This Side of the Hudson: Not a Peep
We dragged the loaded trunk through the stubby cornfield until nightfall. JJ dropped his end, tripped over a root, and fell facefirst into mud. He rolled on his side.
“Joey? Can we just crash here t’night? I’m deader’n a doornail.” I shook my head.
“We gotta keep moving till we find someplace t’hide.”
“Hide what? Us or the loot?”
“Both, genius. It won’t do good to leave evidence lyin’ around. Y’know what they can do t’find evidence these days, JJ?” He moaned slightly, but perked up.
“Joey! I think I see a house! Smoke comin’ from the chimney and everything! Think they’ll bunk us for the night?”
“I dunno JJ…”
“Joey, when was the last time you was in a bed with sheets?” JJ asked longingly. I sighed.
“Alright. But not a peep ‘bout the trunk, capiche? As a matter of fact, you’re not to say a word till I say so, got it?”
“Cuz it was your big mouth that got us in trouble last time, that’s why. We can talk once the folks hit the hay. But if they sic the cops on us, I’m taking the walk this time.”