Johnny the Bone got his name because, at the age of six, he tried to take Dad’s tractor for a ride. He had seen how it was done, and one day, he did it.
Just below the steering wheel, there was a lever.
Pull it back to go fast, push forward to go slow. Turn the key to start.
Crash through the barn door in reverse, jump off in panic, and get one foot under the wheel to stop.
He didn’t need crutches, not even a walking stick, but since that day, Johnny the Bone walked with a limp.
In the classroom, Johnny sat in the back, hoping his grades would be good enough for him to be trained as a mechanic.
They weren’t. Johnny graduated Dumbo cum Shake-My-Head and ended up on the dole.
For a while, it wasn’t so bad. Social Services paid his rent, his food, his clothes, and a case of beer every weekend. He could have lived his life like that, but Johnny was a businessman.
And, save for his uneven gait, Johnny was a handsome devil. Well-proportioned and strong. Out of all the eligible bachelors in the village, the voluptuous Linda the Exhaust Grouse chose him, Johnny the Bone, to be her man.
Was it his long, blonde hair, combed like Hitler over his clear, blue eyes, was it his broad shoulders and narrow hips, or could it be something else? Johnny didn’t know and didn’t care. He was the luckiest man alive, but he wasn’t going to rely on good fortune alone to retain her affection.
He needed money and he had a plan.
Two villages down the valley, where not many people had heard of Johnny the Bone, there was a gas station.
Johnny knew it from his trips to the city. Every time he passed by, he stopped for gas, and while he waited, he hobbled inside to buy himself a hot-dog. That’s when he saw his providence.
As the gas station attendant opened the door to the back room, Johnny caught a glimpse of steel.
A safe -- a bank box without a bank to protect it. A treasure chest, full of shiny jewels and gold.
If he could come down here one night, open that safe and take what was inside, he could buy Linda a diamond ring. There might even be one inside he could use.
Dad’s farm didn’t go so well. The cows were gone, the tractor rusted, and the barn roof looked like a saddle. Dad had a job now, blasting tunnels for the public roads -- a boring job with interesting perks.
In the basement, Dad had a case of dynamite.
If it could blow holes in mountains, it could surely blow a hole in a safe.
One evening, Johnny put his plan into action. “Daddy, can I borrow the truck tonight?”
Dad put down his newspaper. “What’s wrong with your own car?”
The car couldn’t hold all the riches. It was too small. Johnny mumbled, “Nothing.”
Dad shrugged. “It’s almost out of gas.” A man of few words, he began reading his paper again.
Johnny grinned. “I’ll fill it up for you, no worries.” He limped down to the basement, grabbed the case of dynamite, three detonators, and some fuse. Carefully, he carried it to the truck and loaded it in the back next to Dad’s toolbox.
It was an old truck, a Ford from the fifties, but it was fast enough, should the need arise.
As he got in the driver’s seat and started the big, rumbling V8 engine, he knew he was true to his destiny.
The trip to the gas station took longer than usual. Johnny drove slowly. He didn’t want to be pulled over, and he needed to go through the details of the master plan in his head.
On the dashboard, a red lamp blinked.
Oh, fuck, the truck. If he ran out of gas, he wouldn’t get home. That gas station better be open.
The engine roared as he stepped on the accelerator.
An hour later, he saw the ‘open’ sign glowing through the trees.
Relieved, he pulled into the station, filled the truck with gasoline, and, as usual, he stumbled inside for a sausage.
Whistling, pretending nothing was up, he put the money on the counter.
“You’re in a good mood today,” the attendant smiled as he snatched the cash and put in his teller. “Is something happening?”
“No, nothing at all,” Johnny replied. “By the way, when do you close?”
“At ten.”
Johnny glanced at his watch.
It was 9:45 PM.
He grinned. “I was just in time, then, wasn’t I?”
“Sure was.”
Johnny returned to the truck, drove two hundred meters and pulled over.
At 10:30 PM, he swung the truck around and drove slowly back the way he came.
Between the tree trunks, the sign said ‘Closed’.
His heart raced. This was going to be a night to remember.
He grabbed a mallet from Dad’s toolbox and swung it against the door with all his might.
It crashed right through and clanged across the floor tiles inside.
Sticking his hand through the hole, contorting, he unlocked the door.
It creaked open.
With his heart pounding in his chest, Johnny the Bone asserted that Part One of his plan had been executed with dyed-in-the-wool perfection.
Now, to part two. He returned to the truck and fetched the dynamite, fuse, and detonators. Taking great care not to stumble, he brought it inside and put it on the counter.
He grabbed the mallet off the floor, smashed his way to the back room and peeked inside.
Oh, my oh my. Standing on two concrete blocks, that safe was bigger than he remembered. It had to contain the Fort Knox gold. At least.
Good thing he brought all the dynamite. Stick by stick by stick, he stocked the dynamite like firewood underneath the safe. When the case was empty, he poked in all three detonators and connected the fuse, rolling it out as he backtracked through the door, over the floor tiles and out to the truck.
Marveling at his genius, he lit the fuse.
As the fuse sputtered its way past the gas pumps, Johnny had a moment of doubt.
He backed away. His steps got bigger and his pace got faster the closer the sparkling glow got to the door.
When it disappeared inside, he turned and ran.
The blast knocked him off his feet.
He landed face down on the asphalt, spun around on his back and stared.
The safe took to the skies like a rocket.
Huston had a problem.
So did the safe. It slowed down, stopped, then plunged towards the Earth.
Johnny the Bone gazed as it began its accelerating descent.
It didn’t have a dent in it until it landed on the gas pump in a sea of sparks.
Towering flames lit up the night.
Ka-boom. The gas station burst into shock and awe. Flaming fuel rained down from Heaven.
It stank. Burned, too. Ouch. His shirt was on fire. He rolled over until he splashed down in the ditch.
Johnny’s ears rang. He didn’t hear the sirens, but he saw them. Blinking, blue lights flashed over the treetops.
Hobbling along, he didn’t get far.
It wasn’t all bad. Linda the Exhaust Grouse said it was romantic.
For the first six months of his six-year sentence, she visited him every day.
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