CHAPTER NINE #2
Outside, he sat on his bike, and then tied his hair back in a ponytail, watching as Sully got into his mom’s dirty, white, murder van—which would carry the bishop’s gold after they got it out of the safe.
Sully started the van and rolled down his window.
“Hey, thanks for talking to Mona last night,” he said.
Conor smiled. “She wasn’t happy, was she?”
“Pissed as hell,” said Sully. “But she’s not riding my ass about having you talk to her anymore.”
“Good.”
“Yeah, it is,” said Sully. He started to roll his window up and then stopped and said, “Hey man, I gotta say, I’m excited about this job.”
“Me too,” said Conor.
Sully held eye contact with Conor, then looked down and shook his head.
“Not the same as me. I mean, we’ve all been together a long time, and none of us have nothing, but we’re different, you know?
You were the big athlete in high school, and Fitz, well, he’s always been the big man wherever he went.
You guys find ways to fit in. Me? I’ve never been able to do that.
And I’m thinking, if I have a little money—not a ton—just enough to live normal, then maybe I won’t feel like trash, you know?
Maybe if I get my own place, my own car, new clothes—maybe I’ll fit in then, right? ”
“You fit in fine, man,” said Conor. He stood and reached through the van window, grabbing Sully’s hand. “Fuck ‘em, Sully. People don’t like you the way you are, who cares? Me and Fitz got your back.”
Sully squeezed his hand. “Got yours too, bro.”
Conor waved as Sully backed out and drove away. The screen door on Fitz’s trailer screeched open. Conor started his bike. He looked over. Fitz stood in front of his door—his arms folded over his bare chest. “We got this, brother,” Fitz yelled over the sound of Conor’s bike.
Conor revved the engine. He rolled over to Fitz and held up his fist. Fitz bumped him. “We do,” yelled Conor over the rumble of his motorcycle. “But it ain’t done yet.”
“Words of wisdom from Mr. Sunshine,” said Fitz, turning to go back inside.
Conor watched the door slam shut behind Fitz, the screen flapping. He put his bike in gear and drove away, shaking his head.
Somebody had to keep it real.
* * *
Heat rippled off the street as Conor rode through town. He needed to make one quick stop before going to Sacred Heart.
The sun blazed off the library’s stone courtyard as he stopped next to the curbside book drop. He pulled out his wallet, counted out a thick stack of bills, pulled a hair tie from his pocket, and then rolled and rubber-banded the cash.
Before he could turn off his motorcycle, a figure climbed out of the bushes next to the front doors of the library and stomped across the courtyard yelling, “Didn’t I tell you to leave me alone?” The disheveled, dirty-faced man focused on Conor, his brow furrowed.
The sun was blazing, but the bum seemed unaffected. He was barefoot and wore jeans, a black sweater, and a dirty blue suit coat. Layers of clothes were standard for the homeless. You had to keep warm at night, but Conor figured his dad would’ve had more sense in this heat.
Conor recognized the sweater. It had hung on the hook inside the garage for years when he was a kid.
His dad wore it when he went out to shovel snow or work on the car in the dead of winter.
Conor wanted to yell at him to take the sweater off, clean himself up, and act normal.
It was embarrassing. But he kept his mouth shut, even as his dad, smelling of days-old sweat, grabbed his shoulder.
“How many times do I have to say it? You live your life, and I’ll live mine.”
Conor couldn’t believe this was a man he’d once looked up to. His father’s hair was shoulder-length, gray, matted, and greasy. Dirt covered his face and beard. He smelled. He was a disgrace.
A security guard opened the front door of the library. Conor grabbed his dad’s hand. “Security is watching. Keep it up, and he’ll call the cops.”
“Good. Nothing wrong with sleeping in a bed for the night.”
The guard stepped into the courtyard. “Is there a problem?” he said, tapping the walkie-talkie on his hip.
“No problem,” Conor said. “Just talking.” Then he handed the roll of money to his father and whispered, “I’m leaving town.
Not sure if I’m coming back, but this should hold you over for a while.
” Not waiting for a response, Conor turned on his heel, walked over to his motorcycle, and pulled away from the curb. He glanced back.
His dad stood quietly on the curb, holding the roll of money in his dirty hand.
Conor felt like he should be mad at himself.
It wasn’t the smartest move to tell anyone, let alone his drunken bum of a father, that he was leaving town.
If word got out, he’d be the prime suspect for robbing the church.
But, oddly enough, he didn’t care. His dad was still his dad.
If he left without telling him, it would upset him, and his dad already had enough to be upset about.
He pulled away and motored up a hill toward the bell towers of Sacred Heart. The massive stone church rose into view.
Conor stopped at a red light, the steady thrum of his motorcycle vibrating through him. The church’s stone steps fanned down to the street on his right, inviting parishioners in.
Lots of memories were packed in these two blocks.
This is where he went to school when his dad’s partner died and his mom left town.
After that, the only job his dad could find was bartending at a dump outside of town.
He’d kept it together only long enough for Conor to graduate high school.
Then his dad turned into a guy that slept under bushes out in front of the library.
The light turned green. Conor rode by the high school, looking at the huge white banner strung across the chain link fence. The words ‘Celebrating 100 Years—Sacred Heart Parish’ were printed in bright blue. He scanned the parking lot behind the church, catching sight of a set of doors.
Those back doors would be the best way in tomorrow night.
He pulled in next to the rectory. If Julia was working, there was no telling which building she was in.
Best to check out the back doors of the church first to see if they were the best option for breaking in, then he’d look for her.
Heat blanketed him as he climbed the church steps.
Cool air whooshed over him as he stepped inside.
He dipped his fingers in holy water, crossed himself, and then walked toward the altar.
A door slammed near the altar.
Julia walked into view, carrying a bucket of cleaning supplies. She stepped around rows of potted purple and white lilies that covered the altar.
“Hey, Julia,” he said, waving.
She startled and dropped the bucket. He thought about teasing her for being so jumpy, then decided against it. The dark circles under her eyes didn’t look good.
“Thought I’d stop by to see how you’re doing,” he said, walking toward her as she gathered rags off the floor. “You okay?”
She straightened, holding the bucket against her chest. “I got a lot of work to do, Conor.”
He grabbed the last few rags off the floor and dropped them in her bucket. “I stopped by your place this morning. Maybe you didn’t hear me.”
“Can we talk later? The Bishop’s coming, and I have work to do.”
As she turned away, he touched her hand.
“You sure you’re okay?” he said.
“Just tired,” she said.
Conor nodded. “I understand. It was a tough night. But tired or not, I’m coming over after you get home. I’m worried about you.”
She bit her lip, trying to hold down a smile. “I really have a lot to do. But I should be home early if you want to hang out later.”
“Like how early?”
“I don’t know. Father Sal said I can go home after he talks to me. He already sent everyone else home.”
Conor smiled. “Cool. I’ll see you at home.”
He walked toward the side of the altar toward a hallway that led to the back doors. Looking back to make sure Julia couldn’t see him, he checked the lock. There was no deadbolt, so all he had to worry about was forcing the latch. A crowbar would do it. They’d be inside in less than a minute.
He dipped his fingers in holy water and crossed himself on the way out.
Sunlight blinded him as he opened the door and walked around the church to his motorcycle.
It started with a rumble. The black leather seat was hot as a grease fire.
He looked at his watch. It was almost noon.
He gunned his bike and rode out of the parking lot.
It was time to go home and pack because tomorrow, he, Fitz, and Sully were going to be rich.