and allow myself to be exploited for your greedy,
commercialistic needs.  Enough is enough.  It's about time I start to live my own life.  I need to
find out who I am, who the person is beneath this suave haircut and glossy venear.  I begin my
journey of self-discovery today.  And nothing will ever be the same.

Take it easy,

Big Boy

P.S.  I hate you."

William was impressed.  "Well done."

Matt nodded appreciatively.

"But you spelled 'veneer' wrong."

"No," began Matthew, raising his right index finger to accentuate the point he was about to
make, "the Big Boy did."

"Fair enough.  You got any tape?" 

Matt reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a hefty roll of the clear plastic variety.  "It's
packing tape.  Strong stuff.  No chance of it blowing away."

William accepted the roll.  "Cool."  He was about to put the tape's potency to the test when an
intrusive noise barging its way through the apartment walls from the outside world diverted
everyone's attention.  It owned the rattling, clanging, and sputtering qualities present 
during the death of something mechanical.  William hadn't heard its like since he dropped 
two forks and a spoon down the garbage disposal.  It was the spoon that did the trick.  

Following a silent consideration of the facts by each man, the four cohorts looked at one another
sharing the same feeling of dread.  

"It can't be," offered Wilson.

"It has to be," said William, walking to the window in an attempt to achieve visual confirmation. 
"What else could it be?"  He pressed his cheek flat against the glass in an effort to see as 
close to the building as possible.  "I can't see anything.  We better go down and check."

Upon exiting the building, the four conspirators found the night air to be free of any metallic
racket and there was no sign of the fifth member of their party.  

"I guess it wasn't him," said Dom.  The others weren't so sure.  Matthew slipped away to explore
the side parking lot.  As he reached the corner of the building he stopped and waved the others to
join him.  There was Norm, unaware that he was being watched, earnestly using his shirt sleeve
to buff the hood of a decrepit example of automotive technology.  The van was a monstrosity of
light blue paint and patches of rust.  Or it might be more precise to say the frame was rust with
patches of light blue paint.  The lack of both hubcaps on the left side led one to believe 
that the other two tires were equally naked, if in fact there were two more tires.  A 
slight breeze snapped at the rare combination of cardboard, plastic wrap, and duct tape 
that combined to provide a window on the back rear door.  Up front, the van's antenna was 
bent decisively in the middle, as if someone had started to break it off and then decided 
there was no point in completing the vandalism.  Yet there was Norm, stooped over the right 
fender trying to make it sparkle and shine.  

"Norm!" called Wilson.  No response.  "Norm!"

Norm answered "Yeah" without ever turning around.  He took an appreciative step back from the
van, looked it over with care, gave it one more swipe with his sleeve, and then turned to 
greet his friends with an enormous grin.  "Hey, what's up?"  

Dom, Matthew, William, and Wilson all began to approach the vehicle, spreading out and
circling it with a sense of apprehension.  All were rendered speechless.  They weren't sure what
to make of it.  Matthew gave its beaten side panel a cautious poke with his finger.  The rotted
steel seemed to ache under the pressure.  

William broke the silence.  "Gee, Mr. Miceli, can Samantha and I borrow the van tonight to go
to the school dance?"  It's tough to pass up an obscure 'Who's the Boss' reference.  The four
stunned onlookers continued to circle the van in disbelief, finding wonderful new structural
discrepancies and cosmetic flaws with each step.  William had another one ready.  "So, did you
push this here yourself?"

"It runs," assured Norm.

"I'm guessing stagger would be a more apt description," countered William.

After each inspector had seen enough, they regrouped around Norm and looked to him for some
sort of explanation.  None was forthcoming.  

Wilson finally spoke the obvious, "We can't use this van."

"Why not?" asked Norm.  

"Look at it!  It's not exactly inconspicuous."  Norm showed no signs of recognition.  Wilson
started again, choosing his words more carefully.  "It's kind of hard to not notice this thing. 
Any cop we see is likely to pull us over just because of the van."

