#once the greyhound station was closed for the weekend? so we just had to like wait outside in the cold for three hours and the tracking app

[yusuke-of-valla]

I hate greyhound more than I hate driving I think

#I'm sure it'd be useful if it was good but I've had to deal with #my bus being delayed for like four hours because the drivers can only drive a certain amount of hours and they didn't have enough #twice #the second time I couldn't garuntee my spot on the next bus because they missed my god damn connection and it was almost sold out #once the greyhound station was closed for the weekend? so we just had to like wait outside in the cold for three hours and the tracking app #sucked #AND I can't fucking ride a bus without getting motion sick #which doesn't happen to me on any other form of transportation #Amtrak was great #I just needed them to run more trains so I can get where I need to #Amtrak your perfect we need to give you all a whole bunch of money #this is my annual anti-greyhounf propoaganda

[lucijade]

2019.

Never have I ever lived a year that I felt as though I needed to write about, but I guess there's a first for everything- right? On January first of 2019 I wouldn't have believed you if you told me I'd be where I am now. I was home visiting from college wishing I could tell my parents that I was too anxious to even go to my classes. But I didn’t want to let them down. They were so proud of me for going to college and ‘setting an example for my younger siblings’. So, I didn't. I continued to live that lie and I had accepted my fate. I was sleeping in my younger sisters bed because my room was non existent anymore (my siblings were betting on my old room before I even was accepted into college.) I desperately wanted someone to confide in seeing as I had no friends. And then I met Patrick. From that first swipe I knew something big was coming.

It was like an earthquake that happens before a volcano erupts, I didn't know if that was going to be the whole show or if I should stick around. And let me tell you, am I glad I stuck around. Our first date we broke into a park -the most exhilarating thing I've ever done. Patrick wanted me to see his favorite place but being the workaholic he was, he couldn't catch the park while it was open. Climbing over that fence, I had never felt more right doing something wrong. Normally my anxious self would have laughed at the idea of it but I wanted to look cool for this boy I just met who was so much cooler than me. We sat looking at the ducks as they swam around in the pond. Everytime I heard a noise I’d look all around because I was so sure cops were going to come and take us to jail because we were in a park after close, but I loved it.

The day after our first date, I had to go back to college. Patrick and I texted the entire ride, planning when we would see each other again. First week back to classes, I continued my streak of being too anxious to go to classes. This time instead of hating myself for my anxiety, I had someone to talk to. I spent all my days wishing I was with Patrick and not alone. Then, there was a Greyhound leaving my college town in an hour. I booked it.

I was terrified. Never had I ever taken a public transportation that wasn't a school bus. This feeling of adrenaline manifested in my veins as I downloaded both the Greyhound and Uber apps. I punched my cards’ information into the apps as I haphazardly packed my bag that was bursting at the seams. Greyhound ticket? Bought. Uber? Ordered. I had that same feeling of adrenaline that I had when we were breaking into the park. My moms voice echoed in my head telling me to not meet strangers online. At this moment I decided I’m not telling her, in fact I wasn't going to tell anyone. I know, I could have ended up dead and no one would have known, but I lived to see another day!

I got the notification that the Uber had arrived and I embarked on my journey. The Uber driver and I talked about how this was an unexpected trip and I explained to him how I never do things without a plan. He said to me “yanno, some of the best trips I’ve ever been on were unexpected.” The Greyhound station was scary, I was alone with a six hour ‘layover’. No one knew where I was going besides me and Patrick, I felt like I was on a secret mission. The entire Greyhound trip was not as bad as I made it up to be in my head, it was even (dare I say) pleasant. When I arrived to the town Patrick lived in, we went back to his apartment where he had my favorite things: Hot Cheetos, a green Monster energy drink, and a huge stuffed sloth. He cooked me dinner and we stayed awake all night talking. We did nothing but hang out that entire weekend. It was perfect.

That weekend was only the first of many weekends to come, I would not go to classes, talk to Patrick, then visit him on the weekends and repeat. After about a month of doing this, I decided I was going to drop out of college. I never really wanted to do college in the first place, I was always too scared to say what I wanted. I was scared of hurting other people's feelings, but I decided the debt wasn’t worth sparing someone else's feelings. A couple trips ago, Patrick had mentioned me moving in with him and I decided to take him up on his offer. I booked a one-way Greyhound and I threw my personal belongings in a bag. I decided I was going to surprise patrick. (great idea, I know) I got on the Greyhound knowing damn well I wasn't going to be back anytime soon. The whole time I texted patrick as if I were still in my dorm being miserable. Once I was off of the Greyhound, I ordered an Uber to Patrick's apartment. At this point he was catching on to my suspicious activity. I knock on his door at 9 o’clock at night. And then I just never left.

I was able to experience Patricks town through his lenses. He lived about a 30 minute drive away from where I grew up, so I had been here but I didn't know the ins and outs of the town. He showed me all these amazing food places, including this shawarma place right across the street that we admittedly ate too much of.

Eventually I had to get my horde of things from my dorm in my college town. The drive there is about four hours away from where Patrick lived. Seeing as we had no car, we were going to take a bus to my ex-college town and then U-Haul back down. We almost missed the bus there, we had to run a mile to catch the bus that was leaving in 5 minutes. We barely made the bus, and I was wheezing for a solid hour recuperating from the run. Once we arrived to my ex-college town we got Sonic, which was my guilty pleasure. After a couple corndogs and fries it was off to my old place of living. We quickly packaged all my things and took off. Before the long trek home, we stopped for gas. This is where I scraped and dented the entire side of the Uhaul, sending Patrick and I into a 40,000 dollar panic attack. Luckily, when we returned the U Haul, there were markings of previous damage in that very spot so we didn't end up with that charge. But, I was officially moved into Patricks apartment. It was now our home.

I've always been a self conscious gal when it came to my weight. I was always the heaviest set of all my friends but I always chalked it up to: my whole family was heavy set. Nevermind the bag of hot cheetos and my venti caramel frappuccino with extra caramel on the daily. Or if I was being healthy, a green Monster energy drink. (Yes the green part is important) In March of this year I decided I wasn't going to keep pitying myself, I was going to make a change. The way I looked and how awful I felt wasn’t going to change while I sat on my ass. I cut out all my sugary and snacky addictions right then and there. I started eating healthy and going to the gym. I was extremely serious and even more determined to prove myself wrong. I now occasionally allow myself some hot cheetos and even a coffee when we’re out sometimes. But I made the health decision that I never thought I’d be able to.

When summer time rolled around, I told my mom (keep in mind she thought I was in my college town this whole time) that I was going to move in with Patrick instead of moving home for the summer. She was weary but I didn’t really give her an option.I had to pretend like I was moving down here all over again, but I did it. I couldn't believe my lie has lasted and she still to this day doesn’t know that I was in this city for the first half of 2019. When August rolled around, my family was asking what my plans for the school were, seeing as I had no intention of going back to college. I told them that honestly I had no plans and that I was perfectly content with that. I have interests in many things including photography, videography, and traveling and I was determined to find something I could do in regard to one of those. Haven't gotten there yet but making progress.

This year has been the year of me making my own decisions. My whole life I’ve had long bleach blonde hair. Some time in 2017 I decided that I wanted short hair and bangs, so I told my mom this. As none of you know seeing as this is my first blog post, my mom is a hairdresser. A hairdresser who specialises in long blonde hair. While I was always thankful for getting my hair done for free (a treat some girls would die for) it wasn't fun not having the freedom with my hair that I desired. So, I bought some black box dye and booked a hairdresser appointment. Needless to say, I ended that day with a black bob with bangs. And I felt so cute and independent, not like the carbon copy my mom so wanted me to be.

Moving on with the timeline, Patricks lease was up. We didn't know if we wanted to move to Washington State or stay in this metropolitan city. We decided to stay in this town for now (leaving is a long term goal, just isn't in the cards right now). We moved to this two bedroom apartment which we desperately needed. We needed the space to go through our things and figured out what we had duplicates of and whatnot. Once that got all settled, I set my goals on minimalism, but that's a topic for another time.

I cut people out of my life that I had needed to for too long for my mental health. It was hard, but after doing it I no longer feel as though I carry the burden that was them.

I've grown into the kind of person I’ve always wanted to be this year, me 365 days ago wouldn't have believed you if you told me I was going to be where I am only a short year later. If I’ve learned one this year it is that if you want something, you need to do it. You can't wait for the opportunity to fall into your lap. You are the creator of your own future, so make it and make it sick.

-jay.

[coreygoestoconcerts]

On This Day (9/26): Austin City Limits 2008

Austin City Limits Festival: The Mars Volta / NERD / Patty Griffin / Vampire Weekend / Asleep at the Wheel (09/26/2008; Zilker Park, Austin, TX)

This is the only time I ever attended Austin City Limits, but man what a lineup. Unfortunately, I only got to attend Friday, which I went to for the Mars Volta of course.

I set out early in the morning and took a Greyhound from Houston to Austin. At this time, I didn’t yet have a smartphone, so when I got to Austin, I was basically on my own. I got a cab to go to ACL and off we went. It’s crazy to think how much easier and cheaper this would be now with a phone and Uber.

