The Hard Way

by TJ Vargo

  “Sorry I couldn’t make it earlier, but I got all kinds of trouble on my ass,” he said, laughing softly. “I beat the hell out of Duck and Artie.” He squeezed Sonny’s limp hand. “They hired some guy to kill me, can you believe that? They set us up with a bad heist, you get your head smashed in and now they’re coming after me cause I slapped them around. Bunch of pussies.”

  Sonny’s breathing faltered and stopped. Curtis straightened. Sonny sucked in a shuddering breath. Curtis relaxed.

  “So the guy they hired left a note in my apartment, saying I either fight him to the death, or he’ll kill my friends and family.” He slapped Sonny’s leg. “Can you believe it? My friends and family. The dumb ass is gonna be chasing his tail all over town before he figures out I got no one. Fitz skipped town. You’re lying here in a coma. Your sister Mona hates me. And my dad’s a homeless bum. The only person I got is this girl Julia. I was gonna bring her with us after the gold heist. She’s all I got in the whole world right now.”

  His grip on Sonny’s hand loosened as he repeated, “All I got,” and his mind filled with an image of the splintered door frame at Julia’s apartment. He set his jaw. The crazy fuck that wrote the note—Cracker whatever-his-name-was—he was the one that broke into Julia’s apartment. That lunatic saw the painting of them sitting together on the beach, holding hands.

  “And now he knows that Julia matters to me,” he whispered.

  Curtis stood. He paced at the foot of Sonny’s bed, mumbling to himself.

  “I gotta find her.”

  “But where?”

  “She hasn’t been to work.”

  “Hasn’t been to her apartment.”

  “Doesn’t have any friends in town.”

  He stopped, his eyes widening, remembering how his dad said he’d talked to Father Sal at Sacred Heart. How Father Sal said Julia had left a note, saying she was leaving town. He went over to the side of Sonny’s bed and put his hand on Sonny’s chest. “I gotta go talk to my dad, Sonny,” he said. “You keep fighting—I got faith in you, brother. We’ll be running again in no time.” He patted Sonny’s chest and walked out of the room.

  Angel banged away at something out in the garage. Curtis looked at the clock above Angel’s office door and shook his head. It wasn’t even five o‘clock and his dad was drunk. Getting any information out of him about Julia was gonna be a chore. But it had to be done. He waited for Angel to finish, hearing an especially loud bang of metal-on-metal, followed by Angel’s muffled yell of, “Gotcha.” He looked at his drunken dad sitting on the beat-up leather couch.

  “So tell me again,” he said. “Father Sal said Julia left a letter, right?”

  “Yeah. A letter,” said his dad.

  “And she said she was leaving town?” said Curtis.

  “Yeah,” his dad slurred.

  “Did she say where?” asked Curtis.

  His dad shook his head.

  “So Father Sal didn’t say anything about where she was going?”

  His dad shook his head again, then said, “Is there any more beer? You get some and we can talk more about the heist. Angel said the fence in Europe is gonna wire three hundred thousand if we get the paintings. Three hundred, can you believe it?”

  Curtis watched his dad stand and weave on his feet. He pushed his dad on the couch. “No more beer,” yelled Curtis. “Just sit and sober up.” He walked over to Angel’s desk and poured a cup of coffee from a pot on the desk. “Drink this,” he said, shoving it in his dad’s hand. The office door opened.

  “You gotta keep it down,” said Angel, closing the door. He pulled a rag from his dirty overalls and wiped his hands, looking at Curtis. “Anybody comes in the shop, they’ll hear you.”

  Curtis thought about telling Angel about the note from Cracker, then decided against it. Angel was spooked enough knowing Barry’s crew was on the warpath. “Sorry,” he said, looking at his dad. “He’s drunk and he’s pissing me off.”

  “I am not,” bellowed his dad.

  “Keep your voice down,” said Angel.

  “I am not,” whispered his dad.

  Angel looked at Curtis and rolled his eyes.

  Curtis’s dad sipped his coffee. He made a face and spit it on the floor. “That’s terrible,” he said, sticking out his tongue.

  “It should be,” said Angel, laughing. “It’s from this morning.” He picked up the pot of coffee and dumped it in a utility sink. “So is everything cool?” he said as he washed the pot. “You find your girl?”

