by TJ Vargo
A warm buzz of perc blanketed Curtis as he got off his bike.
“You guys see Sonny or Fitz?” he asked.
Johnny Tong shook his head.
Curtis lifted his chin at Derek. “How ’bout it, Derek? You see Sonny or Fitz?”
“He don’t know any more than I do,” said Johnny. “Get back on your bike and get lost.”
Curtis put a hand on his chest. “Aww, that hurts, Johnny. I thought we were friends.”
“He thinks he has friends,” said Johnny, a smile creasing his catcher’s mitt face as he nudged Derek.
Johnny’s shitty little smile irritated Curtis. He walked up the steps and brushed by Johnny, pulling a bottle of Two-Hearted Ale out of one of the cases of beer. Popping the cap off with his lighter he took a swig, tilted his head back, gargled and spit the beer at Johnny’s feet. He waved at the wet spot.
“Have a drink, Johnny. Let’s be friends.”
Even knowing it was coming, Johnny’s speed caught Curtis by surprise. He tried to dodge the overhand right, but it hammered his right shoulder. The nerves in his arm flashed white hot for a millisecond before switching off. His arm hung dead as he ducked Johnny’s left-hook. Diving in low, he grabbed Johnny’s ankle and lifted it chest high. Johnny went down hard, smacking the back of his head on the brick patio.
Curtis jumped clear and cradled his right arm, wiggling his fingers, trying to work some feeling into his hand. Johnny stood and rubbed his head.
“You’re gonna pay for that, Monroe,” said Johnny, turning to Derek. “You know this is the guy Fitz was talking about. The one that tried to stick him with a screwdriver when he wasn’t looking. Fucking snake.”
A sensation of pins and needles flooded Curtis’s right arm. He looked at Derek.
“Believe that and you’re as stupid as Johnny,” he said, shaking his hand.
Johnny raised his fists and stepped forward. Curtis flexed his right hand and lowered into a half crouch.
Derek grabbed Johnny’s shoulder, holding him back. He stared at Curtis.
“Sonny and Fitz ain’t here and they ain’t gonna be here,” he said.
Curtis straightened.
“You sure?”
Derek nodded.
“Okay,” said Curtis. “But if you see them, can you give me a call?”
“No,” said Derek. “Now leave or you’re getting hurt. This is your one and only free pass.”
Curtis set his jaw. He gave Johnny the stink eye and then walked down the steps toward his motorcycle. As he got on his bike, a dark-haired man in a blue suit got out of the car he was parked behind.
“You’re lucky I didn’t call a tow truck,” the man shouted. “You double parked behind my car and I’m late for a meeting. Move your piece of junk.”
Curtis grabbed the guy’s tie and yanked him down to eye-level. The man struggled, his face turning red. Curtis shoved him away. The man stumbled back, holding his throat.
“Being late for a meeting doesn’t sound so bad,” said Curtis. He started his bike. “Be happy that’s all you have to worry about.”
Curtis shook his hand as he rode. It still felt a little numb from Johnny’s punch. He rode up to the front of the library and pulled into the book drop-off at the curb, cutting the engine. An old lady eyed him, quickening her steps as she ducked in the front door. He opened his saddlebag and pulled out the can of Minestrone soup. Heat waves rippled off the library’s pillared stone and marble entryway as he walked toward the planter box to the right of the front doors. The library was impressive. Built back when smoke from factories in Tombs choked the sunlight. The town buzzed with industry in the old days, but not anymore. He peered through a small opening in bushes filling the planter box. A shape was curled up in the shadows. It was too hot for the bum to do anything else. Curtis leaned into the bushes and put the soup next to the sleeping man, walked back to his bike and rode away. The bum probably thought he’d finally found the perfect hiding place where no one could find him. He’d be pissed when he saw the can of soup, but that was too bad. Crazy bum or not, the guy had to eat.
The ride home took ten minutes. Curtis pulled into his parking space at the Sunset Boulevard apartments and cut the engine.
The sky was a milky blue, thick with heat and humidity. Best thing to do would be to grab a fishing rod and head over to the Maneto River. It would clear his head. Give him time to think and figure out his next step. Derek gave him all he needed to know. Sonny and Fitz were laying low. If their partnership with Barry followed the path of history, they’d be fed to the dogs somewhere down the line for Barry’s benefit, but it hadn’t happened yet, which meant there was still time to get his money.
Curtis massaged his shoulder. Derek told him one more thing. Next time he got in a tight spot, he couldn’t count on him to stop Johnny or anyone else.
Curtis messed with his shoulder as he walked to his apartment. He opened the door on the second floor stairwell and bumped into someone walking out.
It was Julia. She smiled and bent down to pick up her keys. Even with no makeup and dressed in work clothes she looked good.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’m beat. Just finished my first day shift and wasn’t paying attention.”
Curtis smiled. “Day shift, huh? That’s good, right?”
He watched her play with her keys.
“I guess. I’m cleaning the church for the Bishop this Sunday. The diocese is closing a lot of churches, so they’re making a big deal out of Sacred Heart’s hundred year anniversary. Anyhow, I got nothing in the fridge so I was going out to get something to eat.”
