They met at alley that ran between LaFayette Street and Jefferson Avenue, the alley that ran behind Old Man Lombardi’s back yard garden.

“Okay,” Johnny said. “We’re real quiet from here. When we get in the yard, grab the biggest tomato you can find and get out of there. If Old Man Lombardi shows up, run like hell and meet at the canal.” 

Bobby looked scared again.

“Just a precaution,” Johnny said. “Everything’s cool.”

They reached the yard and squatted by the rear chain link gate. The houses on Lafayette Street were twins, with only  ten feet separating each pair. Lombardi’s yard was long and narrow, about twenty feet wide and forty feet deep. A shed ran along the rear of the property separating the yard from the alley, except for the opening for the gate. The yard was dark, as was the kitchen located at the rear of the house. 

“Maybe they’re not home,” Bobby whispered.   “I hope they’re not.”

            “They’re home,” Johnny said softly. “Plan on it.”

Johnny reached up from his crouch and confirmed that the gate was locked. “Okay,” he said. “We’re going over.  Be quiet and try not to rattle the fence.”

Johnny scaled the fence with ease and landed softly on the other side. Tommy went next, followed by Mickey. Mickey was too big to be graceful and made some noise when he landed. Everyone froze for a minute, but the house remained dark and quite.  

Bobby was still in the alley, and he looked so scared that Johnny felt sorry for him. It was getting crowded in the walkway between the shed and the side fence, so Tommy and Mickey moved toward the yard. When Bobby grabbed the top of the gate his hands were shaking so badly that the fence rattled. Johnny held it to quiet the noise. 

“I’ve got an idea, Bobby,” Johnny whispered. “Why don’t you keep watch from out there in case someone comes down the alley? I’ll get you a tomato.”

Bobby’s eyes sparkled. “Good idea! I’ll stay here and keep watch.”

The boys fanned out to search for their prizes. “Look at this baby,” Tommy whispered, as he picked a grapefruit sized tomato from the vine.”

“Should have brought a salt shaker,” Tommy said, as he picked another one and bit into it.

Mickey was closest to the house and was reaching for the largest tomato he’d seen, when suddenly the kitchen door flew open and Old Man Lombardi bounded down the steps like an Olympic athlete.

“Som-a-na-bitch, I kill-uh  you!” he roared in his heavy Italian accent.

            Bobby let out a scream from the alley, and everyone broke for the gate.  Tommy grabbed the top of the gate with both hands and swung his legs over in one fluid motion. Johnny was heading for the fence, but looking back he saw Old Man Lombardi catch Mickey. Lombardi grabbed the back of Mickey’s belt with one sausage-fingered hand and the back of Mickey’s collar with the other. Lombardi was shouting, “You take my tomatoes? I teach you. You little som-a-na-bitch. I teach-uh you.”

Johnny stopped at the fence as Mickey was screaming, “I’m sorry mister. I’m sorry.”

Johnny froze as he looked at Mickey and the old man. Mr. Lombardi ignored Johnny, seemingly content to have caught one of the intruders. Johnny’s mind was racing as Lombardi dragged Mickey back toward the house. As big and strong as Mickey was,   he seemed helpless in the gardener’s grasp.