  “No,” said Curtis. “She’s not at her apartment. Hasn’t been to work either. Not sure where she is.”

  “People go to places they’re familiar with,” said Angel, walking back to his desk with the coffee pot. He put in a filter, poured in fresh coffee and started brewing a new pot. “You know where she’s from?”

  “Massey,” said Curtis.

  “She got family or friends there?”

  Curtis shook his head. “Nah. She’s got no one.”

  “How ‘bout an old job?”

  “She wouldn’t go there,” said Curtis. “No way.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you what,” said Angel. “A couple bikers from Los Dos owe us for fixing their bikes. You remember them?”

  “Yeah. Ronnie and Pedro,” said Curtis.

  Angel picked up the phone from his desk, dialed a number and handed it to Curtis. “Here. Talk to Ronnie, he lives in Massey. Tell him to put eyes out for this girl of yours. Los Dos will find her.”

  Curtis gave Ronnie the low down on his situation. He described Julia to Ronnie while he watched Angel walk over to his dad, talk to him in low tones and take his coffee mug. Angel washed out the mug. He poured in fresh coffee, mixed in a creamer and half a sugar, then handed the mug back to his father, smiling as his dad took a sip. Hearing Ronnie say, “I got it, Curtis. If your old lady’s here, we’ll let you know,” Curtis mumbled a thanks and hung up the phone. He stared at Angel, feeling embarrassed. Angel treated his father better than he did.

  “I’ll let you boys talk,” said his father, getting off the couch with Angel’s help. Curtis watched his dad sip his coffee and walk out of the office, closing the door behind him.

  “So, everything cool with Ronnie?” said Angel. “They gonna help you?”

  “Yeah,” said Curtis. “They’re gonna let me know if they see her.”

  Angel nodded and walked toward the door. “Good,” he said, grabbing the doorknob. “Let me know how that goes.”

  “Wait a second,” Curtis said.

  “What’s up?” said Angel.

  “Why are you so nice to my dad?” said Curtis.

  Angel’s eyes narrowed. “You know, your dad’s a good guy. He’s just got a disease. Yelling at him don’t help.”

  Curtis felt his face flush. He looked down. “But he’s always drunk. I can’t count on him for nothing.”

  Angel put a hand on Curtis’s shoulder. “Hey, I understand. And I got your back. But you need to ease up on him. You only got one old man, and he’s done a lot for you.”

  Curtis shrugged. “Got me laid my first time.”

  “Got you drunk for the first time too,” said Angel.

  “Showed me how to pick a lock and peel a safe,” said Curtis.

  “And how to fight,” said Angel. He laughed. “You know what? Never mind. Your dad’s trouble. Stay away from him.”

  “Too late,” said Curtis. “The damage is done.”

  “For you and me both,” said Angel. He opened the door and looked back over his shoulder. “Listen, I’ll talk to your dad and tell him he needs to dry up before we pull this job. If he don’t, he ain’t gonna be part of it. Either way, don’t worry about it—we’re gonna make some serious money. You okay with that?”

  Curtis nodded.

  “Good,” said Angel.

  Curtis listened as Angel went back to work in the garage, the air vibrating with the ring of metal pounding metal. He sat down at Angel’s desk and let the ringing fill him. His ent
ire body thrummed with the vibration. He turned on the desktop computer on Angel’s desk, opened the browser and searched “Joe Cracker Jones.”

  Making money would be good, but staying alive would be better.

  The search brought back over ten million results. He pulled his chair closer, clicked the first link and watched a video clip of the man hired to kill him.

  An hour passed before Curtis logged off. He stared at the blank screen. The videos of Cracker’s fights were frightening. The man was a wrecking crew. No one in any of the fights Curtis watched made it out of the cage conscious. And the end was always the same. Cracker bending over, his mouth opened impossibly wide as he screamed into his opponent’s face. According to comments under the videos, that was Cracker’s patented “Rebel Yell.” The rednecks loved it, because it always signaled the bloody end was coming.

  Curtis mumbled, “Shit,” and turned off the computer.

