The Apple Grove Gang: #1
NO EXIT
Hamilton C. Burger
Cover Illustration by
Julie Leiman Weaver
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to places, events or persons living or dead (unless explicitly noted) is merely coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 Hamilton C. Burger
All rights reserved.
ISBN 9781301735884
Go to hamiltoncburger.com
See the next in the series:
The Apple Grove Gang
#2 GOLD FEVER
#3 ADVENTURE IN TIME Watch for it in December, 2012!
DEDICATION
I dedicate this book to my wife, Mary, and my daughters, Katie and Maddie. They have always believed in me and have always encouraged me to step out of the boat. I make a memorable dedication to my Mom. I know she would have loved it.
I love you all.
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
1 Best Summer Ever
2 The Court
3 Lights Out
4 Meet The Gang
5 The Gang Responds
6 You Can’t Fight City Hall
7 We Stand Together
8 Rally the Troops
9 That’s My Ball
10 The Letter
11 The Gang Comes Through
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to acknowledge the following people without whom, I would not have written this book.
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To author RF, for suggesting that perhaps I could write a book and for believing in me. Your encouragement and patience bear witness to your character.
Thank you dear friend.
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Cover artist, Julie Leiman Weaver, an absolute joy to work with, and I am so happy with how your talent brought my characters to life.
Thank you.
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Editor Sharon Souza, for putting the shine on my book.
Thank you.
1
BEST SUMMER EVER
The ring of the bell that marked the end of the last day of school in the small town of Apple Grove was like the signal at the start of a horse race. All that was missing was the man who called out at the sound of that bell, “They’re off!” For the whole summer!
Benny Churchill was the fastest runner in Mrs. Tyson’s fifth-grade class. Like always, he hit the front door of Apple Grove Elementary School like a fullback rushing for the goal line. He carried his worn leather basketball cradled tight under his right arm. His left arm stretched outward to the front; he looked like an all-state running back.
“Come on, Bug, let’s get to the community center. We need to be there first, and then we’ll have the court all night.”
Charlie Beetle had been Benny’s best friend since the first grade. Everyone called him “Bug.” His nickname came not so much because his last name was Beetle as much as it did because of his bug-like appearance. Bug stood out from his classmates because he happened to be as gifted in height as Benny was with speed. At an even six feet tall and eleven years old, Bug looked like an insect.
He was all arms and legs, and had a rosy complexion sprinkled with freckles. Tufts of red hair, which sprouted from the top of his head, looked just like a bug’s antennae. In motion, Bug’s legs got so tangled up that his arms flew out in front and to his sides, reminding you of a daddy long-legs spider or a stick bug. Either way, he was all arms and legs.
“Right behind you, Benny. Let’s cut down the alley behind Pops’ Market and then cross over at Grove Street. It’s the best way to get there,” Bug yelled.
“Okay, let’s do it!” Benny shot back.
As the boys raced down the alley behind Pops’ Market Bug called, “Quick, Benny! In the back door; we’ll get an apple. Pops gets fresh produce every Tuesday.”
Benny pulled at the wooden screen door and quickly disappeared into the market.
“Hey, Benny, wait…Whooooa, oh, oh, oh, ugh!” Bug went flying head over heels, arms and legs intertwined in a tangled mess.
At the sound of wooden crates tumbling to the pavement, a man walking down Maple Street stopped and looked in the alley, towards where Bug lay in a heap. He shook his head and asked, “Hey kid, are you okay? Do you need a doctor or something?”
“Ohhhh, I’m okay!” Bug had tried to jump over a waist high stack of crates, but he only managed to clear the bottom two and landed on the third. A pile of splinters was all that remained of the crate he had smashed.
Bug jumped to his feet and regained his bearings. He brushed himself off, pulled open the back door of the market and joined Benny inside. As he let go of the handle, the long spring at the top pulled back hard and slammed the door behind him. Nailed to it was a rusting hunk of sheet metal that had a picture of an old farmer. He wore a straw hat, chewed a piece of grass, and exclaimed how fantastic the soda pop he drank was. The sign shook and sounded like a rumble of thunder.
Once inside the back room of the market, the boys began searching through a mountain of fruit crates, delivered sometime before they arrived: apples, oranges, plums, and peaches. It was like a fruit salad in a box. On the end of each crate was a beautiful label, as beautiful as a painting in an art museum.
Bug ripped the top off a case of Yakima Chief apples. The Indian Chief on the label, dressed in full headdress, seemed to be watching his every move. Benny took two apples from the crate, tossed one to Bug, and began sampling the cold, crisp fruit.
Pretending not to know the answer, Bug yelled, “Hey, Pops, me and Benny are going to the center. Can we have an apple, huh, Pops, can we?” Bits of apple fell from his mouth onto the well-worn, floor of the back room of Pops’ Market. Looking at Benny, Bug smiled from ear to ear and held his finger to his lips as if to tell Benny not to say anything.
Two giant swinging doors, which hung from metal hinges that allowed them to swing in either direction, separated the back room from the shopping area of the market. Suddenly, with a crash, the doors swung open to reveal Bug’s dad. He was pushing a wooden cart mounted on four rugged metal wheels. Stacked high on the cart were half empty cases of canned fruit and vegetables and a couple of bags of Ken-L-Ration dog food. Bug’s dad’s eyes opened wide when he saw Benny and Bug. He smiled and waved to them.
Vincent William Beetle, known as Pops by everyone in Apple Grove, was a small man if you didn’t consider his stomach. It looked like he had a basketball in his shirt. He wore baggy pants held up by a belt and suspenders, “just in case,” as Pops always said. He clutched an unlit pipe in his teeth and wore a white apron, which hung loosely around his neck and tied at the back. The crown of his head was smooth and shiny and supported by a few wisps of brown hair and two ears that were small and pointed. He vaguely resembled an elf. When Pops talked, his pointed ears wiggled, a characteristic often imitated but never duplicated by the kids in town.
