The Hard Way

by TJ Vargo

  Sacred Heart.

  She forgot to call Father Salvatore.

  Dammit.

  She walked into her bedroom and pulled a pen and a pad of paper from her nightstand. She sat on the bed, thinking about what to write. There wasn’t a lot of time to get fancy here. She started writing.

  Dear Father Salvatore,

  I apologize for missing work today. I feel terrible about it. A good friend is moving to another town and he asked me to come with him. It was completely unexpected and I know it’s not much of an excuse, but I was so excited packing and getting ready to move that I forgot to let you know I was leaving.

  She chewed the pen, wondering if she should end it there. No. Father Sal deserved more than an apology about missing work. She put pen to paper and the words spilled out.

  With all your school employees and the people in your parish, I know a girl that cleans bathrooms and mops floors can’t be high on your list of worries, but you let me know I needed to find another job before you told the rest of the staff. I appreciate you thinking of me more than you know.

  With Sacred Heart closing, I imagine you’ll be moving on to another parish. The people in your new parish will be lucky to have you. Please remember me in your prayers. Thank you for everything.

  She signed the letter and sealed it in an envelope, printing “Father Salvatore” on the front. There was time to drop this off at Sacred Heart, get money out of the ATM and make it back before midnight, but she had to get moving. She grabbed her purse and hurried out the door to her car.

  Pulling to a stop at a red light, Julia tilted the rear view mirror to get a look at herself. She tucked her hair behind her ears. A drop of sweat rolled down her back. The night hadn’t taken much edge off the heat. She caught a whiff of herself and crinkled her nose. After all that painting and packing, she was getting ripe. Maybe there would be time to take a shower before Curtis showed up. She grinned into the mirror. And if there wasn’t, too bad for Curtis. She’d seen him at his worst. He could smell her at hers. The light turned green and a motorcycle flashed by on her left, followed by a van.

  She accelerated and moved into the lane behind the van, watching it slip into the turn lane. The motorcycle waited to turn, illuminated by the headlights of the van. She stared. It was Curtis. He cut across traffic and the van followed. She waited for one car and then another and another to drive past before she could follow. The van was blocks away. She could see Curtis motoring up the hill toward the bell towers of Sacred Heart.

  By the time she pulled into the church parking lot, Curtis and the van had disappeared. She sat in the car, listening to the engine’s soft tick, wondering what Curtis was up to. She’d ask him when she saw him later. She got out of the car and walked across the parking lot, holding the letter she’d written to Father Salvatore.

  The sidewalk that ran between the church and the rectory was dark. She fingered the envelope as she walked, thinking the best place to put it was inside the screen door of the rectory. Trees and bushes surrounded her as she walked. It was stifling hot, but the normal sound of chirping insects was absent. A washed-out moon winked in and out behind dark, fast-moving clouds. The weather was changing. She quickened her steps toward the rectory.

  And stopped.

  A figure darted across the far end of the alley, then another. They wore hoodies and were carrying something. She waited, listening, then started walking again, entering the dim circle of light in front of the rectory. She could knock on the door and tell Father Salvatore what she’d seen. But it was probably just kids goofing around. She stuck the envelope in her pocket and walked down the alley. She’d check it out. No need to get Father Sal worried if it was nothing.

  She stepped behind the church and looked around. No one was in sight. She exhaled. It had to be kids. She started back to the rectory to drop off the letter, thinking that she needed to hurry if she was going to take money out from the ATM and get home on time. A slight cracking of splintering wood broke the silence. She stopped in her tracks and crept toward the back of the church.

  She was beginning to doubt she’d heard anything when she walked around a corner and caught a glimpse of someone with his hood pulled down, long hair flowing over his shoulders, slipping into the side door of the church.

  It looked like Curtis. She looked back toward the rectory. If she told Father Sal, he’d call the police.

  She walked to the door, running her hand over the splintered trim next to the door handle. She slipped inside, hearing low whispers. She tiptoed toward the whispers.

  A hazy, surreal light filtered over the altar, illuminating two figures. Curtis led the way. The other figure’s face was covered by his hood. They disappeared into the sacristy, carrying tanks and tools.

