The Hard Way

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The Hard Way Page 29

by TJ Vargo


  “No,” said Curtis.

  “I was in Somalia,” said Angel. “There was this village where these kids were disappearing. It happened at night, about once a week. And then a couple women disappeared. And finally a full grown man vanished, right in the middle of the day. The villagers thought it was some kind of ghost or something, but a local missionary convinced them to hire a game hunter. Some English guy that could shoot the balls off a gnat. The guy shows up and does a walk around, looking for tracks, blood, whatever. It’s hot. You know, the sun’s nailed in the sky, blazing down. So he walks into this crop field with nothing but a pistol strapped on his leg and a full grown leopard jumps him. The guy’s flat on his back and this cat is strong. It’s got fangs as long as rulers. It is not fucking around. It hooks its front paws around his shoulders, opens its mouth and tries to tear his throat out. So what does the guy do?”

  “Shoots the fucking thing,” said Curtis.

  “Can’t,” said Angel. “He needs both hands to hold it off.”

  “Then I don’t know,” said Curtis. “He’s toast.”

  Angel nodded. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” he said. “But the guy’s a survivor. He ain’t going down without a fight, so he rams his fist elbow-deep into the jaguar’s mouth.”

  “Bullshit,” said Curtis.

  “Swear,” said Angel, holding up a hand.

  “Then what happened?

  Angel took a pull from his beer and wiped his mouth. “The damn thing went berserk. He grabbed it’s tongue and held on for dear life until it died from asphyxiation or shock. Then he tracked down its lair. There were human and animal bones all over the place. After he saw that, the hunter said he knew he’d met a predator that lost its fear of everything. Seeing all those bones scared him shitless. According to him, that leopard was outside the normal flow of the universe.”

  Curtis mulled over Angel’s comments. “So what are you trying to tell me?” he said. “That this Cracker guy is like that?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” said Angel. “Based on the video I saw, that guy does not give a shit about anyone or anything. He is toxic. He is outside the flow.”

  “So what am I supposed to do about it?” asked Curtis.

  Angel turned at the sound of Julia and Curtis’s dad walking out of the lobby, carrying a bag of shucked sweet corn ready to be grilled. Angel smiled and waved them over, then turned back to Curtis, whispering.

  “Listen. If that guy gets your dad, Julia, or anybody else, you do not fight him. You do not talk to him. You do not engage him in any way. That’s the law, starting right now.”

  “I can’t do that. He’d hurt them.”

  “No,” said Angel. “He’ll kill them. But getting yourself killed won’t help.”

  “So I do nothing?” said Curtis.

  “No ,” said Angel. “You most definitely do something. If you want to stay alive, you run.”

  Angel turned his back, taking the bag of shucked corn from Julia. Curtis took a swallow of beer and tried to relax. Having Julia come over and put her arm around him helped. Seeing his dad clean and sober helped. The music and the smell of the ribs and the cold beer going down all helped. But if he wanted to relax for good, he needed to finish this heist, get his money, and get out of Tombs with Julia. He smiled and listened to his dad tell him what a great girl Julia was. He took a drink of his beer and pulled her close, his mind buzzing.

  One more day and he’d be gone for good.

  And then Angel put corn on the grill and yelled for someone to get plates and silverware out of his office, his dad took cans of baked beans out of the grocery bags and Julia grabbed Angel’s empty beer bottle, digging a fresh one out of the cooler. Springsteen drifted out of the boombox, singing about busting out of his crummy town with his girl, jumping on his motorcycle and riding to a better place. Curtis turned it up. He stepped back and smiled, watching Angel take Julia’s hand and dance through the garage. They danced by and he cut in, feeling the music pound through him. He pulled her against him, kissing her. Her lips were soft.

  He held the kiss for a long time. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Julia pulled off her shoes and socks as she walked into Angel’s office. She bumped around in the dark, finding the lamp on Angel’s desk. It cast a dim twilight through the room. She wiggled out of her jeans and walked to the couch. The beer had her unsteady on her feet. She fell on Curtis. He grunted and shifted to his side, smelling like smoke from the grill. She pushed her nose into the crook of his neck.

  “Curtis? You up?”

  “Yeah,” he mumbled. He grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch and pulled it over them.