The first thing I did was scout out where the Mars Volta was playing, and then make my spot at that stage for the rest of the day. If I was gonna pay to see Mars Volta at ACL, I was going to be up close and personal with them, the rest of the festival be damned. I did sneak out once to buy a shirt and use the bathroom, during which thankfully the people next to me who were also camping saved my spot for me.

In retrospect, I happened to catch two really cool things while camped out in that spot. Number one, Vampire Weekend, who were in their infancy at the time and played literally every song they knew before saying “we’re out of songs so we’re gonna play a cover” and then launching into a Paul Simon cover. Though they’ve faded from stardom lately, those guys ended up being huge and I was proud to see them just starting off. The second was NERD, Pharrell Williams’ rap-rock group that got shit from just about everyone back in those days but has somehow grown in esteem over the years thanks to being such a huge influence on guys like Tyler, the Creator. “Everyone Nose” was such a fun festival moment.

But, of course, I was there for the Volta, and holy shit. This was, of the eighteen times I have seen Omar and Cedric before and since, the greatest time I’ve seen them perform in any of their bands. I swear, this performance was just on fire. It’s a shame there are not higher quality videos or recordings out there, but the footage on YouTube by itself is just unbelievable and still doesn’t even capture how great this night was.

As soon as they took the stage, they immediately launched into a THIRTY MINUTE version of “Goliath” that was and still is the greatest version of the song I have ever heard. Unfortunately, only the first 20 minutes is up on YouTube.

After a set consisting of a smattering of new and old songs, like “Viscera Eyes” and “Ouroborous,” they got the cue that they were done. I mean, this set was already a fucking epic length affair, but still they kept going. They launched into “Cygnus... Vismund Cygnus,” and despite Omar repeatedly calling for the jam to end due to off stage threats from the organizers, they just kept playing all the way through a twenty minute version of that song.

I honestly have never seen anything like it. This set was so incredible and holds such a dear place in my heart, especially since the passing of Ikey Owens, who absolute destroys it on the keyboards in that version of “Goliath.” He becomes the star of that video at a certain point. RIP Ikey.

So, of course, it would not be my life without a little added drama, and that happened after the fest. Having already spent over my budget, and still not having a smartphone, I wasn’t in the best position to make it back to the Greyhound station and get home. I had no idea how to get around Austin and I hopped on a random bus, which dropped me off in the middle of downtown with no clue where I was. This would all be easy now, but this was my first time visiting Austin. I didn’t know what was happening around me. I just hopped in a cab and told him to go to the Greyhound station. Once I ran out of money, I told him to just drop me off and I’d walk the rest of the way, but he took me all the way to the station just to be nice. Great guy. Saved my ass. I ended up off on my way the next morning, my ears still ringing from that Volta greatness.

#The Mars Volta #NERD #Pharrell Williams #Patty Griffin #Asleep at the Wheel #Vampire Weekend #Austin City Limits #Austin #Texas #Zilker Park #Corey Goes to Concerts #Omar Rodriguez-Lopez #Ikey Owens #Cedric Bixler-Zavala #At the Drive-In

[b-afterhours]

Sympathy For The Devil: Epilogue

summary: Set in 1978, Bill a young yet accomplish cop takes on the crime in New York City. Nervous yet excited to take on his first big task at his new department and prove himself. He soon finds out his partner is everything he had least expected.

author’s note: this is good and long for the wait! if you’ve made it to this epilogue i couldn’t thank you enough! after thinking on it i decided to continue the Star and Bill’s story thru “one shots” i’ve already have one in the works!! but anyway sit back and enjoy! and thank you for loving this story and Star as much as I do!

also if you’re seeing this for the first time you can read part one HERE and if you need to catch up on previous chapters go HERE.

playlist: Angie - The Rolling Stones and Dedicated to the One I Love - The Mamas & The Papas  

tags: @kikilikes @billieskars @imaginingyournotsolikelyfuture @bskarsgardfilth @itsbillskarsgard @ambeazyyy @the-lonelyon3 @biskarsgards

At the police station in East Harlem, Bill no longer sat at the beat desk in the back of the place but now he was seated right at the front. In a much nicer desk that he arranged to face out so that his back was to the wall and he'd have a view of everyone. His shift was about over, he just needed to double check some police reports he'd let pile up over the week. He was so busy patrolling the streets, that by the time his shift ended, he just wanted to grab a beer and go home to his cat Minx.

"Ay, Bill!" Jason, his partner, said sliding his leather police cap off his head. "I'm out for the day. See you in the morning." He punctuated tapping his knuckles on Bill's desk.

"No drinks tonight?" He said a bit disappointed.

"Nah, sorry. Baby girl is sick with colic." Jason frowned.

"Francis?"

"No, that's my oldest. It's Ruby, the 8-month-old."

"Oh! Right, right..." Bill often zoned out when Jason talked on and on about his kids. He had 3, two girls and a boy in the middle and despite having a near newborn, his wife was already a few months pregnant with a fourth. Bill was one of the first lucky few to hear the news. "Well, then 'til morning. Hope Ruby feels better." Bill gave Jason a little nod while he shuffled his paperwork into a neat pile.

Jaime, the youngest secretary, came in right as Jason passed her at the threshold. She was still very shy and painfully stiff around Bill. She stood with her arms to her side and cleared her throat lightly.

"Uh, are you here for these?" Bill lifted his reports.

"Oh, I can take those." With her feet still planted she awkwardly reached for them and clutched them to her chest. She's weird, Bill thought, but he thanked her. "But I came to tell you, that there is a caller on line three for you."

"Caller? You know who?" Bill said pulling the beige rotary phone on his desk closer to him. He hardly got personal calls to his desk but when he did it was family who he'd given the direct number to.

"No... they said you'd 'know who it is'," she pursed her lips before speaking again. "And they told me to, 'hurry up'."

Bill ran his hand over his mouth to mask his amused expression. "Okay, sorry about that Jaime." He picked up the receiver and hit the third square button flashing red at him. He had an inkling of who it might be calling. "Angela?" He smiled to himself over the fact that he could call her by her real name.

"Christ, what took that girl so long? My break's almost over." She said on the other end of her call. He could hear several dings from a bell in the background and loud chatter. "Bill?"

"Uh yeah. Sorry I should have given you this number too."

"It's no big deal. Are you busy?"

"No, just about to head out."

"Listen, I know we're going out tomorrow and all but could you come to the diner? Um, some lawyers came by earlier and I'm kinda spooked."

"What?" Bill stood out of his seat.

"How do they know where I work? I think they were part of Stan's defense team..."

"Shit... uh, I'll be on the way okay. Don't talk to anyone else."

Bill got into his brown 1977 Oldsmobile Cutlass that he bought lightly used as a late Christmas present to himself. Tossing his police cap on the passenger seat, he glanced down at himself and suddenly felt like a square in his uniform. He turned the keys in the ignition with a huff and shrugged, he was just going to have to deal with it.

Arriving at the diner, he jogged from across the street where he parked. The door chime rang loudly when he walked in. All the waitresses, turned their heads acknowledging the police officer. All, except for Star, who was busy wiping down a booth by the window. He gave the waitresses a polite nod passing them by to meet her. Star looked over when she noticed a tall figure approaching.

"You got here quick," she smiled. "Um sit back there, I'll join you in a second." She pointed at the last booth by the window.

Bill nodded, walking past her to take a seat. He watched as she quickly went around the counter, picking up a coffee pot and a white mug. Swiftly, she approached him setting down the mug and filling it up, letting the caffeine pour to a long trail of nothing as she lifted the pot upright. She walked off with a wink to set the bill on her last table of the evening. The table was full of rowdy, college-aged men, they quieted when she approached only snickering amongst each other. A blonde haired boy collected the money from his friends and handed it to Star.

"You give this to the cashier," she set the money on the table.

The blonde looked at her with a sly smirk on as he sneakily ran his hand up her thigh to meet her bottom. Watching the exchange Bill jerked in his seat. Before he could slide out of his booth, Star snatched the boy's hand away; his index finger in her grip, ripping it back harshly. The boy winced, biting his bottom lip to keep from yelping. Star reached for a five dollar bill from their pile of cash and crumpled it tightly in her hand.

"That costs boy," she smirked, pushing his hand out of her grip. The rest of the boys sat back in shock, speechless at what had happened to their friend while he sat red in the face in embarrassment. She stared them down. "Now, you pay with Tammy. Over there." She pointed at the gray-haired waitress gnawing on a piece of gum.

Star turned on her heels and saw that Bill wasn't too pleased with what he saw. She rolled her eyes and slid into the seat in front of him, tucking the crumpled five dollar bill in her bra.

"I'm fine," she spoke before he could say anything. "It doesn't happen a lot. They're just stupid kids."

Bill sighed, shaking his head. "Well, I don't like it." He said still having to let her know.

"Are you hungry?" She changed the subject. "We've got a thing called a garbage plate, it's actually good despite the name," she lightly laughed, waving one of her fellow waitresses over. "So these lawyers that came by," she said turning to him after placing her order, "have any of them come to you or anything?"

