Just after ten o'clock in the evening, a certain black van went chugging down West First Avenue, turning at the steep bend, and rolling slowly to a stop in front of a tree marked with an X in yellow chalk. The spot was well past the bend in the road, but well before the sparse line of streetlights on the right hand side. Larry put his left wheels on the small curb that held the guardrail, then dropped his front tire, leaving the back left tire elevated.

The guys tumbled out of the van, walking with purpose. Each of them wore their black T-shirts, along with a second black T-shirt over their face, like so: The shirt covered their head completely, with the open neck of the shirt centered over the eyes. The sleeves were pulled tight around the head and tied in the back. In this manner, the shirts became full ninja hoods, but could be converted into a T-shirt in two quick moves if they were spotted.

Larry hurriedly unbolted the spare from the back cargo door, unwrapped it, and propped it up against the back right tire. In the darkness, it looked like his axel was broken. He gently laid his crowbar and jack down beside the wheel. As a final touch, he stuck a sign, written on graph paper with a Sharpie marker, on his front windshield:

They each carried a shovel, a jug of water, and a flashlight, the square kind that could be set on the ground without rolling away. Larry and D.J. also carried the two picks.

Larry turned to his friends. "Everyone okay?"

They nodded. The last four hours had been spent napping in the Student Center until it closed at eight o' clock. They woke up, groggy, and grabbed fast food for dinner. They were as ready as they were going to be.

"Last chance," said Larry. "All in?"

They nodded. "Let's do this," said D.J.

"Okay, final check. Are we ready to go?"

They looked at each other, briefly, and satisfied with their menacing appearance, took off through the woods, following the chalk marks Turk had made earlier.

It took less than five minutes to find their way back through the trees, thanks to the chalked X's and the flashlights. It was a fast trip, if not quiet. But, at this hour, they reasoned, who were they going to disturb?

At the tree line, everyone stopped. Light from the Dobson Road crossing spilled across the tracks but didn't even come close to the lot where they would be digging. The moon was high in the sky, throwing a dim luminescence on everything. Thanks to the newer warehouses on Dobson Road, half of the vacant lot was in total darkness.

"Let's go check it out," said Larry.

They took off running, each one with their own theme music blaring in their head, and scampered like mad over the railroad tracks. Once they reached the safety of the shadows, they dropped their gear in the dirt, breathing hard. This close to their goal, their hearts were quaking and the adrenaline pumped, unchecked. Larry ran up to the inside corner of the lot, close to the gate, and flattened himself along the wall. He made waving motions to the guys, and they fanned out, each taking a different corner of the lot, looking for possible trouble. They kept low, and slowly walked up to the perimeter of the chain link fence, looking at the adjacent warehouses.

While Burt, Turk, and D.J. reconnoitered, Larry peered cautiously around the side of the Gamesmen warehouse. The yellow Camero he saw earlier was gone. It was tough to see around the trucks, so he dropped into a squat and peered underneath. Nothing. They were in the clear. There was a floodlight mounted on the corner of the warehouse, but it was pointed at the warehouse doors. The bright light reflected off of the sides of the truck and lent an eerie glow to the vacant lot. Thanks to that light and the side of the truck, they were more visible than Larry would have liked.

One by one, the guys rejoined Larry in the shadows. "No problems," said Burt.

"Clear on the far side," said Turk.

"Ditto," said D.J.

"Okay," said Larry, let's test the camouflage." He pointed to D.J. "Count to ten, then turn around and see if you can see me."

"Right," said D.J.

Larry took off running. When he was in the middle of the half-lit portion of the vacant lot, he laid down flat on his stomach. He counted to twenty and stood up. "Well?" he said in a loud whisper.

"Not until you stood up," said D.J. "Then you stuck out like a sore thumb."

"Okay, so that's what we'll do," said Larry, as they joined him by the equipment. "If a train comes, everyone go prone. If we're not moving, and they aren't looking for us, we'll never be spotted."

"Good," said Turk. "Let's get started."

"Right." Larry shouldered the pick and walked back to the chain link fence. He stopped at the edge, by the back gate, and with careful, measured steps, counted off what he felt was forty feet. Then he counted another ten feet off, to account for the lip of the pit and the size of the hole. Glancing around, he looked for some sort of indication that he was in the right place, but there was nothing. No trail marks, or depressions in the ground. Just packed earth and scrub brush.

The others were watching him from the safety of the dark part of the lot. Larry hefted his pick, swung high and hard, and buried it in the earth. The guys rushed in and began to dig around him.