  Julia turned nose-to-nose with him, watching his lips separate as he breathed slow and even.

  “Today was fun,” she said.

  “Uh huh,” he said.

  She traced a finger around his face, then touched the scar that ran over his eyebrow. He pushed her hand away.

  “Your dad is great,” she said.

  “Great,” said Curtis.

  “You look like him,” she said, running her hands over his face. She stroked his cheek. “Hey, I was thinking about where we should go.”

  Curtis turned his back to her.

  Julia rolled to her back and looked at the ceiling.

  “Somewhere warm. Maybe a Caribbean island.” She reached under the blanket for Curtis’s hand. “You could start your charter fishing business. And I could get a job doing something.” She rubbed her thumb over Curtis’s palm, feeling his calluses. “We’ll use the money you’ll get tomorrow. That’ll set us up. It’ll be a whole new life.” She pulled Curtis’s hand to her chest and smiled. “Your dad can come down and join us. Even Angel, if he wants to. One big family, you know? Maybe we’ll even have kids.” She turned toward Curtis. “How’s that sound, Curtis? You in?”

  When he didn’t respond she kissed his hand and snuggled against him.

  “We’re going to do it,” she whispered. “It’ll be the best time of our lives.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Cracker woke up in the front seat of his pick up. He could’ve gotten a room last night, but why? Sleeping was sleeping, even if it was in a strip mall parking lot. Based on the number of pot holes in this crumbled ruin of blacktop, he thought this parking lot must have been used as a bombing test range. He rummaged through a plastic bag on the passenger seat, pulled out his last protein bar and chewed his way through it while he watched the sun lift from the horizon, illuminating the crumbling asphalt. This strip mall was like everything in this town —old, tired and broken. He’d had his fill of it. But he’d finish his business today. It was time to bring out the axe. Everyone this Curtis Monroe boy had any connection to, however slim, was getting split wide open. If that boy was here in Tombs, he’d stick his head out of his hidey hole and get what was coming to him.

  Cracker opened his glove box and took out paper and a pen. He chewed his protein bar thoughtfully, tapping his pen on the back of a wrinkled Chinese restaurant menu. He smoothed the menu on his thigh and started writing.

  Family - Mickey Monroe

  Friends - Sonny Bomba and Jackie Fitzsimmons (Fitz)

  Current Poontang - Julia Adriani

  Old Tang - Mona Bomba

  He stopped writing and looked over the list. From what Derek Ryder told him, these were all the people on God’s green earth that had a relationship with Curtis. And based on what he’d learned from picking through Monroe’s apartment, the boy was a spook. He didn’t mind spending time with himself, which was rare. Most people needed all kinds of ruckus and distraction to keep their mind occupied. Monroe was different. He was disciplined. He was a champion wrestler and a pretty damn good street fighter, based on Derek Ryder’s broken ass ribs. And he didn’t fear much. The beating he gave Duck, a man who other criminals catered to, proved that. Based on the preponderance of this evidence, Cracker was sure Monroe was gonna be fun t
o tangle with. But somebody’s pain and dying had to garner his attention first.

  Cracker scanned the list of names. This was gonna be a tall order.

  He scribbled out Julia’s name. She was out of reach, hiding out with Monroe. He ate his last piece of protein bar and sucked chocolate off the end of a finger. He scratched out Jackie Fitzsimmons. That boy ran out of town. No help there. So that left Sonny Bomba, Mona Bomba and Mickey Monroe, Curtis’s daddy. According to Derek, Monroe hated his daddy and hadn’t talked to him in years. And although Curtis had done the dirty with Mona Bomba, she had a fairly strong dislike for him now. Taking all that into consideration, it made sense to start with Sonny.

  He called Derek. After a brief conversation, he started his truck and got moving, rolling through the crumbled ruin of parking lot. Sonny was at the hospital. He’d been in a coma, but according to Derek, he’d pulled out of it. All in all, this wasn’t gonna be much of a challenge. A man who just came out of a coma wouldn’t put up much of a fight. Cracker pulled into a drugstore. But, whether Sonny was strong or not, Cracker needed a couple things to take care of business. What was that old saying? Something about preparation being the key to success. Or lack of preparation being the key to failure. Or—

  Or nothing. He parked in the Walgreens parking lot and walked toward the entrance.