"No," he sipped his coffee. "Um, I've heard things about Stan and even Randi from Pat but no goon type lawyers have come to see me."

"Shit..." she sighed. "How did they find me? I don't even have my studio lease in my name?"

"You have a studio?" He said happy knowing she had found a proper place for herself. Star responded with a proud nod. "You didn't tell these guys anything right?"

Star scoffed. "Of course not! I know my rights. I've been to jail so many times I can recite the Miranda rights myself. I just played dumb." She laughed.

"Good." Bill nodded. "I'll poke around, maybe get some info on what's going on at the station tomorrow morning? I can't promise anything but I'll try," he took a sip of his black coffee.

"Alright, thanks," she relaxed in her seat.

"I won't let anything happen to you. I promised you that, remember?" Bill reached for her hand and she quickly pulled away. He winced at the rejection.

"Sorry, they could be watching..." she glanced out the window overseeing the street.

"I'm already here, Angela. And they have nothin' on us anyway."

She slid her hand back lacing her small fingers between his fingers. She looked at their clasped hands, she couldn't believe that he was back in her life again. She missed him the very second she left his apartment that day in late November. She took all her things to the greyhound station waiting in the long line of people trying to leave the city the weekend after Thanksgiving. She stood for an hour and once she was right at the ticket booth, she froze. The old man behind the thin iron bars looking at her strangely when she didn't respond to his greeting.

"I said, where to Miss?" He asked her again.

She stood shaking her head as her eyes teared up. "I-I can't..." she choked out before bolting off.

She stowed away the rest of that evening in a small biker bar until close. She felt stupid. Crying to herself when she was too drunk to drink anymore. Everyone gave her strange glares but thankfully avoided her corner of the bar. For a second she contemplated whether she should go back to Bill's apartment but she thought better of it. He would probably be angry with her, though she knew deep down he wouldn't have been mad at all. It was better for her to stay away for her sake since the night before when they kissed she just didn't feel the same... Instead, she walked back to the bus station just to crash for the night. Never in her life, had she felt what he had her feel. And it terrified her.

The waitress set the large steaming plate of hash, eggs, bacon and sausage and cheese before them. She gave Bill's hand a squeeze before letting go.

"It doesn't look too pretty but I swear it's good," Star said handing him some rolled silverware. "If you put syrup on it, it's way better."

The plate was big enough to feed both of them. Yet Bill was left to finish it off when Star was too full to eat anymore.

"Kinda, shitty, huh?" She said talking out loud.

"No, the food's really good," he said with a full mouth, shoveling the last bite in.

"Oh, not the food... Just, we come back around and all the bullshit came right back with it. I'm bad luck," she frowned.

"You're not bad luck. It was bound to happen, just didn't think it would be so soon. We're gonna have to get lawyers soon too, ya know."

Star sighed. "I work as CI and assume I'd never have to see a courtroom again after..." she shook her head and suddenly yawned.

"Long shift?"

"I worked a double today," she shrugged. "Switched shifts so I could go out with you tomorrow... Don't go lookin' sorry for me," she lightly laughed.

"I wasn't feeling sorry?" He wiped his mouth with a crumpled paper napkin.

"You don't have a very good poker face."

He chuckled. "Well, that explains why I always lose at Jason's poker nights." He laughed. "I, uh, can I give you a ride home? I have a car now," he didn't want to sound too eager but he was.

"Please? My feet are killing me."

Star didn't live too far, just a few blocks over from the diner. Bill couldn't help but scope out the neighborhood, it was a bit rough and he didn't like that on normal evenings she walked home alone. Star pointed out her building to the right of them and he pulled over.

"Uh, I'd invite you in but I really need to clean first. Trust me. And it's a studio so it's super small anyway..." she said quickly barreling out her excuses.

"It's fine," he reached passed her and pushed the car door open. "I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"

"7:30?" She double checked. Bill answered with a nod. "If you have to call me, remember the number I gave you is my neighbors and you kinda gotta talk loud, she's old and hard of hearing and if I'm not home then-"

"Then call the diner," he finished for her, "I got it," he smiled, reaching for her hand and planting a gentle kiss on the back of it. "Goodnight, Angela." ...

That morning at the station, Jason was telling Bill all about the night he had with his youngest daughter Ruby and dealing with her colic. Bill still had no idea what colic was exactly but with what Jason was telling him it sounded like a nightmare. Jaime came hustling her short legs toward them with an aluminum wrapped muffin tray just before they walked out the building.

"I almost forgot!" Jaime said out of breath. "Th-these were left for you this morning." She said passing the tray off to Bill. "And this," handing him a folded sheet of notebook paper. Bill flipped the paper open with his free hand and began to read:

"Good morning, B'. Enjoy my blueberry muffins. See you tonight. XOXO."

It was signed with her signature drawn star with A.E. in the middle. It even smelled of rose perfume. He smiled big, pulling the foil off the tin, and the scent of the sweet muffins hits him. He realized then, her messy studio was just a lame excuse, she had planned to bake these after work.

"Who are these from?" Jason said when Bill handed the tray to him when they finally got in the cruiser. "You got a honey, you've been keepin' from me?" He handed Bill a muffin before biting into his. "Fuck this is good," he said with a full mouth, crumbs coating his dark mustache.

Bill took a bite, his teeth breaking through the sugar crystal crust and into the moist, sweet blueberry muffin. It was incredibly good, actually. He was smiling to himself the whole time he chewed.

"So? Who's this A.E.," Jason said looking at the note. "See you tonight. XO. XO." He read, wagging his brows at Bill.

"Gimme that," Bill playfully snatched the note from Jason. "She's my friend." He said putting the uneaten half of his muffin back in the tin tray.

"Just a friend?" He pressed. "You know how early your friend has to be at the station, for you not to spot her?"

"She's... we're talkin', I guess." He said putting the cruisers gear in drive.

"Talking's good. Now, you don't want to go on getting tied down, just warning ya. You're too young."

Bill flashed him a puzzled glance. "Aren't you only a year older than me?"

"Yeah..."

"You're married and your wife is pregnant with your fourth kid?"

"Exactly, why you should heed my warning!" He wagged a finger but digressed. "But anyway, where'd you meet your friend A.E.? These muffins are really fresh and sweet, so she must be too, right?" He said holding the last bit of muffin up and tossing it in his mouth.

"She is. Uh, we met here at work," Bill bit his lip.

"Oh, was she a secretary before the turn over?" Jason asked as he looked out his window watching the foot traffic blur by as Bill drove.

"Ah, no... met her while I was doing undercover work."

Jason turned his attention back to him with a raised brow. "Met her at a disco or something?"

"No. She was, uh, she was my CI..." He glanced over at Jason, nervously chewing his lip.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Well... opposites attract right?" He patted Bill's shoulder and left it at that. ...

At 7:20, Bill parked in front of Star's complex, checking his hair in the rearview mirror while he smoked. He was almost late, having trouble with what to wear until he was reminded of the time and forced himself out his apartment. He settled on dark wash jeans and a white button up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Also unbuttoned showing a bit of his bare chest and the thin gold chain he religiously wore underneath his clothing.

Star came hustling out the front door of her building. Bill could faintly hear an arguing couple and a child's crying just before the door closed behind her, silencing it. He flicked his cigarette away as he swiftly stepped out of his car to meet her on the sidewalk. She was wearing a little black dress with black velvet thigh high heels.

"Hey, you look great," Bill smiled, putting a hand on her shoulder ushering her to the passenger door.

"Aww, did I overdress?" She turned her head noticing how casual he had dressed. "You said it was an Italian restaurant, you made it sound fancy..."

"It's a mom and pop place but it's popular. And I-I think I'm underdressed. You look wonderful." He leaned down to open the passenger door. "Now c'mon, the place fills up fast," he put a hand on the small of her back guiding her in.

There was a short line out the little hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant when they arrived. Bill was walking back to Star with his police jacket in hand while she held their spot in line under the awning. It was a slightly chilly out for the beginning of March. He draped the jacket over her and rubbed between her shoulders. Star giggled to herself as she pulled the oversized jacket tightly around herself.

"What?" Bill with a chuckle, wanting in on whatever was amusing her.

"I'm usually in police cuffs," she laughed, "not jackets."

He smirked, his dimple appearing. "I hope my jacket is a lot warmer."

"Definitely," she leaned into his side.

Shortly, they were seated in the back of the dim restaurant that smelled of garlic and rosemary and fresh bread. It felt homey. An authentic piece of Italy hidden right in New York City. Sourdough baby baguettes were set before them on the white cloth covered table. Their waiter handed them paper menu's and just before he could hustle off Bill ordered two glasses of white wine.

"What's good?" Star asked perusing her menu. "Have you been here before?"

Bill puffed his bottom lip out and shook his head. "Nah, uh Pat told me about this place."

"Do you talk to Pat about me?" She smirked.

"Uh... sorta? Is, is that weird?"

"Nope," she lightly shrugged. "Just weird that you're basically best friends with an old broad."

