"Shhh be quiet, take that end and cinch it up tight." I said looking around. We were secluded but I didn’t want to take any chances. With Paul's hip we couldn’t get away if discovered.
"Ok like this?"
I shined the flash light over to Paul's side, everything looked fine.
"Yeah that’s perfect, now adjust that turn buckle. Pull that wire taunt and be careful not to cut yourself, it's a sharp bastard."
"Fuckers are gonna pay huh Mike?" he said.
"They sure are. I only wish we had a claymore, that would take a leg clean off. I saw it once in Nam, fucking gooks leg exploded into nothing. This one's done; let's go set the other one up."
We packed up our equipment, a hodge podge mix of supplies Paul and I picked up at the Army Supply store, along with a few items we made in my basement. Long into the night we worked, stringing razor wire and various homemade devices until it was perfect.
"They'll approach this way," I said, pointing up the street, "then when they swing over to the right, they'll split up. Some will go to the left where the low slung razor wire will get a few. The ones who go to the right will encounter the same along with the flash bombs that will push them to the pool, that's where the shit hits the fan."
"The pool," Paul said forlornly, "I hope they make it that far."
"No matter which way they go they are fucked. But they always wind up at the in-ground pool behind the old Thomas place. If any of them make it that far they will hit the trip wire around the edge and go flying into it. The broken glass scattered inside should guarantee lots of blood and it's a deep fucker so there should be a few broken bones too. And then peace."
"And quiet," he added.
Don’t get me wrong this isn’t a bad neighborhood by any stretch of the imagination; in fact it's one of the nicer neighborhoods in town. But it’s leaning in that direction and could go either way. It happened on Willow Avenue, two blocks up, now it's over run. Nip it in the bud my daddy used to say.
"It’ll be funny to watch." Paul said.
"We could film it and put it up on 'The You Tube', I bet it'd get a million hits."
"What's a hit?"
"That’s when someone watches your video."
"You know how to do that?"
"No, I don’t even own a computer but my grandson does he could do it."
"He doesn’t own a skateboard or one of them BMX bikes does he?" I asked and looked at him hard.
"No, of course not, he plays video games, Call of Duty mostly. He's a good kid."
They approached quickly, their skateboards humming down the sidewalk. They jumped and flipped and did wheelies on their boards as they rode, showing amazing dexterity and skill. We hobbled as fast as Paul's bad hip would allow to my front porch and took our spots.
Skateboarders, that’s where it all starts, then who knows where it might go from there, drug dealers, pimps, hookers, your guess is as good as mine. The cops won’t do anything; they say they’re not breaking any laws and they're not really. Not yet at least. But when you open the door even just a crack, you don’t know what vermin might come in.
As sure as I’m standing here I know it. If you let that element in it will lead to worse things, and that’s not gonna happen on my watch. I might be blowing it out of proportion but better to be safe than sorry. We're keeping our neighborhood safe.
Paul and I sat and watched as they approached, me in my rocker and Paul on the porch swing, both of us thinking the same thing, "Let the show begin."