  Life was simple. Once you made friends with death, nobody could touch you. He walked into Walgreens and roamed the aisles until he found what he was looking for.

  He got in his truck and dug a roll of reinforced elastic bandage out of his grocery bag. Wrapping his right wrist and hand took a while. When he was done, he looked over his handiwork. With his hand all wrapped up, it looked like he’d broken it. He banged it against the dash. Couldn’t feel a thing. It was a club. It felt good.

  He reached in the Walgreens grocery bag, feeling around the shrink-wrapped legal pad and a pack of ballpoint pens to grab a box of protein bars. Mmmm. Blueberry and strawberry yogurt flavor. Just the thing for a shot of energy before he went over to the hospital and visited Sonny. He wolfed down two of the bars and stared out the windshield, watching people walk in and out of the drugstore. Visiting hours weren’t until noon. Best bet was to get there an hour or so before. It wouldn’t take long. He’d kill a couple hours and then he’d go see Sonny. It was gonna be a productive morning.

  * * * *

  Cracker stood in the doorway to Sonny’s room, watching Sonny eat orange jello from a plastic cup. He walked in, shut the door, grabbed a chair and dragged it to the side of Sonny’s bed.

  Sonny ran his spoon around the bottom of the plastic cup, ate the last of the jello and put the spoon down. He eyed Cracker.

  “Who are you?”

  Cracker laid a legal pad and pen on his lap.

  “I’m from down the hall. Checking out today. Wondering if you could help me with something.”

  “What happened to your hand?”

  Cracker held up his bandaged hand. “My old lady closed a car door on it.” He lowered his hand to his lap and nodded at Sonny. “How bout you? What you in for?”

  Sonny didn’t say a word. He just stared at him. Cracker held Sonny’s dark-eyed gaze and waited, but he had to give it to Sonny, the boy was stone cold—he did not flinch. Cracker tilted his head.

  “Something about my face interest you?” he said.

  Sonny shook his head. “Nah. Just trying to remember if I know you.” Sonny tossed his jello cup in a trash can. His bed sheet rustled as he sat up. “I took a shot to the head,” he said. “Pretty bad I guess, but I don’t remember a thing.”

  “That don’t sound good,” said Cracker, fiddling with the bandage on his hand.

  “So who are you again?” said Sonny.

  Cracker settled back in his chair. “I’m nobody.”

  “Nobody, huh?” said Sonny. “Well my mom and sister are coming in a little bit, so make it fast, nobody.”

  Cracker lifted the legal pad and pen from his lap. “Just wondering if you can write a note for me.” He handed Sonny the legal pad and pen. “My old lady, the one that broke my writing hand, she’s coming to pick me up. When she gets here, this here note is all she’s gonna find.”

  Sonny smiled. “Busted your hand, huh?” He picked up the pen. “She must’ve been pissed about something.”

  Cracker slowly unwrapped his bandage and wound it around the palm of his free hand. “Oh, you know how women can be,” he said.

  “Whatever,” said Sonny, uncapping the pen. “What do you want me to write?”

  Cracker unwound the bandage, wrapping it around the palm of his free hand. “Let’s start with this,” he said.

  “As you can see, I’m gone.”

  “Got it,” said Sonny.

  “And if you want to know why, ask Curtis Monroe.”

  “Curtis Monroe?” said Sonny.

  “That’s right,” said Cracker. “Curtis Monroe. Just keep writing. The next line is, ‘I’m as surprised as you are.’”

  “Fucking Curtis,” said Sonny, shaking his head while he wrote.

  “But one thing’s for sure. If Curtis fought, I’d still be here,” said Cracker, watching Sonny look up.

  “Wait a second. Did you say, ‘If Curtis fought?’” said Sonny.

  Cracker tightened his hands into fists and pulled them apart. The foot or so of bandage between his hands stretched taut. “Yeah. That’s what I said. Write it down.” He watched Sonny finish writing and put the pen down.

  “Is Curtis involved with your old lady?” said Sonny.

  Cracker shook his head. “No.”

  “Well, what’s your business with Curtis?” said Sonny. “And what’s this about fighting?”