"No they won't," was Norm's defense.

Wilson looked to the others for help.  "It is pretty beat," began Dom, "but we're here.  Might as
well do it."  

Matthew shared the belief.  "Yeah, what the hell?"

Wilson's eyes turned to William.  "I could fuckin' care less.  It doesn't matter to me.  
You're the one drivin'."

"It handles all smooth like," cheerfully offered Norm in way of persuasion.

The group stood silent for a few moments.  "Let's just get this over with," relented Wilson,
realizing he was a man alone.   

"What time is it?" asked Dom.  

"Who cares?" snapped Wilson as he reached for the driver side door.  "Let's just go."

"It's 3:46," said Matt.

"Close enough," approved William.  "Let's roll.  Dom, you got your cell phone?"

"Yeah, it's in the car."

"Matt, you got the number?"

"Yeah."

"And you guys know what you're doin'?" 

"Yeah, we're making asses of ourselves for childish glory," said Matt.

"Good.  I just wanted to make sure we were all on the same page."  William gave them the ol'
six-gun salute and Dom and Matthew were on their way.  Inside the van, Norm was going over
some finer points of the operation with Wilson when William climbed into the torn and tattered
scraps of what was once a passenger seat.  The lack of comfort found among the mass of
protruding foam and exposed steel frame was of little concern.  His mind was elsewhere.   

"So Reverse is actually Drive and Second is really Reverse?" asked Wilson for clarification.  

Norm, leaning in between the two front seats from the back, confirmed Wilson's grasp of the
questionable gearshift and then offered more words of advice.  "The windshield wipers don't
really work.  They're missing blades."  The windshield bore evidence of this, with slight grooves
worn into the glass in an arcing pattern.  The windshield also featured a lengthy crack in the
bottom right hand corner, but this appeared due more to some sort of blunt force trauma than a
mere missing wiper blade.  "The turn signals might lock up on you," continued Norm, "but just
hit the flashers and they fix themselves."

"Anything else?" asked Wilson disgustedly.  

"The emergency break doesn't work, but you really shouldn't need it."

"I'm starting to think I really don't need any of this," said Wilson.  "Couldn't you have at least
gotten rid of some of these beer cans?  Or maybe aired it out or something?  Just sitting in here
makes me hungry for some Cheetos."  He turned to William.  "What are your feelings on all
this?"  William didn't respond.  He was too busy gazing lifelessly out the passenger-side window. 
Wilson gave him a shot to the arm.  "You sure you're feeling okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," answered William meekly.  

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing.  I was just trying to find the inspection sticker."  

"Good luck."  Wilson reached down at his side for the seatbelt and came up empty.  "Dude,
where's the seatbelt?"

Norm could be heard rummaging around in the back.  "Here."  He presented Wilson with a
broken strap connected to nothing in particular.  Wilson accepted the gift with a sardonic grin
and then threw it back at him.  That was the last of the interaction until the phone rang.  Norm
recognized the ring almost immediately.  Almost.  He listened intently at the receiver and then
gave word.  "It's a go."  A turn of the key brought the van to life; a whimpering, wheezing life
where Reverse meant Drive and Second meant Reverse.  The wheels were in motion.

As for the scout team, Dom and Matthew were having no problems whatsoever.  Their first lap
through town failed to produce even a single glimpse of a police cruiser.  While that was enough
to give the planned heist a green light, the knowledge that the fuzz was still lurking somewhere
in the night gave Matthew a sense of uneasiness.  He stayed alert, ready to provide the van a
warning at the first sign of trouble.  The sign never came.  The duo progressed down I-79
without worry until they reached Matthew's drop-off point.  

"This is where you get off," said Dom, pulling into the vacated Arby's parking lot.  Matt stepped
outside and let Norm know that he was in position.  He then covered the phone and stuck his
head back inside the still open door.  

"Dom?"

"Yeah."

"Don't fuck up."