  It was time to stop messing around, get this heist done and get out of town.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “Ok. It’s your first night, but don’t freak out,” said Angela. “The main thing is to just look good,” she said, picking through outfits hanging in the strippers’ dressing room. “If you look good, it don’t matter how you dance. The guys pay to watch nice booty.”

  Julia felt out of place in the bustle of strippers all around her. The dressing room was set up like a cut-rate hair salon with mirrored stations lining the walls. Girls in various stages of undress jiggled around her, walking and primping and rubbing lotion over their bodies, their boobs glowing in the harsh light. The hardest part was knowing where to look. Julia couldn’t help but stare at the women. There were tits and thighs and hips and lips and eyes and hairstyles of all kinds, looking primed and ready for action. Julia felt out of her league. People had always told her she was pretty, but these girls were unreal. The lone black girl had a bigger, rounder ass than any she’d ever seen. The old blonde had boobs the size of basketballs. How was she supposed to compete with these sexpots? And the nervous flutter in her stomach wasn’t helping matters. She felt like she had to go the bathroom again and she’d already gone three times. She turned her attention to Angela, who was picking through the rack of outfits along the back wall.

  “This’ll look good on you,” said Angela, holding two hangers. Julia followed her over to an empty mirror.

  Angela hooked the hangers on the back of a chair. Julia looked at the clothes as she stripped. A black fur bikini top and a metallic gold g-string. “What’s with this?” Julia said, picking up the furry bikini top.

  “Just put it on,” said Angela. “And the g-string too. We’re going on in a minute.”

  “Have other girls worn this stuff?” asked Julia, making a face.

  Angela took the hanger with the g-string off the back of the chair and held it up. “It’s still in the bag from the store. It’s fine. Now get dressed.”

  “Yeah, but the top…”

  “It’s been dry cleaned,” yelled Angela. “Now get it on or you’re going out there topless.”

  Julia slipped into the g-string. Angela helped tie the bikini. The black girl whistled from across the room.

  “Damn, Angela,” the black girl said, teetering in spiked heels. “Tell your girlfriend with the fine booty to stay off my stage, unless she wants trouble. I ain’t sharing my booty tips.”

  “Ain’t your stage,” snapped Angela, looking the black girl up and down. She turned to Julia. “Just relax. This is gonna be fun.”

  Julia nodded. She looked in the mirror. Angela had done her makeup and hair before they got here, straightening her dark, shoulder-length hair and putting enough mascara and eye shade on to ink a newspaper. The only thing Angela couldn’t do was cover her scar. No matter how much foundation Angela put on, the scar wouldn’t disappear. But other than that, Julia thought she looked crazy sexy. She slipped her feet into a pair of black high heels and pursed her lips in the mirror. A song with a hip hop feel started out on the stage.

  “Let’s go girl,” said Angela, grabbing Julia by the arm. “That’s our intro song.”

  Julia followed Angela through a curtain. The bar’s strobe lights blinded her for a moment. She could barely hear the announcer’s voice over the music.

  “Welcome Cookies and Cream!”

  “Wonder which one I am,” Julia thought as she focused on Angela’s ass sashaying toward the stage. She imitated Angela. The music helped, adding an extra wiggle to her hips. She stuck tight behind Angela, staying just out of the reach of the men who held their hands out. Angela said they’d dance together tonight. Julia wasn’t sure what that meant, but she was out of her body at this point, moving on auto pilot. Whatever Angela told her to do, she’d do. She just wanted to get this night over with. She stepped up on the stage, felt Angela’s hands wrap around her and begin dancing with her, grinding against her, and then Angela whispered in her ear.

  “Remember, it’s all an act. Just follow my lead.”

  Julia nodded. The music filled her head along with the yells of the men. A hand reached up, stuffing something in the back of her g-string, followed by more hands grabbing her legs and ass, shoving money in her g-string, Angela’s mouth was on her, the music swirling around her in a kaleidoscope of colored lights, yells, cigarette smoke and groping hands. Angela licked her neck, then kissed her, slipping her tongue into her mouth.

