by TJ Vargo
Curtis laughed, listening as Sonny gave Fitz a blow-by-blow of their escape from the security guards and the dogs. As dumb as Sonny was, he loved him. He was a five-foot-ten-inch fireplug of loyalty, with long, wavy black hair the girls loved and a stare that made hard men blink. A steady guy who had his back even when that professional boxer, Johnny Tong, got in his face when they were drinking at The Ice House. Curtis smiled, remembering how Sonny planted a thumb in Johnny’s eye that dropped him to his knees. Once Sonny was in, he was all the way in.
Sonny finished telling Fitz how close he’d come to losing his balls to the rottweiler, then turned to Curtis and punched him in the shoulder.
“What are you waiting for?” said Sonny. “Get a shirt on and let’s boogie.”
All the reasons why it was a bad idea to go out escaped Curtis. He pushed away from the counter. Yeah, it might not be a bad idea to get drunk and tell them he was leaving. Fitz and Sonny were his friends. They’d understand.
“Just a couple drinks,” said Fitz. “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”
Curtis slapped Fitz’s palm. Sonny yelled after him as he headed down the hall toward his bedroom.
“Hey man, I hope you’re ready. Mona’s been moping around for weeks, asking if I could get you to call her. She’s gonna flip when you walk in.”
“No way,” said Curtis, all smiles as he walked backwards down the hall. “I don’t need the drama. All me and Mona do is fight. Besides, it’s weird going out with your sister.”
Sonny shouted, “Gimme a break. I’d rather have you balling her than some jerk. And she’s had a lot of those.”
“You shouldn’t talk about your sister like that,” said Curtis.
He walked into his bedroom and closed the door, listening to the muffled taunts of Fitz and Sonny, ragging him for being a gentleman. As he pulled on a white tee shirt his bedroom door creaked open. He walked over, kneeling down to examine the latch. Whispers filtered down the hall. He poked his head out of his door, listening as Fitz talked to Sonny.
“He won’t do it for me, but he will for you. It’ll be fine.”
“I don’t know. This ain’t gonna work.”
“It’ll work. Just say what I told you.”
“I don’t know, man.”
Curtis stepped into the hall and started toward the kitchen, listening to Fitz say, “Look, Barry’s got it taken care of. Just talk to Monroe and get him on board.”
“Get me on board what?” said Curtis.
Fitz spun around.
“Huh?” he said.
“I heard you say something about Barry,” said Curtis. “You trying to put us in the SuperMax?”
Fitz raised his hands in a no-foul gesture. “Hey, you got me.” He smirked at Sonny. “I can’t wait to get us locked up.”
Sonny walked around the counter and put a hand on Curtis’s shoulder. “Barry says he’s got something big. We was just thinking it wouldn’t be a bad idea to talk to him.”
Curtis poked Sonny in the chest.
“You’re not doing anything with Barry. If Fitz wants to talk to Barry and get himself killed, he can do it on his own.”
He spun toward Fitz.
“You had one thing to do tonight. Set off some firecrackers to get those security guards out of the way. A two-year-old couldn’t screw that up, but you did. And now you think you’re smart enough to jump in the deep end with Barry? You out of your mind?”
Fitz lifted his chin. “Hey, at least I didn’t smack Sonny in the head.”
“Yeah,” said Sonny. “You didn’t have to hit me. You should’ve just told me to shut up.”
Curtis rolled his eyes. “I didn’t tell you to shut up because I didn’t want those security guards to hear my voice. You don’t talk to people you’re robbing unless you want to get picked out of a line up. I hit you to shut your mouth and save your ass.”
Fitz walked into the living room and picked up the real estate magazine.
“You know, we hook up with Barry, we can probably buy one of these houses on the beach,” he said, thumbing through the magazine and looking at the photos of homes in Savannah, Georgia. “Party all night with the rich girls squeezing their asses into bikinis.” Fitz tossed the magazine on the floor and pointed at the marlin. “Maybe it’ll be my turn to catch one of these bad boys. Course I won’t whine like you did, I’ll just drag it in.”
