The Death of Kyle Greyson

A decade of robbing liquor stores finally catches up to this group of friends.

The Death of Kyle Greyson

M. A. Kilcorse

Once a year, never the same place twice. Scope it out, find your weak point, and you're in and out in one minute flat. Walk with purpose and direction, but never run. Take anything you want. If you drop it, leave it, but don't hesitate to grab more. Tonight, this one night out of the rest of the year, we can do anything we want. The world is ours.

That was what the four of us decided. Our “code,” if you will. As the years wore on and we went off chasing our own separate corners of the world, we never failed to meet back in the home town for our annual celebration of life. The thrill of risk that pounded heat back into our blood. From the start, we took to burglary as if it were a missing aspect of our lives.

Our first conspiracy was born in the summer of 1999, one or two years fresh out of high school. Big Jim and I had known each other from awhile back. Kyle and Sam were friends of Jim, and, is the natural order of events, I came to be friends with Kyle and Sam.

Short and wiry, Kyle reminded me of a squirrel. Prancing around dedicated to even the menial tasks. Denying any harm that may come to himself. Sam was a ginger; his skin dyed a permanent red brought on by even the slightest sun. More reserved than Kyle, yet not fully enough at ease to allow true self-reflection. Constantly caught in two worlds, each side demanding his full dedication.

The Summer of 1999 had just begun to wake up and shake the coating of ice that had frosted over our city all winter. On one night, with the cool breeze rattling the blinds, the four of us were caught in a game of Euchre. After going through a few rounds, we all decided that a cigarette break was in order, so we headed to the balcony. As we smoked and swapped stories from nights like this past, Kyle garnered our attention around the tale about how he and a friend had tried to break into a small liquor store, only to be scared off by the security system. Everyone talked back and forth, each trying to give some small claim to debauchery.

The end result of our c**k-off was the four of us agreeing to go out that night, find the carryout, and break in. We had a plan and everything. Kyle and I would climb through a known exposed air vent. Mission Impossible style and all. Sam would be our look out at the store while Jim waited with the get-away car one block over. Impeccable.

“Matt,” Kyle said to me as we piled in the car to begin our night, “Did you guys grab bags? We have an extra pair of gloves for you. What should we do first? Are you ready?” He was struggling to hold his voice steady, but everyone could see through his facade of confidence.

“Yeah, we got everything we need,” Big Jim said, “What's the plan?”

First we decided that a stop at a nearby gas station was in order. Big Jim and I purchased two energy drinks, paid, and by the time we reached the car, we only had a half-full can. Second, we drove by the carryout so we could take a look at the task before us. Sitting in the parking lot, empty and inconspicuous, was a mini-van. At this point, it was one-thirty in the morning, and all of us very much doubted that anyone was there.

Turning the corner, we rolled into a neighborhood. Large white houses peered at us from every side of the road. The streetlights cast an eerie, orange glow over everything. Parking in front of a house at the end of the street, we shut off the car and waited in silence.

All of us were on edge. This was a nice neighborhood. Suspicious white people who peer out their blinds and dial 9-1-1 if so much as a black cat runs past their sight. The house across from us, the one who's yard we needed to cross to reach Carl's, had a light on in the window and a shadow that flashed in and out of view every now and then.

It was too late to turn back. We were here, at the edge of the cliff side; our Everest staring us in the eyes. Besides, I don't think any of us were afraid, fear seems to be too complex a thought for our mental states at the time. Our thoughts were primal, echoing back to the days when our kind hunted the mammoth for food. Kyle, Sam, and I stepped out of the car, Big Jim was to wait here for our getaway. Once our feet hit the fresh pavement, we were determined and bound.

We flew through the night air. Gliding across the air as we ducked in and out of shadows. The crisp breeze filled my entire body and revitalized my core, sending tingles up and down my spine. Throwing ourselves down on the ground when we reached the back of the carryout, we rolled over on our backs as we paused to catch our breath.