As she moved to step around Curtis, he grabbed her shoulder.
“Is something wrong?” he said.
“No.”
“Bullshit,” he said. “You look worried. What’s up?”
“Did you stop by Sacred Heart today?” she asked.
“No.”
Her shoulder tightened under his hand.
“C’mon. What’s the problem?” he said.
“I’m probably blowing this out of proportion,” she said. “Before I left work, Father Salvatore said a friend stopped in the office to ask about me.”
“So?”
“I don’t know anyone here but you.”
Curtis squeezed her shoulder.
“It’s probably some guy that wanted to ask you out and lost his nerve.”
Julia managed half a smile.
“Maybe,” she said. “But I felt like someone was watching me today, you know? Now I can’t even open the door to my apartment. I keep thinking somebody’s in there.”
Curtis pulled her down the hall. “Let’s go look. If somebody’s in your apartment, I’ll take care of him.”
She handed Curtis her keys when they got to her door. He unlocked it and stepped inside, motioning for her to stay put. The apartment was spare. White curtains were on all the windows, even on the sliding glass doors that opened onto the balcony. A vase of dried sunflowers sat on the kitchen counter. He walked into the living room. It was quiet. A painting above a white couch caught his attention. It looked dreamy and out-of-focus, showing a rear view of a dark-haired girl sitting on a sand dune, looking out over the ocean. The technique was photographic, down to the blur, which made the scene seem distant. Beautiful, but a little sad. The part that caught his attention was the signature. He leaned in to make sure he was reading it right.
Julia Adriani.
He reached out to touch the signature and glanced toward the open front door. Julia was looking down the hall.
“Damn,” he thought. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you, Julia Adriani?”
The rest of the apartment was more of the same—spare, clean and simple. Some decorative pink soaps shaped like clam shells in the bathroom. Art and graphic design books stacked on the floor next to her twin bed with two white pillows and a crease of light blue sheets peeking out beneath a puffy white comforter. An easel and small table arranged with a palette, paints and brushes
was set up in the corner of her bedroom under the only window. The canvas on the easel was blank. The only hint of disorder was a small pile of clothes near her closet. He walked over and looked at the running bra, crumpled pair of lycra shorts and worn running shoes on the floor. He scanned the room. It wasn’t a luxury penthouse, but it was nice.
He walked back to the front door.
“No one’s in here,” he said.
She stepped by him with her head down.
“Thanks. I appreciate it, Curtis,” she said.
He stepped into the hall and grabbed the door before she could close it.
“Hey, Julia?” he said.
Her face appeared in the crack.
“You’re going to need these,” he said, holding her keys.
He grabbed her hand as she reached for them.
“I’m hungry,” he said. “Why don’t we go out? I’ll take you somewhere fun.”
Her face brightened.
“Where?”
“You’ll see. I gotta grab some stuff, but I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”
He stepped away and then looked back with a smile.
“Make sure you wear old clothes and old tennis shoes,” he said. “You’re gonna get wet.”
The ride through town was fun. Obviously Julia hadn’t ridden on a motorcycle before. She locked her arms around his chest in a death grip. Curtis played it up, swerving every now and then to get a scream out of her. It took a while, but she finally relaxed, sliding her hands to his waist, her chin resting on his shoulder. He kept his bike on the straight and narrow, enjoying the weight of her body pressed against him.
When he stopped at Wiener King, Julia raised an eyebrow and gave a “What the hell is this?” expression if there ever was one. He walked with her through the empty parking lot. Curtis nodded at the old man sitting in a booth near the door, smoking a cigar and reading a newspaper. A small television was set up in the middle of the dining area, tuned to an English soccer match. The old man folded his paper and shuffled behind the counter. Curtis ordered two specials. When Julia started whispering, asking the normal question of where in God’s name he’d taken her, he shushed her. He didn’t want to embarrass Rollo, the old man that ran and owned the place. Wiener King was infamous for staying in business with no visible customers. A normal day for Rollo was a handful of cars. The rumor was it was run by underground crime because there were no customers. Curtis knew better. Rollo just had the unfortunate luck of starting his business in a crappy area of town, but he figured out real quick that he had to change his business plan if he was going to stay open, so he branched out and started selling Lotto tickets. The average customer was in and out in under a minute. But the law abiding citizens that shunned Wiener King were missing out on a basic truth—Rollo cooked a mean dog.
Curtis finished his all-beef hotdog slathered in coleslaw, onions and cheese, drank his soda and watched Julia finish her meal. He dumped their trash and stacked their food trays on top of the garbage can on the way out, giving Rollo a wave. Julia put a hand on her stomach as she walked next to him.
“Oh my God, that was great,” she said. “How come no one eats here?”
Curtis got on his motorcycle and waited for her slide in behind him.
“I have no idea,” he said. “Just one of the secrets of Tombs. Hang on and I’ll show you another one.”
Curtis drove out of town and turned onto Route 13. Julia pulled against him, holding tight. The wind took the edge off the heat. Businesses dotted the roadside for the first couple of miles, and then they passed Interstate 71 and the countryside opened up. He squeezed Julia’s knee. She squealed as he raced down the open road.
