Read The Fourth Stall Part III for Free Online Page B

bag. He’d enter a stall and remove the cash. He’d take his cut out, which was pretty minimal, and then conceal the rest of the cash in his backpack. Then sometime after lunch and before afternoon recess he’d walk past my locker and slip the cash in through the vents.
    That might seem complicated. And, yeah, it was. But we just couldn’t be too careful with Dickerson on our tail the way he had been. Vince and I learned over the years from watching a lot of mobster movies like The Godfather that dirty money had to be laundered to conceal where it came from. We wanted our link to the current business to be as weak as possible.
    Anyways, on that third cash-drop Monday when I opened my locker, my knees almost buckled. There was a small lake of cash at the bottom of my locker. Seriously, I practically needed a boat just to fish out my gym shoes.
    Later that day after school when I showed Vince and we counted the money, we could hardly believe it. There was more than one hundred dollars, all totaled.
    â€œMac, there’s no way this is fifteen percent. It has to be more!” Vince said. “I mean, if this is actually fifteen percent, then Jimmy just beat our all-time four-day profits record by two hundred and ninety-eight dollars!”
    â€œThat’s not just beating our record, Vince. That’s obliterating it.”
    â€œHow is that even possible? He’d have to see like ninety customers per day. There’s just not enough time for that to be possible. The numbers don’t add up, Mac. And numbers don’t lie. It’s like the TINSTAAFL axiom in action right before our eyes.”
    My social studies teacher had taught us about that on the first day of class this year: TINSTAAFL (pronounced “tin-staw-full”). It means, “There Is No Such Thing As A Free Lunch.” Which basically means if a deal seems too good to be true, then it probably is.
    All money going out in business, in life, in the universe, eventually needs to equal or reconcile with all money coming in. If we were making this much money, then who was losing out?
    â€œHe must just charge more money than we did?” I suggested. “Also, he might offer more of an express type service. You know, faster results but less personal attention and treatment. He goes for volume.
    Vince nodded. “I guess.”
    And so we added the money to our Funds, and didn’t talk about it again that week. Especially not after Thursday. Because that was when Vince and I realized Jimmy’s business practices were the least of our problems.

V ince called me around four o’clock that Thursday. This wasn’t too unusual, as we talked to each other or hung out pretty much every single day. But I could tell right away that something was different about this call.
    â€œWhat’s up? Did you call to try pointlessly to challenge my vast Cubs knowledge?” I said.
    â€œMac! You gotta get over here!”
    â€œWhat? Why?”
    â€œYou’re never going to guess what happened. . . . This is bad, this is so bad,” he said.
    â€œHey, it can’t be worse than the way the Cubs season has gone. I mean . . .”
    â€œMac, listen to me!” he yelled. “That’s nothing compared to this. Now get over here. You’re never going to believe this unless you see it.”
    Then I heard a deep voice in the background say something and laugh. Then I heard what sounded like a small scuffle, and Vince said something I couldn’t make out, but I could tell that he was even angrier and more upset than he had been just seconds before.
    â€œI gotta go, so get over here,” Vince said, and then the line went dead.
    I was still grounded from my bike technically, but I took it anyway. I didn’t think I could survive the length of time it would take me to walk to Vince’s. I had no idea if he was in trouble, what kind of danger he might be in, what was waiting for me