Soldier Hill — Chapter 7

Coming of age fiction honoring sacrifice

7.

When Eddie arrived, Dave gave him the news that he’d be warming up the passenger seat. With no experience behind the wheel, Dave would handle the driving. End of story. Eddie had no business working the controls and his night of gaming the system was over before it started.

Dave also decided to employ the old man’s flatbed. A converted pickup with plywood planks to haul stuff. Dave claimed the tree wouldn’t fit in a regular pickup. Sounded like a valid point, and like most times, Eddie trusted Dave’s judgment.

The new and improved Dave kept his finger on the boss button, even yanking his younger brother Jeffrey out of bed to pitch in. And once little bro stumbled onto the driveway, Dave directed him towards the street to man the lookout post of this operation. He also told that peckerwood to make it snappy and stay alert because they haven’t got it all night.

“You guys are crazy,” Jeffrey said, rubbing his eyes and standing half-dead in a Rocky IV T-shirt and flannel bottoms.

Eddie placed the shovels on the flatbed as Dave wiggled into the cab. Dave checked his mirrors for Jeffrey, who now stood in the middle of Colonial Road. Jeffrey’s head swivelled back and forth, scouting for cars.

Dave nodded and released the emergency brake. Standing in front of the truck, Eddie placed both palms on the hood and pushed. The truck began to roll as Dave glided down the driveway.

Eddie chased the truck’s wake as Dave zipped the driveway and reached Colonial Road. Once the truck paused, Dave cranked the motor, and the boys were on. Eddie hopped into the cab as Jeffrey ran back into the house. Once Dave shifted the gears, the flatbed launched and sailed the main drag.

Dave kept the truck steady while Eddie scoped for cops. The police kept a few spots along the way for their speed traps and other traffic stops. Dave minded the speed limit, but once a cop showed up and viewed the occupants, the boys knew they’d be toast.

They breezed by Rocco’s Pizza, reaching the first quarter-mark of the mission. The flatbed also hit that deep and dark time of night where everything looks like spilt ink. So far, no patrol cars.

“What about Moose?” Dave asked. Moose was the overnight cop who guarded the parks and high school. The outside and street-legal version of Meathead. Just like the vice-principal, built-in radar to round up the derelicts who like to play smarty pants and break the town curfew. Be on your toes, don’t be seen, don’t get caught.

Dave cut the lights as they floated to the curb and docked in front of Valley High. Eddie checked the area for Moose who showed up all right. The insomniac’s Ford Bronco, hovered by the tennis courts, waiting on the night’s action to pepper the boys lose.

Eddie hopped from the cab, racing towards Billy’s tree. He ripped off the tarp and wrapped his arms around Billy’s stem. Eddie heaved and yanked. Nothing. He pulled again, waiting for his spine to launch through his back. Eddie couldn’t believe how heavy the tree was.

No way could it be so stubborn. It had to be his clumsy hands. By now Dave had arrived, and they tried again. Every time the boys gripped the stem, their hands slid off the slick trunk. The hard hats must have been tipped and doctored her up with invisible grease. The deadweight of the tree sank the boys further into the soft soil. The trunk felt more like an anvil. A heavy, dense, and solid mass.

“I got it,” said Dave. “I’ll back the truck up, and we’ll use the dirt mound to slide it up and in.”

“That should do it,” Eddie agreed.

Eddie guided Dave into the mound area. The reverse bulbs of the truck lit the place up, splashing the bay windows of the school. Great. This bling will shake up the Moose, no doubt. At the barracks, Moose is a sergeant. In the derelict division, he’s the big cheese, never known for sleeping on the job.

Dave stopped the truck, and despite the disjointed angle, there seemed enough room to force the tree onto the bed. They huddled behind Billy’s memorial and tried to roll it up the lump. The maple started to shift, and so did the boys. Before they knew it, the tree pushed them back, and in the opposite direction. The soil did the rest, grabbing Eddie and Dave at the ankles, sucking them down.

On their second try, they jimmied, wiggled, and rocked the tree to and fro. Getting the tree to budge was a chore and a half. The dang thing still wouldn’t go.

Every now and then, a vehicle would pass through, and the bandits would slip behind the dunes. The truck made a stiff alibi with the “Developers & Contractors” smeared on the doors. A few cars slowed down, and the boys would freeze, waiting until they rambled on.

High time to map a new plan, as another hour leaked from the night. With each passing minute, the whole mission started to look like a bad idea. By now, Moose had begun to orbit the park, sweeping closer to the high school. Short of breath and legs going numb, Eddie felt too tired to run. If Moose happened to show up and get in Eddie’s face, he’d make an easy grab. Boys’ Town, here we come.

And there was Dave, pounding away like a soldier on foot patrol. Crunching ideas, trying to find that magic formula. The logical and workable play to get Billy’s tree from the earth and onto the flatbed.