From across the field we came from, we looked back at the house with the light on in the window. From our vantage point, it looked as though someone was watching us. Some figure that seemed to cut across the curtains and peer out at our location. Is that a phone in their hand? Only the dark silhouette was visible from behind the store. We needed someone to get closer and take a better look at the possible saboteur.

Looking at the other two, and knowing that time was of the essence, I volunteered and scattered away. After five, long steps, I threw myself on the ground and began crawling on my belly across the grass. Despite feeling like a snake, easily sliding across the greenery, it still felt as though it took forever to reach the other side. I found the edge of a steep mound. Climbing up, I stayed low to the ground as my eyes focused on the source of all our trouble.

Perception. It was a simple matter of perception. The window facing us that we saw the shadow flash by was actually on the side of the house. From across the field, we had been staring at the corner and became confused. The spy that we thought as a threat was actually a little old woman in her rocking chair. With needles, not a phone, in her hands.

Making my way back to Kyle and Sam, I took a second to study their worried faces before telling them what I found. “We're good,” I said, “No one's watching us, it was just a trick of the light.”

Turning to examine the air vent, my first thought was that it was much smaller and higher up than I was expecting. No matter, Kyle and I were chosen not because of our skill at thievery, but rather because we were the only two who could have possibly fit through that tiny opening. Without hesitation, Kyle nodded and began to pry off thin pieces of plywood that had been nailed over our entrance, and discarded the pathetic sheets of wood.

Lifting himself through the small opening, Kyle pulled himself through and landed with clang that seemed to echo over five states. Sam and I waited for what seemed like hours. Finally, he stuck his thin face out the vent and urged me to hurry.

He had made it seem much easier than it was. I passed my bag to him and hoisted myself up on the ledge. A bit of jagged metal threatened to tear at my skin, but my leather jacket held true and I passed it unharmed.

“Reach out and grab my shoulders,” Kyle's voice rang out through the darkness. I listened and glided my hands forward, unable to see what I might cling onto. The cloth of a jacket passed under my fingertips so I reached forward and put my weight onto Kyle, hoping he could hold me. Lowering me to the floor and waiting until I steadied myself, Kyle shoved his way past the piles of s**t in the storage closet before finding the door. I watched as a thin sliver of light coming through the doorway became larger; revealing the maniacal grin plastered across Kyle's face.

We stepped out into the store. Every single light was on. Beyond the nerve-wrenching silence, it looked as if the store were open and running it's usual day hours. Passing by a few back shelves of whiskey, Kyle threw open his bag and started grabbing everything he could wrap his fingers around. “Where's the counter?” I asked after opening my own bag and grabbing the first bottle of liquor I saw.

“Up by the front door,” Kyle replied, “Head straight up this aisle and you can't miss it. Turning down, I approached the counter slowly at first, then with more confidence once I realized how poor of a security system these sorry folks invested in. Hopping over the counter, I set my bag down and peered over the selection of cigarettes. I felt like Big Jim in a candy store, shoveling in what I could with no shame of gluttony. Cigs, blunt-wraps, and rolling papers. Grabbing them by the carton and fitting all I could into my small backpack.

Kyle ran up beside me and started loading his bag with menthol cigarettes. Being a full-flavor smoker, I had been inconsiderate during my taking. I turned to him and nodded, “It's been about a minute, we should get out of here,” I said.

“Yeah,” he responded as he turned back. Walking quickly, I watched out of the corner of my eye as Kyle dropped a single pack of cigarettes.

“Leave 'em,” I shouted, refusing to slow my march towards our exit.

“Those are Big Jim's!” was the last thing I heard him shout before the alarm went off.

It all happened in a split second, one fluid motion, but I saw every part unravel in its own separate sequence. Pivoting on one foot, Kyle knelt down and swooped up the fallen pack. Swinging back around to make a full circle, his foot shot forward and hit the ground with a resounding thud. There was a moment of silence. Both of us waited for what felt like an eternity in a perfect vacuum. But, with no grace or tact, the security system finally served its purpose.

In a high-pitched, warbling scream, our actions were instantly made public to anyone on the street. A squad car was sure to be here within minutes.

