The Hard Way

by TJ Vargo

  He crammed a last handful of underwear and socks into his bag before zipping it shut. Pain flared behind his eye. He dug a perc out of his pocket, popped it in his mouth and went in the kitchen, drinking from the faucet. He got on the couch and closed his eyes.

  The perc began to kick in. His mind drifted. He saw himself riding his motorcycle out of town with the gold. Julia hugged him from behind, her chin on his shoulder. Her laughter, the smell of her, and the feel of her arms around his chest filled him.

  He pulled a pillow to his chest and fell asleep.

  * * * *

  Sonny stopped the van in front of the hospital and jumped out to open the passenger door.

  “What are you doing?” his mom said, clutching her purse as she got out. She pulled her hospital badge from her purse and rubbed it clean on her pink nursing scrubs.

  Sonny shut her door. “I’m opening the door for you. Being nice.”

  “I already said you can have the van tonight. You don’t need to open doors for me,” his mom said, clipping her badge on her scrubs. “Just make sure Mona is here at five tomorrow morning to pick me up, or there’s going to be trouble. Do you hear me?”

  Sonny watched his mom walk toward the staff entrance of the emergency room. She was still put together for a lady in her fifties. Definitely pretty enough to hook up with one of the old doctors that flirted with her. Maybe one would make a move on her if they heard her crazy son was gone. That would be good. She could use a man in the house after he left.

  He stuck a piece of gum in his mouth and waved as she walked into the hospital. Curtis said they had to leave without telling anyone, but this sucked. He’d find a way to check on his mom and Mona after they pulled the job. He didn’t feel good leaving them.

  He drove home, taking side trips to check out all the old neighborhoods and bars. The Red Fox. The Ice House. The Den. Kostas. Mulligans. The last place he drove was Tombs Senior High. He put the van in park in front of the school and opened his window. Blistering heat filled the van. He cranked the air conditioning and chewed his gum.

  High school had been a good time. It felt like he’d been part of something. Now it was every man for himself. He blew a bubble and popped it, hearing the roar of a lawnmower. Hanging with Curtis and Fitz felt like he was still part of something. He nodded at the maintenance guy driving the mower toward the front of the high school. The guy revved the mower, sending a cloud of parched grass into the air. Sonny rolled his window up, letting the air conditioning blow on his face.

  Maybe moving to a new town would help Fitz and Curtis patch things up. All three of them could live off the boatload of money they’d get from the gold. Fitz was as close to a brother as Curtis could get. Sure, he could be a dick, and beating Curtis up was stupid, but sometimes Fitz wasn’t right in the head.

  The gum snapped as he chewed. If it took leaving Mom and Mona to get the gold and bring everyone back together, it was a price he’d pay. He rolled his window down, spit out his gum and drove home.

  He carried the tanks and torch out of the garage when he got home, loading them into the van and covering them with a tarp before locking the doors. He walked upstairs to the kitchen and filled a glass of water. “Whatta you doing?” he said, walking into the family room where Mona was on the couch reading a magazine.

  “What’s it look like?” she said, turning a page.

  Sonny checked his watch. Four o’clock. He sat on the couch next to Mona and drank his water. By this time tomorrow, he and Curtis would be gone. Curtis still had to tell him where they were going after they had the gold, but wherever it was, it would work. Curtis was smart. He wiped sweat off the back of his neck and took another sip of water.

  “Hey,” he said, looking at Mona. “What would you do if I wasn’t here?”

  Mona looked up from her magazine. “What?”

  “I asked what you’d do if I wasn’t here.”

  “That’s a stupid question,” said Mona. “You’re not going anywhere, so shut up.”

  “I could get run over by a truck. Get cancer like dad. You don’t know what’s gonna happen,” he said.

  Mona turned a page. “You’re stuck here like the rest of us. Get used to it.”

  Sonny took his glass into the kitchen. He checked his watch again. Between peeling the safe and driving to wherever Curtis wanted to go afterwards, it was gonna be a long night. A couple hours of sleep was the best move he could make right now. He walked through the living room toward the back hall. As he passed the couch, he stopped and looked at Mona.