  Cracker pointed across the room. “What the hell is that?” he said.

  Sonny turned away. Cracker lunged and wrapped the bandage around Sonny’s neck from behind, pulling it tight. Sonny clutched at the bandage, then begin to kick and twist. But the bandage was too tight. He couldn’t get a finger under it. Cracker shook with the strain. This Sonny was a hard ass customer. Felt like a steel cable come to life. Cracker pulled the bandage tight, winding it around his palms inch-by-inch until it cut into Sonny’s neck. Sonny bucked and shook, but never made a sound. Then he went limp.

  “Yeah,” said Cracker, easing up on his grip, resting his chin on Sonny’s shoulder from behind as he caught his breath. “There you go. No reason to fight, Sonny. Sorry I had to trick you like that.”

  Cracker grunted as Sonny’s elbow connected with the bridge of his nose. Cracker fought to stay conscious. His grip on the bandage slipped, giving Sonny a chance to pull the bandage away from his neck and breathe. But that was as far as Sonny got before Cracker stood, holding on while Sonny bucked and pulled and spun on his bed, trying to get loose. Dancing with this boy was strenuous. He did not want to go quietly, but Cracker was certain of one thing.

  He was going.

  Cracker shoved a knee between Sonny’s shoulder blades. He arched back, pulling the bandage with all he had. Small, desperate sounds came out of Sonny. The fact that Sonny’s hands were hooked under the bandage, allowing air to flow into his lungs, didn’t matter. The bandage cut into the sides of Sonny’s neck, into the carotid arteries. Cracker laid all his weight and strength into it. The blood flow to Sonny’s brain slowed. Then it stopped. Cracker felt Sonny fade, his movements weakening with each pulse of blood that didn’t reach his brain. Then he went limp. Cracker kept up the pressure for a full minute after Sonny stopped fighting. When he finally let go, Sonny flopped on the bed.

  Cracker panted. He looked down. Sonny’s tongue hung out. His face was blue. Cracker unwrapped the bandage from his hands. He got himself a handful of tissues and blew blood out of his nose. It hurt like hell. He shoved the tissues in his pocket.

  “You surprised me. I give you that,” he said, grabbing Sonny under the arms and pulling him off the bed. He worked fast, doubling up the bandage, wrapping it around Sonny’s neck and stringing him up. The to
ughest part was finding something to tie him off on. A water pipe running above the ceiling tiles did the trick. Sonny’s size helped things along. The boy wasn’t tall and didn’t weigh but one eighty at most. Hoisting him up wasn’t hard.

  Cracker was almost out the door when he stopped. Damn. He almost forgot about the note. He went back in Sonny’s room where the legal pad was still on the bed. He tore the note off the legal pad and laid it on the bed. Then he pushed Sonny, making him swing as he read the note.

  As you can see, I’m gone. And if you want to know why, ask Curtis Monroe. I’m as surprised as you are, but one thing’s for sure, if Curtis fought, I’d still be here.

  He gave Sonny a final push and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. The idea that his nose must look bad struck him as he walked down the hall. He pulled the tissue out of his pocket and blew his nose, looking at the blood. Sonny was a tough customer. He walked down the stairwell to the ground floor, his footsteps echoing.

  Now it was time to find Curtis’s dad, Mickey Monroe. One way or another, Curtis would be showing his face by the end of the day. If he didn’t come out of hiding, it would be clear that he didn’t care about anybody. He’d be out of reach and it would be time to go home. It would be a shame, but sometimes a person had to know when to call it quits. Thankfully, it wasn’t quitting time yet.

  He walked out into the parking lot, got in his truck and took out his cell. Derek answered on the first ring.

  “What’s up, Cracker?” said Derek.

  “That friend of Monroe’s, Sonny, he’s up,” said Cracker.

  “Huh?” said Derek.

  “Where can I find Monroe’s daddy?” said Cracker.

  “He’s a bum. I don’t know,” said Derek. “Hold on.”

  Cracker listened to people murmur. Derek got back on the phone.

  “Last anyone saw of him, he was hanging around Angel Silva’s garage. Sounds like he goes over there at least once a day. He’s a complete drunk, though. Doubt if you’ll get anything out of him.”

 

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