The Hard Way

by TJ Vargo

  “C’mon. There’s room for two,” he said.

  “Where’s the bathroom?” she said.

  “Through the door to the right,” said Curtis.

  “Is it clean?” said Julia.

  “No. It’s filthy,” said Curtis. “We’re pigs.”

  She laughed and sat next to him. He kissed the back of her neck. She slipped her hand under his shirt.

  “My dad or boss could walk in any second,” he said.

  “If you don’t care, I don’t,” she whispered.

  He stripped and then undressed her. He explored, touching every inch of her. At times he was on his knees in front of the couch, flat on his back on the couch, on his stomach, sitting, and even standing. She was in synch with him the whole time. He had no idea what time it was when they were done, but he was spent. He fell back on the couch, catching his breath. Julia put her head on his shoulder, her body slippery with sweat.

  He rubbed her leg, listening to her breathe. The art heist was the day after tomorrow, which meant they could relax and catch up on their sleep tomorrow. He wiped sweat off his face. Good thing—he was gonna need the rest.

  Julia sighed and pulled tight against him. Her breathing became soft and regular.

  Curtis smiled and closed his eyes.

  Sunlight shined through the block glass windows set high in Angel’s cinderblock walls. Curtis looked at his jeans hanging over the back of the couch and his shoes and underwear on the floor. Sliding his arm from under Julia’s head, he picked up his clothes and got dressed. The door to the office opened.

  Angel took a step into the room and froze.

  Julia sat up, holding a blanket around her chest.

  “You must be Angel,” she said.

  She dropped the blanket and grabbed Curtis’s white tee shirt off the floor, pulling it over her head. Looking around the room, she walked over to her jeans on the floor by Angel’s desk. “I’m Julia,” she said, picking them up.

  Curtis stepped in front of Julia while she pulled on her jeans. He raised an eyebrow at Angel. “You mind?” he said.

  Angel backed out of the room. “Nice meeting you, Julia,” he said, then wagged a finger at Curtis. “You’re a bad boy,” he said as he closed the door.

  Curtis turned to Julia. Angel’s voice boomed from behind the door.

  “You’re paying to have that couch cleaned, Curtis.”

  Curtis rolled his eyes, hearing Angel laugh as he walked away.

  “He’s funny,” said Julia.

  Curtis put on his shoes. He walked over to Julia and slapped her butt.

  “There’s a shower downstairs,” he said. “Angel will have donuts, coffee and orange juice out in the garage.”

  “Save me a jelly donut,” she said. “I’ll see you in ten minutes.”

  He smiled and enjoyed the view as she walked out.

  Curtis ate with Julia in the customer waiting area. When they were done, she combed her hair, still wet from the shower. A glass wall provided a view of the garage and Curtis watched Angel walk around with a clipboard, taking inventory. Curtis knew the drill.

  After inventory, Angel would close the garage to make a parts run, which would probably take the the whole morning. Curtis touched his pocket holding the keys to the Camaro. With Angel out of the picture, he could drive Julia to the hospital. Even though Sonny was in a coma, he wanted her to meet him. He leaned back and looked her over. Her jeans and tight black muscle shirt looked good. If anything would wake Sonny up, it would be hot girl like her.

  “Where did you get those clothes?” he said.

  Julia stopped combing her hair.

  “Angel got my suitcase out of the car.”

  A tap on the glass caught Curtis’s attention.

  “Going for a parts run,” said Angel, waving the clipboard. “Keep everything locked up. I’ll be back around noon.”

  “Bring back lunch,” Curtis yelled.

  “What do you want?” said Angel.

  Julia banged on the glass.

  “I want ribs,” she said. “And coleslaw and potato salad. And beer. Lots of beer.”

  The look on Angel’s face was priceless. He stared at Julia, then shifted his gaze to Curtis, who smiled. Angel lifted his pen, licked the end of it and pointed at Curtis. “This is coming out of your end of the job,” he shouted, writing down Julia’s order.

  Ten minutes after Angel left, Curtis was in the Camaro with Julia. He parked on the side of the hospital and walked in the emergency entrance, not wanting to take a chance of bumping into the wrong person.