Abandoning our discreet act, we booked it for the supply closet we entered from. I saw Sam's face peering through the small air vent. Throwing our bags at Sam, Kyle took a neat dive out the window, landing perfectly on the other side. I followed suit, only, when I tried diving out the window, the pocket on my jacket snagged the bit of metal around the opening, and stuck me dangling halfway out the air vent.

Sam and Kyle were nowhere to be seen. Panicked, I began thrashing, desperately trying to unhook myself. I wasn't budging. In a last attempt, I braced my arms against the side of the building and used all my strength to push me out and free. I could hear the threads of my pocket snapping. A moment of hesitation, and then I was loose. I crawled out and landed hard on the ground below.

Only a few yards ahead, I scrambled to my feet and closed the distance with the other two and myself. Our shoes glided smoothly across the early morning grass. Three dark sprites carving shadows across the landscape.

Once our heads were visible past the small hill, Jim's car roared to life. Sprinting with all our might, we skidded around the car, threw the doors open, and piled in. Sam and I sat next to each other in the back, Kyle took the front passenger seat. Staying at the speed limit, Big Jim tried to navigate us out of the neighborhood. After a few wrong turns, we finally made it to the main road. Once far past the store and almost home, we divvied up our earnings and had a good laugh. Honestly, I don't think I've ever gotten a better night's sleep.

That was ten years ago. It's now 2009, and we've robbed a total of nine “convenience” stores. We were older now, but the thrill still lit fire to our senses and reminded us that we were alive. Not just going through the motions of our day-to-day activities. Our careers that seemed purposed to destroy what made us human.

Immoral? Yes, there is nothing about our actions that could be justified to anyone else. We didn't steal for need. Not even for want. Honestly, I don't even like liquor. The only items of interest to me were the cigarettes. Hardly enough to risk going down for a felony burglary charge. All the same, I showed up every year. Went through the actions. After the third time, we were so practiced that we would never hesitate at any point. Assuming we knew what was around every corner.

I'm thirty now. Even though the Once a Year Club has done as much for me as any of the other guys, I'm tired. It's been going on too long without a hitch. After this night, this one last time, I'm going to tell the other guys that I'm done. Out.

“What's up guys?” I call out as I pushed the apartment door open. The three of them were gathered around the kitchen table, ready for our game of Euchre. Because we had no real interest in theft, the entire night was heavily steeped in tradition. Starting with the Euchre game. Kyle and I were always on a team against Jim and Sam. If Jim and Sam won, we robbed a liquor store. If Kyle and I won, we go after a gas station.

About halfway into the game, I told them that I was done. Jim and Sam shared my sentiments, only Kyle seemed disappointed about my resignation.

“I think you guys are a bunch of p*****s,” Kyle said as he threw a card on top of the pile, “This is our tenth year. We just hit a decade and you guys want to bail?”

“Listen,” Sam said, “I've got a kid on the way and a mortgage to pay. Mat's right. I don't personally believe in luck, good our bad, but it's the same situation. When we were younger, yeah a year in jail would suck, but who was it hurting other than ourselves? Now we've got families and careers at risk.”

“Don't you see,” Kyle said as he looked around at us, his mouth open in disbelief, “That's exactly the reason why we do this. So we don't let a career or some woman-”

“My wife, you f****r,” Sam shot Kyle a nasty look.

“I'm happy for you Sam,” Kyle said, “But our really already ready to throw in the towel?”

“We're thirty now,” Jim responded, “I've seen enough thrills in life already. I'd kinda like to ride it out easy from here.”

“We're not selling our souls,” I said, “We've grown up and adapted to our new environment. It's how we survive as a species. Those that don't perish.”

Kyle looked at me for a long time. Finally, he sighed and said, “Maybe you're right.”

A few more rounds pass while we talk about our plans for the night. Our grand finale to cap off a decade of crime. Four duffel bags worth of goods. We wanted to empty entire shelves. Sam set his final card down, and with that, it was decided that tonight we would go for a liquor store. It didn't take long to decide the location. Tonight we were using the smash n' grab technique. A brick threw the window, and give us a minute before we bail. For what the plan lacked in style, it made up for in brute simplicity. The less steps involved, the harder it is to f**k up.

