A Month of Sundays Read online

  A MONTH OF SUNDAYS

  By

  Jay Harez

  Copyright © 2016 by Jay Harez. All rights reserved.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  This Evening

  One Month Ago

  Sunday Evening

  Brownstone Cellar Now

  Midnight

  Epilogue

  THIS EVENING

  Curtis awoke on a cold, stone floor. He was certain he was in a basement and he was certain that he had been drugged. Of course he had no way to verify either, but he was certain. He wasn’t thirsty. He had always seen in the movies that if you were drugged you woke up thirsty.

  His stomach began to ache and it wasn’t the normal acid reflux related pain that he had grown accustomed to over the years. This was something else. It made him curl into the fetal position. He clenched his teeth to prevent himself from screaming. He was sweating despite the room being cool and the floor being even cooler.

  Through his gasps he could hear the voices outside of his cell. It was a man speaking to a woman. Different men had spoken to her over the past few…days? He wasn’t certain how long he had been here. The recurring pain was the only certainty.

  He was wearing only his boxers. His hands were manacled, as were his feet. His face was mildly bruised. When his mind registered the bruise on his face it was a relief because it meant the pain in his stomach had subsided, even if only for a moment.

  The voices came again.

  “Is he progressing?” the man’s voice asked. Curtis knew that voice. He recognized the voice from before. Where was he before this cell? And why was he in this cell at all? He couldn’t remember. His mind was focused on the steady build-up in his stomach.

  “He’s still fighting it but…” the woman sobbed “I can’t go through this again,” she said with more resolution than sadness.

  “If it comes to it…” the man hesitated “I’ll do it.”

  “Thank you,” the female voice said.

  Curtis knew they were talking about him. He knew he was in danger, but he couldn’t figure out anything else. He made an effort to speak but the pain in his stomach put his entire body into a clench. Something was happening to him. He lay flat on the floor. He saw a cot with one of those “prison-thin” mattresses that he presumed he had long ago rolled off of.

  He finally got the courage to look at his stomach. He saw movement. In his mind some sort of crustacean was seeking egress. He couldn’t see it but he knew what it looked like nonetheless. The pain! What was happening to him? What was inside of him?

  This time he did scream. Through it, he heard the woman scream as well.

  He awoke in his own filth. Apparently he had soiled himself while he slept. His muscles ached. His entire body ached. Then he was thirsty, extremely thirsty.

  He sat up. In disgust he tore his boxers off and threw them into a corner of the cell. Something in the soiled heap moved or writhed rather. He wretched.

  A small panel in the upper part of the door slid open. The light temporarily blinded Curtis. The single bar dividing the otherwise open slot bisected two eyes.

  “Curtis?” the woman asked.

  “Yes,” he responded back.

  “Do you know who I am?” the woman asked. Her eyes looked suspicious and hopeful all at once.

  “Sonny,” Curtis said. Then he remembered. He looked down at his sweaty filthy body and felt angry and confused all at once.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said and closed the slot.

  Curtis looked around the cell. It was more or less a modern dungeon. The floor was tiled, but not clean. The ceiling was arched and the door he had spoken through was the only exit. What the hell? He asked himself.

  He noticed the sink for the first time. He lunged for it, only to be reminded by the rapidly rising floor that he was manacled. He pulled himself up and made his way toward the sink again as quickly as his limited stride would take him.

  He drank directly from the tap. He took long gulps until he thought he couldn’t drink any more. The Britta water filter didn’t really fit the setting but he was grateful for it.

  More came back to him and as his memories solidified; his anger gave way to fear. He understood what evil was for the first time in his life because he had seen it, first-hand. The worst part was that he was its pawn.

  The boxer shorts moved again. He slowly hobbled to where they were. The lower part of the ceiling forced him to place one hand on the sloping wall as he leaned to look down into the pile. He lifted his bare foot to the maximum height his chains would allow and stomped the pile repeatedly.

  ONE MONTH AGO

  An old man opened the door. He was only old in the eyes though. He had a full head of hair, lean wiry build, but not too tall. The man appeared small but that was mostly because he was wearing a flannel shirt and coveralls both a size too large. The old man made no move to open the screen door that separated the two men.

  “Tanner at the door. How may I be of assistance?” The old man asked.

  “…just moved into one of the cottages,” Curtis made a thumbing gesture over his shoulder.

  The old man was staring at Curtis. Then Curtis got the distinct impression that the old man was looking through him.

  “Yeah, saw it happen,” Tanner said and nodded.

  “Well, I’m sort of the assistant maintenance man for the surrounding units,” Curtis explained.

  Whatever Tanner was cooking had Curtis salivating.

  “Not much maintenance to it I wouldn’t think,” Tanner said. Curtis found his manner of speech interesting. The cadence and tone were…peculiar to say the least. Curtis told Tanner he was pleased to meet him and left one of his newly printed cards in the crevice between the screen door and the jamb.