"Yeah, well, Pat's alright. I'm still trying to convince her to go out for drinks. You think it'll happen one day?" He playfully winked.

"Christ," she bit her lip to keep from laughing and entertaining his sarcasm. "I knew you had a crush on her. Any other broads I should know about?" She went back to looking at her menu.

"Nah... no," he nervously bit his lip.

"Don't lie..." she peered from atop her menu. A glimmer of curiosity and friskiness in her eyes. "I'm sure girls panties just drop seeing a tall handsome fella like you patrolling in your uniform."

"Excuse me?" He said with a laugh. "Panties dropping? For an NYPD pig? Don't think so." He tore a piece of the small baguette and dipped it into the olive oil and balsamic vinaigrette that accompanied it. "I had a run in from the bar but I, it never went anywhere. One night stand thing," he shrugged. "Only once."

"That's absolutely filthy of you, B'." She facetiously joked. "Can't believe you," she smirked.

"And you, you're a beautiful lady? Uh, I mean, may I ask?"

She set her menu down, suddenly becoming serious and near unreadable as she sat up in her seat. "Not a single soul." She said looking him square in the eyes. "Did you figure out what you want? I think I did." She clasped her hands together, changing the subject.

Bill didn't know how to take her stoic response but he knew how she loved to change the subject when she felt the spotlight on her. It made her uncomfortable. And for some reason, he felt like he was back to square one with her despite everything.

"I'm getting the shrimp alfredo," she pointed on his menu.

Bill's attention finally fell on the menu he barely looked through. "Uh yeah, I'll get the lasagna." It was an easy choice and the first he had noticed. Bill called the waiter over to order and only began speaking once he left. "Uh, did I say something wrong, Angela?" He nervously scratched his neck.

"Huh? No, not at all," she shook her head and reached for his hand on the table. "Relax," she said softly, "I'd let you know if you said something I didn't like."

"But will you, really?"

"Do you know me or not?" She tilted her head. "We just have some catching up, is all."

"Right, right," he nodded.

They ate the delicious Italian dishes with their wine. They even switched plates for a moment to try each other's food. Bill was glad Pat didn't let him down with her recommendation of the place. If only she knew, who he had planned on accompanying him. Lord knows she tried to press him for details but he didn't budge. Star sat back in her seat absolutely stuffed, she hadn't eaten outside the diner since she started working there a few months ago. Her meals were discounted so it was convenient. Bill paid the tab and quickly glanced at his wrist watch, it was almost 10:30 and the movie he had planned to take her to was scheduled at ten on the dot. He was out of moves for the night.

Bill was driving Star back to her place. They sat listening to a Hollies song playing on his car radio, passing a cigarette back and forth. Despite Star's cheery attitude singing along to the radio, Bill felt like the whole date had been a disaster. They missed the movie. And he felt stupid for even thinking it was okay to ask Star if she had been with anyone. He definitely blew it. Bill finally parked right in front of the buildings' door.

"Um, would you like to come up?" Star asked shyly. "You don't have to stay but I'd like to show ya?"

Bill followed her in, hoping this was his chance to end the night on a better note. The walls in the main hallway were painted a dingy yellow color or maybe they were nicotine stained, Bill wasn't so sure. Random yelling and noises came from various rooms as they walked to the graffitied elevator at the end of the corridor.

"Did you get those muffins?" Star asked him after hitting the button for the 19th floor; she lived just below the very top. "Big Ol' Stacy didn't get to them did she?"

"Oh Stacy doesn't work at the station anymore," he chuckled, "But yeah I got them, thank you. They were really good, incredible. Even my partner Jason liked them."

"Is he nice?" She wondered. The only nice cop she ever met was Bill.

"Yeah, good family man. Uh, there is a bit to catch up on, the station nearly had a whole staff change." The elevators opened with an unsettling creak onto Star floor.

"This way," she pulled on this shirt so he'd follow, going left. Her floor was by far a lot quieter than the main floor. Almost eerily quiet. "Old folks live on this floor," she said digging in her small purse for her keys. "I don't know why but I like it. They mind their business for the most part," she stopped at her door, 19G. "It's just a studio," she looked up at him before opening the door.

She was nervous inviting Bill into her home. But he had been so inviting and generous with his apartment she felt it was only right. Besides, she knew he was curious since mentioning it last night. She didn't have much. She was lucky to have collected all the furniture she had acquired so far. She bought a full sized bed and box spring, used, but in decent condition. The bed frame was still leaning against the wall right by, she hadn't had time to set it up. And also she was worried about breaking a nail. Right next to the bed frame was an orange suede recliner she had decorated with a white crochet throw. Nothing she owned matched yet she got it to work together somehow.

"This is it," she shrugged. "I'm gonna get out of this dress. Go and get comfortable. The radio is right by the window." She pointed out.

Star ducked off into the small bathroom leaving Bill alone. He slowly walked over to the radio set on a little card table and hunched down tuning dial back and forth until he could find a song he could live with. He took a seat on the edge Star's bed while the piano jazz he settled on softly played. He looked around the place, bored with waiting, fidgeting with his hands between his knees feeling awkward. There wasn't anything covering the walls but the huge cloth tapestry tacked at the head of her bed. Star emerged from the bathroom in a black slip dress and an oversized thick red flannel over it. She was wearing long tube socks bunched at her ankles that were recognizably his.

Star put a hand on his cheek letting it glide off as she walked around him to her nightstand, pulling out a half-smoked joint and a lighter from the drawer. She walked to the window by the radio and tugged it open, she stuck her head out, and then looked back at Bill.

"C'mon," she nudged her head, a playful look in her eyes.

Bill watched her crawl out the window and on to the fire escape platform. Star could easily fit through but he had a whole foot of height on her. He stuck his head out first and met Star's amusement as she watched him shimmy his long limbs through the window. Finally, on the platform, he sat with his back to the stairs, his legs right behind her while her's were between the bars swinging back and forth several stories high.

She lit her joint, taking a puff and slowly sighing the smoke out. She had a lovely view of the iconic skyscrapers of Manhattan, they looked a lot less daunting from Harlem. The city looked beautiful at night almost peaceful if it weren't for the various sirens and clatter of bins and screeching alley cats.

"Sorry about the movie," Bill said looking at how the moon lined her nose and plump lips in silver and created shadows of her mascara-coated lashes on her cheeks.

She turned her head. "We'll see it another time. I heard The Deer Hunter is really good so we gotta." She held out her joint to him. "I'm only offering to be polite."

Bill took the joint between her fingers and took a puff without hesitation. He hadn't smoked grass since grade school. A devious smile tugged at Star's lips as he blew a thin trail of smoke above her head.

"You still wanna go out with me?" He asked passing the joint back.

"Yes..." she stubbed the joint out on the rail. "Why wouldn't I?" Her brows furrowed at his question.

"Y-you left... I thought maybe you felt sorry for me and that's why you agreed to go out?"

"Bill no..." she frowned. "I missed you."

"You knew where I lived?"

She lowered her head. He had every right to be upset with her. "I know. I was scared... And I'm confused... w-why do you like me, Bill?" She looked back up at him. "I'm not that great? I'm just an ex-hooker turn waitress. I'm going nowhere?"

"Stop that," he closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head. "I don't like when you talk about yourself like you're nothing. Like you couldn't possibly mean nothing. What you did and what you do now, you shouldn't feel ashamed of. You're a good girl, Angie. I like you because you're honest, and you care, and you have so much courage and you're real. You don't fake anything. Me," he pointed at his chest, "I'm a big faker. I got my uniform and everything but I fuckin' hate being a cop. It's bullshit."

"Oh don't say that. You love being a cop, B'. You're really good at it."

"Fuck the cop shit," he waved off. "Don't skim over what I said about you... d-do you even like me? Or..."

Star slid her legs from between the bars, Bill moved his from behind her and bent them. She looked like she was about to leave him making him regret his words towards her. Until she scooted closer to him, sitting in between his bent knees.

"I do. I like you. I'm sorry for leaving like I did... Like I said, I was scared," she chewed on her lip.

"But why were scared?"

"Because I... no one," she sighed, having trouble finding her words, "I don't meet a lot of nice guys you know. If I do, they certainly don't like me. You know what kinda guys I've dealt with, it's really fucked with my head." She pointed at her temple. "I've had a lot of time to think on it... about what I used to do and why I left you, 'cause at the time I didn't know. Not really... I just, I just feel gross? And then, Stan," she shook her head and swallowed the lump forming in her throat. "I'm so disgusted with myself." She turned away for a moment, blinking rapidly to keep her tears at bay. "I like you, Bill. Like a lot! But you don't want someone like me."

"Stop. Stop it. You're not gross or disgusting," he reached for her hand and held it tightly. "I don't see you that way. But it doesn't matter what I think, I want you to see that you're not either. It's important to me. I'll do whatever so that you can know how amazing you are," he sweetly swept a dark lock of her hair behind her ear. "I know it's silly to have these feelings so fast but I couldn't help it and I couldn't shake them. And then I saw you again and just knowing that you were okay and well... that alone made me so happy."

