The Devil’s Darning Needle -- Excerpt
The Obrero Gang
By Ben Furman
The Obrero Gang was Frank Durazo, Johnny Salinas and Jimmy Tag Along. The ten year olds had grown up on a nameless, carved-out street in Barrio Obrero on the outskirts of San Juan, and throughout the barrio it was well known that when one was sighted the other two would be right behind. It was time to hide the valuables.
Frank was the biggest and fastest, and he could more than hold his own with the older kids. He possessed the hand-eye coordination of a shell-game operator, and in moments of fancy, thought his athletic ability would be his ticket out of poverty. Perhaps a baseball scholarship. His grades could be better. He was bright enough, but he realized that he wasn’t the gifted student who could breeze through school effortlessly. But he was dogged in anything he decided to do, and through will and determination he got by.
Jimmy Tag Along’s mother had explained to them that Jimmy would always remain a “little boy.” They didn’t understand what she meant, but it really didn’t matter. In a sacred ceremony the boys had sealed their friendship by cutting their thumbs with a pocket knife and smashing their thumbs together. “Now we’re blood brothers,” Johnny said. They vowed to take care of each other come what may.
It was sweltering and nearing noon as the gang stepped from the wooded path that ended at El Gordo’s gas station. Their target was the soft drink machine that was pushed tightly against the side of the building next to the bathrooms. El Gordo was the only employee and whenever he was working on a car or eating, which was often, they would hit the machine. They found him wedged under an old pickup with a bucalaito in one hand and a wrench in the other. Good. It would take only a few minutes for them to score.
As they moved in the pent-up heat in the blacktop burned through the soles of their sandals, and each hopped from one foot to the other to reach the shade of the building.
Johnny liked the heat. As he told Frank too often, “It’s good for business. The hotter the more people drink, and that means more money in our pockets. Easy money!”
action adventure action books adult counterterrorism books adult fiction thriller adult novels adventure series counterterrorism books counterterrorism stories fiction thriller independent publishing news publisher reviews suspense thrillers
By Ben Furman
The Obrero Gang was Frank Durazo, Johnny Salinas and Jimmy Tag Along. The ten year olds had grown up on a nameless, carved-out street in Barrio Obrero on the outskirts of San Juan, and throughout the barrio it was well known that when one was sighted the other two would be right behind. It was time to hide the valuables.
Frank was the biggest and fastest, and he could more than hold his own with the older kids. He possessed the hand-eye coordination of a shell-game operator, and in moments of fancy, thought his athletic ability would be his ticket out of poverty. Perhaps a baseball scholarship. His grades could be better. He was bright enough, but he realized that he wasn’t the gifted student who could breeze through school effortlessly. But he was dogged in anything he decided to do, and through will and determination he got by.
Jimmy Tag Along’s mother had explained to them that Jimmy would always remain a “little boy.” They didn’t understand what she meant, but it really didn’t matter. In a sacred ceremony the boys had sealed their friendship by cutting their thumbs with a pocket knife and smashing their thumbs together. “Now we’re blood brothers,” Johnny said. They vowed to take care of each other come what may.
It was sweltering and nearing noon as the gang stepped from the wooded path that ended at El Gordo’s gas station. Their target was the soft drink machine that was pushed tightly against the side of the building next to the bathrooms. El Gordo was the only employee and whenever he was working on a car or eating, which was often, they would hit the machine. They found him wedged under an old pickup with a bucalaito in one hand and a wrench in the other. Good. It would take only a few minutes for them to score.
As they moved in the pent-up heat in the blacktop burned through the soles of their sandals, and each hopped from one foot to the other to reach the shade of the building.
Johnny liked the heat. As he told Frank too often, “It’s good for business. The hotter the more people drink, and that means more money in our pockets. Easy money!”
action adventure action books adult counterterrorism books adult fiction thriller adult novels adventure series counterterrorism books counterterrorism stories fiction thriller independent publishing news publisher reviews suspense thrillers
Labels: action, action adventure, adult, adventure, ben furman, counterterrorism, fiction, independent publisher, publisher, thriller