  “I know what I’d do if you or Ma were gone,” he said.

  Mona sighed and put her magazine down. “What would you do?”

  He patted her knee. “I’d miss you.”

  Mona opened her mouth, then looked down at her magazine. Sonny squeezed her knee and walked away.

  He went in his bedroom and closed the door. Bruno was curled up at the foot of the bed, tail thumping on the floor. Sonny sat and put Bruno’s head in his lap, rubbing his ears. Ma bought Bruno thirteen years ago. He was supposed to be her guard dog after Dad died. Sonny stroked Bruno’s head. It only took a week or so to see Bruno was his. The dog followed him everywhere with his tail wagging, his tongue hanging out and his giant feet sliding all over the floor. They did everything together. Even when he ran the streets with Curtis and Fitz as a teenager, he always made time to walk Bruno or take him out in the yard and throw him the ball. Bruno was a good dog. Sonny hugged him. Bruno licked his hand.

  “I gotta go, Bruno,” he said. “And I don’t think I’m coming back.”

  He started to cry.

  “You be a good boy.”

  He buried his face in Bruno’s furry neck, holding him tight.

  “I’m gonna miss you.”

  * * * *

  Barry drove into the parking lot behind The Red Fox and pulled into a space. He set the air conditioning on high. Sweat stains darkened the back and armpits of his tan, short sleeve polo. He took a tissue from his glove compartment, removed his glasses and dabbed his face and forehead.

  He looked out the driver’s side window. Duck was on his way, his shock of thick white hair bobbing as he walked with the steady tread of an old man. Hot air filled the car as Duck opened the passenger door and got in. Barry redirected one of the air vents toward him.

  “Jesus, it’s hotter than the devil’s kitchen out there,” said Duck. “And you had to drive this bathtub on wheels. Why don’t you buy a normal car? Something a man drives?”

  Barry gripped the steering wheel and looked out his window. “Are we on tonight?”

  Duck pulled out a pack of Pall Malls.

  Barry opened his window a crack at the sound of a match flaring. Smoke flowed toward him and he opened his window wider.

  Duck tapped his cigarette on the edge of his opened window. Ashes blew in the car. “Send Johnny and Derek to the church tonight. No guns, just tell them to get the gold and get out. I don’t want them getting any bright ideas about shooting their partner and taking off with the gold.” He took another drag on his cigarette. “Then, after Johnny and Derek are done, call Fitz and Sonny and tell them there’s been a change in plans. Send them over to peel the safe. The police will be there to meet them.”

  “What good are they to the police if they don’t have the gold?”

  Duck’s eyebrows lifted. “I don’t want them to have the gold. I want the gold.”

  “I know. But the police aren’t going to—”

  “The police will have two people apprehended during the commission of a crime. They will go to work on them to find out where the gold is. And you will send in a lawyer to help Fitz and Sonny say, ‘We don’t know who took the gold and we have no idea where it is.’ The police won’t believe them, but the evidence will be against them. They will serve the time and do it quietly.”

  “Aren’t you the genius,” Barry said, looking out his window. He felt Duck’s hand grab his knee. The old man leaned close.

  �
��Don’t get gully with me.”

  Barry smelled Duck’s hot, stale breath.

  “You’d still be in a cell, wondering who was talking to the detectives if it wasn’t for me,” said Duck. “You remember those days, don’t you? You were in and out of prison like it was your second job.”

  Barry looked at Duck’s hand on his knee. “Why you bringing that up?”

  Duck removed his hand.

  “Just reminding you that you haven’t had trouble since I’ve been helping you,” said Duck, exhaling smoke toward Barry. “I told you Terry Fitzsimmons was the chatterbox. I just hope the police never find out who burned him to death.”

  Barry looked out his window.

  Duck sucked in a long inhale on his cigarette and tapped the ash out the window. “There’s a lot of money to be made if we keep our eye on our business.”

