Free The Old Turk's Load by Gregory Gibson

marbles?”
“It’s twenty pounds of heroin, Jimmy! You wanna sell it yourself ?”
Murchison and Kraft stared at him as if he’d gone mad. They were fossils, he thought sadly. They’d been useless for years. What was the point of even talking to them, except about old times?
Goodnight, Irene
D
    own at Kevin’s they were trying to organize some street theater for a high school in the Bronx. Juan’s cousin was a sophomore there, and that was how they found out that an army recruiter was scheduled to give the student body a lecture about Vietnam. The idea was to dress in clown suits and run through the halls distributing water balloons, squirt guns filled with blood-red food coloring, antiwar leaflets, and general mayhem. They knew a certain number of students would respond, helping spread the chaos, thus making the event a revolutionary teaching exercise. Juan went in with the cousin one day and got a layout of the building. They’d already decided who would enter which doors. Then they hit a problem.
    The assembly was scheduled for nine a.m. If they waited until after it started, there wouldn’t be any students in the hallways to catch the riot. On the other hand, if they launched their onslaught before the assembly began, they’d probably be ejected before the army guy took the stage, which would defeat one of the major purposes of the event, which was to stand at the back of the auditorium in their clown suits making a ruckus with New Year’s Eve noisemakers while he was trying to speak.
    They broke for a joint, giving Kevin the opening to start in again on his dynamite scheme. It was the moment Gloria was waiting for. She had it all planned out. She’d let him talk, then dissect the idea, showing how ludicrous it was. However, the more Kevin talked, the more annoyed she became, until finally she was so angry, she couldn’t have dissected anything, except maybe him. She couldn’t even shout. She hissed instead.
    “Do you seriously expect anyone to carry dynamite into a police station while you sit on your fat ass two blocks away? You couldn’t even get one of your twelve-year-old Chicana groupies down the street to pull a stunt like that. You’re full of shit, Kevin. Your plan is full of shit.”
    Gallagher, sensing unusual danger in this attack, would not meet her eyes. He shot a “what a bitch” appeal to the other three men. Leo nodded. But Juan said, “You’ve been on this one all week, man. It’s not going to fly. Give it a rest.”
    Lloyd, who’d just delivered an ounce of Acapulco Gold to Gloria, was standing on the other side of Gallagher’s big front room, about to make his exit. He’d been cranked out, doing deliveries for two days, and still had a few more people to see. After that he was planning to tone it down a little, mellow out. He surveyed the scene with a judicious air and delivered his parting benediction. “You both need to take a break. I don’t know what’s wrong with you two, but everything’s personal all of a sudden. You’re creating an atmosphere that is not conducive to optimum results.”
    Kevin called him a bourgeois asshole. Gloria freaked. She went into the kitchen, gathered up the folders regarding pending trials that had accumulated on the table, marched through the front room with her eyes brimming, and pushed past Lloyd into the street. She felt like her brain was about to explode.
    The journey up to 116th Street calmed her, and she thought she’d gotten it pretty much back together. But the instant she stepped into the office Irene looked up from her desk and said, “Gloria! What’s the matter?”
    “That jerk . . .” It was all jammed up, same as back at Kevin’s. She dropped the folders on the desk and slumped disconsolately on the couch.
    Irene came and sat beside her, gave her a hug and a reassuring pat. “Just start with one piece and tell it. The rest will come. Then you’ll feel better.”
    So she started with the dynamite business, Irene