  He walked the half-mile to Hut’s Hamburgers. Curtis didn’t have a car. Regardless, he was getting a burger.

  The repair work on the other cottages had gone smoothly, for the most part. One of the women who lived with Tanner had threatened the cable guy with a ‘screet beatin’ if he tried to bring that ‘Devil box’ into their house. Curtis had first learned about this type of beating while at The 501, the colloquial name for the Salvation Army. This type of beating – a street beating - was so violent that it not only acted as a deterrent to the victim, but also dissuaded any potential witnesses (the venue being a public street virtually guaranteed witnesses) from reporting it to the authorities.

  Of course, the cable guy wasn’t supposed to go to Tanner’s house because it wasn’t part of the block of houses under Curtis’ supervision. Probably just looking for a quick commission. Served him right, thought Curtis.

  Curtis had left The 501 just over a month ago. He had spent seven days living in a battered weekly rate hotel next to a strip club before he heard about this place.

  In family planning centers, county hospitals, clinics, places that accepted welfare cards, and day labor shops, advertisements to house the itinerate abounded. The notice had read: Circle Park subdivision. Twenty-four multi-family dwelling units available for qualified applicants. Contact KR Holdings, LLC. ‘Qualified’ meant that the Housing Authority subsidized your rent.

  One hundred seventy-three families and individual renters had shown up. Ninety-seven of those had the twenty dollars for the application and credit check. Forty of those credit checks came back with a passing score. Thirty-three of those also had the money for the deposit. Twenty-eight of those were ready to move in immediately which meant four families got put on the wait list. Curtis was in all three categories.

  The tenants were from all walks of life. All ethnicities, all with
at least two kids, some had five. Curtis concluded that his was the only unit occupied by a single individual. It wasn’t a large cottage but it didn’t have bedbugs and that was a marked improvement over The 501.

  The property or sub-division was comprised of twenty-four units; all of them were either duplexes or fourplexes. According to what Curtis had learned, the houses were mostly renovated, World War II models.

  The city had built a massive playground on the circular island that formed the inside of the over-sized cul-de-sac at the center of the cluster of homes. The kids would like that, Curtis thought. The city had even ‘gone in’ on some speed-bumps or undulations as he learned they were called. This could be a decent place to live, Curtis thought as he made his rounds meeting the neighbors.

  Three months after moving in and taking his new job Curtis got a letter from Tanner. Curtis had been in and around the neighborhood pretty regularly and had even spoken to Tanner not two weeks ago. Perhaps in addition to cable television Tanner didn’t like phones. Tanner asked that Curtis put a streetlight in the center of the playground because one of the children had gone missing. The nonchalance of the letter disturbed Curtis somewhat and he decided to go see the family of the missing child.

  The De Gaizas were hesitant to let him in. He cobbled together what he could remember of high school Spanish and with the help of the oldest daughter – who was fourteen at most - managed to introduce himself. There were at least twelve people living in the two-bed-room, two-bathroom-unit. Tanner’s letter was accurate, one of the youngest children was nowhere to be found.

  Curtis learned that during the three days the child had been missing his mother had gone to look for him and had not come back. Curtis asked what the police were doing and this sent the whole family into an agitated state. The father of the children began shouting and gesturing wildly with intermittent pleas for God’s mercy. They were in the States illegally from El Salvador and could not go back. Hence, they could not go to the authorities.

  An illegal immigrant family had no recourse during a crisis and he certainly couldn’t go looking for the kid. He wouldn’t know where to look or how to conduct a missing person investigation. He told the daughter he would do what he could. She relayed the message to the father and assorted aunts and uncles and they appeared most grateful. He left. The idea of these people venerating him for his empty commitment made him uncomfortable. He decided to go and talk to Tanner about that street light.

  It was shorter to walk ‘over’ the playground and Curtis decided to cross instead of going around. The city had cleverly named it Circle Park. The oversized island had been elevated with dirt and sand so it was at least four feet above street level at its center. It looked like it had been getting some use. That was a good sign. Happy kids can make all the difference in a community, Curtis thought. The De Gaizas were right. The cops would be more interested in getting them deported than locating the woman and the child. Fuck! thought Curtis, there was really nothing to be done.

  All of the houses had privacy fences. However, because of the way the houses were built around the circle if a person stood in the exact center of Circle Park they could see just a little bit of everyone’s back yard. That’s where Curtis was when a movement caught his eye. He wasn’t sure what he was seeing but it was large and seemed to be…burrowing in Tanners back yard. Obviously that was ridiculous. It was probably just Tanner doing some yard work or some laundry drying on the line, or maybe a blanket hanging on a back fence. When he knocked on the door Tanner answered.

  “You look rattled sir,” Tanner said.

  Curtis told him about the visit with the De Gaizas. Tanner looked concerned. When Curtis asked him about working in the back yard Tanners face hardened.

  “That was probably one of my sisters doing some gardening. Those big bitches are always rooting around back there. Pay it no mind,” he held Curtis with a fixed gaze.

