Drag the Man Down, page 5
Joyce didn’t sit back down but walked past Earl and right past George as she gave him a look. “I gotta get ready for work.” She stepped toward the doorway.
Earl said, “So Joyce, what is it you do for work, if you don’t mind me asking?”
She stopped and turned in front of the doorway. “I work at a nursing home.”
Earl scratched the back of his neck as he nodded. “That’s an admirable profession, I would say.”
Joyce raised both her eyebrows. “It’s actually not. It’s quite depressing, if I can be honest. Nothing like taking care of old people with a foot in the grave... only time they’ll leave is in a bag.”
Joyce turned and disappeared through the doorway.
Earl looked back at George, his hands together behind his back. “She’s just a ball of sunshine, ain’t she?”
George sipped his beer, looked back at Earl over the top of the can. He hesitated a moment before he spoke. “You going to tell me the real reason you’re here?”
Earl shrugged. “I need a reason? Don’t know many people on the outside. You know that. Tell me—unless I was mistaken—I got the impression you and I were friends.”
George kept his stare on Earl for a moment before he broke into a nod. “We were. I mean... we are friends. Of course. It’s just...” George looked down at the top of his can of beer. “I’m trying to put my past life behind me.”
Earl nodded. “I see.” He looked around the room. “That why you’re still sleeping on your big sister’s couch?” He held his hands out—palms up—like a preacher at the head of the church. “This all what you call a fresh start?” He stepped toward George and put his arm over his shoulder. “I’ve missed talking to you, my friend. Not everyone I know thinks like you.” He nodded his head toward the door. “Now, why don’t you and me go grab us a couple cocktails... talk about putting this past of yours behind you.”
George slipped out from under Earl’s arm. “I’ve only been out a few weeks. A month, really.” He smiled. “Didn’t think you’d miss me so soon.”
Earl scratched his temple with his long finger. “That all it’s been?”
George finished the can of beer and placed the empty can back on the coffee table. “There’s a bar down the street.”
Earl smiled and turned for the door.
“Unless you want to ride on the back of my bike, you’ll have to drive.”
THE INSIDE OF THE MINIVAN Earl was driving smelled like fried food or vomit. Maybe both. George rolled down the window.
“So you got out, what, a few days ago?”
Earl looked at him from the driver’s seat and nodded.
“How’d you get the van?” George said as he pointed. “Turn here.”
Earl kept his eyes on the dark road, turned the wheel and said, “Got it from the parking lot of the hardware store.”
“It’s stolen?”
Earl shrugged. “You expect me to go out, buy myself a vehicle? Pockets are beyond empty.”
George said, “You driving without a license?”
Earl glanced at George. “What, you mister straight-as-an-arrow now? Like you some reformed goodie-two-shoes?”
George looked to his right and nodded toward the bar, a small, brick standalone building tucked back a ways from the road. “There it is.”
Earl squinted his eyes, leaned over the steering wheel and looked up at the sign. “Chopmist Hill Inn, uh? You sure it’s open?”
AFTER A COUPLE SHOTS of Wild Turkey—Earl’s choice—George started to loosen up a bit. They sat at a small table toward the back and drank beers. George had Budweiser, Earl a Miller on draft.
They talked about all the time they spent together in prison.
“I knew when you first walked in the place you were all right,” Earl said. “Not normal to see a good-looking kid like yourself walk in, make it very far without, well... you know.”
“I appreciated you always looking out for me. You know that, right Earl?”
Earl raised his pint of yellow beer and downed the whole damn thing without even taking a breath. His dark Adam’s apple bounced up and down as he dumped the beer down his throat. He slapped the empty glass down on the table and gave an exaggerated, “Ahhhh” as he waved over toward the bartender. He held up the glass and tapped the side with that long finger, as if it had a mind of its own. He gave a nod to George. “I did say I was thirsty, didn’t I?” He pushed his glass aside and leaned forward with his elbows down on the table. “You really think you can survive on the outside, you try to walk a straight line?” He gave George a look.
George didn’t answer right away. He sipped his beer. “I have no interest in going back.” He gave Earl a nod, “Can’t imagine you do, either.”
Earl leaned back in his chair. “Don’t forget. I was in a lot longer than you. Half my life’s been spent behind bars. Not that I’d trade it for my freedom, be able to sit down with a friend... have a few beers.” Earl straightened himself out when the bartender came over to their table with two more beers. Earl took a sip, licked his lips. “But I know as well as anyone, man comes out of that system, the rest of your life’s an uphill climb.” He shrugged. “I don’t care, you did three or twenty... you got a monkey on your back you’ll never shake off.”
The two sat quiet for a few moments, Earl turned in his chair and looked toward a couple of older women up at the bar. He turned back to George with the glass up in front of his lips. “You still dreaming about that pizza joint you said you’d open?”
George took a moment before he answered, “If I can somehow come up with enough money...”
Earl put his glass down on the table, leaned back with his hands together on his stomach. His long, skinny legs were stretched out straight under the table. He looked back at George, quiet.
“I just feel I still have time to turn my life around. I’m still relatively young.”