That’s when Moose pulled a gadget play and vanished behind a wall of pine trees. Eddie wondered if the bastard fired up his mojo, ready to spring in for a pinch. Known for nailing juvies in the middle of a score was his game.

Even at this hour, Eddie didn’t feel drowsy, but doomed. This haul turned out to be pretty challenging. What in the world was going on around here? This gig was supposed to be a cake run, not hard labour.

The night continued to push Eddie for the breaking point instead of the victory circle. Right now, Steve Rooney had a better shot of escaping the nuthouse and planting his pipe bomb than Eddie had of lifting and carting off Billy’s tree. Yikes.

“I better move the truck,” Dave said.

“We might be better off if we left,” Eddie said, admitting defeat.

“No way, man. You’re not draggin’ me out here for nothing,” Dave said.

“How the hell are we gonna do this?” Eddie asked.

“We have to figure it out. Besides, you made me take my father’s truck, and I’m stuck here in the middle of a school night. I don’t give a shit if they put us in Jamesburg. We’re takin’ care of this,” he said, as Eddie started to laugh.

“I’m glad you think it’s funny,” went Dave as he huffed towards the flatbed. Jamesburg is the New Jersey prison for boys. Eddie sat tight as Dave pulled the truck out.

Getting bagged by Moose and winding up in Jamesburg would suck big time. But not nearly as bad as losing Billy’s tree and memory for good. That would be way worse Eddie knew. The thought of that scenario forced Eddie to wake up, stay in the moment, and dig deep.

Eddie snapped from his funk and cursed himself for losing track of Moose. Maple Valley might be snoozing, but the high school was wide-awake and the big cat smelled it. At the ready, Moose could whip out those famous moves and sneak in ninja style. I’ll bust this comedy up, and bag these shitbirds.

And sure enough, that’s when Moose zoomed in to crash the party. Eddie and Dave hit the deck as the Bronco smashed through the night’s lead wall. As Moose sailed in, the bugger decided to slow down, stop, and idle in front of the high school, feet from the boys lying in the dirt.

If Moose decided to get out and gander about, the boys would be fried. Eddie and Dave prayed the big guy angled a routine sweep. A drive-by to make sure thieves hadn’t shown up to target the tools and hardware.

Eddie could see the police decal plastered on the side door of Moose’s Ford Bronco. The eagle in the Maple Valley police shield, wings spread, claws pointed down, as if to snatch the boys itself. Eddie wanted Moose to log in with headquarters and let them know everything is in order, especially around the high school. Heck, he could even call it a night. Wouldn’t that be the cat’s pyjamas? Moose appeared satisfied with the situation for now and pulled off.

The Kings of Maple Valley breathed a sigh of relief as they met back at Billy’s tree. A second wind and a second chance for sure. But what to do with them? The boys still battled the twist of not having the means to lift Billy’s tree and putting it to rest on the flatbed. That’s when the bulbs inside Eddie’s head began to blink.

“I got it, Dave,” he said. Eddie stepped back and pointed to the machinery the construction company brought to the job site.

“You can’t work that stuff,” Dave claimed.

“Watch me,” Eddie said. Besides, what choice did they have? It had to be the answer.

With that, Eddie bolted for the cab of the large forklift. If they were to use these things to move the beams and planks of wood, they could just as well finish the mission, or at least deliver some good luck.

This forklift was way bigger than the ones from Karl’s depot. Instead of wheels, this bad boy had tracks, just like a tank. It appeared heftier and more powerful to boot. Eddie wondered if Dave was right. Being so large, it almost looked alive. And alive at this size probably meant untamable. Maybe.

Eddie climbed aboard, determined to give it his best, and all-he-had shot. He flipped the ignition switch, and sure as shit, the beast blasted awake. A crackle of noise exploded as the engine spit and pistons rifled. It’s probably not this loud under the sun, but in the Maple Valley night, it barked up a storm. Ratta-tat-tat. Ratta-tat-tat. It seemed to get louder once the motor warmed up and cut loose.

Eddie knew he’d have to work fast and be gone. House lights had already flicked on across the street, as shadows appeared in window frames. If they weren’t being watched before, they were certainly discovered now.

The bigger monsoon was the police, and that meant Moose. This kind of hubbub could return the big fella to mow the boys down.

The interior looked a lot like the forklifts from Karl’s dairy depot. A butterfly steering wheel with a chrome handle to work the rig forward, neutral, and in reverse. Eddie went for broke and recalled his time at the depot. The job site made navigation a bit tricky, but what choice did he have? The hour struck do or die, which meant up and at ‘em.