  Barry shifted in his seat. “So Sonny and Fitz serve time. We go about our business and wait for the police to give up on finding the gold. That’s how you see it?”

  “Give the man a prize,” said Duck.

  Barry listened to Duck hack up phlegm, roll down his window and spit. Barry edged closer to the crack in his window. Even with the air conditioner straining, the inside of the car was all smoke and heat. He was going to smell like an ashtray by the time Duck finished. He took off his glasses and wiped them on his shirt.

  “How are we timing the police?” he said.

  “The station’s less than five minutes from Sacred Heart. You call me when Sonny and Fitz are on their way. I call the police and tell them I saw someone breaking into the church. The police walk in on those two holding their torches next to a peeled safe. And that’s that.”

  Barry leaned over to open his glove compartment. He pulled out two prepaid cell phones, handed one to Duck and dialed a number on the other. Duck’s phone buzzed. Barry punched a button to end the call and looked at Duck.

  “After you call the police, hang up, take the battery out, smash the phone and throw it away,” said Barry.

  “You take care of everything. That’s why I like you,” said Duck, sucking a last drag off his cigarette. He pulled out the ash tray. Barry clenched his jaw as Duck stubbed his cigarette in the pristine ash tray.

  “There’s one thing that could be a problem,” said Barry.

  “What’s that?” said Duck.

  “What if Fitz or Sonny say something about me or Derek or Johnny?”

  Duck opened the car door, swung his legs out and stood. He stuck his head in the open door and looked at Barry. “Your lawyer will be there to remind them it would not be in their best interest. And if they don’t take their lawyer’s advice—” He drew a finger across his wattled neck. “We have people inside that would be happy to give them a visit.”

  Barry drove home with his windows open and his air conditioning running full blast. It took him half an hour to vacuum his car and scrub the ash tray. Then he went inside to take a shower, dress in fresh clothes, brush his teeth and blow dry his hair. After he was done, he put sunscreen on his face and looked in the mirror. He licked a finger and ran it over a hair sticking up on the back of his head.

  He went into his kitchen, poured frozen blueberries and raspberries into a blender filled with orange juice, grapefruit juice and ice, turned on the blender and grabbed a pill tray from the top of the refrigerator. The vitamins from the slot marked “Friday” made a small mound in his palm. Vitamin C for his immune system, B12 and B6 for energy and stamina, and vitamin E for his prostate, skin and blood. He turned off the blender and opened the cabinet above the counter, reaching for a stainless steel shaker.

  The side of the shaker was spotted with detergent from the dishwasher. He fogged the stainless with his breath and wiped it with his shirt. Nothing was clean. Whether it was Duck smoking in his car or spots of detergent on his shaker, everything was dirty. He put the shaker back in the cabinet and popped the handful of pills into his mouth, drinking straight from the blender. When he finished, he put the blender on the counter and looked over his quiet, empty house. The sink and appliances were stainless steel. The kitchen table and chairs were made by the Amish. They’d last three hundred years. The short pile carpet in the living room had the highest fiber density the supplier could order. His stocking feet barely left an imprint on it. Everything in the house was top-of-the-line.

  He sat at his kitchen table and poked his tongue against a raspberry seed stuck in his gums. He dug at it with a fingernail, looking through the picture window at his multi-tiered deck. If his father were alive, he’d be impressed. He sucked at the seed. No one in his family ever had a house this nice. But it didn’t come cheap. Sacrifices had to be made.

  Like Terry Fitzsimmons.

  He worked his tongue up against the seed. That old bastard, Duck, got him out of the jam with the police, fingering Terry as the informer. Putting Terry down was the price of doing business. But the way Duck talked today, making his half-ass threat about telling the police who killed Terry, was a dangerous game. The old man needed to be careful.

  Barry worked the tip of his tongue against the seed, reliving the last time he saw Terry alive. How Terry looked confused when they walked in on him getting ready to peel the safe in that auto repair shop. Terry had been expecting Mickey Monroe, so his confusion was to be expected. But like any good crook, he’d quickly regained his composure. He’d bounced back like a professional, asking where Mickey was. Asking if Mickey cut them in on the heist.