Star nodded feeling so loved and appreciated. It was something she hadn't felt and she never realized how, so desperately she needed it. "If-if we do this..." she nervously stammered, "we have, we have to do it slowly. Is that okay?"

"That's fine. I just don't want you to leave again," he said earnestly, he couldn't take it if she did. "Whatever you need me to do, I'll do it."

"Okay... 'cause, sometimes people touchin' me freaks me out, I don't know," she shook her head feeling embarrassed. She hated being vulnerable but she also had to remind herself that her words were safe with him. "Like that kid, I was able to handle it 'cause I knew you were there. Other days, I run off to the kitchen and lock myself in the walk-in freezer to calm down. Until I'm me again, you know. It really doesn't happen a lot but when it does it's bad."

Bill nodded understandingly. "Just tell me, what's okay and what's not. Please."

"Well, kissing is okay. I kissed you the day when I saw you again," a soft smile curved from her lips. "I even surprised myself, I just needed to do it."

"And holding your hand?" He said rubbing his thumb on the back of her hand that he was holding.

"Yes," she giggled.

"I'll let you take the lead with whatever, okay? I won't put hands on you unless you ask."

"Sounds fair. You don't have to treat me like I'm fragile, though. I don't get those icky feelings with you. I feel safe. I'll let you know, okay?"

"Okay," he smiled.

"Uh, would you like to stay with me tonight? Unless you've got something in the morning that's fine?"

"I wanna stay." He reached for her head running his hand through her dark hair. "Can I?" He asked. She nodded her head cradled in his hands. He planted a tender kiss on her forehead, trailing them down her nose and finally connecting their lips.

It felt like the first time all over again. Back in his bedroom when things were all right in the world. Before she left. She threw her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, kissing him back longingly. Making up for lost time. At that moment, nothing else existed. Not who they were or what they had been through. And no one around to place judgment on the fact that they had chosen each other. Opposites... Though they were equals in each other's eyes. They were people living in the beat of their own drum in the city that never sleeps. Bill held her tightly as she rested her head on his chest, taking in his warmth. His heart happy with knowing she wasn't going anywhere this time.

#bill skarsgard #my bill writings #70s bill

[you-can-find-me-in-the-library]

Blood, Guts, and Gummy Bears: A Fake AH Crew Origin Story

Summary: When Geoff left home at the age of 18, he didn’t expect to find a family. But as he quickly learns, life may not always give what you want, but you’ll always wind up with exactly what you need.

Word count: 3,852

Read it on Ao3!

Chapter 2: The First Heist

It should be noted that the first thing Geoff and Jack ever did together was morally questionable.

In fact, from the moment that Geoff had decided to get on that bus with Jack, every decision from hereon out was sort of thrown under the “morally questionable” umbrella.

He was just coming to terms with the fact that he was about to attempt to leave the state with his very pathetic rations (which, it was worth noting, were quickly depleting) when Jack grabbed his hand suddenly.

“Bus is here.”

Geoff glanced out the window and saw an old Greyhound wheeze to a stop in front of the station, the engine sputtering out protests long after the bus had been parked. A man about as old as the bus itself came out of the doors, stretching his limbs out meticulously before coming inside the station itself. No passengers exited the bus, meaning that this was either a pitstop nobody needed or it was completely empty.  

The man wandered into the station, giving them both a polite nod before heading over to the guy behind the counter. Jack was rigid beside him, waiting several long moment of boring conversation before giving Geoff’s hand a squeeze.

Almost like they had been doing it all their life, they both stood, heading outside the station while the driver was distracted. The air was still muggy and thick, Geoff’s legs considerably wobbly from the amount of exercise he’d done. Jack seemed to be watching him intently, sizing up the bus before giving a slight hum. “Here. Take the ticket. I want you to sit.”

“Sorry?”

Jack sighed through her nose a little, pulling the ticket out of her pocket and shoving it at him. “The ticket. I want you to take the ticket. Pretend to be me. It says Jack on it. You’re a dude, you’ll pass as a Jack. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Geoff wanted to protest, but before he had the chance to, Jack was shoving him up onto the bus. He stumbled down the entirely empty aisle, picking a seat in the mid-back to collapse in. His body thanked him with a rush of dopamine, sighing deeply and closing his eyes. Man, he was fucking tired. He held back a yawn, tucking his legs up to his chest and blinking the bleariness from his eyes. The AC was on, much quieter than inside the bus station, and the comfort was so lulling he could have fallen asleep right then and there. Geoff shook the drowsiness off just as he heard a girl wailing, sobbing so hard her words meshed together into unidentifiable syllables. He sat up and glanced out the window, seeing that it was Jack losing her shit outside to the bus driver, wiping her face on her sleeve. The driver was attempting to calm her, seemingly startled by her outburst. She inhaled deeply, lower lip quivering pathetically.

“I’m...I’m really s-sorry it’s just...m-my boyfriend and I were supposed t-t-to elope this weekend but I l-lost my ticket and I d-don’t have the money for another one.”

Boyfriend? What kind of shit was she on about?

With a start, he looked down at his ticket and realized that he was, in fact, the boyfriend.

Yikes.

The bus driver seemed to be talking slow and calm, deciding after a few more long minutes of sobbing on Jack part that she could board the bus without a ticket. She threw her arms around him and thanked him profusely, bounding up the stairs of the bus with a grin so wide it was almost terrifying.

She was really selling the teenager in love shtick, settling in right beside Geoff to hold his hand and lean on his shoulder. He tried not to show any physical surprise at the gesture, but instead made a small noise that could be anything. They sat like that for what could have only been a few minutes as the driver began to settle back in, but managed to feel like hours. Jack leaned up into his ear, sending shivers down his back.

“Hey, boyfriend. Don’t be so nervous, you look like you’re about to cry,” she teased, lips curling into a smile. Geoff gave her hand a squeeze and leaned in, teeth worrying away at the inside of his lip.

“I’m fine. I’m more amazed that you managed to get us both on here with just one ticket, really.”

Jack could tell Geoff was anxious by the way he struggled to meet her eyes, but chose to ignore it. If he wanted to talk about it, he would. She nudged his shoulder instead, taking the compliment easily.

“Thanks. It’s sort of my motif. You should try to get some rest, the drive is long.”

“How long is long?”

“Nine hours, if the traffic is good.”

Geoff nodded and leaned his head on the seat, head cocked towards Jack to keep up the couples facade. He stretched his legs out as he felt the drowsiness from earlier sink back into his bones. He heard a soft hum from beside him as Jack curled up to his side, their hands still interlocked. The little nagging thought from before swam to the front of his conscious, but Geoff was fading fast.

Just before he fell asleep, the thought took hold.

He and Jack were all they had right now. He was leaving behind everything he had ever known to presumably start a new life in Dallas. He was eighteen years old and starting an entirely new life with a girl he had just met.

And he was okay with it.

Geoff squinted his eyes as bright lights woke him up, breaking through his dream. He groaned quietly and rubbed his eyes, feeling extremely groggy. He just needed five more minutes of sleep, just five more minutes to get his thoughts together. The dream he had been having was so amazing, too. He could already hear his mother yelling at him for sleeping in too late again, her voice nettling into his peaceful state until he was grumpily sipping coffee and heading off to work at the supermarket down the street. There, he’d stock shelves until noon, get his lunch break, and go back to it until about three. He’d come home, take a nap, play some video games, take a break to eat before playing some more games, and pass out way too late, only to do the whole thing over again tomorrow.

His routine absolutely sucked dick.

Geoff grunted, reaching behind his head to grab a pillow to shove onto his face for some peace. His hands found no pillow; instead, they grabbed a headrest that refused to move. He stopped cold, eyes shooting open as he looked around.

Holy shit, he was on the bus.

He looked to his left and saw Jack sleeping peacefully beside him, hair frizzing out of the pony tail she’d left in it the night before. In this light, he could really see all her freckles, dotting her face with a million tiny constellations. Her mouth was slightly ajar, and she was snoring lightly as the bus lurched on to Dallas.

Geoff did his best to sit up with Jack snoring against him, seeing two new faces towards the front of the bus. He glanced at his watch, realizing after a second too long that it was already seven in the morning. They still had about two hours to go before they reached their stop, and that was if the traffic was good. He settled back into his seat, Jack curling up against him tight. He saw that their hands were still met in the middle, letting his fingers tighten just a little as he attempting to wrap his head around what the fuck was happening.

As far as he knew, he was headed to Dallas, Texas on a bus with a strange girl named Jack. But after that, he had no damn clue.

He had made the assumption that he and Jack would be staying together, but maybe that was irrational thinking. He would have to ask her when she woke up what her plans were, and if they could include him at all. What was he going to do if she said no? Would he try to make it out here, or use this little spur-of-the-moment to teach him a life lesson and head back to his mother with his tail between his legs?

Thinking about Alabama made his stomach churn. He could not go back, no matter how bad things got. He had made a stand and he was going to stick to it, no matter how hard that might be. He began to worry away at his inner lip again, brain churning out possibility after possibility with no solid answer until Jack stirred awake. She blinked her eyes and sat up, stretching out her bones with audible pops. She scrunched her face as her body tensed before relaxing it all at once, meeting Geoff’s eyes with a smile.