It's two in the morning by the time we finish our Euchre game. We pack the cards away and grab our duffel bags and gloves. Climbing in the car, we looked at each for a moment before bursting out in laughter and peeling out of the parking lot and onto the road.

We take our favorite road into Michigan. It's all farmland out here. At night, the empty fields look like vast oceans of darkness, threatening to swallow us whole at any given moment. We turn into the outskirts of town and find our destination. A single corner shop called Jacob's Party Supplies. Pulling up a few streets down Sam, Kyle, and I jump out of the car and stealthily approach the front of the store. The entire street is deserted, shadows surrounding us on every side. Searching through the front garden, Kyle finds a large rock and walks up to the front window that spans the entire length of the shop. He looks back at us and I watch as that grin abducts his facial features.

I watched the rock leave his hand, soar through the air, and collide with the glass window. For a moment, it looked as though the rock had splashed into a pool of water. Waves of glass shards poured out and threatened to bloody our exposed flesh and eyes. We froze for what seemed like hours, but the alarm never went off. Silence.

“What are you guys waiting for?” Kyle asked as he climbed over the splintered frame and pulled his bag open. Sam and I nodded at each other, and while he ran down to the other side of the street to act as a lookout I followed after Kyle and went for the front counter.

We never saw his parked car. No one saw the shadow that ducked back into the storage closet to find the .45 magnum when he heard the window smash. He never made a sound as he crouched low and worked his way through the shelves. It was only the next day when the three of us watched the news that we learned that the Jacob Gatz, of Jacob's Party Supplies, was staying late that night to do inventory.

The story he told the cameras was that Kyle after spotting him, tried to bash a large glass bottle over his head so of course he had to act in self-defense. And, he's still very worried because, after he shot, the other dangerous criminal (me) escaped and is still out there. Probably plotting his accomplice's revenge.

Not quite what happened. While I was struggling to shove a carton of cigarettes into my bag, I turned around and saw Jacob sneaking up behind Kyle, holding his gun up like he thought he was Dirty Harry or some bullshit. When I saw the gun, I froze as ice filled my veins and my thoughts slow as my entire body fell numb. Aiming at Kyle's back, Jacob yelled, “Freeze!”

Spinning around, a large, glass gallon of Jack Daniels in his right hand, Kyle's face dropped when he saw that shiny barrel pointed his way. Throwing his arms in the air he let the bottle drop to the floor. It shattered in a magnificent crescendo, the tinted liquor bursting into a flood that surrounded Kyle's shoes. I jumped over the counter to intervene, and somewhere between the glass smashing against the floor and him realizing someone else was here with him, Jacob panicked and squeezed off three rounds.

The first shot missed Kyle completely, hitting the sliding glass door behind him and causing another forty-five dollars to Jacob's store. The second bullet punctured him in the thigh, causing Kyle to lurch forward. I'll never forgot the look on Kyle's face. Total shock. The pain didn't even have a chance to set in.

The final bullet ripped through his throat and Kyle fell to his knees. Ribbons of blood sprayed from his wound as his mouth became a pouring fountain of red. I held my breath until I saw his face grow pale and rigid; the gleam in his eyes slowly burned out.

I never gave Jacob a chance to turn around and pop another degenerate off. I jumped out the frame and found Sam. He tried asking me where Kyle was, but I just kept running. We made it to the car and Sam hopped in. It was like I didn't even see them. I ran past the car and off the street. Across lawns and gardens until I found myself running through a small forest. A patch of trees separating sub-developments. I collapsed on the leaf bed and held myself, completely past the ability to form any sort of rational thought. I was nothing but a useless body, as Kyle was now. He was my friend, and one NRA member with probably too many bumper stickers took it all away.

He wasn't a bad person. Just another fish that got bored of swimming in the same direction year after year. But, I guess the shark finally got him. Godspeed, Kyle Greyson. Rest in peace.