Curtis picked up the magazine, never taking his eyes off Fitz. Raising to his full height, he rolled the magazine and tapped it against his thigh.
“I ain’t meeting with Barry,” he said. “Let’s go drink.”
“You’re such a pussy, Monroe,” said Fitz. “All we’re gonna do is talk. If it don’t sound good, we walk away. What’s the big deal?”
Curtis looked at the floor. “Nope. Ain’t happening.”
Fitz eyed Sonny. Sonny cleared his throat.
“Um, I owe Barry money,” said Sonny. “He said we see him tonight or he’s sending people to find me.”
Curtis went cold. He dropped the magazine and looked at Fitz. “Tell me I’m hearing things,” he said.
Fitz smiled. “We go in, we get a job, we do it, then we walk away. The thing with Sonny is nothing. He got in a little too deep and we gotta pull him out. It’s nothing.”
Curtis turned to Sonny. “I can lend you money, but this is a bad idea. Barry’s a monster. You get hooked up with him, you’re done.”
“You don’t have the kind of money I owe,” said Sonny.
“We gotta help him,” added Fitz.
Running his hands through his hair, Curtis looked at the ceiling. “Okay,” he said. “Whatever you owe, tell Barry we’re good for it. Just get a figure and I’ll send you money. Just tell me what it’s gonna cost and I’ll send what I can, but I’m not talking to Barry. I’m out.”
Fitz’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, you’ll send money? Where you going?”
Curtis opened his mouth, then shut it.
Fitz picked up the real estate magazine, looked at it and tossed it to Sonny. “You moving to Georgia? Is that the plan?”
The words were right there, all the reasons why he had to leave, but Curtis knew they wouldn’t make sense to Fitz or Sonny. How do you tell guys like this that you dream of waking up every day in a place where no one knows you’re a low life? Where your past has nothing to do with your future? He crossed his arms, watching as Fitz pointed at the marlin.
“Is this about that fishing captain or charter boat shit you’re always talking about?” said Fitz. “Hell, if that’s all it is, let’s go to the Maneto River right now. We’ll catch all the fish you want.”
Curtis shook his head. “It doesn’t matter why I’m moving. I just want to—”
Sonny threw the magazine at him and shoved him. Curtis stumbled and Fitz grabbed his arms.
“What the hell, Curtis? You’re leaving?” said Sonny. “We’ve been friends since we were kids. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Curtis could feel Fitz’s grip tighten on his arms. “Calm down,” he said. “I was gonna tell you.” He glanced over his shoulder at Fitz. “Listen, I have some money, but we gotta think this through. If we do this wrong, Barry will own Sonny.”
“How much money you got?” said Fitz.
Curtis tried to turn. Fitz held him in place. “Let go of me Fitz,” he said.
“If you’re moving, you must have a lot,” said Fitz. “Where you keeping it?”
Something clicked in Curtis’s head. How he’d heard Fitz whisper to Sonny, “He won’t do it for me, but he’ll do it for you.” So that’s what this was about. Curtis laughed.
“You’re playing me, aren’t you Fitz?” he said. “Sonny don’t owe Barry. You owe Barry and he’s got you by the balls, don’t he? Either we do a job for him or he’s gonna bust you up. That’s it, ain’t it?”
“Screw you, Monroe,” said Fitz. “This ain’t nothing to laugh about. Just tell me where your money is.”
Curtis chuckled. “You’re a piece
of work. All you had to do was ask me. Quit being an asshole and let me go. I’ll give you some money to get Barry off your back.”
Fitz’s grip loosened. Curtis set himself. No way was he giving his money to Fitz. He was leaving town tonight with every dollar he’d saved, no matter what it took. He snapped his head back, hoping to smash Fitz’s nose. Fitz pulled back out of range, bearhugging him. Curtis arched his back and yanked an arm free. The screwdriver on the Army footlocker came into view, but was out of reach. He pushed into Fitz and then eased up, letting Fitz drive him toward the footlocker. Reaching down, he scooped up the screwdriver and held it high.