This forklift might have been a jumbo jet compared to the units at the depot, but worked on the same principle. It had to. Besides, it’s not like he had to ace an exam or impress a union foreman. The forklift only needed to work enough for the job. This job. To cross the lawn, snatch Billy’s tree, and place it on the planks of Dave’s flatbed. Easy as pie, loud as a rock band.

Eddie pulled the chrome shifter and the machine bucked. He gripped the butterfly wheel as the forklift began to shake and guzzle across the site. A bigger and more powerful monster, telling Eddie he better gets the swing of this pronto, or he’d be tossed from the cab.

Once Eddie tightened his hands across the butterfly wheel, the stings in his palms from the vibrations subsided. Eddie began to steer and direct the machine instead of hanging on. Eddie had indeed seized control, calling the shots and pushing this metal beast across the choppy soil. I’m the cowboy, you’re the steer, and this job is all mine, Bubba!

Eddie watched the terrain as closely as he could, and the machine did the rest. Bulky as an ox, smooth as a cruise ship. Pacing the front of the high school as if Eddie were a general perched in a tank, leading a military parade.

Dave pleaded for Eddie to speed it up as more house lights began to glow across the street. With a twinkle in his eyes and an I told you so smile, Eddie was the man, controlling the machine and ploughing across the site.

Eddie reached Billy’s tree and idled the rig. In neutral, the beast hummed a bit lower but still growled. Now the tricky part of the show. Eddie looked at the shifter sticks closely. He recalled the same set-up as the depot forklifts.

Eddie reached for the yolk he thought would lower the tongs and yanked. The tongs descended all right, as Eddie pressed until they rested on the dirt. He gripped another cane and the tongs jetted out, ploughing the dirt beneath Billy’s tree like a spatula.

Dave continued his appeal for more urgency. A relaxed Eddie gripped another stem and pumped it. More magic from the machine as Billy’s tree hung onto the tongs and began to rise. Finally — somebody up there gets me and digs Fast Eddie.

Once Eddie relaxed the pressure, Billy’s tree wafted in the air. Eddie drove the forklift towards the truck where he dangled Billy’s maple tree over the slab. Eddie cranked the second stick again, as Billy’s memorial jetted out. Eddie reached for another, and once he pushed that one down, Billy’s tree began its descent. After the longest journey, the tree finally touched down on Dave’s flatbed. Booyah!

Eddie didn’t have time to be dumbstruck by the machine’s operation and the plan’s success. By now, every siren from the police station began to scream. The entire night patrol, dispatched and out-for-blood hungry. The alarms growing louder and louder as they converged and closed in on the high school.

Dave ran to the wheel of the flatbed and fired up the pops mobile. Once Eddie pulled the tongs from Dave’s truck, Billy’s tree rolled and rested on the slab, pretty as you please. A sleeping baby in a bassinet.

Eddie killed the engine and bolted from the forklift to join Dave in the cab of the flatbed. Dave slapped the truck into reverse, and with cargo in tow, the heisters blasted from the front lawn of the high school.

Once Dave straightened out, he gunned the gas, and the truck took off like a rocket. A pack of flashing lights had turned the corner, dead ahead. The brood of squad cars vaulted for the high school and fleeing flatbed. The boys waited for the skid-out and blockade like the cops do on TV.

Eddie felt his insides tumble and twist like a washing machine as the police inched up, ready to box them in. Closer and closer they rushed, only car lengths from an interception. Too much to bear, Eddie shut his eyes. Dave couldn’t.

In the dark tomb of his mind, Eddie’s silence remained. Waiting on Dave to slow down, and the cops to bark over their PA systems. I’m sorry Dave, I really am a wuss. Wake me up in Jamesburg.

Instead, all Eddie heard besides the sirens, was whish, whish, whish. A startled Eddie opened his eyes, as the cops blew past. To the police, the flatbed remained invisible, as the pack of black and whites chopped for the high school instead.

Watching the cops burn rubber for the job site, Maple Valley’s Finest really did zip past the crooks and the gold. Eddie couldn’t believe it. And not that he was about to protest the orders to keep the police banking for the high school. In seconds, Dave turned a corner and the police vanished from sight. Eat it, Moose! You too, Becker! Ten-Four!

Dave kept the flatbed straight and its velocity anchored on the speed limit. A swift move, creating ample distance from the high school and the preoccupied police. The boys watched the Little League field unfold through the darkness, as Eddie wondered if the clearing behind the new scoreboard would make a ginger fit.

At first glance, a perfect spot. Then again, far from it. Not while that mother Moose lingered this close. A few blocks up, the Maple Valley Municipal Park. A different parcel from the park edging the high school but still on Moose’s beat.

“The park,” Eddie said.

“Which part?”

“By the lake,” Eddie said.

Dave cut the wheel and aimed the crate for the chosen destination. In minutes, they arrived at the entrance of the village green. Instead of slowing down, Dave punched the gas, darting for the nucleus of the park. The boys continued to ramble the terrain as Dave climbed the slope and paused the rig on the crest overlooking the manmade lake.