Matt held eye contact until Dom lowered his head as assurance that he'd certainly do his best. 
Matt recognized the gesture by closing the door and stepping away into the night.  Dom sped
back towards town.     
             
"They think I'm gonna fuck this up," muttered Dom to himself.  "I'm not gonna fuck this up." 
His right hand began to nervously scrounge around the console for a cigarette.  "I'm not gonna
fuck this up."

Meanwhile, the van continued on its way to the target.  "See anything?" asked Wilson. 

William wasn't sure what he meant.  His mind wasn't on business.  He decided to answer with a
"No."  Wilson seemed pleased.  William decided to use "no" as his reply for every question that
came up.  

"How do things look to Matt?" asked Wilson of Norm.

Norm consulted his friend at the other end of the phone and came back with, "Solid."  Wilson
took that to be positive.  Things were right on schedule.  

Dom shot past the Elby's and pointed to the Big Boy on the way by.  "We're comin' for you, ya
fat bastard."  He had his cigarette lit by the time he reached his destination the predetermined
150 to 200 feet down the road.  He pulled over in the exact spot he had during the practice run. 
"I'm not gonna fuck up."  He took a long drag of his cigarette and turned on the flashers.  There
was no traffic at all.  The world was quiet except for Dom's footsteps to the back of the car and
the hollow clicking of the pulsating taillights.  His hand was jittery as he popped the trunk and
withdrew the jack.  Pretending to change the tire was his idea, his detail.  This portion of the
plan was his.  It was a source of pride.  "I'm not gonna fuck up."  He hurriedly turned to proceed
with the ruse, stealing anxious glances over both shoulders, only to have the jack clip the 
edge of the trunk and slip from his grasp.  So blind in his determination to not have anything 
go wrong, Dom instinctively and recklessly lunged to catch the fumbled tool before it hit 
the ground.  His head struck flush on the rear fender, knocking him senseless and sending 
him crashing to the ground in a heap.   

Some 150 to 200 feet back up the road, the van was approaching its goal.  It rolled freely down
the auxiliary pass behind the restaurant without the slightest hint of opposition; completely
unaware that one of its two vigilant watchdogs had been subdued through self-inflicted stupidity. 
At about that very same time, the other safety net was having some problems of its own.  

Matt was getting restless.  There wasn't another soul to be found anywhere.  He expected there to
be at least some cars.  Hopefully not cop cars, but at least some cars.  He began pacing in front
of the Arby's, imagining what it would be like to wear a really big cowboy hat.  Even though it
went against the plan of only using the phone when absolutely necessary, he felt the need to talk
to someone.

"Norm?"  No answer.  "Norm, you there, fool?"  Nothing.  At this point it became apparent that
Norm had failed in the intricacies of operating his cell phone.  Either the battery had died or he
was holding the wrong end to his ear.  Even money on which was the truth.  Matt wasn't sure
what to do.  There was really no purpose in his staying where he was if he lacked the means to
sound the alarm in case of trouble.  He hesitated, fearfully looking in every direction at once. 
Calmly, as if not wanting to draw any attention to himself, Matt began to take a few cautious
steps back towards town.  It was like a thief getting away with the last cookie.  He checked the
coast one final time and then burst into a full sprint.  For someone whose blood came with a
proof, Matt could run all speedy quick.  And he'd have to.  The van was already where it was
going.

The four-wheeled scrap was pulling into the rear entrance of the Elby's parking lot.  There he
was.  The Big Boy.  The moment was at hand.  "What's the word from Matt?" asked Wilson with
some excitement.  

Norm, not hearing anything in his ear aside from the usual bongos, just said "Cool" and dropped
the phone to the floor.  Wilson swung the van into position.  It was show time.  