He heard Fitz’s surprise at the sight of the screwdriver. A grunt of “oh,” followed by a quick inhale. Before Fitz could gather himself, Curtis ripped his other arm free and spun, facing Fitz. His freedom lasted an eyeblink. Sonny wrapped an arm around his throat from behind. Hot breath and spittle blew on the back of his neck.
“Drop it or I’ll choke you out, Curtis.” said Sonny. “Swear to God.”
He forced his chin down to keep his throat from being crushed. Fitz wrestled with him, grabbing for the screwdriver. Sonny’s left knee came into focus.
Curtis’s pulse leveled as he threw together the choreography. A quick stab in Sonny’s knee. And then a twist of the hips to hammer the side of Fitz’s face. With the handle of the screwdriver in his fist he’d break Fitz’s jaw, but it was better than stabbing him in the gut. After that, he’d grab his money, run and never look back.
He started the downward motion of the screwdriver toward Sonny’s knee. And then he stopped, feeling the speed and motion of everything crash over him. His pulse and heartbeat went into overdrive. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stab his friend. Before he had time to reconsider, he was on the floor, all the air driven out of him, gasping and watching helplessly as Fitz punched him in the temple. There was no pain. Nothing but a burst of white so bright and all encompassing he separated from his body.
He floated in the white for a time, hearing grunts and the far away sound of fists and boots pounding him. It seemed to go on forever, then the white lost its brightness and he felt his weight return. Pain crashed through him. He opened his eyes and heard Sonny yell, “No!” as the heel of a workboot hurtled down to fill his vision.
Something cold touched his face. He tried to open his eyes and couldn’t. He touched his face. The skin felt tight, ready to split. Someone grabbed his hand.
“It’s okay. It’s okay. Just relax. I called an ambulance. They should be here soon.”
He recognized the voice. It was that girl from next door, Julia. The girl with the big, brown eyes. She wiped something wet and cold across his face.
“Jesus, what’s taking them so long?” she said. “Just hold on. You’re going to be okay.”
He forced his right eye open, looking out a slit. Julia came into focus. She lifted a washcloth off his face. It was covered in blood. He turned his head and heard her say, “Don’t move. Just stay still until they get here.”
That turn of his head sent a vice grip of pain through him. He rolled to his side, gagging before throwing up, the acid and copper taste of blood and bile burning his throat. The effort exhausted him. A black veil drifted over his vision.
He looked out from one slit eye, letting himself slip back into unconsciousness as he took in the sight of the words “Fuck You And Your Fish,” scrawled in black magic marker on the wall where his marlin used to be.
Chapter Three
The sound—something between breathing and whining—was familiar to Julia. She turned off the hot water, wrung out the washcloth and looked in the mirror. Even with steam fogging the mirror, she could see the inch-long scar under her left cheekbone. Another pained breath whispered behind her.
“I sounded just like that after James gave me this,” she thought, sliding her fingertip over the scar.
She kneeled next to the puke-spattered toilet and patted Curtis’s back.
“Are you okay?” she said.
Curtis didn’t respond. She rubbed his back and listened to the hollow sound of his breathing in the toilet bowl. Bad as Curtis was, she thought the doctor should’ve kept him in the hospital longer than one night. She could still see the doctor tying off the last stitch in Curtis’s bloody mouth, shrugging when she asked how long he would be in.
“He can leave now. He’s banged up, but pain’s the same at home as it is here.”
She was pretty sure the doctor didn’t believe her when she said she was Curtis’s sister. Her skin and hair were dark from a Puerto Rican grandfather she never knew. Curtis’s tanned skin was a couple shades paler, and he had blonde-brown, surfer hair that was way out of place in Tombs. But, saying she was going to sue if they made her take her brother home with a concussion did get Curtis an overnight with an IV to take the edge off.
Sticking up for Curtis made sense to her. He was always nice to her, but didn’t seem to have much in the way of friends or family. He was on his own, just like her. That was why she rode over to the hospital with him, slept in the waiting room overnight, and drove him back to his apartment in the morning, missing her whole cleaning shift at Sacred Heart. And that was why she was checking on him now. He was alone, but he needed help.
She looked at his big right hand gripping the toilet, a vein standing out on his wrist, snaking across the top of his forearm and disappearing into the smooth bulge of his bicep. She reached over and rubbed his arm.