Earl chewed the inside of his cheek as he watched George. Again he leaned forward on the table. “What if I told you I had a lead on something? Foolproof.”
George let out a slight chuckle. “You know, I’ve been out a little over three weeks and you’re the third person with a so-called lead, hoping to get me to cross that line.”
“Cross that line?” Earl grabbed his beer and again straightened himself out in the chair. “You need money, right? You said it yourself. Unless you got something else up your sleeve, you ain’t ever gonna make enough working in the back of a pizza joint, I can guarantee you that much.” Earl cracked a slight smile as he tipped back the pint and finished off the rest of his beer.
He stood from his chair and went up to the bar, came back with two shot glasses filled with Wild Turkey. He slid one across the table to George and raised his glass. “To crossing that line.” Earl winked at George, tipped his head back and emptied his glass.
George raised his, finished the Wild Turkey in one shot. He chased it with what was left of his beer and pushed the glasses aside. He was feeling good.
He leaned forward on the table, stared at Earl. And before he thought much about what he was doing, he went ahead and told Earl about the Championship belt he stole from Victor’s house... and where they could get another one, might be worth a bit more.
Chapter 10
AFTER A SHORT STOP at Joyce’s house so George could grab a few things, Earl pulled the minivan up along the road in front of Victor Albanese’s driveway. He ducked his head down in front of George so he could see out the passenger-side window. “You sure there ain’t nobody home?” he said as he straightened up behind the wheel.
George shrugged, the Wild Turkey—not to mention all the beers they drank—still in his head. “He’s gone for a few more days, as far as I know.”
Earl’s face got twisted. “As far as you know?” He turned the minivan toward the driveway. “And the alarm don’t work?”
George nodded. “I hear it’s a bit outdated.”
Earl said, “So, what... we leave the van right here?”
George turned too Earl. “Been a long time, huh? Like you’re a virgin all over again.”
“Twenty years, but I never messed around, breaking into homes. When I was a kid, maybe. My thing was always, you go where you already know the money’s at.” He gave George a quick look. “Banks, armored cars...” Earl turned the headlights off as they drove toward the house, his chin just over the steering wheel with his eyes out toward the dark night in front of them. “You take the lead on this one, just tell me what to do.”
George thought for a moment. “What about if I go in alone? You wait in the van.”
Earl shook his head. “I ain’t no getaway driver, like some goddamn sitting duck.”
They pulled closer to the house, the muffler a little loud but otherwise the only sound was the pings off the undercarriage and the popping sound from the tires over the gravel.
“So you already been in there, huh? How do you know the cops ain’t shown up?”
“I would’ve heard,” George said. “We go in the same door I went in, get in and get out in ten minutes... tops.”
Earl said, “You know where it is?”
“The belt?”
“Yeah, the belt. Unless there’s more than one?”
George opened the passenger door and stepped out. “Keep it running, I’ll go in, let the garage door up.” He turned and walked along the brick walkway toward the house and up the steps. He pushed open the exterior door—no problem at all—and went inside.
He closed the door behind him, stood real still for a moment and listened. He was calm.
Inside the house, George walked straight through the kitchen and out into the garage. He slapped the button on the wall and watched as the opener cranked and the door went up.
Earl pulled the van inside and stuck his head out the driver side window. “This’d better be worth it,” he said. “I’ll tell you, there’s something to be said for the ease of, you know, you just walk in and hand the pretty bank teller a note... she hands you a bag of money.”
“I don’t know, Earl. Times have changed since the last time you robbed a bank.” George pulled a flashlight from his pocket and walked back into the house.
Earl followed behind him. He said, “So where you gonna find a buyer for a championship belt?”
“My brother-in-law. Ex brother-in-law.”
They walked through the kitchen and down the hall with the lights off, George in front with his flashlight shined ahead of them along the floor.
“You never said nothin’ about a three-way split,” Earl said.
“Louie’s the one who told me about the belts.” He turned toward Earl. “In fact, it could end up being four-way.”
“Jesus, George. You gotta be a little more upfront about these things.” Earl shook his head, looked down toward the floor. “Ain’t gonna be nothin’ left.”
George walked down the stairs toward the basement. He looked back at Earl. “It’ll be more than either of us have right now.” At the bottom of the stairs he turned, shined his flashlight around and saw another display on the wall with an even bigger belt inside.
Earl put his hand against the glass. “I remember this one, you know. Knocked him out in the fifth round. Don’t remember who it was—the other boxer...” He turned to George. “It was Manny Pampiano. That’s right... guy’s eyes spun in his head... like a slot machine before he went down.”
George pulled his bag off his shoulder and dropped it on the ground. He pulled a long pry bar from the bag and with his hand backed Earl away from the glass. He cocked his arms back like he was in the batter’s box and swung it hard into the glass. But it bounced off like a rubber ball. “Shit,” he said as he whipped his hands up and down trying to relieve the sting.
Earl reached out his hand, took it out of George’s hands. “Let me see that thing.” He took a swing and the pry bar bounced off the glass.
“Can’t break it.” George took the pry bar back from Earl and jammed it between the display and the wall. “Got the one upstairs, no problem,” he said. “Smashed the glass with one swing.”