He parked next to the bridge by the Gorman Rupp valve plant. It took a few minutes to unpack the fishing rods from his saddlebags and walk down to the river. The rocks were slippery with algae in the midsummer heat. Julia stuck tight to him, holding his shoulder while he turned rocks, caught crayfish and baited their hooks. He waded into deeper water with her. She slipped and giggled every few steps. He shook his head, acting like she was being a pain, but he loved hearing her laugh.
The Maneto was a small river. Only twenty feet wide in some parts, it was more stream than river, but it was a great place to fish. Curtis waded in waist deep. Julia dunked her head and flung her hair back. Normally he would’ve shushed anyone making so much noise, but she was having such a good time he didn’t care. Truth was, between eating hot dogs at Wiener King and taking her fishing, he was having more fun than he’d had in a long time.
He cast her line out first, then his. Settling in, he listened to the current gurgle over the shallow riffles underneath the Route 13 bridge behind them.
“If you get a bite, lower your rod tip and wait for the line to go tight before you set the hook,” he whispered.
A breeze sent ripples over the pool.
“So, did you find those guys you were looking for?” she said.
“What guys?”
“When I was taking out your stitches you said you needed to find some guys.”
He stared at his line.
“No. But I will.”
“I don’t think you should look for them.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re the ones who beat you up.”
“Let’s just fish, okay?”
She was silent for a beat, then cleared her throat.
“You should pick better friends,” she said.
Curtis cranked his line in. The hook was picked clean.
“Sometimes it don’t work that way,” he said. “Sometimes life chooses your friends for you.” He walked toward the rock-lined shore.
“Where you going?” she said.
High grass bowed and rustled as he tossed his rod on the river’s edge. He bent over and began turning rocks.
“Just getting bait,” he said, listening to Julia reel in her line.
“Can I help?”
He kept turning rocks.
“If you keep quiet,” he said.
She waded next to him and stuck a finger through a belt loop in his cut-offs.
He lifted a rock and saw the twitch of a crayfish’s antenna through the murk. He grabbed it. Inch-long black and tan claws waved in the air. Julia almost fell as she jumped back.
Curtis stuck the crayfish in his pocket. He looked at Julia and smiled.
“Don’t be such a baby,” he said. “C’mon, I’ll show you how to catch one. It’s easy.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything about your friends,” she said. “Sorry.”
He looked upriver toward the bridge as a truck rattled over it.
“It’s not a big deal,” he said. “Truth is, my friends aren’t half as bad as my family.”
The sound of the truck faded. She stepped behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Families suck,” she said. “At least mine does. I don’t even know where my mom and dad are.”
He lifted a rock with his foot and pushed it over.
“That’s shitty, but did your dad kill his best friend?”
She gripped his shoulder.
“Your dad killed his best friend?”
Curtis scooped mud from the riverbottom. He picked pieces of gravel out of the mud and tossed them into the current.
“Not like he shot him or strangled him or anything like that, but it was just as bad. They were peeling a safe.” He turned to Julia. “Like I said, I don’t come from a good family.”
“I don’t care. So what happened?”
“My dad and his friend were gonna peel a safe in an auto repair shop,” said Curtis. “My dad’s friend, Terry, was the cutter. My dad scoped the job out and made sure there was nothing that could go sideways. Alarms and that kind of stuff. And they were using an oxy-fuel torch, which can be tricky in a garage full of gas and oil. So my dad was supposed to make sure the flammable stuff was out of the way. End of story is my dad fucked up and Terry got cooked.”
Julia brushed her h
air back. “Sounds bad.”
“That ain’t the half of it,” said Curtis. “After Terry died, my mom found out my dad was having an affair with Terry’s wife. She took off and we haven’t heard from her since. Terry’s wife left too. Couldn’t handle looking at someone who fried her husband. So the sad story ends with my dad taking in Terry’s son, Jackie Fitzsimmons. We call him Fitz.”
“And Fitz knows all this?”
Curtis turned and walked downriver to the fishing rods lying on the bank. He pulled the crayfish out of his pocket, pinched it in half and baited both rods.
“Everyone knows,” he said. “C’mon, let’s see if there’s any fish you haven’t scared away yet.”
“Screw you,” she said.
He pointed downriver. “Or we can go swimming at the sand cliffs.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“The cliffs are beautiful. A hundred feet tall. There’s even a beach. People think they have to float inner tubes to get there, but I know a back way,” he said.
“Take me,” she said, wading toward him.
“There’s one rule,” he said.
“What’s that?” she said, backing away, slowly at first and then frantically, too late to escape as he heaved his fishing rod on the riverbank and rushed her. The water turned to froth as he wrapped her in a bear hug and swung her in a circle. A red-winged blackbird flew out of a willow across the river as she shrieked.
“We have to skinny-dip,” he said, holding her tight.
“Then I want to fish,” she said, giggling.
He let out a mock roar and started spinning her again. She laughed. He closed his eyes and tucked his face against hers.
Spinning and spinning and spinning.
