The Hard Way

by TJ Vargo

  Curtis grinned. “Hell yeah. But that’s when I thought I had money.”

  Angel laid flat on the mat, pulling his knees to his chest. “Then I guess you’re stuck here with the rest of us unless you find some other big score.”

  Curtis watched Angel stand, strip and put on a cup and a pair of shorts. “I’m not wearing a cup,” said Curtis.

  “Perfect. Now I know where to hit you.” said Angel, smiling as he pulled on padded gloves and threw a pair to Curtis.

  “We going all out?” said Curtis.

  “Nah,” said Angel. “Let’s take it easy. Just work up a sweat.”

  Curtis watched Angel bounce on his feet. In and out, probing for an opening. Angel threw a lazy left hook. Curtis ducked it and two jabs popped him in the mouth. Bam, bam.

  “Having fun yet?” said Angel, slipping Curtis’s lunging roundhouse.

  Angel continued to confuse Curtis with feints, sneaking a jab in here, an uppercut there. And there was the occasional kick knifing into Curtis’s thigh to keep things interesting. It didn’t take long for Curtis to catch up to Angel’s timing and land a few counter punches. Feeling good, he went on the offensive, backing Angel up with a volley of jabs followed by a hard right to Angel’s ribs. Then Angel went into overdrive. None of his punches were full speed, but he wouldn’t stop. Left to the face. Right to the body. Right to the chin. Left, left, left—leg kick.

  Curtis tried to cover up as he retreated.

  Angel dug two body shots into Curtis’s ribs. Curtis couldn’t breathe.

  “Thought we were taking it easy,” he huffed, holding his ribs.

  “We are. You’re getting soft,” said Angel, grinning.

  Curtis put his hands up. He stared at Angel and walked in slow, then lunged, catching Angel with a fastball overhand right to the temple. Angel staggered. His eyes rolled back.

  “Shit. Sorry Angel,” said Curtis, rushing forward to grab Angel and hold him up. An elbow slammed into Curtis’s nose.

  Curtis grabbed his nose. He bent over, feeling red hot pain. Angel’s knee connected under his chin. Stars popped. Curtis went down. The floor rolled as he tried to stand. Angel grabbed his shoulder.

  “Give it a minute,” said Angel, kneeling next to him. “Stay down.”

  It took a while for the floor to stop moving. Angel sat against the wall. Curtis scooted next to him.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to hit you that hard,” said Curtis, wiping his face with a towel. He saw a smear of blood on the towel.

  “Well I meant to hit you,” said Angel.

  Curtis shook his head. “But you weren’t throwing hard. I tried to take your head off.”

  “I’m getting old” said Angel. “That’s how I fight now. I lied about taking it easy. Sometimes it’s okay to wear the black hat. Remember that.”

  The basement door opened and someone walked down the steps. Curtis stood alongside Angel, still feeling a little woozy from Angel’s knee. He watched his dad come into view.

  “Hey, Mickey,” said Angel. “What’s up?”

  Mickey nodded at Curtis as he walked onto the mats. “I tried to get some info on this girl of yours. No one knows anything about her.”

  Curtis stood and picked up his sweats. “You hang around with bums,” he said, slipping into his clothes. “Of course they don’t know anything about her. Bet they don’t know how to spell either.”

  “That’s not funny,” said Mickey. “So anyway, I did find out that a girl lived next door to you. She worked at Sacred Heart.” He tapped a finger on his chin. “Hmm. Isn’t that the place where you were trying to steal that gold?”

  Curtis pulled a sweatshirt over his head. “Guess you’re not as dumb as the rest of the bums.”

  “Guess not,” said Mickey. “So she’s the girl you were seeing?”

  “Yeah. Her name’s Julia.”

  “Adriani, right?” said Mickey.

  “How’d you know?” said Curtis.

  “I talked to Father Sal,” said Mickey. “She left him a note saying she was leaving town. She didn’t go into work yesterday or today. She’s gone.”

  “Damn,” said Curtis. He looked at Angel. “You mind if I check her apartment? I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

  “That’s not a good idea,” said Angel.

  “I gotta check on her,” said Curtis.