“Good morning. I’m glad you’re still here, I was sort of worried you’d have left at a stop somewhere while I was sleeping.”

Geoff smiled a bit, shaking his head.

“No, I’m still here. We’re getting hitched, remember?”

Jack laughed, yawning a bit as she looked at the time on her own watch with a soft whistle.

“Damn, we still have an hour and a half to go before we get off.”

“That’s enough time to formulate a plan.”

Jack’s lower lip came out slightly as she tilted her head, nodding after a moment of thought before turning in her seat to him. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and sat forward, taking her hand out of his to fold them in her lap.

“I have a brief plan. It’s not...you know, it’s not the best but it’s something. For sure.”

“Hit me with it.”

Jack tucked her loose hair behind her ear, and looked nervous for the first time since they’d started this. Geoff turned to face her, eyebrows creased. There was silence, thick and heavy, that fell between them for several long moments.

“Okay, don’t be angry. Please.”

“Okay.”

“Well...I sort of have a job set up. In Dallas. And I figured that you’d maybe be able to help me with it.”

A job set up. Goosebumps rose on the back of his neck, and a weird feeling settled in his stomach. That could not be good.

“What kind of job?” he asked in spite of himself, voice timid.

Jack wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“I’m supposed to hit up a store in Dallas. A small convenience store. It’s gonna have between $1,200 and 1,500. If we pull off the job we get a 50% cut.”

Geoff’s head began to spin a little, watching Jack’s fingers fiddle anxiously in her lap. She knew this sounded crazy. She had to. They were going to rob a store? Was she absolutely insane?

“Jack…” he started slowly, watching her face carefully. She jumped in right away, anxiety laced into her voice.

“I know, I know it sounds weird. But my cousin works for a small...gang, kind of. In Dallas. And he told me he could help me find work until I was up on my feet. And it’s not ideal by any means but it would get us $700 dollars to start us off, and we could figure out what we wanted to do then. If we do this well they could hire us for bigger jobs, just until we figure out what we’re doing. I’m not a college girl, Geoff. I’m not going to find my career without a little dirty work on the side. You don’t...you don’t have to do this with me, but I’d love it if you would.”

Jack wanted to stay with Geoff.

She had family out here that was offering her work and she still wanted him to tag along. To do this with him. He inhaled shakily and rubbed at his face. Adrenaline began to pound through his veins, swimming his brain.

“How would we even do this?”

“It’s really easy,” she promised, relief flooding her system as her eyes lit up. “The guy who works there is old. We wouldn’t even have to like...kill him, or whatever. We just show up, look scary, rob the place and split. Easy $700.”

Geoff was annoyed by how easy it all sounded. Just fucking rob a place! He wanted to scream, to yell, to tell this stranger that he was not getting involved with her illegal shit. That’s what a sensible human being would do, and he knew that.

But the thought floated to the surface again.

This girl was really all he had. And she had a level head, that much he was very sure. She could very easily handle herself, and he had chosen to get on her ride. Was it safe? No, not at all.

But maybe that’s why he liked it so much.

It was a break from the routine. He wasn’t going to work at the grocery store in an hour, a travel mug of lukewarm coffee as his only means of motivation. He wasn’t going to stack endless apples and bananas and oranges and pears until his eyes were sore from looking at them. He wasn’t going to go home and play video games for hours on end, numbing his brain until he passed out or gave into the hunger. He would be doing something. It was an illegal something, but it was a something all the same. And $700 bucks...

He gave a sigh and rubbed his eyes.

“If I agree to this….I have the right to pull out whenever I want.”

Jack nodded her head and grinned.

“Baby, if you agree, you don’t even have to call me first.”

By the time they got off the bus at nine, accepting congrats from the driver for their soon-to-be-wedding, they had officially become partners in crime.

Retrospect was everything. Geoff had learned that pretty quickly. Having the ability to look back at your mistakes and your successes was how you made it in this businesses. It was a blessing, really; some folks never got the chance to look back, because of pure stubbornness or a bullet to the brain. Either way was tragic.

The pair had been holed up in a hotel for three days. They were under strict instruction to leave only when told to leave, and when they did leave they were allowed to check out the convenience store, and only the convenience store. Milling around Dallas and having their faces seen was not a viable option, apparently. He and Jack had bought so many snacks from there at this point that they frequently joked about how they were essentially robbing themselves.

There was a distinct edge, however. An edge that wasn’t easily shaken off. He and Jack were rather quiet to each other; sometimes they would speak to make things feel more normal, but the tenseness was so heavy it was hard not to give into the silence it demanded. When they did talk, however, they learned a lot about each other.

Geoff learned Jack was an only child, like him. He learned that she loved Mexican food more than almost anything else. He learned that she loved the color red, and she owned seven Hawaiian shirts that all fit conveniently into a backpack. She didn’t really like makeup very much, but when she found the motivation she was rather good at it. She sucked at playing cards, however, and didn’t mind gummy bears.

Jack learned that Geoff loved gummy bears more than any other candy. He ate them by the dozens as a small child, and would trade his Halloween candy expertly to gain a stash of them to be rationed until Christmas. She learned that he was really good at playing cards, and never minded playing with someone who absolutely sucked. He was fairly quiet at first, but talked easily when comfortable. He loved to sing in the shower and really liked to read.

Looking back on it now, this connection was what had held them so strong when the heist had gone wrong.

They headed down the block just before close on a Tuesday. The sun had sunk behind the sky, leaving long shadows behind them as they walked. Dallas was just as sticky as Alabama, and the familiar feeling of humidity was the only sort of comfort Geoff got. A day previous, Jack’s cousin had swung by the hotel for a brief overview of what they were supposed to be doing. The plan was simple; get in, scare the guy, get the money and run to the safehouse. No blood, no horrific accidents. A clean job with a clean result. They’d each been given a handgun so they’d be taken semi-seriously, but Geoff suspected it would be hard to fear two teenagers, even with firearms.

The guns did make everything feel much more real, which would explain the tight ball Geoff’s guts had become as they walked together in silence.

Jack looked about as good as Geoff felt.  She kept adjusting her bag with the gun inside on her shoulder, eyes darting around anxiously. They had checked out of the hotel just an hour before, keeping the interactions with the hotel employees minimal to eliminate witnesses. Geoff’s hands were sweaty, and he wanted nothing more than to back out of this fucking thing. He was just remembering that he had been granted the right to do so when Jack grabbed him suddenly and yanked him back into an alley, pushing him against the wall. They stared at each other, chests heaving with nerves.

“We’re gonna get out of this.”

Her voice was shaking, and she looked terrified. Her hair was tied back tight, her eyes focused on his face intently. She needed him to get through this. Any thought of leaving evaporated, and he gave her a nod, his own voice coming out rougher than intended.

“We’re gonna get out of this.”

They stood like that, holding hands and comforting one another silently. They were both young and scared, with nowhere to go but with the other. This was going to help set them up, they had discussed it. It was their start-up cash; it would feed them and clothe them and house them until they could do it on their own, until they had stable jobs and steady income to make life easy.

Geoff and Jack headed out  five minutes before the store was supposed to close, leaving the alley with faces so placid they could have just been discussing the weather. Jack shouldered the convenience store door and slipped inside, noticing with relief that the place was empty except for the clerk. A fan hummed loudly above, spinning the hot air around so it wasn’t so pressing. The fridges lined against the walls buzzed noisily, begging customers to buy cold drinks.

Jack knew something was off by the fact that the clerk was a young guy, no older than 22. He wasn’t paying attention to them; he was busy reading some magazine, flipping through the pages aimlessly. She glanced at Geoff, who was pale and clearly trying not to puke. Johnny had told them the guy was going to be older, hadn’t he? She had distinctly remembered the phone call she’d gotten back in Alabama. The guy was supposed to be in his 60’s and partially blind. This clearly wasn’t their guy. Something was wrong.

Before she could think to stop the robbery, Geoff had his gun out. It was now or never.

The rest happened sort of fast. The details are still debated to this day.

Jack’s memory goes as follows:

She grabbed her gun from her bag and aimed it at the clerk. Geoff threatened the guy with something along the lines of “put the money in the bag and no one gets hurt”. Jack remembered that the gun was heavy in her hands, and the too-young clerk was shoving money in the bag. He was extremely calm for someone being robbed at gunpoint. She noticed his hand slip under the counter to hit an emergency panic button, which set the store alight. She panicked and shot the guy in the shoulder, which caused him to scream, matching pitch with the alarms. Geoff jumped behind the counter and shoved the guy out of the way, where he hit his head on the counter, out cold. He fell to the floor as Geoff grabbed the rest of the money from the register. Jack could only hear her breathing and the insanely loud alarms blaring off in the store. She had just fucking shot someone. Geoff grabbed her hand a few moments later and they were running.  