Norm exploded out the back, flinging the doors wide and bull rushing the checker-panted prize. 
William went about things a bit differently, barely expending any energy at all in sliding out the
passenger-side door and ambling on his way.  Norm had reached the Big Boy already and was
fixing a grip on the base when he realized that his partner wasn't around.  He dashed back to the
van and urged William to hurry up with a frantic wave of his hand and then it was back to the
Big Boy.  William's pace didn't accelerate.  He pushed his hand through his hair and put one
deliberate step in front of the other.  Even Wilson leaned out the passenger door to witness the
indifference.  Norm ran back a second time to check on William's progress, almost running into
him as he turned the corner of the van.  "C'mon."  Back to the Big Boy.  

"You ready?" asked William of Norm, even though the latter already had a firm handhold on
their portly plastic pal.  William stepped forward and began hoisting the statue without even the
customary "one, two, three."  As during their first run-in with the Big Boy, he lifted to the
heavens with the greatest of ease.  It really should have been harder.  But it wasn't.  At 
least until Norm turned an ankle stepping off the strip of landscaping that housed the Big 
Boy.  Norm didn't fall, but his temporary loss of balance threw the hulking plastic frame 
off kilter.  If William's heart was in it, he probably could have prevented what happened 
next.  But it wasn't, so he didn't.  He merely stood idly by and watched as the Big Boy 
pitched wildly and tumbled from their grasp.  The hamburger hit first, striking the van's 
bumper and snapping the arm off at the shoulder.  

Wilson spun in his seat and gave a somewhat hushed holler out the rear of the vehicle.  "What
was that?"

William and Norm didn't respond.  The Big Boy, both pieces of him, lay lifeless and broken on
the pavement in front of them.  Oddly enough, despite what had to be excruciating pain, the Big
Boy still wore a splendid smile.  It was admirable really, and more than a little unsettling
considering the circumstances.  William and Norm remained motionless.  The world was heavy
with silence.  Wilson tried again with desperation in his voice.  "What the hell was that?" 
Nothing. 

Finally, after allowing the scene and its repercussions to fully sink in, William spoke without
once taking his eyes from the tragedy before him.  "That can't be good."  Norm remained mute. 

Wilson, needing to see for himself what had happened, abandoned his post at the wheel and
circled around back.  "What the hell's taking so long?  We gotta..."  That's when he saw it. 
"What the fuck did you do?"  

William looked up.  "What are you doin' out here?"

"We weren't supposed to hurt him.  Now what are we gonna do?"

"Get back in the van," commanded William.  

"We can't drop him off at the Court House with a broken arm!"

"Just get back in the fuckin' van!" pleaded William, pointing the way.  Wilson obeyed the order
with considerable distress.  William realized he'd have to get his head straight.  He'd need 
to take control of the situation.  "C'mon, Norm, let's go."  William snatched the loose limb 
and tossed it in the van.  "We gotta split."  They both picked up the corpse and fired it 
through the open doors without much care for its safety.  As Norm climbed aboard, 
William remembered the note in his pocket and made his way to the front window.  He slapped 
the glass and turned only to find that the note was still sticking to his palm.  That tape 
was strong stuff.  He couldn't seem to pry it loose without having another finger entangled in 
its sinister web of adhesive.  Out of frustration, he smacked the front window again.  And 
again.  And again.  

"C'mon!" cried Wilson without even bothering to check his volume. 

The note finally removed itself from William's hand and stuck to the window.  He walked
backwards the first few steps in order to make sure the paper stayed put.  Confident in its
security, William wheeled and raced to the van.  He looked back one final time before stepping
inside the waiting passenger door and noticed the paper was now blowing its way around the
restaurant's front walk.  "Mother fucker."  This momentary hesitation was enough to throw off
the timing of the getaway driver.  Wilson began to pull away, forcing the door's handle from
William's reach.  "What the fuck are you doin'?" called William, standing his ground.  The van
lurched to a halt a few feet away.  William slowly walked to meet it.  

"I thought you were in," explained Wilson.  

William just gave him a condemning look and slammed the door shut behind him.  "Now I'm
in."                        

Wilson floored it.  The van roared from the parking lot, finding an exit through a patch of
landscaping and over an unbroken curb.  The highway was met with a crash and the van bounced
among a cloud of sparks.  