  Angel started for the stairs. “And I gotta get something to eat,” he said. “I don’t think well on an empty stomach.”

  Curtis waited in Angel’s office with his dad, sipping a beer while Angel paid the pizza delivery guy. Angel brought in the pizza, paper plates and some napkins. Curtis let his dad get a piece of pizza, then he grabbed a slice and took a seat on the couch next to his dad. Angel sat behind his desk, cracking a beer.

  “Okay, you want to check to make sure your girl is okay. I get that,” said Angel, drinking his beer and taking a bite of pizza. “But it’s too dangerous. And it wouldn’t be smart even if nobody was after you.”

  “Why not?” said Curtis.

  “Because,” said Angel. “I’m guessing you told this girl you’d take care of her, thinking you’d have a nice payout from that gold heist, right? But look around. All you have is that dirty pile of money over there.” Angel hooked a thumb at the mud splattered trash bag on the floor. “You’re not going far on that.”

  Curtis’s dad nodded. “No girl wants anything to do with a broke thief. You gotta put some money in the bank or get a job or something. Showing up broke with the cops and Barry’s gang on your ass ain’t gonna cut it.”

  Curtis finished his pizza. He threw his empty beer in a trash can across the room, wiping his hands on his pants. “This girl’s different,” he said. “Money don’t matter to her.”

  “I been around a long time,” said Angel, shaking his head. “Never met that kind of woman.”

  “So what do you suggest?” said Curtis.

  Angel tossed another beer to Curtis. “Me and your dad had a little talk,” he said. “You need money and we got a heist. You interested?”

  Curtis’s dad grinned. “It’s nice. Big payout. It’ll take finesse, but we can knock it out.”

  “We?” said Curtis, looking at Angel. “Please tell this homeless bum I’m not interested in pulling a heist with someone I’ve barely talked to in seven years.” Curtis walked over for another slice of pizza, walked back to the couch and sat, making sure there was as much distance as possible between him and his father.

  Angel lowered his voice. “You wouldn’t be here if your dad didn’t pull you out of that river,” he said, sipping his beer. “You would’ve drowned or Barry’s guys would’ve found you. Either way you’d be dead.”

  “Still not interested,” said Curtis, glancing at his father.

  Angel tilted his beer at Curtis. “If you’re not interested in three hundred thousand, that’s fine by me.”

  “Bullshit,” said Curtis. “There’s nothing in Tombs worth that much.”

  His dad slid next to Curtis. “You ever hear of Grandma Moses?” he said.

  Curtis turned away and looked at Angel. “Isn’t she some old lady that painted?”

  “Yeah,” said Angel. “And she gave two of her paintings to Louis Bromfield, the Pulitzer Prize winning author who owned Malabar Farm before it got turned into a state park.”

  Curtis straightened and eyed Angel. “So where are these painting now?”

  “Same place they’ve always been—hanging in Bromfield’s old farmhouse,” said Angel. He drained his beer, smiled at Curtis and nodded. “Just waiting for us to take ‘em.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “No, no, no. You can’t wear that,” said Angela.

  Julia watched Angela take a step back, tilting her head one way, then the other. It felt like Angela was undressing her, which wouldn’t be hard seeing as how she was wearing the tightest jeans of all time and a cut-off tee shirt that barely covered her chest. “What’s wrong with this?” said Julia, adjusting the shirt to co
ver her boobs.

  Angela rolled her eyes, her gum cracking as she chomped away. “You’re a leg and ass girl,” she said, walking over to Julia and stepping behind her.

  Julia felt Angela slide her hands up her shirt, cupping a boob in each hand.

  “These are too small to be wearing this kind of shirt,” said Angela, squeezing Julia’s boobs.

  “Alright, enough,” said Julia, pushing Angela’s hands away. “Tell me what to wear.”

  Angela smiled wide. “You’re gonna look good when I’m done with you,” she said, smacking her gum.

  Julia looked out the window while Angela drove. Suburban ranch houses gave way to farms and an occasional trailer until they stopped at a four way light with a diner and a gas station on opposite corners. Julia tugged at the tight black leather skirt riding up her thighs, nearly showing her black g-string. “This skirt is too short,” she said.