Geoff’s version goes as follows:

He had pulled the gun out and was making his threat when Jack managed to catch up, whipping out her own and aiming it at the guy. “Just put the money in the bag dude, we’re not trying to hurt anyone,” he’d stated calmly, watching the guy shakily shove bills into a plastic bag from behind the counter. He saw by his name tag that his name was Freddie, which rang in his ears wrong. Wasn’t the guy supposed to be named Edward or something? All of a sudden, a gun went off, and the guy was bleeding. Seconds later, the store was blaring loudly with alarms. What the fuck? Jack was standing there, shaking, gun smoke almost curling from the barrel like a god damned cartoon. Geoff panicked and acted fast, jumping behind the counter and slamming his head against the checkout to shut him up. He slumped to the floor, bullet hole oozing blood. Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck. “Why did you shoot?!” Geoff was screaming at her, shoving whatever he could get from the register into the bag. She was stone-still, eyes fixated on the spot where her gun had hit. He tossed his weapon into his bag along with the money and grabbed Jack’s hand, running out with her tagging along.

The rest was remembered fairly well from both parties.

Their feet slammed against the pavement as they rushed towards Johnny’s safe house, replaying instructions. Run down the road take the second left. After the left, hang a right, and then another sharp right. Head down the side street next to the old auto shop and go straight. Geoff knew that cops were fast on their tails, which was his second hint something had gone horribly wrong. Cops were supposed to be miles away, how could they be so fucking fast?

They took the second left, Geoff glancing at a street sign before stopping dead in his tracks. Jack spun around, face flush from running.

“Geoff! What the fuck, we have to go now!”

Geoff stared at her, completely baffled.

They were supposed to be on Davenport. Not Freelance.

They were on the wrong street.

They robbed the wrong fucking store.

#fake ah crew #blood guts and gummy bears #Achievement Hunter #geoff ramsey #Jack Pattillo #micheal jones #Gavin Free #jeremy dooley #ryan haywood

[itsworn]

Recreating History: The 7-11 1934 Ford Altered Coupe Then, and Racing its Tribute Now

Roots. Contrary to ingrained logic, 712 precedes 7-11, and 715 precedes 712. That’s how the Hindu-Arabic numeric system applies to the Peckerheads Racing ’34 Ford, anyway.

How the numbers add up: Prior to our feature coupe’s birth, Jack Hart’s Texaco station in Pasadena, California, produced and sponsored the 715 ’32 five-window coupe, a consistent brawler at Eisenhower-era Los Angeles basin dragstrips. But the 715’s successor would storm on to even greater glory.

Originally crafted by the adolescent Phil Turgeson at Hart’s subsequent Orange, California, Texaco location in 1956, Turgeson’s 712 Jr. was a ’34 coupe packing Jack Hart flathead V8 power. Ray Rucker and Nealan Mackle acquired the 712 Jr. in 1959, swapped in an overhead Chevy, and ran it at Santa Ana until May 1959, when the gates were permanently locked. The 712 Jr.’s short day in the sun was done before being fully realized. For the moment.

Rucker and Mackle sold the coupe to Santa Ana–area local Kent Singleton in 1961, a package deal that included Ray Rucker as driver/tuner. At that point, Turgeson’s dark blue paint was swapped for Singleton’s competition orange, the name was changed to 7-11, a blown and injected 283-inch Chevy replaced the carbureted 265, and Singleton-Carrillo-Nelson lettering appeared on the decklid.

This team successfully ran the coupe at myriad Southern California venues through 1962, when it was sold to Santa Ana Hunters Car Club President Allan Zale, who raced it up through the late 1960s. Zale can’t recall the name of the lucky party for certain but concedes it was likely a Mr. Paul Collins who traded him a dragster project for the 7-11, somewhere between 1963 and 1965. It is unknown whether Collins ever raced the car. And that was that for the original 7-11 coupe. Until its stunt double showed up.

Never Forgot

Kent Singleton’s half-brother, Mike Dowell, had accompanied Kent and the 7-11 to most of its 1960-1962 races and formed a strong emotional bond with the car. To Dowell, the ’34 absolutely represented Altered-class drag racing at the grassroots level. He never forgot it. And in 1992, weary of merely reminiscing about the car, Dowell put out an all-points bulletin for the 7-11. His pleas for information on the whereabouts of the coupe were published in some magazines, but the only response came in 1994, via a letter to the editor in Street Rodder magazine from a Mr. Jay Lockard in Fountain Valley, California. Lockard included photos of the car sitting in his neighbor’s driveway. Could that neighbor have been mystery man Paul Collins? Alas, by the time that issue was read by Dowell, the coupe had pulled another Houdini. The permanent kind.

Dowell’s obsessive search for the 7-11 was called off in 2001, when he finally accepted fate and decided to re-create the coupe. In conjunction with longtime pal Curt Vaught, a sound body was located in Colorado, mutual friend “Peachy Julian” Alverez procured a pair of TCI framerails, and the next chapter of the 7-11 legend was introduced. Now relocated to southern Oregon, Dowell and Vaught’s 7-11 vision was supported and realized by some of the West’s finest craftsmen.

Tiki Alverez (nephew of Julian) performed the aggressive top chop and bodywork at his Costa Mesa, California, shop, but the majority of the build took place after hours at chassis fabricator Bill Comstock’s Medford, Oregon, facility, from 2002 to 2003. Dowell oversaw chassis construction, while Vaught presided over drivetrain chores. This 7-11 offspring finally took its first baby steps in late 2004 at Southern Oregon Dragway, with Vaught at the wheel and 2 gallons of alky in the tank. It pinballed all the way downtrack, guardrail to guardrail, but still carded an early-lift 10.11 at 146 mph.

While consistently inconsistent, the 7-11 had been reborn. The coupe took up residence in Dowell’s garage, and life went on. Then the Peckerheads came to the rescue. Accidentally.

It was 2008 when the unofficial Peckerhead Racing team happened upon the 7-11 in Famoso Raceway’s crumbling pit area. Dowell and Vaught had hauled the retired coupe to the March Meet just to display, but the Peckerheads instantly had other plans. Already occupied with a Bonneville entry (the 57c ’33 Ford coupe) and their unofficial “Moonlight Speed Shop,” the five unofficial members from the Reno area realized their aching need for a drag coupe as well. Over the course of the weekend, Peckerhead Tom Christian and 7-11 owner Mike Dowell hammered out what both parties agreed to be a fair deal, and the 7-11 odyssey took a turn. Toward Reno.

Once ensconced in the Moonlight Speed Shop, the storied coupe received a plan for the future that included more power. The Cyclone quick-change rearend (as per the 712 Jr.) made way for a 9-inch Ford unit, and a pair of wheelie bars was added. From that day, the 7-11 has been a popular attraction at Famoso’s March Meet and California Hot Rod Reunion events. At this writing, the Peckerheads’ efforts are producing consistent 9.60 at 140-mph time slips in the NHRA Heritage Series’ 9.60-index Nostalgia Eliminator III class, though they boast a best of 8.90 at 150 outside the class. Despite the wheelie bars, those numbers were recorded with airborne front tires. Somewhere in the Peckerheads’ 7-11 tenure, ownership was transferred to club member and driver Troy Moyle, but no other significant changes are planned. Says Moyle, “We might chase it a little harder, but we’ll keep it true to its roots.”

And so it was that the passions of an underground community of Santa Ana hot rodders gestated over a matter of decades to ultimately begat this “Son of” the 7-11 Altered coupe. And if history is any example, the Peckerheads’ coupe may well spawn a grandson or even great-grandson of the 7-11 to terrorize photographers and delight dragstrip railbirds in the years ahead. Let’s hope so.

Nothing profiles like a Model 40 (’33 and ’34) Ford. And the lines only improve in drag race livery. Sprinting-Greyhound-like front axle placement complements muscular rear haunches while visually balancing 112-inch wheelbase. Webber Graphics’ Peckerhead logo now joins Don Tippett’s 7-11 signage to unite past and present.

HR Deluxe readers with long memories may recall this photo from our Spring 2008 Comeback Issue and an “In Their Own Words” story with photographer Eric Rickman. We revisit it because it shows both of the Hart’s Texaco coupes sitting in the staging lanes at Santa Ana in 1957. The 712 Jr. (what would become the 7-11 coupe) is easy to spot in the lower left-hand corner; a close look at the center of the photo reveals a profile view of the 715 ’32 three-window. Its driver-side door is open so the numbers aren’t visible, but there’s no mistaking the body setback and distinctive hood sitting next to the car. (Photo courtesy Eric Rickman, Petersen Publishing Co. Archive)

Typical scene at Jack Hart’s Orange, California, Texaco station (circa 1956) revolves around Phil Turgeson’s 712 Jr. coupe, built in those very work bays. The station is still there and now sports three bays. (Photo courtesy Troy Moyle collection)

Santa Ana Drag Strip’s pit area often resembled a war-zone triage center, with sheetmetal flying, wrenches spinning, and curses shouted. 712 Jr. crewman Bob McClelland services the coupe between rounds amid the chaos. (Photo courtesy Troy Moyle collection)

Appearing decidedly ghostly while blasting through a Santa Ana fog, Phil Turgeson and the 712 Jr. hightail it to somewhere far past the finish line. (Photo courtesy Troy Moyle collection)