"Hold it," said Norm from the back.  The van didn't slow.  

"What's wrong?" asked William.      

Norm, who was glued to the back window, replied, "Here comes Matt."

"What?" moaned Wilson as he brought the van to a screeching halt in the middle of the road.  It's
amazing there was no other traffic, a true miracle, one they wished for yet were all too busy to
appreciate at the time.  Norm pushed open a rear door and Matthew jumped in, a huffing,
wheezing mess.  The van started off again.  Matt tried to talk while still struggling to catch his
breath.  "The phone... wasn't working."  The back of the van was rather cramped and it was hard
not to notice the Big Boy being short an arm.  "What the hell happened to him?" 

"Don't ask," answered William.  Matt thought it best to leave it at that.  

"But what are we gonna do now?" asked Wilson.  

"Improvise," stated William with a degree of confidence.  He then pointed to a white car off in
the distance that was pulled to the side of the road with its flashers flashing.  "But first 
we gotta clue Dom."  As the van got closer, William began to make out Dom's prone body at the 
rear of the car.  "Aw, Christ..."

The image didn't escape Wilson.  "I knew it."  Wilson pulled the van in behind the car, drowning
Dom in headlights.  William was the first to get to him, with Norm and Matt pouring out of the
van's sliding side door in hot pursuit.  

"Dom?  Wake up, Dom."  William started to slap his face a bit.  "Dom, wake up."  

"I specifically asked him to not fuck up," said Matt, now standing behind William.  "Is he okay?"

"Beats the hell out of me.  From the looks of that bump, I'm guessing he hit his head.  Dom, can
you hear me?"

The groggy Canadian was starting to come around.  "Oh, hi fellas, come on in."

"Dom, what happened?  You okay?"

"I like chicken noodle soup."

"Are you all right?"

"Grandma?  Is that you, Grandma?"

"He'll be all right.  Let's get him in the car.  Norm, open up that back door."  Together William
and Matt managed to get Dom to his feet and stuff him in the back seat.  Dom was deliriously
proclaiming his fondness for his Nana when Matt shut the door.  

"What now?" asked Norm.  

William gave out his orders while returning the jack to its place and closing the trunk.  "Matt,
you take the car and follow us."

"Where are we goin'?"

"Just follow our lead."  Matt did what he was told and trailed the van back into town.  They
passed two other cars.  Neither one was a black and white.  William directed Wilson to take the
show to Middleton Field, the city's outdoor recreational center.  The Middleton Field area
included an aerobic center, an ice rink, a soccer field, two baseball fields, a running track, 
and a swimming pool.  Middleton was supposed to close at 10:00 PM, but that was a suggestion 
about to be ignored.  It was 4:14 in the AM.  Finding parking spots in the first row was not 
a problem.  The conspirators, all save Dom, filed out of their vehicles and watched as 
William began to unload the Big Boy from the back of the van.    

"So what are we gonna do, take him for a jog?" cracked Wilson.

"We're gonna take him up to the tracks," said William, pulling the Big Boy free and standing him
up.  Norm hopped out toting the severed arm.  

"We're gonna throw him in front of a train?" asked Matt.  

"No.  We're gonna give him a ticket out of town."

"I like it," confirmed Norm with a smile.  

"But we gotta hurry," warned William, whose nocturnal wanderings made him familiar with the
late night locomotive schedule.  He was almost certain that a train would be rumbling through
between 4:30 and 5:00.  At least that's what he was telling himself.  It was the best idea he had. 
Might as well give it a shot.  But plenty of distance had to be covered first.  They had a walk
ahead of them.  William and Norm lugged the Big Boy, Wilson carried the arm, and Matthew
did his best to lead the still woozy Dom.  The five of them, or six if you count the Big Boy, had
to trek a good two hundred yards, traveling past the running track, beyond the swimming pool,
through a thicket of trees, and up a few steep grassy hills before coming within sight of the
railroad tracks.  Luckily, the night was clear and the moon cast enough light to make the journey
a little less arduous.  Sure, they couldn't move the Big Boy three feet without breaking his arm,
but they could carry him a country mile in the dark over rugged terrain without a misstep.  Go
figure.  

