Chapter 38

"Jeeze, a whole pack," Charlie Michaels said as Bud ripped off the red cellophane strip and tore away some of the tinfoil. "Where'd you get 'em?"

"My father's store; where else? He's got plenty under the counter, saves 'em for his old customers, Chesterfields, Luckies, everything." Bud shook out a cigarette and tapped it on his thumbnail. His friend took one and dug out his shiny Zippo lighter. They lit up and leaned back against the dirt wall of their dugout, comfortably slumped, legs extended toward each other.

The boys had experimented with various forms of tobacco including snuff, Red Man chewing tobacco, Mail Pouch roll-your-own cigarettes, and even Indian cigars, but finally decided they would stick to just plain cigarettes when they could get them. Charlie favored Kools, but Bud stuck to Camels.

"I brought a couple more magazines," Charlie said, tossing a dog-eared copy of Pic toward Bud. "You got any more a'those Marine ones? Boy, some good pin-ups in those." He pointed to the picture of a blonde in a fuzzy pink sweater pasted to the side of the orange crate that was the only furniture in their underground hideout.