Earl rubbed his chin. “This one’s more valuable, don’t you think?”
George had the pry bar stuck behind the display, left it there as he reached into his bag. He pulled out a hammer and took a good swing, whacked the back of the pry bar. But the display didn’t budge from the wall.
Earl walked toward the stairs, put his foot up on the bottom step and turned to George. “The other one was easy, huh?”
George nodded as he took another swing with his hammer. The hammer slipped off the pry bar, hit the corner of the case and knocked off a chunk of wood. George touched the edge where the wood broke and shined his flashlight on it. “It’s steel,” he said.
“Gotta be a way to get to it,” Earl said.
“It’s bolted to the wall. Probably has steel studs in the wall.”
Earl stood with his hands on his hips, looking at the display. “Like a safe.” Earl said.
George looked at his watch. “We’ve been here too long already.”
“Maybe there’s something in the garage we can use,” Earl said.
George took another swing with the hammer and struck the pry bar, still stuck behind the case. He threw the hammer down at the floor. “Goddamnit!” He’d started coming down from his buzz. “Might be time to say goodnight, Earl.”
“You serious? We just gonna leave? Walk away?” Earl started up the stairs. “I’m at least gonna go see what the old lady’s got in her room.”
“Earl!” George yelled as Earl disappeared into the darkness up the stairs. “We don’t have time, we gotta get out of here!” George heard Earl’s feet on the stairs above his head, heading up toward the bedrooms. “Shit.” George looked back at the belt behind the glass, shook his head and with both hands tried again, this time freeing the pry bar from behind the case.
He threw his bag over his shoulder and ran up the stairs after Earl. He turned and stopped at the bottom of the stairs that went to the bedrooms upstairs. He didn’t want to yell, but raised his voice enough so Earl could hear him. “Earl, where the hell are you? Let’s get out of here. Forget about it.” He closed his eyes for a moment but when he opened them, he saw a light shine from the master bedroom at the end of the hall upstairs.
George thought to himself, this is why I work alone.
And just as he said it, he saw a light bounce off the wall from outside. He turned and looked toward the window and right away knew what the light had come from. He yelled, “Earl! It’s the cops!” He ducked and stayed low as he hurried to the back of the house. He made his way for the back door, stood up straight and yelled one more time, “Earl, the cops are outside. We gotta go!”
He waited as long as he could, then ran out the door. He turned away from the driveway and straight into the woods.
Once he was far enough away, he stopped and looked back toward the house. Blue lights flashed from the police car. He looked toward the far end of the driveway, toward the street, and saw another set of blue lights flashing as a car drove toward the house, up the long driveway.
George ran another fifty yards, stopped and turned again. He could barely see the house through the trees, but heard a cop yell, “Freeze right there. Don’t move!” George turned and ran as fast as he could in the other direction. He ran as deep into the woods as he could, as fast as he could, as sticks and branches whipped him in the face... his own heavy breathing loud inside his head.
Chapter 11
GEORGE SAT ON THE COUCH as his foot bounced up and down on the floor at a rapid pace. His heart raced. His head pounded. And his feet hurt from all the running and he had scratches on his face from being in the woods.
He had already climbed up into the attic above the garage and hid the belt he took from Victor’s the first time he broke in. He pulled up a piece of plywood and stuffed the belt between the floor joists under the pink insulation.
He must’ve checked his duffle bag at least ten times, made sure he hadn’t left anything behind. He had the pry bar, his hammer, the flashlight... He couldn’t think of anything else he could’ve left at Victor’s. But he thought Earl might’ve grabbed something from George’s bag, left it at the scene or had it in his hands when the cops showed up.
He didn’t want to leave Earl behind like he did. But he knew he had no choice. Maybe if he’d been sober, it would’ve been different. Although they probably wouldn’t have been in there otherwise. Why didn’t Earl just stay in the damn van, out on the road? Who else saw them together at the bar?
He knew Earl wouldn’t talk. At least he didn’t think so. But the more he thought about it... the more he thought Earl’d tell the cops about George...
He looked at the red numbers on the digital clock under the TV. Four-thirty-seven.
He was wide awake.
A door slammed out in front of the house. He jumped from the couch, headed for the back door.
It was Joyce, the last person he wanted to see.
He laid down on the couch, pulled the blanket up over his shoulder and turned on his side, his eyes wide open as he faced the back side of the couch.
GEORGE WENT OUT ON his bike a little after the sun came up. He rode downtown, but not too sure where he was going.
As long as he wasn’t in the house when Joyce rolled out of bed with her hair on fire and a stick up her ass.
He had his phone in his pocket, but he turned it off so he could avoid having to talk to anyone, at least until his hangover was gone. The truth was, a good part of the night was a little foggy. But one thing he knew was things weren’t good.
He was on his bike in the middle of the road when a horn blew behind him. He didn’t look back as he took his bike up onto the sidewalk with his hand up to wave for the car to pass.
But the horn blew again. George looked and saw Louie, pulled over in his old, black Lincoln with the beige vinyl roof. He put the window down and gave George a nod as he parked on the wrong side of the road in front of George.
