Night Plane
by Ian S. Maloney
Dad woke me from a deep slumber. The call came in at 2:50 am. My head was covered in my Star Wars sheets. I was seven years old, living in Marine Park, Brooklyn and tagging along with my dad, Jimmy “Bugs.” His footsteps creaked across the parquet floors upstairs and a light tap followed on my bedroom door.
“Buddy, up for an adventure for a few bucks?”