“I think I see him,” said Serge. “That young guy on the end of the second row.”
“How do you know?”
“Most of the others are a bit older. And he just has that entitled shit-grin. It’s got to be him.”
“What’s the plan?”
“Pull the car around back, then wait outside by the entrance.”
Ten minutes later, the first of the choir began dribbling out and strolling down the walkway, checking with each other about their next practice time. Serge stood in the grass next to the path. Then, like someone who steps off a curb in front of a bus, he just ambled into the flow.
Crash.
A taller man grabbed Serge by the shoulders for balance. “Are you okay? Sorry, I didn’t see you.”
Serge had his head down. “No, it was all my fault. I apologize. I just have a lot on my mind.” He raised his face and wiped Oscar-winning tears from his eyes.
“Hey, hey, hey, what’s the matter?” said the man, holding a folded choir robe.
“It’s nothing I need to bother you about.” Then Serge covered his face and resumed sobbing. He parted two of his fingers to peek.
“Take as much time as you need.” The man placed a hand on Serge’s shoulder. “If your life’s troubled, you’re at the right place. We’re all family here. I insist you allow me to help, brother.”
Serge finally dropped his hands and sniffled. “It’s my mother.”
Alarm: “Her health? Is she okay?”
Serge nodded. “It’s about money. She might lose her house.”
“What? She can’t afford the mortgage?”
“No, the house is completely paid for,” said Serge. “It’s just that between the insurance and all the rising monthly bills, her Social Security doesn’t make it anymore. If she can’t pay next month’s property taxes, the county will seize her house, and she’s been there fifty years.” He kicked the ground in anger. “I feel so guilty!”
“Why? What did you do?”
“I’m not a good son.” Serge wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “I’d pay the taxes myself, but I got laid off, and my own family is behind on everything.”
“Then you’re in luck.”
“Why are you smiling?” asked Serge.
“Because this is my field of expertise. I handle real estate matters all the time.” He held out a hand to shake. “My name’s Nicholas. Call me Nick.”
“Serge.”
“Well, Serge, your problems are already behind you,” said Nick, extending an arm all the way around his new buddy’s shoulders. “I can easily structure something to get more than enough equity out of her house to take care of those taxes. Heck, she’ll have so much left over that this time next month, she’ll probably be waving bon voyage from a cruise ship.”
“But how is that possible?”
“Not only is it possible, it’s easy.” Nick interlaced his fingers. “But it involves knowledge of how banking and real estate knit together. I’m always amazed at how much needless grief people are going through these days.”
“It must have been God who made me bump into you.”
“He works in mysterious ways,” said Nick.
“You have no idea.” Serge’s head swiveled as he watched the last of the other people at the church drive away. “How do we do this?”
A hearty laugh. “See? You’re already bouncing back . . . The first thing I need to do is take a look at your mother’s house to gauge how it will appraise, then check some of her documents to make sure the title isn’t clouded. Tell her to get ready to limbo in Cancún.” Another laugh.
“I don’t know how I can ever repay you,” said Serge.
“No need to repay,” said Nick. “At this church, it’s what we do for each other in His name.”
“Okay, when can we start?”
“How about right now? Let’s go.”
“Fantastic,” said Serge.
Nick pointed at the only car in the otherwise empty parking lot. A late-model BMW sports coupe. The vanity plate read: Winning. “That’s mine.” He reached in his pocket for a blue-and-white key fob.
“Mine’s around back,” said Serge.
“I’ll follow you out to her place.”
“Actually, I’d like to show you something first.”
“What is it?”
“When I was going through Mom’s papers on the house, I found these other files with financial accounts and securities certificates that I didn’t know she had. And I also don’t know what they mean. They’re in my car. I was hoping maybe you could make heads or tails out of them.”
Nick thinking: Can this get any better? He stuck the Beemer’s keys back in his pocket. “I’d be more than happy to look at those files.”
They walked around the rear of the church to the glowing gold Plymouth. Serge stuck a key in the back and popped the lid. Nicholas leaned toward the trunk. “Hmm, I don’t see any files.”
“Because there aren’t any,” said Serge.
“Huh? What’s going on?”
“I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of the others, so I waited until we could have a private little chat back here.” Serge held out his hand. “A hundred and fifty thousand dollars, please.”
Sincere confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“That’s how much you stole from the couple up the road. I’m sure you remember the Whorleys. The Nantucket Whorleys?”
“Oh, now I get it.” A smirk. “Yeah, I heard about that. Terrible tragedy. I honestly tried to help them, but they made some bad financial moves. Retirees really have to watch out these days.”
Serge’s hand remained extended. “I’m still waiting.”
“For what?”
“The only mistake they made was trusting you,” said Serge.
“Now wait a second,” said Nick. “I’ve tried to be nice, and now you’re accusing me? This is all on them. Sorry, but those are the breaks.”
“I’ve seen a lot in my years and didn’t think the bar of human behavior could drop any lower, but joining church choirs to exploit people’s faith?” said Serge. “There’s a little chestnut out there about a special place in hell.”
“I’ve grown weary of you,” said Nick. “Okay, say I did it. So what? In fact, now that you’ve pissed me off, I’m glad I did it.”
“Then I guess there’s nothing more to say.”
“Yes, there is,” said Nick. “Go fuck yourself!”
“In that case . . .” Serge lunged. “In you go!”
“Ahhhhhh!”
The trunk slammed shut.
Four Years Earlier
A bottle of Johnnie Walker sat on a desk next to a cannonball. Captain Crack sat behind the desk drinking Scotch and fingering gold doubloons. He had gotten the taste, and it put the fangs in him. The nerve of those guys! How dare they point guns at him?
After much tortured moral gymnastics, Crack decided that it was the guys who’d found the ship who were in the wrong. He made the decision. He looked up at his two associates, sitting in wicker chairs against a wall under an antique harpoon and a stuffed wahoo.