  He told Julia about Sonny on the way up in the elevator. How they’d been friends since they were kids. He laid off on their criminal background, but did fill her in on what happened at the church. How Barry’s crew surprised them and slammed Sonny’s head in the safe. And how Sonny hadn’t opened his eyes since.

  Curtis noticed she hung back a bit as they went in Sonny’s room. He sat next to the bed, holding Sonny’s hand. Sonny was losing his tan, but he was still handsome with his long wavy black hair. Julia would like him if he could talk. He was like a little kid when he talked. All excited and a little sensitive. Curtis patted Sonny’s hand. It didn’t look like he’d be talking today.

  “Did the doctors say what’s wrong with him?” Julia whispered, standing at the door.

  “He ain’t gonna bite,” said Curtis. He stood and lifted Sonny’s hand. “Hold his hand.”

  She walked over and reached for Sonny’s hand.

  Curtis wasn’t positive, but he thought it happened at the exact moment Julia touched him. A mumble.

  Julia gasped, backing away. “Did you hear that?”

  “Sonny,” said Curtis, pushing in next to her. “You awake?”

  Sonny opened his eyes and nodded. Then he closed his eyes.

  “Open your eyes,” said Curtis, grabbing Sonny’s face.

  Sonny pushed his hands away.

  “Leave me alone, Curtis,” said Sonny. “My head hurts.”

  Julia ran out of the room and yelled for a doctor. Curtis squeezed Sonny’s hand. It felt like his heart was going to bust. He wiped away a tear and smiled.

  “What’s wrong?” said Sonny. “Why you crying? Where am I?”

  “You’re here, buddy,” said Curtis. “With me. Just take is easy. Everything is gonna be fine.”

  The doctors chased Curtis out of Sonny’s room. On his way to the elevators, Sonny’s mom and Mona rushed right by him and Julia. He kept his head down and ducked in the elevator. If Sonny’s mom and Mona noticed him, they would’ve went ballistic, blaming him for Sonny’s coma. But it didn’t matter now. He grinned. Sonny was back.

  The sky seemed sunnier as he drove back to Angel’s garage. Sneaking back into Angel’s garage, he felt happy for the first time in a long time. He had Julia. A big payday was coming for stealing those paintings. Sonny was out of his coma. His dad had even stopped drinking.

  He couldn’t believe it.

  Everything was coming together.

  His lucky streak continued as he locked the back door to Angel’s garage. Just as he pocketed his keys, he heard the front door of the shop open, followed by Angel yelling, “Little help.” He looked at a clock hanging in the garage and whistled under his breath.

  “What?” said Julia.

  He motioned for her to follow him as he walked toward Angel. “We got back just in time,” he whispered. “Angel would kill me if he knew I took the car out.”

  “Why?”

  “If the guys that are after me knew he was hiding me, they’d burn this place down. Just don’t tell him we went out, okay?”

  He walked into the lobby just as Angel dropped a white cardboard box on the front counter next to a bag of charcoal and a grocery bag.

  “Move this stuff in the garage by the grill,” said Angel. “I gotta get the beer outta my truck.”

  “What’s all this?” said Julia.

  Curtis lifted the lid on the cardboard box, then peeked in the grocery ba
g. He grinned and picked up the box, walking by Julia.

  “What’s going on?” she said, grabbing the charcoal.

  “It’s time to party,” said Curtis.

  Curtis slid the cardboard box on a metal tool bench next to a barbecue grill. He took the charcoal from Julia and put it next to the box, leaving room for the two cases of beer Angel carried over. The bottles rattled as Angel put the cases down. Angel ripped one of the cases open, took out a bottle and opened it, foam spilling over his hand as he took a drink.

  “Ahh,” Angel said, holding up the bottle, beer dripping on the cement floor. “Get ‘em while they’re cold, people. Angel’s Garage is officially closed.” He pointed at Julia. “You wanted ribs? Now you’re gonna get the best ribs in town.”

  “Way to go, Julia,” said Curtis, grabbing two bottles of beer. He shook one and popped the cap, spraying Julia. She shrieked, covering her face. “Look what you did,” he said, wiping beer off her face. He kissed her. “Now we have to eat Angel’s crappy ribs.”

  “Not just ribs, brother,” said Angel. “We also have someone very special joining us.”

  Curtis turned at the sound of the front door opening.