  Barry dug at the seed with a fingernail.

  Terry’s act didn’t last long. When they dragged Mickey in and dropped him on the floor, out cold from whatever Duck and Artie had slipped him, Terry tried to run. He didn’t get far.

  Barry stood and walked into the kitchen.

  Terry begged. Didn’t admit to one thing about talking to the detectives, but he begged long and loud.

  Barry opened the cabinet over the oven. He could still remember the sound of gas gurgling out of the can as he dumped it at Terry’s feet and the soft “phoomph” of the torch as he sparked it to life. He shook a toothpick out of a box in the cabinet and dug the seed from between his teeth. He ran his tongue over his gums as he took a seat at the kitchen table.

  Terry Fitzsimmons had been running his mouth to the detectives. And after he died, the police went back to fumbling in the dark. They never did get enough evidence to make any of the breaking and entering charges stick. As for Mickey Monroe, he’d been sleeping with Terry’s wife. It wasn’t anything that a million other guys hadn’t done, but still, he got what was coming to him, waking up from a blackout, not knowing what happened, but thinking it was his fault Terry was cooked.

  Everybody got what was coming to them.

  That’s the way it was and that’s the way it would stay, as long as he was in charge.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Julia shut her car door and locked it. It took half the day to get everything jammed in, but all her clothes, bed sheets, pots, pans, toiletries, and shoes—lots and lots of shoes—filled the trunk, back hatch and seats. Boxes were wedged from floorboard to roof. When she drove she’d have to use the side mirrors to change lanes. She tossed her keys, catching them as she walked toward her apartment building.

  It was late. Around a quarter to eleven. All she had to do now was wait for Curtis. She smiled and broke into a run across the parking lot. Her shadow bounced across the asphalt, keeping pace with her in the harsh glare of the parking lot lights.

  She ran up the stairs to her apartment. In a little over an hour she’d be on her way, following Curtis. She unlocked her door and stepped into her apartment, making a mental list of what they’d need to come back for after they found a place in Lewiston. There was the mattress, the box spring, the couch, the coffee table, some chairs, and the microwave. And one other thing.

  She went in the living room and stood in front of her painting. It was done. She’d never finished a painting so fast. From the time Curtis left this morning she’d painted
non-stop, the scene filling with life before her eyes. The beach. Sunlight filtering over the ocean horizon in a blaze of color. Clouds filling with light. Waves rolling in. The sea grass bending in the breeze. And Curtis sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with her in the sand as daybreak fell over them.

  She touched the bottom corner. The paint was tacky. It would be nice to put it in the passenger seat and surprise Curtis with it when they reached Lewiston, but it wasn’t worth the risk. It could get ruined. After they were settled, she’d come back for it.

  A flush of excitement filled her. When Curtis pulled up tonight she’d ask him to come up and help her carry a box. And when he came up, she’d show him the painting. He’d get a kick out of it.

  She went in the kitchen, drank a glass of water and looked over her apartment.

  It needed a good cleaning if she was going to get her security deposit. She gathered cleaning supplies from under the sink, placing them on the kitchen counter. Once she had everything out, the bleach, the ammonia, the glass cleaner, the floor cleaner, dust rags and a bucket with a sponge in it, she looked at her watch. It was almost eleven. She couldn’t clean this place in an hour. It needed to be mopped and vacuumed. The bathroom and kitchen needed to be scrubbed. The refrigerator needed a complete cleaning. And on top of all that, the furniture wasn’t even moved out.

  She laughed at herself. Her mind was scattered, thoughts looping on a fast track. She leaned against the counter, trying to relax. There had to be something she was forgetting. Her gaze caught on her purse slung sitting on the couch. She walked over, pulled out her wallet and counted her money. Eighty-nine bucks. It wasn’t much, but there was still time to drive to the ATM by Sacred Heart. She groaned.