To either
side of the supply room was a lab classroom filled with students working away
at whatever experiments the chem professors thought important, completely
oblivious to what Alex’s students did.
The
students with boxes streamed down the hall to the stairwell where they
disappeared. More students came out of
other supply rooms, similarly emptying them. Other students secured the ends of
the hall from other students coming and going. Every one of his students wore a
fedora purchased from a dollar store. The lookouts especially tugged them down
as they glanced left and right.
The last of
the students finished their work; they all filed out of the halls and the
chemistry building to make the trek back to the history building. Once back in the
classroom, Alex went to the front of the room, adjusted his tie and fedora, and
addressed the class.
“All right,
youse mooks, see, it ain’t right just to bust up a joint during Prohibition. See,
we hit them, they hit us, and nothing changes. But if we take their stash,
well, then, we can go ahead and sell it, putting those greaseballs outta
business. Whaddayou lookin’ at? Go on, write your essays, already. Class dismissed.”