  “It’s not too short. Your ass is just bigger than mine, that’s all,” said Angela. “But Billy likes big butts, so don’t worry about it.”

  “I don’t have a big butt,” said Julia, seeing Angela bite her bottom lip to keep from laughing. “I don’t,” she yelled.

  “Whatever,” said Angela, patting Julia’s thigh as she turned left and drove by the diner.

  A half mile down the road Angela pulled into a gravel parking lot, throwing up a cloud of dust as she skidded to a stop in front of squat, windowless, one-story building that was painted jet black. A sign near the road read “Sweeties,” above a curvy cartoon girl in a bikini sitting in a champagne glass.

  Julia got out of Angela’s bumblebee-yellow Mustang. Walking on gravel wasn’t easy in Angela’s high heels. She stopped and lifted one foot, digging a piece of gravel out of a shoe. There was only one other car in the parking lot. A shiny red BMW with a black convertible ragtop. The door of the club opened and a young, long-haired guy stepped out, the sun glinting off a gold front tooth.

  “Well, well, Angela. Bring your lady friend on in,” he said, eyes roaming over Julia.

  Julia followed Angela into the club, pulling her skirt as low as possible as she walked by the man. She stuck close to Angela, following her to a circular bar that filled the middle of the room. Three gold poles were on a stage that occupied the middle of the bar. “Who’s the gold-toothed creep?” Julia whispered, pulling her skirt down.

  “That’s Billy Kelley,” Angela whispered. “His family owns this place, but he pretty much runs it.”

  “Little runt, isn’t he?” said Julia, expecting her comment to pull a laugh or at least a smile from Angela. It did neither. Angela watched Billy lock the front door.

  “He has a mom, three brothers and two sisters,” Angela whispered. “Unless you want trouble, don’t look cross-eyed at any of them.”

  Billy walked over with a bow-legged cowboy stroll, dripping redneck confidence. Julia smiled as he looked her up and down. He twirled a finger over her head. She looked at Angela, confused.

  “Show him what you got,” said Angela.

  Julia turned in a slow circle.

  “Not bad,” said Billy, putting a toothpick in his mouth. He looked at Angela. “Can she dance?”

  Angela rolled her eyes. “Ask her yourself.”

  “You brought her. I’m asking you,” said Billy, pointing his toothpick at Angela.

  Angela huffed and grabbed Julia’s hand, pulling her up on the stage.

  “I don’t know how to dance,” Julia whispered.

  Angela unzipped her skirt. “That’s why I’m here,” said Angela, pulling off her skirt. “Just follow my lead and shake that big ass.”

  “It’s not big,” hissed Julia.

  Angela snapped her fingers at Billy. “Put on ‘Miss Cindy,’” she said.

  Billy’s eyes widened. “Don’t snap your fingers at me.”

  Julia froze as Angela slapped her ass and looked at Billy. “Just want to put on a good show for you, Billy,” she said.

  Billy grinned. He moved behind the bar and turned the music on. The tune wasn’t anything Julia heard before, but she smiled the minute it started. It was simple old-school rap. Strobe lights came on, blinding her. Angela put her arms around her and grabbed her butt, moving it one way then the other.

  “Move your ass,” Angela whispered in her ear. “Now put your hands over your head and move ‘em with the beat. Nice and slow. That’s it. Perfect.”

  “I got it ,” said Julia, pulling away.

  Angela gripped her ass.

  “Be cool,” Angela whispered, running her hands up between Julia’s legs. “I’m just trying to help.”

  Julie pushed Angela away and stared at her, the music playing and the strobe lights blinking all by their lonesome. Billy’s voice broke the standoff.

  “What the hell is this?” he yelled. “Ain’t no dance I ever seen. Get off my stage if you’re just gonna stand there.”

  Julia glanced at Billy. He looked pissed. She thought over her options. There was no where to go if Angela threw her out. No way to make money. She grabbed Angela’s hand and started dancing. Angela pulled her close.

  “That’s more like it. Now let me show you how this is done,” said Angela, slipping out of her shirt.