  She followed, stopping outside the sacristy door, listening to Curtis whisper. She peeked in. Curtis was lowering something that looked like a scuba tank on the floor next to the safe. His buddy did the same. They were so focused they didn’t notice her as she stepped in front of the open door and watched. It only took half a minute before she saw enough. As she left, she let the church door bang shut behind her, not caring if Curtis heard. It didn’t matter anymore.

  She pulled the envelope from her pocket as she walked toward the rectory. Curtis lied. He hadn’t been saving money for his dream. He stole for it. She looked at the envelope. Her letter wasn’t one hundred percent true anymore—she wasn’t going with Curtis— but it would tell Father Salvatore what he needed to know.

  She was leaving.

  She stuck the envelope inside the rectory’s screen door and walked to her car.

  Wind rocked her car as she drove. Rain began to spit. According to the radio, a cold front was breaking the heat wave tonight, and it was bringing a bad storm with it.

  A flash of rain covered her windshield. She turned on her wipers and clicked off the radio, focusing on the road as she headed out of town.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Curtis finished with the windows and stuck the roll of duct tape in his pocket. He watched Sonny hook up the acetylene and oxygen tanks. So far, everything had been flawless.

  They’d bagged the security cameras. They’d seen no one outside. The security code shut off the alarm. They’d barely made a sound. It was the smoothest start to a job in a long time. The only glitch had been that noise in the church. It sounded like someone slammed a door. But Sonny had checked it out. No one was inside the church. It must have been the wind.

  Curtis looked over his handiwork. Altar cloths were taped over the two windows above the safe, blocking the view from outside. He went over to Sonny and watched him connect the torch to the tanks.

  “How much longer?” he asked.

  “Couple minutes,” Sonny whispered.

  Curtis opened cabinets above the sink. Just like he remembered from his altar boy days—decanters of wine and boxes of communion wafers. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket. It was thick with all the cash he had in the world, a little over a thousand bucks. Sonny purged the hoses on the rig.

  “You got money for a hotel tonight?” he said, shoving his wallet back in his pocket.

  Sonny pulled his wallet, tossed it to Curtis and put on a pair of goggles. “Yeah. Got extra if you need it. Duck gave me some when I met him and Artie in the park. He thought I had to rent a rig, didn’t know I already had one. Hey man, when are you telling me where we’re going?”

  Curtis watched Sonny open the valve and light the torch. A flame hissed into a blue tongue as Sonny adjusted the valves, then quivered and died as he cut off the fuel.

  “We’re going to Lewiston. Up by Buffalo,” said Curtis. “I got a map for you. Should take five hours to get there.”

  Sonny looked up. “Buffalo?”

  “Yeah. We can jump to Canada if things get hot. But, if we stay off everyone’s radar, we can run fishing charters on the Lower Niagara River and Lake Erie. Nobody will figure we went north.” He thumbed through Sonny’s cash, then tossed him his
wallet. “How come your money’s all dirty?”

  “I don’t know, ask Duck,” said Sonny as he adjusted his goggles and lifted the torch. “This’ll take maybe twenty minutes if we’re lucky. One hour, tops. Watch the church. I’ll get you when we’re ready to drill.”

  Curtis left the sacristy and closed the door. He sat on the altar, watching and listening for sirens or anything that signaled trouble. The light around the altar wasn’t much, but his eyes adjusted. The paintings on the ceiling came into focus. He stared at Jesus and the Apostles in a boat, pulling in a net overflowing with fish. He could hear the muted snap of sparks and the slight garlic smell of Sonny’s torch inside the sacristy. He felt like he was pulling in his own net and it was nearly in the boat. The payoff was close.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. His sinus pain was barely noticeable. Maybe it would be left behind along with everything else he hated about Tombs. There were only a few things he wanted to take from this town.

  The gold.

  Sonny.

  And Julia.

  Sonny would be surprised by Julia, but he’d be okay. They were going to have the time of their life.

  He could see it now.

  Julia making breakfast for him and Sonny, the sun rising as he and Sonny took the boat out, the feel of a big fish stripping line, beers and laughter and barbecue in the backyard, a long, soft kiss on Julia’s open mouth, her body beneath him on their bed.

