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.”