  Julia closed her eyes and let the music take her. Angela moved against her, helping her keep time, her hands moving over her hips and thighs. Julia opened her eyes and saw that Billy was watching with rapt attention. She threw her hair back and shook her ass. Maybe she really could do this. Angela circled behind her and slipped her hands around her stomach, one finger playing under her g-string. Then Angela slid both hands under her tank top. Julia closed her eyes. Strobe lights popped behind her eyelids while Angela rubbed her nipples.

  “Slow down,” Angela whispered. “This isn’t an aerobics class.”

  Julia tried to relax and move with the music. Angela kissed her neck and grabbed her hips. Then Angela’s mouth was on the back of her thigh. Then her inner thigh.

  The song finished.

  Julia didn’t move. She heard Billy hit a switch. The strobe lights stopped. Angela walked across the stage bare chested. She picked up Julia’s skirt, came back and handed it to Julia. She winked. “You got it,” she silently mouthed.

  “That was nice,” said Billy, his gold tooth winking as he nodded at Julia. “Real nice. You dance before?”

  “She danced in Tombs,” said Angela, pulling her shirt over her head.

  “I could tell she’s a pro,” said Billy, climbing the steps onto the stage. “Here, let me help you with that,” he said, stepping behind Julia to zip her skirt.

  “Thanks,” said Julia, smiling.

  “Glad to help,” he said, then turned toward Angela. “You hear from Tina?”

  Angela nodded. “Yeah. She’s still sick.”

  Julia watched Billy Kelley turn toward her. Everything about him screamed hard redneck. But he seemed sweet, almost like a little boy, as he said, “Would you like to dance tonight? Might even be able to work you into the regular schedule if you can help me out here. Whatta you say?”

  “I’ll bring her in with me tonight,” said Angela, taking Julia by the hand and walking her off the stage.

  “See you at nine tonight then, Julia,” said Billy.

  Angela pulled Julia out of the club. Once they were outside, Angela started talking.

  “All that girl-on-girl stuff was for Billy’s benefit,” she said. “Didn’t want him judging you on your dancing, if you know what I mean.”

  Julia nodded. She got in the car and grabbed Angela’s hand.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  Angela smiled. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

  The engine started with a roar.

  “So did you tell him about me before we came?” Julia asked.

  Angela shook her head. “Just told him I was bringing a girlfriend. That was a cold audition. You hit it out of the park.”

  “So you didn’t tell him my name?” said Julia.

  “Nope.”
>
  Julia settled in her seat, pulling her skirt down. She tried to remember if she told Billy Kelley her name, or if he asked what it was the whole time she was there. Maybe in all the excitement she forgot, but she didn’t think so.

  And yet, he’d said her name as they were leaving.

  Chapter Thirty

  Cracker knocked on the door of the two-story white bungalow. He looked at the piece of paper he’d written the address on. All the houses on this street looked the same. Old. He crumbled the paper and dropped it on the stoop as a man with a smashed face and impossibly wide shoulders opened the front door.

  “You Joe Cracker Jones?” said the man.

  Cracker eyed the man, thinking he looked like one of them island people. Tongan or Samoan or something like that. A lot of them were in the cage fighting game. Big and strong, but most of ‘em came out too fast, got winded and fell apart. Cracker edged past the man and stepped into the open foyer. An old white-haired man with a bruised face and a split lip sat at a table in the dining room on his right. A hand gripped his shoulder.

  “Hey, I asked you a question.”

  He turned, looking at the face of the Samoan or Tongan or whatever the man was. One thing was sure, the man had been in fights. Had scar tissue over both eyes. Those scars would bleed real nice with an elbow.

  “Johnny, let him go.”

  Cracker turned toward the voice. The white-haired man was on his feet.

  “You must be Joe Cracker Jones. Thank you for coming,” said the old man. “I’m Duck. Would you like to sit down?”

  The old man gestured at the table. Two men were seated. Cracker walked over. He eyed the man at the end of the table. The guy had an anvil-shaped head, huge shoulders and cauliflower ears. The old man who called himself Duck sat next to the other guy, who looked to be some kind of business man in his suit and tie. Cracker ignored the businessman and nodded at the man with cauliflower ears.

  “You’re Derek Ryder. I was on a couple fight cards with you. You’re the guy who called me,” said Cracker. He tilted his head back. “What’s this all about?”