  The sacristy door opened. Curtis stood and looked at his watch. Twenty minutes had slipped away. Goggles hung under Sonny’s chin as he waved.

  “C’mon,” whispered Sonny. “Let’s drill it.”

  Curtis took first crack at it. He went one minute on, one minute off, for ten minutes. Sonny tapped him on the shoulder after each minute and they listened for any sign that someone heard them. The walls of the church were thick sandstone, which soaked up the whine of the drill, but there was no reason to get sloppy. After his ten minutes were up, Curtis handed the drill to Sonny. He hovered over Sonny, tapping him after each minute. Curtis was just about to give the last tap, signaling it was his turn to take over, when Sonny stopped. The door of the safe eased open an inch.

  “That’s it,” whispered Sonny.

  Curtis took the drill from Sonny. He worked fast, breaking the drill down and packing it before helping Sonny tear down the oxy-fuel rig. Three minutes later, everything was packed. Curtis piled the tools, torch and tanks by the door.

  Sonny unrolled a big white canvas hospital laundry bag on the floor. Curtis smiled, remembering how Sonny joked that his mom wouldn’t mind if they used her laundry bag to haul the gold.

  “Buffalo, huh?” Sonny said, carrying the bag to the safe.

  “Lewiston, up by Buffalo,” said Curtis. “You’ll like it. Salmon and steelhead run every fall and spring. It’ll be cold this winter, but we’ll get dry suits to stay warm. We’ll get rid of the gold, sit on the money and blend in. It’s gonna be great, you’ll see.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Sonny. You’ll freeze your balls off up there.”

  Curtis turned. Fitz stood in the door of the sacristy. He watched Fitz slip an oxy-fuel rig off his shoulders, put it on the floor and close the door. “How’s it going, Monroe?” said Fitz.

  “You told him?” said Curtis, glancing back at Sonny. “What the hell, Sonny?”

  Fitz walked up to Curtis. “Sonny didn’t tell me anything.” He looked over the equipment and the peeled safe. “Barry cold-cocked me last night, so I thought I’d steal the gold out from under his ass and teach him a lesson. Didn’t think I’d have to worry about my buddies trying to screw me though.”

  “You should leave, Fitz,” said Curtis. “Before you get hurt.” He stepped back as Sonny pushed between them.

  “Cut it out. What’s wrong with you guys?” said Sonny, turning to Fitz. “I was gonna ask Curtis to bring you in after we got out of town. Swear to God.” Sonny turned to Curtis. “We’re brothers, man. We need to work together, like we used to.”

  “Brothers?” said Curtis. “Tell you what, if he lets me stomp on his face like he did to me, then we can be brothers.”

  Fitz looked at Sonny. “He talks like I was supposed to let him stick us with that screwdriver.”

  “I didn’t stick nothing in nobody, but you sure as hell sucker punched me,” said Curtis, reaching for Fitz. Sonny grabbed him.

  “Cut the shit, Curtis,” said Sonny, driving him back.

  Curtis pointed over Sonny’s shoulder at Fitz. “You want to go? Anytime.” He touched his face, feeling pain swell behind his eye.

  Fitz touched his face. “Still hurts, huh?”

  Curtis tightened his hands into fists, staring at Fitz.

  “Take it easy Curtis,” said Sonny, bearhugging him.

  “Get off me,” Curtis yelled, kneeing Sonny in the stomach. Sonny dropped to the floor with a grunt, curling into a ball.

  Fitz stared at Curtis. “What’s your problem? Whatta you hitting him for?”

  All the fight drained out of Curtis. “Shit, I’m sorry Sonny,” he said. He helped Fitz lift Sonny off the floor.

  Sonny held his stomach. “You guys are assholes,” he said, breathing hard.

  “Monroe’s the asshole,” said Fitz.

  Sonny straightened. “You and you,” he said, pointing at Curtis and then Fitz. “You can kill each other for all I care, but I’m done. Go on and kill each other.”

  Curtis watched Sonny pick up the laundry bag and walk toward the safe.

