Free Season of the Witch by Timothy C. Phillips

That kind of stuff immediately draws the attention of IA; I mean, like I said, this was a cop with a past. He claimed that some punks must have stashed the bills there. Someone he had busted the night before. But it just didn’t add up. I was uniform back in those days. It so happened I was there when he brought these guys in. It was a vice raid on a hash house. A pot party got busted in progress. Nothing really big. I remember the two in question, and they were two small-time losers, not the kind to carry wads of hundreds around.”
    “It sounds like you know these punks.”
    “Ask any West Precinct officer. They were well known to us all. I’ve even busted them myself a few times, back when I was in uniform. It seemed like they were always there. I know them well enough so I can tell you they were small timers. Grew up in jail, most likely. Strictly two-bit losers, the both of them. You know the type.”
    “I know the type, but it would really help if I had some names, Jake.”
    “Aw, Hell. I don’t know . . .” He stopped when he saw the look I was giving him, winced, and appeared to concentrate. “Let me think. One had a limp. He’d gotten shot in a holdup, or something. Yeah, I got it. The name’s Harry. Yeah, that’s it. Harry. Harry and his partner, Donny. No, wait . . . it’s Danny. They call him—”
    “—Itchy.”
    Jake looked at me as if I had suddenly grown an extra head. He also looked slightly irritated, but went on.
    “Itchy. Yeah. Now there’s a real loser for you. I heard that he got sent up for slashing up an old lady for something like thirty dollars. Almost killed her. Beat the rap by making youthful offender, but still did some time in Juvenile. Like I said, though, that’s just what I heard. That was even before I busted him. But I remember him. Always scratching himself, like he had fleas. What about him?”
    “Believe it or not, Jake, I used to bust him, too. I believe he’s at the center of things. But I can’t seem to locate him. He’s laying low, and doing a pretty good job of it. I’m frankly surprised you’ve busted him, Jake, I mean, I was bringing that kid in seven or eight years ago.”
    “Roland, a punk at eighteen is usually a punk at twenty-eight.”
    “Actually, he was more like fifteen, but I’ll agree with your point. So what have you hauled him in for?”
    “It seems he and some of his pals were hopping freights over in the old Birmingham Freight Yards. A lot of college kids are doing it now. You know, the old hobo story. Coast to coast for free. Well, as it turns out, there’s a whole subculture that has developed around it. Crazy stuff, really. Several kids have lost arms and legs trying to jump freight trains.”
    “Danny was doing this? He always seemed more the hard core criminal type.”
    “Exactly. The story with him was the drugs. He was selling to the kids on the trains. There were some altercations over money. It’s a really weird scene. You got kids doing it all over the country. I went down to the yard with several other officers on a complaint from some railroad workers. We arrested a whole group of these people, Danny among them. I mean, they were all trespassing, after all. As it turns out, Danny was out there dealing. That was maybe three years ago.”
    “I wonder if these kids are still out there.”
    “You kidding? It’s bigger now than ever. Now you’ve got college kids and career hippies doing it. It’s still just as illegal as it ever was. Go down to the Freight yard, you’ll see them. People never cease to amaze me with the stupid stuff they find to do. There’ve been a couple of arms and legs lost this year alone.”
    “Sounds like a strange way to have fun.”
    “Yeah. Anyway, Danny’s probably on the North Side somewhere. He’s closing in on thirty years old. He’s probably not up to doing the hobo thing nowadays. Besides, he’s a drifter, always trying his hand at something new, always petty stuff, though.”
    “Then