  She kissed Angela back, letting herself sink into it, her body swaying, every nerve ending firing. She came up for air and looked at the men holding money toward her, their pupils hard black pinpoints anchored in swirls of cigarette smoke, focusing on everything but her face. She watched Angela kneel in front of her, grab her hips, throw her head back and flick her tongue in the air. She backed into the pole in the middle of the stage, and closed her eyes, leaning on the pole while she danced. Angela slid behind her, untied her top and rubbed her nipples. The crowd yelled. None of it mattered. It was all part of the game. She faced Angela and lowered into a squat, running her hands down Angela’s back, her ass, her legs. Angela thrust her crotch into her face. She turned away, then relaxed, letting Angela grind into her face. It was okay.

  The world could suck her dry tonight.

  There was always tomorrow.

  “You did a good job out there.”

  Julia looked up at Billy Kelley. He smiled, flashing his gold tooth. She turned her gaze back to the mirror and concentrated on touching up her makeup.

  “I mean it, really,” said Billy, putting a hand on her shoulder.

  “Everyone seemed to like it,” she said.

  “Bet you made a couple hundred from that one dance,” he said, rubbing her shoulder.

  She stared at her reflection, saying, “Mm hmm,” as she lined her eyelid with a mascara pencil. Billy’s hand slid down her shoulder to her chest. She froze.

  “We killed it out there.”

  Billy lifted his hand off Julia’s chest. He turned toward Angela, fanning herself with a stack of bills as she walked the length of the dressing room.

  “What are you doing here, Billy?” Angela said, stopping next to Julia. “You ain’t supposed to be in our dressing room. I could turn you in for sexual harassment.”

  “Just stopped in to tell Julia she did a good job,” said Billy as he walked out of the room. He stopped at the curtain that led into the club and pointed at Angela. “By the way, you got that customer coming in for a lap dance in five minutes. Don’t forget.”

  Julia watched Billy disappear through the curtain into the smoke and lights of the club. She looked up at Angela. Something didn’t seem right. Angela came blowing in here like a diva, fanning herself with that handful of bills, and now it looked like the air had been taken out of her. Julia touched her hand.

  “You okay?” she said.

  Angela stared at the curtain that led into the club. “I’m fine,” she said. She smiled and held up the money. “Who wouldn’t be fine with this? We put a charge into that crowd. We’re stars, J
ulia.”

  “I guess,” said Julia. “When do we go on again?”

  Angela rolled her money, rubber banded it and put it on the table in front of Julia’s mirror. “In a half hour, but we’re just dancing the rest of the night. You know, take your top off, jiggle around, bend over—that kind of thing. Our two-girl act is a once a night thing. Don’t want them getting bored with us.” She held her hand out. “Give me your money. I’ll give it to Billy to hold for you. These girls’ll steal anything that ain’t attached to you.”

  Julia handed her stack of ones to Angela.

  Angela rolled Julia’s money, banded it and put it on the table next to hers. “I gotta do this lap dance. Wait here until I get back,” she said.

  “One of the other girls said I should mix with the crowd,” said Julia. “She said lap dancing is where we make real money.”

  Angela nodded. “Yeah, but I gotta walk you through it. Do the wrong thing with a vice cop and he’ll toss you in jail. Just relax. I’ll be right back. You can do lap dances tomorrow.”

  “Good,” said Julia. “I’m wiped out anyhow. Feel like I ran ten miles.”

  Angela laughed as she walked toward the curtain. “It takes some getting used to,” she said. “I’ll see you in fifteen minutes.”

  The curtain closed and Angela was gone. Julia turned and cursed under her breath. Angela said she was gonna give their money to Billy for safekeeping, but she left the rolls of cash on the table. Julia picked the money up and hurried after Angela.

  Walking through the club was a lot different than performing on stage. Everything seemed slower. The music wasn’t as loud. The lights weren’t as bright. Even the men seemed more relaxed. She weaved through the tables, noticing that the men were polite, even cordial as they moved out of her way. Two guys in biker cuts nodded at her.

  “Nice job up there honey,” said one as she walked by their table. She glanced back, saw that their cuts were from the Los Dos biker gang. She flashed a peace sign and yelled, “Live Hard.” Both men lifted their bottles of beer and yelled, “Die Hard.” She smiled and moved on. Everyone in Massey knew the Los Dos biker creed, but she’d never said it to any of the bikers before. That was reserved for Los Dos members and an occasional Los Dos old lady. She grinned. “And now, hot ass strippers like me,” she thought.