The group set up camp in a patch of trees just off the tracks.  Even though it wasn't real heavy,
William and Norm took great relief in putting down the Big Boy.  Matt was also relieved to
separate himself from Dom, taking one quick step to his left and allowing the big oaf to collapse
under his own weight.  "Stay," commanded Matt.  He then joined William, Norm, and Wilson in
squatting around El Grande Nino.  

"You sure a train's comin' tonight?" asked Matt.

"Pretty sure."

"And exactly how are we supposed to get him on the train?" followed up Wilson.  "Ask it to
stop?"

"I was thinkin' we'd just sort of throw him."

"Throw him?"

"Yeah.  I mean, all trains have to have flat cars, right?  We'll just toss him on one."

"Sounds like a plan," supported Norm.  

Wilson wasn't so sure.  "You know, it's going to be kind of hard to throw a six foot plastic statue
onto a moving train."

"Nothin' to it but to do it," countered William with his trademark apathy.  

"Why don't we just leave him up here in the woods?"  

Matt stepped in.  "This way the evidence gets out of town."

"Yeah, but whoever finds it is going to figure out where it came from," argued Wilson.  "They'll
just have to ask around to see which area restaurant is missing a Big Boy.  I just don't see the
point in even trying it."

Dom getting to his feet and stumbling around in the darkness provided momentary
entertainment.  "Dom, how you doin' buddy?" called William.  Dom wobbled a second longer
and then crashed to the ground with a thud.  The discussion continued.  

"See, I think the problem is that you're overlooking one important fact," began William.

"What's that?"

In a rare occurrence, Norm completed the thought.  "It'll be cool to try and throw something on a
train."  

Case closed.  They didn't have to wait long before the tranquil night air carried warning of the
train's arrival.  Once the engine passed, William, Matt, and Norm raced out from the cover of the
trees with the Big Boy to get into position.  Even though it was only traveling at about thirty
miles per hour, there was no denying the sheer power of the locomotive.  None of them had ever
seen a real live train up close.  The trio was awed in its presence.  They cautiously inched their
way closer to the tracks.  Wilson, carrying the arm, hung back a bit in order to spy the placement
of the needed flat car.  "Here they come!" He sprinted to catch up with the others.  "There's two
of 'em!"

William, Norm, and Matt, now close enough to feel the breeze generated by the rushing steel,
waited for the proper moment and gave the Big Boy a mighty heave, forcing him through the
atmosphere with a complete lack of grace.  He didn't fly far, barely reaching the edge of 
the first flat car.  His chubby body struck the car and bounced and rolled its way across 
the floor before slamming into the back wall.  He came to rest with his head hanging over the 
rear barrier, his still smiling face gleaming back at them in the moonlight.  Wilson, 
remembering to do his part, sent the arm and hamburger into the second flat car with a 
running overhand toss worthy of Fran Tarkenton, if Fran Tarkenton were a girl.  But at least 
it got there.  The plan actually worked.  There was much rejoicing.  Now they were 
somebodies; they were the guys that swiped the Big Boy.  Wilson, Norm, and Matt chased the 
train, laughing and hollering in celebration.  As the others enjoyed the victory, William 
watched solemnly as the Big Boy disappeared from sight, leaving Hadleyville behind and inspiring 
a pang of sincere jealousy.  

The walk back to the cars provided time to reflect on the evening's accomplishment.  Wilson
produced cigars from under his sweatshirt and handed them out while reminding that he loved it
when a plan came together.  Everyone was quite pleased.  Even Dom regained his senses enough
to share in the revelry, speaking as though he was there every step of the way.  The excitement
carried over to the parking lot of William's apartment building.  More laughter and pats on the
back were exchanged as they milled around the gravel trying to make the night last.                      
   