Curtis lifted his head out of the toilet. His puffy, bruised face had more than a passing resemblance to her own after James’s beating a few months ago.
“Okay, let’s get your shirt off and get you cleaned up,” she said.
He licked his swollen bottom lip, the black stitches inside his mouth visible for a moment. “Don’t need help,” he mumbled.
Lips pressed tight, she gazed at the swollen wreck of his face, wondering if he blamed himself, like she had after her beating, instead of blaming the animals that did this to him.
“If you don’t want me in the same room, that’s fine,” she said. “But someone needs to be here just in case you need help. So where do you want me?”
He opened his left eye, the one that wasn’t swollen completely shut, and grinned.
“Bedroom’s just down the hall.”
She held down a smile and wiped his face with the washcloth.
“Let’s get you out of those clothes.”
She lifted the washcloth from his face. His eyes were pale green and seemed to be lit from within.
“How bad is it?” he asked, touching his face.
She wiped puke from his chin.
“Honestly?”
He nodded.
“I’ve seen worse,” she said, feeling an itch in the scar under her cheekbone. “Believe it or not, I’ve seen much, much worse.”
Chapter Four
A rhythmic thud of pain pounded behind Curtis’s right eye.
Taking a bag of ice off his face, he stretched out on the couch, adjusting the basketball shoe he was using as a pillow. The shoe smelled like mildew and feet, but the pain behind his right eye would start throbbing if he even thought about laying his head flat. He squeezed the bridge of his nose where the pain had settled.
According to the doctors, his sinus cavity was damaged. Even with surgery, they’d told him it would have trouble draining. Not that there was any chance of testing that theory. He figured he could afford surgery after his next high tea with the Queen of England. Percocet would have to do for now, for later, and for many laters after.
He closed his eyes and pressed the bag of ice on his nose. The cold seeped into his skin—icy fingers working deep into his aching sinus. He grabbed a glass of water off the footlocker and took a couple of gulps. The double dose of Percocet he’d taken earlier was blurring the edge of his thoughts in warm fuzz. The pain was feathering away, turning to black. He set the glass down and let himself slip into the black.
Wonderful, beautiful, painl
ess black.
The front door creaked open.
He reached under the couch, touching the handle of an aluminum baseball bat, then pulled his hand away. Now that his money was gone there was nothing left to steal. It had to be Julia, checking on him before her night shift. He wondered why she was helping him. After the beating he took, it couldn’t be his looks. He snorted and folded his hands on his chest.
“She’s just nice. Taking care of me while I’m busted up,” he thought, then grinned
Who was he kidding?
She was coming over because she liked him.
And he liked her.
A stone hardened in his chest and he sighed. Attachments were bad. Especially right now. He didn’t have time to play grab ass with some girl. He had one thing to do—find his fish and get his money. To make that happen he had people to see and things to do to them. If done half-assed, he knew it could boomerang and tear him and anyone involved with him to pieces. But at the moment, there was no reason to get rid of her. It wouldn’t be right. Not after what she’d done for him.
Holding his head while he puked in the toilet.
Putting a blanket on him during a vaguely remembered haze of chattering teeth and aching head.
Washing his clothes and cooking for him.
No. Telling her to get out, that he didn’t want her around anymore, wasn’t something that had to happen today. There was no reason why they couldn’t be friendly while he checked things out and weighed his options. No reason at all.
He heard her walk toward him and kneel next to the couch. The smell of tomatoes, onions and green peppers wafted off her. She brushed his forehead, then massaged the bridge of his nose.
“You cooking bad spaghetti sauce again?” he whispered, running his tongue along the stitches inside his bottom lip.
“No, I’m making chili. I can bring some over if you want. How’s your head?”
Curtis lifted the bag of ice off his face, sat up and patted the couch. Julia sat next to him. Her faded blue gym shorts rode up her thighs as she crossed her legs Indian-style. She tugged her shorts out of her crotch. He looked at her huge brown eyes. The were framed in shoulder-length black hair, the bangs curling around her forehead and cheekbones, the long strands pooling on her shoulders.