The boys lassoed Billy’s tree with strands of rope Dave’s dad kept on the truck. Way to go, Pops! The boys dragged the tree across the slab, reaching the lip of the flatbed. Why couldn’t it be this easy-going up and in?

The boys yanked again, and the tree toppled from the slab, wedged between the soil and edge of the flatbed. Eddie boarded the planks and pushed Billy’s tree the rest of the way. Gravity took over and finished the touchdown, as Billy’s tree settled on the ground.

The roots from Billy’s tree were a bit straggly, forcing the boys to carve a wider berth. After all that went down tonight, Eddie and Dave were more than happy to oblige. Tired, but willing to dig the extra dirt if that’s what it took.

Over their shoulders, another brand of busy and trespassing going on, as a set of high beams skimmed the night. The Sarge of the juvenile division all right, as that diehard Moose finally reached this neck of town. The twosome crouched like a pair of surfers, as Moose marshalled the darkness below. Optimistic it was a routine sweep, and he’d quickly blast off to hunt real criminals. Yeah, right.

Waiting on his next move when Moose floored the gas, and the SUV thrust for the slope. There wasn’t much room to hide. The boys picked a great spot for Billy’s tree, but a doozy for culprits evading the cops.

Wheels on fire, Moose charged the hill. Dave jumped up and grabbed the limb of a nearby tree. Dave hung like a chimp before he swung himself atop the branch. Not Eddie — too chunky to copy that play.

As Moose rushed the hill, Eddie scrambled for the opposite side of the ridge. Eddie belly-flopped between mounds of mulch and soil, landing face down.

Once Moose reached the top of the hill, he slugged the brakes, and let the Bronco purr. When he fired up his spotlight, the ledge lit up like a film set. Eddie feared Dave was spotted and nailed by the way Moose nodded the beam. Dave curled up and remained still, hoping his clothes were enough camouflage to foil detection.

He killed the spot and paused once more. The boys prayed for Moose to slap the Bronco into gear and hit the bricks. Not the Sarge. Oh, no. He had to ferret the trouble. Moose opened the door and spilt from the Bronco. The size of a pro wrestler, they didn’t call him Moose for anything. His footsteps and breathing lumbered the area. It all grew louder as he moved closer, right past Dave and more towards Eddie.

En route to Eddie’s hiding spot, Moose stopped to gaze at the flatbed. He pulled a flashlight from his utility belt and began to circle the truck. Moose hit all the hot spots, examining the interior, bed, and license plate. Eddie wished someone would tell this nosey-body it was a legit truck and not an alien spacecraft. Hit the road, Jack. Take five and grab a cup of coffee. Better yet, pick up Mrs Moose and go on that vacation.

Moose seemed satisfied over the truck and stepped away from it. Eddie caught him craning his neck atop the crest. Moose stood his ground, tilting his block as if to peel away the night. He held out for a few more moments then headed back towards his Bronco.

Even as the boys heard the footsteps fade out, they didn’t move. They weren’t screwing this up. They waited for Moose to leave the park, and be far away from the lake and this side of town. The boys listened to the melting hums and echoes as Moose lit off for the high school or wherever else the business decided to lead him.

Dave and Eddie resumed the mission, cleaving the rest of the pit for the memorial. Billy’s tree slid and fit into the crater as if it were a bone nestled in a socket. Eddie grabbed the rope from the flatbed and fastened a noose around the bark. Dave fetched the truck and backed her in.

Eddie tied the rope end around the hitch on the rear bumper. The tree sat sideways in the cavity, jonesing for a tug, mulch, and freshwater. Dave punched the gas as the flatbed skidded and fishtailed.

“Give it more gas,” Eddie said. Dave pressed the pedal, and the truck tires slipped again. So much so, the entire cab wobbled, almost shaking Dave from the wheel.

“Once more,” Eddie directed. This time Eddie ran up to the truck and hopped aboard the flatbed. Maybe the extra weight would stop the truck from sliding so much. Eddie noticed on the last go-around, they were a smidgen away from completing this part of the operation.

Eddie positioned himself on the slab and signalled his buddy to give the job one more stab. Dave pushed the gas and gripped the steering wheel. The flatbed indeed bounced less this time. Once the truck wheels sunk and dug in, Billy’s tree saluted. Eddie’s idea worked, and Dave cut the engine.

The boys hopped from the truck and filled the gaps around the tree as fast as they could. Billy’s tree remained upright as they stomped the soil around the roots. Eddie carried the In Memory Of Billy tablet to the lake and dipped it into the water to wash it clean. He dashed back up the hill and placed the tablet at the roots of Billy’s tree.

And that was that…