"I bet we'll make the papers," boasted Dom.

"I say we all go out tonight and celebrate in style," suggested Wilson.   

"Yeah, c'mon, Billy, we'll all get wrecked," chimed Matthew with delight. 

"No, I can't," answered William calmly.

"Why not?"   

"I won't be around tonight.  I've got something I have to do."

"Like what?"

"Just something.  But you guys go have fun.  Have a good time.  You deserve it."

"Well, okay," conceded Wilson.  "We'll just have to down a few extra ones in your honor."

"You do that."

"Take it easy, Billy," waved Matt as he and Dom split for their car.  Wilson was already behind
the wheel of his when Norm stepped up to say good-bye to William.  They shook hands.

"We made it happen," smiled William.

"Yeah," said Norm with a tinge of disappointment.  

"What's wrong?"

"I'm glad we finally did it, and it's great and all..."  Norm hesitated.  "But now what?"

William's smile grew wider.  "I'm sure you'll think of something."

Norm moseyed back to the van.  Everyone departed in high spirits, waving farewell and honking
their horns for good measure.  William simply stood stoically on the front porch, hands buried in
pockets, and witnessed the scene.  He didn't wave.  He didn't smile.  He merely observed.  

Even after he watched the three vehicles vanish, William stood transfixed in deep thought for
several seconds before finally making a move to the front door.  He knew the time was right.     

He began his ascent.  He was calm, cold, and emotionless, completely at peace.  With his fate
determined, the common worries of man no longer muddled his consciousness.  His mind
seemed to begin operating on a different level.  The world around him was now painfully three-
dimensional.  It was as if reality was cleansed and he was seeing everything, as it truly was, for
the first time.  No detail escaped his awareness, from the individual threads of carpeting that
seemed to stand at attention waiting for the approval of his step, to the grainy texture of the
plaster walls that leapt to meet his touch as he guided himself onward with a probing hand. 
While his senses were heightened and reality never seemed more real, there remained a false
sense of sincerity, as though it was all fake and he could reach out at any moment and tear the
surrounding existence in half like a piece of paper to reveal the grand illusion.  In an odd way,
William never felt more alive.  He always figured it would be like this.  

He proceeded on his deliberate journey and reached the third floor still struggling with his new
vantage point through the doors of perception.  Even with his thoughts floating, William made a
definite effort to avert his eyes away from the door to apartment 3E.  There could be no looking
back.  He entered his apartment and locked the door behind him.  He tossed his flannel and keys
on the couch, both landing perfectly without need of adjustment, and went directly for the final
unused canvas in the corner of the room.  He placed it carefully on the easel, making sure it was
squared and secured.  His movements were very defined.  Every motion was precise and
determined, almost like he was tracing over a picture in his mind that had been created long ago
and practiced over time.  

His workmanlike progression moved him from the easel to the closet door without pause.  He
casually opened it to reveal a few empty wire hangers, the vacuum cleaner, the card table, the
unhooked and battered black phone, and, leaning anxiously in the far rear corner, the brush with
which he'd paint his masterpiece. 

He had spent the previous two years building to this exact moment.  It was his dream, the purest,
most truthful expression of his art.  More importantly, it's how he always wanted his story 
to end.  But for some reason his mind suddenly began to lose its level of focus.  He found 
himself hesitating.  His destiny was within reach yet he remained motionless.  Worse yet, he 
knew why.  

The closet door slammed shut.  William stayed rooted in place, with his hands hanging limp at
his sides and his head heavy with defeat.  No longer off on a plain, his mind was being filled
with common thoughts and common concerns.  Filled with thoughts of her. 

He knew what he had to do.  The realization pained him greatly.  His shoulders sank under the
weight of the decision as he lifelessly reached once more for the closet.  The door open, he
turned a blind eye towards salvation and moved instead for the phone on the floor.  He hoped it
still worked.  

He had a phone call to make.  And an ordinary life to live.   


--- THE END ---