Lacking an engine, subsequent owner Ray Rucker pulled the stock 283-inch Chevy from his daily-driven ’57 sedan and treated it to machining and assembly at Jack Hart’s shop. The stock block was fortified primarily with factory Corvette parts. The Weiand 6×2 induction system worked surprisingly well with this combo. On its first run, the 1,800-pound 712 tripped the lights in 11.72 seconds at 114.10 mph. It quickly settled into the mid-11s at 120ish and broke B/Altered records at will. Note tow bar dangling from front and taillight/license plate combo out back. (Jerry Nodestein photo courtesy Drag News)

Bob McClelland and Phil Turgeson remove the distinctive one-piece aluminum nose at an unspecified strip. Forty-three years later, Mike Dowell would discover a one-piece aluminum ’34 nose at a California swap meet—painted orange—said to be from a local high school auto shop class. So far, no credible link to the original 712 Jr./7-11 has been verified, but it was a perfect fit. Consider the odds. (Photo courtesy Troy Moyle collection)

Drenched in fresh orange pigment, sans lettering, we find our hero in what is likely next owner Kent Singleton’s home garage in Modjeska Canyon (circa 1960). Halibrand and American Racing magnesium wheels replaced the painted steelies, updating the coupe to ’60s cool standards. (Photo courtesy Troy Moyle collection)

Many mainstream sports fans got their first look at drag racing in the April 1961 issue of Sports Illustrated magazine, thanks to Singleton blazing across the cover. SI captioned this image: “Souped up to 450 horsepower, this car accelerates to speed of 128 mph on the strip.” (Photo courtesy Troy Moyle collection)

By 1963, Santa Ana Hunters car club president Allan Zale (that’s the Zale family photobombing the shot) had assumed 7-11 ownership. At this 1964 clubhouse gathering, the Hunters club flaunt both the 7-11 coupe and the Chuck Jones-Wayne Reed-Chuck Mailliard-Jack Chrisman Magwinder. The coupe’s iconic aluminum radiator-shell insert has been replaced with a clear plastic version here, featuring the Hunters logo brushed on by Ed Roth (for free). Kent Singleton’s small-block Chevy is absent this day. Zale clarifies, “The engines were always out of the cars—being rebuilt.” Allan Zale recalls the Hunters ordering a “stout�� Mickey Thompson small-block Chevy for the 7-11. The Bill “Rosy” Hroscikoski-built M/T Chevy proved its mettle by pulling the wheels and torque-steering Zale directly into Pomona’s Christmas tree on its initial shakedown pass. That mill’s prodigious torque promptly twisted the stock frame (despite a cross-braced 4-point roll bar), and was ultimately swapped for a slightly milder model. (Photo courtesy Al Zale)

In the 1990s, Jay Lockard took the last known photograph of the original 7-11, parked in his neighbor’s driveway. The owner was converting it to street duty. Note cooling and exhaust systems for the six-carbed Cadillac engine. Nose removal offers clear view of 3-inch channel job. Days after Lockard’s sighting, the coupe vanished. (Photo courtesy Troy Moyle collection)

In re-creating the coupe, Tiki Alverez performed the 6-inch chop exactly as Phil Turgeson’s 1956 procedure, then the body and rails were hauled to Comstock Fabrication, the scene of this initial mock-up. (Photo courtesy Mike Dowell)

Yours truly, test driving an early iteration of the reborn 7-11 at Woodburn Drag Strip in Oregon. The test concluded with author and race car harvesting beans in the field beyond the finish line at 136 mph. The test monkey was promptly excused from future driving duties. (Photo courtesy Scotty Gosson)

Veteran photographer Paul Sadler dangled from a boom at Famoso Raceway to capture this hazin’-the-hides-right-at-ya moment. You also get a glimpse of the louvered aluminum top insert by Jamie Ford at Custom Metal in Applegate, Oregon. Jack Hart’s racing customers suggested the shop’s signature heart-with-lightning bolt logo. The belled headers were recreated by Jeff Henry at Comstock Fabrication, using vintage photos as a blueprint. (Photo courtesy Paul Sadler)

Troy Moyle launches the 7-11 into the latest phase of its odyssey at Famoso Raceway. Previous owner Mike Dowell lightened the ’34 I-beam axle on his drill press and vividly recalls the process as “A pain in the ass!” But thanks to Dowell’s labors, the car’s nose is now so light that wheelie bars are required. (Photo courtesy Scotty Gosson)

The Peckerheads’ interior remodel entailed swapping the handbrake for a foot-operated model, adding just enough electronics to be competitive, and moving the former between-the-legs shifter to a more ergonomic location on the rollcage, next to the fuel shut-off and chute release. Peckerheads added a trans brake to Mike Dowell’s Powerglide. (Photo courtesy Paul Sadler)

The Peckerheads have kept the upstairs visuals mostly as Santa Ana horsepower wrangler Chet Herbert had arranged them for Dowell. So the Weiand intake manifold (a street unit, modified for racing with a Bill Comstock burst panel), Mike Kuhl 6-71 blower, Hilborn two-port injection, Vertex magneto, and GM factory iron heads were all retained. But the Peckerheads bombproofed the basement with a new 355-inch Dart block, loaded with an Erson solid roller cam (complemented with roller rockers and stud girdles), JE pistons (8.5:1 compression) on Eagle rods, and a forged GM crankshaft, a respectful salute to the OE-based “Texas Flatheads” built at Jack Hart’s gas station. Peckerheads also added radiator where previously there was none. (Photo courtesy Paul Sadler)

A braced 9-inch Ford housing loaded with 4.30 gears has replaced Dowell’s 3.78-geared Cyclone quick-change (though it never broke). Wheelie bars keep hang time to a minimum while still allowing for entertaining launches. Decklid ventilation happened after Dowell and Vaught era. (Photo courtesy Paul Sadler)

The “Hart’s Texaco—Texas Flatheads a Specialty” lettering magically transformed any entry into a perceived threat at the track. Webber Graphics lettered this gennie ’34 hood that replaced Dowell and Vaught’s 1-piece aluminum unit. (Photo courtesy Paul Sadler)

Jack Hart and the Santa Ana Phenomenon

According to local gearhead jesters, there was a stout percentage of nitromethane in the water that supplied life to Southern California’s Orange County—the Santa Ana area in particular. That secret ingredient apparently supplied extra inspiration to every hot rodder in town. Some drank more than others, but it seemed Jack Hart got more than his fair share of the stuff.

An advocate of disaffected local youth, Texaco station owner Hart focused his mentorship on area hot rodders, and Phil Turgeson in particular. Just as Turgeson was an exceptionally quick study with a wrench, so did Hart know a thing or two about quick. Adrenaline, testosterone, and gasoline weren’t the only juices flowing at the Texaco station. Hart (directly influenced by Dr. Dean Hill, a New Mexico State University chemistry professor, who would become NHRA’s “Resident Chemist”) was an early proponent of both nitro and hydrazine. He was also highly regarded for his cylinder head wizardry, machinist chops, and tireless support of area racers, via discounted parts and sage advice born of hard-won experience. (Hart himself ran not only the 715 coupe but also a fuel dragster out of the gas station.)

Every bit the well-spoken and tech-savvy representative that Wally Parks longed to lieutenant his National Hot Rod Association, Hart was initially hired as Advertising Director of the sanctioning body’s National Dragster, but soon oversaw the Safety Safari, was named Competition Director, and was ultimately crowned Executive Vice President and General Manager of the NHRA. He was employed by the NHRA from 1962 until his passing in 1977.

Just how cozy was the Santa Ana hot rod microcosm? Curt Vaught’s dad owned the Harlowe & Vaught Auto Parts store in Santa Ana. Curt worked the store counter while driving and crewing for fellow hometown retailers Chet Herbert & Zane Shubert, who were neighbors of Dowell and Singleton. Local racers considered Santa Ana Drag Strip operators C.J. “Pappy” and wife Peggy Hart to be the unofficial God Parents of Santa Ana. That title was cemented when Peg began driving her dragster from the house to the track and back. And it was Kent Singleton who pulled a rattled Jack Hart from the remains of his crashed dragster years later at Lions Drag Strip.

Originally built as a street car in 1956, the Charles McCandless-driven Caddy-powered five-window coupe ultimately raced out of Hart Automotive as the 715. The 1,825-pound entry was very competitive, until lighter import-bodied Altereds took over the class. At Santa Ana Drag Strip (note track manager C.J. Hart in his trademark hat above the Deuce’s radiator shell), the 715 accepts a challenge from class bullies Bader & Ferriera and their hot Crosley (also with Cadillac power under the cowl). (Pics: Greg Sharp/NHRA Motorsports Museum)

The 715 coupe eventually turned 138.46 mph in A/Altered with blown Hemi power. Drag News featured the Deuce in its March 1959 issue. (Pics: Greg Sharp/NHRA Motorsports Museum)

Jack Hart surveys the action at Indianapolis Raceway Park during a smoke break in the late ’60s. His panoramic vantage point of NHRA’s ascent to sanctioning body dominance must have been spectacular. (Pics: Greg Sharp/NHRA Motorsports Museum)

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