  Curtis realized he had crossed some sort of line and made an effort to change the subject.

  “Well that light pole should be here in a couple of days. Thanks for the suggestion,” Curtis said.

  Curtis commented on how good the smell was coming from Tanner’s house.

  Tanner smiled again and said, “Perhaps you could sup with us sometime,”

  Curtis accepted the invitation while he silently focused on the use of the word ‘sup’ versus ‘eat’ or ‘dine’ even. Curtis knew he would never ‘sup’ with Tanner and his sisters. He liked to eat alone.

  As Curtis let himself into his unit he kept going back to the desperation and resignation that must make up a large part of the immigrant mentality. They had no plans of going back and they had no resources available to them here. They were willing to accept those terms as the price for a shot at citizenship for the next generation. It was impossible for Curtis to comprehend.

  Curtis had to meet with his caseworker from the Housing Authority that afternoon. After a forty-minute bus ride he reached her office.

  Tanya was a nice woman that always appeared over-worked. He was required to meet with her at least once a month to give her an update on his life outside of The 501. This would be their second meeting.

  Curtis told her about his neighbors and their problem. After her initial reaction - which started with a shocked outburst - she laid out the situation from a legal perspective.

  One, if he did not report the illegals he could be facing criminal charges – as he could be considered an employee of the property owners, two if he did not report the child missing he could be facing criminal charges, three if he did not report the mother missing he could be facing criminal charges. To put it in legal terms unless the De Gaizas vanished in the night Curtis could be facing jail time. That sounded a little over the top to Curtis but he respectfully acknowledged what she said.

  This just kept getting better. I’m not the property owner. Hell my job is just to report what needed fixing to the owners, Curtis thought.

  Curtis been taken aside when he originally put in his application by a woman named Sonny who was in charge of renting the units. She understood public housing and knew which program Curtis was in from his application. She offered him a deal - the Housing Authority paid for forty-five percent of his rent - and if Curtis agreed to keep an eye on things she would waive the other fifty-five percent. Curtis could live for free and work a job full-time if he wanted to. He just had to give her office a call at least once a month or if something of interest came up. Curtis had leapt at the offer.

  He would need to call in about the De Gaizas. He decided to check on them first and see if they had found their two missing family members. He would do that in the morning right now he just wanted a Hendricks and tonic and to watch the Rockford Files.

  As he approached the De Gaizas unit the next morning he could see something was different. The house was vacant. Not vacant in the sense that everyone was on a family outing. It was vacant in the sense that no one lived there. Curtis let himself in because the door was unlocked. Curtis looked around and knew something was wrong but could not figure out what. He stood in the living room and looked around again. The couch, television, and stereo were where they should be. Then realization dawned on him. His view of the kitchen and dining area was limited. As he approached the kitchen he realized that the table and chairs were missing from both rooms. After further inspection he realized that there were no chairs in the living room either. He was puzzled but thought it best not to linger and left.

  He started across the playground toward Tanners house. As he got midway he stopped and looked ahead. The park had a formidable foundation. The motivation behind elevating the park was so that parents could see the park and their kids from the upstairs windows of their homes. Most of the units were either two story duplexes or two story fourplexes.

  Something was new about Tanners house. Surely they hadn’t moved out in the night as well, Curtis thought. Then it became clear. Tanner had altered his privacy fence. He had raised it somehow. Oh, well may
be Tanner could give him some information about the De Gaizas, Curtis thought.

  Tanner told him that Immigration and Naturalization Services had come in the evening and rounded them all up. Curtis found Tanner’s nonchalance more than odd.

  “Well there wasn’t much to be done anyway,” Curtis responded. He looked at the old wood that made up Tanners porch and the majority of his house.

  “Have a good day,” Tanner said and shut the door.

  Curtis didn’t know the De Gaizas outside of a couple of brief visits and he wasn’t responsible for what happened but he felt some sadness for them. Was there anything he could do about it? No. Way down on the list of shit that was wrong with this scenario was the way Tanner had been so detached from the whole thing. The old man seemed to vacillate between caretaker and casual observer.

  Further down the list was the mystery of what had happened to their dining furniture. INS was not a moving company.

  Curtis had to call Sonny now.

  “Well,” Sonny said through Curtis’s Cricket smart phone, “the raised fencing is strange but not an issue for us,” she paused. “Anything else to report?”

  Curtis thought there were lots of things he should tell Sonny but he couldn’t seem to remember any of them.

  “Oh, yeah,” he remembered. “The new light is great. Keeps the place lit up like a ball park at night,” Curtis offered.

  “Good, glad to hear it. Curtis do you have any interest in Southern History?” she asked.

  The question totally caught Curtis off guard. He had run into others who had an interest in ‘Southern History’. They usually talked about the subject clinically until bourbon was added to the mix followed by nostalgia for plantation life and hope that the South would rise again. Curtis was leery. His grandmother had called it ‘feeling joobus’ meaning dubious.