The "Friend logs," part two.

Good plans and bad plans.

At the far end of the street I live on, there is a tiny, fenced off dirt road on the left, and one of the nations highest rated golf courses on the right. Of course, to a bunch of half-drunk 20-somethings, the golf course WOULD present the bigger, shinier target for merrymaking, but they have actual POLICE that work there.

So, after polishing off an indecent amount of Southern Comfort on a summer night, we decided (my friends Tim, Chuck, John, and myself) to take the dirt road instead. It's about a three mile trek to get there, and we walked the whole way.

I should probably mention that at the end of this tiny dirt road is a complex that has belonged to the MAFIA for the last, oh, century or so. In the twenties and thirties, the mansion and the complex around it was a very "happening" place, but it's been quiet for quite some time.

We creep down to the end of the road, and there's this huge, locked, black wrought-iron gate sitting in front of a bridge. The bridge is beautiful, arching over a lake that you'd never suspect is there, and leads up to this HUGE house, and massive driveway set into the woods. The planning began.

John, always nimble, immediately climbs the gate. Tim and Chuck have their misgivings, both of them are pretty big guys. Being the "girl" of the group has always given me issues; I only had brothers and male cousins, and spent my whole life trying to be "one of the guys." So, not to be outdone, I wriggle through the cracks in the fence. (I was a skinny little critter five years ago.) Chuck is an ex-navy boy, not terribly tall but pretty damn stacked, and he has now been out-couraged by both the little people. So HE finds a way of circumventing the gate. Tim is about six foot three, and big as hell to boot, but Tim is about a pin away from CRAZY and he finds a way through, too. I don't remember how, I was already creeping over the bridge.

When we get closer, we can see that the mans proper rises up on a hill to our right, and to our left is a private tennis court. So John decides to sneak up to the house, and gets about a thirty foot lead on us. The other three of us are creeping through the yard behind him, when all of a sudden... floodlights over the ENTIRE COMPLEX go on.

We freeze. There's the sound of barking in the house. THESE PEOPLE ARE IN THE MAFIA AND THEY HAVE A HUGE PRIVATE LAKE TO HIDE THE BODIES IN!!!!

Tim, who's ahead of Chuck and I, turns back to us, eyes all round. After a second he speaks, voice in a low, calm whisper.

"I...have a plan. That plan is... RUN!!!!" And the three of us go tearing off like madmen back across the bridge.

John, up ahead, turns back to look at us, and all he sees is us disappearing into the darkness towards the bridge. Cause we're loyal like that. So he of course comes running after, stealth forgotten, and we all squirm through the gate. I think we were halfway down the road towards out house before we slowed down, every one of us in stitches and laughing ourselves stupid.

Tim's line still lives on in infamy.