“Hello, Julius, hello, Charlie,” said Pops. He called every kid, except his own son, Julius, unless, of course, it were a girl, in which case he called her Alice. All the kids liked Pops because in front of his store, next to the checkout counter, stood an enormous display case. Inside the case were colorful boxes of penny candy that left nothing to the imagination. Sitting on top was a jar full of pretzel sticks. They sold three for a penny. Right next to the pretzel sticks stood a box of Pixie Stix, two cents for a pack of five. Pops sold everything: packs of baseball cards, wax lips, even bird-call whistles that hid in your mouth and sounded just like a robin.
Every day after school let out, the kids from Apple Grove Elementary School would stop at Pops’ store on the way to play at the Apple Grove Community Center.
“They’re li
ke a gang of frogs, always hopping around. Here comes the Apple Grove Gang!” Pops would say as the kids lined up, pennies in hand, waiting for their turn to buy candy.
Nose pressed against the glass, each of the kids pointed to the candy they wanted, and Pops would drop it into the little paper sack the kids clutched in their hands when they left the market. Pops would keep score for the kids as they chose their favorites.
“Let’s see, that’s five licorice whips, at a penny apiece. Okay, you have twenty-nine cents left, Julius. Double Bubble is three-for-a-penny. That makes thirty-eight cents left, Alice.”
Pops would continue this process until the last kid had their pick of candy. You could tell by the smile on his face that Pops enjoyed this part of his day the most.
“Pops, the apples. What about the apples? Can we have one before we go to the center?” Bug asked.
“Sure, help yourself to an apple. Take only one each, boys. They’re on sale this week, only nineteen cents. Make sure to tell your mother, Julius.”
“Okay, Pops,” Benny answered, “I won’t forget to tell her. They’re only nineteen cents a pound.”
“Good, good, you boys run along now. Have fun, but get home before dark. Do you hear me? Home before dark.”
In unison, Benny and Bug responded, “Got it, Pops, home before dark.” Benny and Bug each grabbed another apple then headed down the alley towards Grove Street.
“This is gonna be the best summer ever. I just know it, Bug.”
2
THE COURT
The Apple Grove Community Center stood at the end of Grove Street, housed in what was once a woolen mill, built sometime around 1870. The building still had that funny smell every time it rained, like the smell of a wool sweater your grandmother knitted when you wore it out in the rain.
It had been a long time since the woolen mill was there, and only a few people in Apple Grove even remembered that far back. The building was well-suited for the community center. It had wooden floors and a thirty-foot high ceiling with rows of light bulbs, each the size of a softball. Large windows that stretched the length of the building allowed the sunlight to pour into the gymnasium from each side of the space.
At the north end of the building, the front door opened into a lounge area that sported a couch and overstuffed chairs. A nineteen-inch Philco television, complete with a rolling stand—a gift from the women’s auxiliary of the volunteer fire station—stood at one end of the lounge. The best part was that the rabbit ear antennae could pick up Channel 3 from Madison and 17 from Red Ridge. The kids at the center loved it, especially those who didn’t have a TV at home.
The other end of the lounge had a counter with stools where members could sit and do crafts or just chat. Some kids also used the counter to do homework before doing gymnastics or playing basketball.
From the lounge, you entered the gymnasium through a set of double doors. Divided into three areas it had something for everyone: the gymnastics mats, the basketball court, and the game table area.
The gymnastics area was the largest area, and it consisted of a dozen thick, rubber-coated mats. When Apple Grove Elementary replaced their mats they gave the old ones to the community center.
From the ceiling, over a single mat, hung a climbing rope. It was coarse and thick, like the rope sailors used on sailing ships, and would leave a blister if you slid down from the top too quickly.
At the other end of the gymnasium, two rows of game tables extended from one side of the space to the other. There were two eight-foot regulation pool tables and one bumper-style table that had been coin-operated when the Diamond Grill owned it. Two knock-hockey tables and a Foosball table completed the assembly of table games.
Alone in the corner was a long folding table that came from the cafeteria at Apple Grove Elementary when the school bought new ones. It was the same table where in third grade, on a dare, Billy Carr had pulled a gigantic wad of gum off the bottom and chewed it until he got sick and had to go to the nurse’s office. Since then, kids either played board games on the table or sat and talked.
In the middle of the gymnasium was the basketball court, where Benny and Bug spent most of their time. The court was regulation size and made from some of the finest oak timber ever grown. A broad black stripe painted on the floor, enclosing the entire rectangle, marked out of bounds. The jump ball circle in the center of the court had the letters AG painted in the middle. On either side were regulation backboards and baskets, strung with string nets.
The court was hallowed ground to Bug and Benny. Ten seconds left in the game. Two on one fast break. Bug makes a behind-the-back pass to Benny. Benny tosses to Bug, he shoots the lay-up and scores! Benny and Bug win! Similar scenarios had played in both Benny’s and Bug’s minds every time they stepped on the court.
As they stood at the door to the Apple Grove Community Center Bug turned to his friend and said, “Benny, you’re right, this is going to be the best summer ever.”
3
LIGHTS OUT
“I want you to go to Apple Grove this afternoon,” said the person sitting in Lester Babbish’s office at the State Highway Department. “There is work to be finished with Mayor Macalister.” The person’s fist slammed on the desk. “Don’t make me go down there to take care of things myself. Do you understand?”
“I’ll take care of it. I’ll head to Apple Grove right now, and I will do the job. Don’t worry,” came the answer.