  “Am I late?” said a man holding two brown grocery bags in his arms.

  Curtis looked at Angel. “Who the hell—” he said, then put his beer down and walked across the garage. He stopped in front of the man. “Dad?” he said.

  His dad tightened his grip on the grocery bags.

  Curtis stared. The man in front of him wasn’t his dad. His dad was the homeless bum with long gray matted hair and a tangled beard. His dad slept in back alleys, wore filthy clothes and pissed himself. This was a man from a long time ago. Someone Curtis idolized as a kid. Curtis walked around his father, checking him out.

  His hair was cut and combed. He was clean shaven. His eyes were clear and bright.

  Curtis turned to Angel. “What happened?”

  “Your dad thought as long as he was getting off the booze, he might as well clean up his act, so we went shopping,” said Angel. “I got him some jeans, a new shirt, shoes, haircut, shave—the works.” Angel smiled. “Looks good, don’t he?”

  Curtis couldn’t speak. He turned toward his dad.

  “Is this the girl you were telling me about?” his dad said, walking toward Julia.

  “Yeah,” said Curtis. “That’s Julia.”

  Curtis watched his dad stop in front of Julia, put down the grocery bags and hug her.

  “Hi Mr. Monroe,” she said.

  Curtis’s dad stepped back and smiled. “Call me Mickey,” he said.

  Curtis walked over. As clean and shaved and well dressed as his father was, Curtis noticed that his hands were trembling. This was day three of cold turkey. Curtis gripped his dad’s hand.

  “How you holding up?” he said.

  His dad nodded and picked up the grocery bags. “Better than ever,” he said, handing a bag to Julia. “Help me shuck this corn, Julia. I want to hear all about you.”

  Curtis watched his dad and Julia walk into the lobby, set the grocery bags on the counter and sit on stools next to each other. Julia tilted her head back, laughing at something his father said as he dumped sweet corn on the counter. Curtis watched in rapt amazement. His chest felt like it was going to bust.

  “You’re old man doesn’t look too bad, huh?” said Angel.

  “No he doesn’t,” said Curtis, feeling Angel’s hand clap the back of his neck and squeeze.

  “Let’s fire up the grill up and cook these ribs,” said Angel.

  Curtis finished his beer as Angel opened the back bay door facing the alley, rolled the grill over, poured the charcoal in and started the coals. A radio played on an old boombox while Curtis covered a tool bench with brown butcher paper. Angel cut the ribs and patted them with his homemade barbecue rub. It wasn’t long before the first slabs were on the grill, sweating under low heat. Curtis watched Angel fiddle with the flue on the grill. The man was a perfectionist when it came to cooking. Hell, he was a perfectionist when it came to anything. The smell of cooking meat wafted through the garage. Curtis sipped his beer. This was gonna be good.

  Angel closed the grill and patted Curtis on the back. He looked at Julia and Mickey shucking corn in the lobby as he sipped his beer.

  “You ready for the heist tomorrow?” he said.

  Curtis nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Good,” said Angel, walking over to the boombox. He turned off the radio, flipped through a box of CDs and loaded a few into the boombox. The first riff of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Saturday Night Special kicked in.

  “Here we go,” said Curtis. “Somebody get my rocking chair.”

  “Have some respect for your elders,” said Angel, dragging a cooler over to the cases of beer.

  Curtis laughed. Angel was old school to the bone. Fun guy when you knew him, but not to be messed with. Curtis watched him put the beers in the cooler. A shaft of sunlight fell across Angel’s face while he worked. A few gray hairs stood out in the shiny black surface of his ponytail—pale slivers of silver announcing that time was working its magic on him. Angel had always been and would always be an icon. Biker. Businessman. Thief. Fighter. There was a even a rumor that he’d been in some special unit back when he was in the Army. Special Ops or something like that. Curtis watched him walk out of the garage and disappear somewhere in the back. He returned with a bag of ice and poured it into the cooler. Angel was a man’s man. Curtis sipped his beer as Angel kicked the cooler lid closed. But the gray in Angel’s hair reminded Curtis that if he wanted to do something with his life, he had to do it fast. Getting old happened to everyone.

  Angel opened another beer as he walked over.