  “Let’s get this gold and get out of here. We’ll split it at my place,” said Sonny. “Then you can both go to hell. All I wanted was for us to get back together like we used to be, but I don’t need this.”

  Curtis took a perc out of his pocket and swallowed it. His head was killing him. The buzz of a cell phone broke the quiet. He watched Fitz pull his cell from his pocket, letting it vibrate again and again until it stopped.

  “Who’s that?” said Curtis.

  Fitz’s voicemail alert beeped as he put his cell in his pocket. He looked at Sonny. “Barry ain’t supposed to call us tonight, is he?”

  Another cell buzzed. Sonny dropped the laundry bag, digging his phone from his pocket. He took a look at it and showed it to Fitz.

  “That’s the same number that called me,” said Fitz. “It’s gotta be Barry.”

  Sonny shoved his cell in his pocket.

  “If that’s Barry, we need to get out of here,” said Curtis.

  The door to the sacristy opened. Johnny Tong walked in with Derek Ryder behind him.

  “Barry ain’t gonna be happy with you two,” said Johnny, nodding at Sonny and Fitz. “But I’ll tell you what, if you hold Monroe for me while I smash his face in, we’ll work it out.”

  Curtis took a breath and exhaled, calming himself. Fitz stood in front of him, Sonny behind him. If either of them jumped him, it was all over. Johnny and Derek would eat him alive and he’d be waking up on life support. If he could get his hands on something he might have a chance, but the tanks, pry bar, cutting torch and drill were against the wall by Johnny and Derek. The pain behind his eye began to pound. He spread his feet. He’d take his beating, but whoever touched him first was going down hard. He tensed as he heard Sonny step toward him from behind.

  “Fuck you guys,” said Sonny, stepping next to Curtis. “And tell Barry to fuck himself too. We got the safe open. It’s ours.”

  Fitz turned, winked and moved toward Johnny.

  “Looks like it’s gonna be three on two,” said Fitz, standing next to Johnny. “How you like those odds, Monroe?” he said, elbowing Johnny.

  Johnny puffed out his chest. “Yeah, Monroe. You better—”

  Fitz threw a left hook. It was a beautiful thing, with Fitz twisting his hips and shoulders, putting every ounce of his strength and weight behind the punch. The crack of Fitz’s knuckles on Johnny’s face sounded like someone snapped a two-by-four.

  Johnny reeled backward. He bounced off the sacristy door and
covered his mouth. Only someone used to taking heavy shots had a chance of shaking that off. But Johnny had eaten his share of punches as a pro boxer. He shook his head and raised his fists. Curtis took a deep breath.

  “Shit,” Fitz whispered, stepping back.

  Curtis shoved Sonny toward Derek, hoping to break his focus. All he needed was a millisecond of inattention to rush Derek and lock in a choke hold while Fitz and Sonny ganged up on Johnny. But Derek didn’t bite.

  He ignored Sonny.

  He ignored Fitz.

  He did, however, settle his hips and raise his fists.

  “I told you to leave town, Curtis,” he said. “I got no choice. You’re getting hurt.”

  Curtis raised half-clenched fists and focused on Derek, blocking out the desperate sounds of Sonny and Fitz throwing punches and dodging Johnny Tong’s haymakers.

  He backed into the center of the room. Derek approached and circled to his left. It was an old trick, forcing an opponent to his weak side. Curtis mirrored Derek step-for-step across the room, moving in the same direction instead of circling away. As they neared the wall, Derek stepped in, trying to back Curtis against the wall. Curtis punched Derek in the chest and jumped back to the center of the room. There was no way he was letting Derek go to work on him against the wall.

  Derek tucked his head and rushed in, throwing punches. Curtis blocked a jab with his forearm and another with his elbow. A hook axed him in the kidney, sucking the strength from his legs. He backed up, trying to catch his breath. Derek feinted and bobbed, banging punches into his shoulders and arms. Curtis threw a weak jab. Derek clamped his wrist, pulling him in. Bathed in sweat, Curtis slipped free with a desperate jerk. A kick knifed into his thigh. He dragged his leg, the thigh muscle humming. It felt like he’d been hit with a bat. He breathed through an open mouth.