  “So,” said Angel. “You sure there’s nothing we need to go over? Nothing that can cause us trouble?” He sipped his beer, keeping an eye on the grill. “Cause we got a lot of money riding on this job. Trouble can cost us three hundred grand.”

  “Nothing I can think of,” said Curtis.

  “You sure?” said Angel, studying Curtis.

  Curtis picked at the label on his beer. “Maybe one little problem,” he said. “Are those ribs okay for a couple minutes?”

  “Sure,” said Angel.

  Curtis waved for Angel to follow. “Let me show you something.”

  Five minutes later Curtis turned away from the computer and looked at Angel.

  “So there’s my problem,” said Curtis, nodding at the monitor. “Barry and Duck hired this guy to take me out. Fortunately, this maniac has no idea where I am, so I’m safe. But if you want to talk problems, he’s definitely in that category.”

  Angel tapped the image of Joe Cracker Jones on the screen. Cracker was bent over an opponent, his mouth wide open in a full rebel yell scream. His fist was coming down in a blur, on its way to breaking the jaw of ex-light heavyweight champ, Andy Volcano Vata.

  “This isn’t good, Curtis,” said Angel.

  “I know.”

  Angel shook his head. “Turn it off,” he said, walking out of his office.

  Curtis followed Angel into the garage. He watched Angel open the grill and flip the ribs. Each flip conjured a loud sizzle and a plume of smoke. Mick Jagger grunted from the boombox along with the tribal beat of Sympathy For The Devil. Angel glanced at the boombox, then back at Curtis.

  “How do you know this Joe Cracker Jones guy is after you?” said Angel.

  “He wrote me a note saying so,” said Curtis.

  A wrinkle creased Angel’s brow. “Wrote a note? How’d he get a note to you?”

  “I stopped by my apartment when I went out to find Julia,” said Curtis. “He wrecked my place and taped a note to my television. Said Duck hired him to kill me. Said he wants to fight me to the death. Guy’s a mental patient.”

  Angel sighed. “First of all, I told you not to go anywhere but Julia’s.”

  “I know. I just—”

  “You just nothing,” said Angel, narrowing his eyes. “You could’ve brought
everybody down on me.”

  “Sorry.”

  Angel sipped his beer. “Sorry don’t help. What helps is listening to me.”

  Curtis waited out Angel’s stare. It took a while. Angel finally turned away, tending to the ribs.

  “So what else did the note say?” said Angel.

  “Not much,” said Curtis. “A lot of crazy ass rambling about me coming to him or he’d kill my family and friends.”

  “Which would be who?” said Angel.

  Curtis smiled. “Got me. Everybody in town knows about me and my dad. Guy must have figured out by now that going after him ain’t gonna get my attention.”

  “And except for Fitz and Sonny, you’ve never had many friends,” said Angel.

  “You know how it is,” said Curtis. “Can’t trust nobody.”

  Angel looked at Curtis. “Well, good,” he said. “This guy can’t touch you. You lay low, knock the job out tomorrow, take the money and run. Once Duck figures out you’re gone, he’ll call off the hit and everything goes back to normal.”

  “That’s what I figured,” said Curtis. “It’s a whole lot of nothing.” He finished his beer and walked over to the cooler, glancing into the lobby. His dad and Julia had finished shucking the corn, but were deep in conversation. He opened the cooler and grabbed a beer. It was good to see his dad clean, sober and happy. The butcher paper on the tool bench crinkled as he leaned against it. Angel put down the tongs.

  “But it does beg the question,” said Angel. He closed the grill with a clang and wiped his hand on his jeans. “What if this guy grabbed your dad? Or Julia? What would you do?”

  “I’d find him and kick his ass.”

  “Really? You watch the same video I did? I’m not sure if anybody can kick his ass.”

  Curtis thought about it. He’d seen the video of Cracker beating other fighters to a pulp. He’d read how he was banned from cage fighting after nearly killing a guy with a palm heel strike under the guy’s nose. Cracker was insane. Curtis glanced over at Julia and his dad, took a deep breath and exhaled.

  “If I hit him hard enough, he’ll go down,” he said.

  Angel bit his lip and nodded. He tapped the side of his beer bottle. “Hey, I ever tell you about when I was stationed in Africa?” he said.