him.
“What’re you doin’?” he yelled to Tony, who was walking casually through the brittle grass, still covered in great part by large patches of snow.
Tony swiveled his head back toward Wesley, scowled, and gave him a regimental “c’mon!” with the jerk of his arm. Uh-oh. Tony was mad because Wesley didn’t leave the car smack-dab in the middle of the street.
Weirdo. Wesley hated it when Tony got angry, because when he did, he got crazy angry.
The manger scene, still about fifty feet in front of Tony, was lit by a single floodlight. Joseph, Mary, and baby Jesus appeared to be made of wood. The figures cast long shadows onto the snowy lawn and up against the stately white house.
Hands in the pockets of his army jacket, Wesley trotted toward Tony with his eyes glued to the lit rooms in the house. This was getting close—too close. Although he was amped with a ten-million-watt buzz, the people inside the house were not.
“What’re you doin’?” Wesley caught up with Tony, attempting to defuse the time bomb.
“Why’d you move it, Lester?”
“I’m not gonna leave a truck in the middle of the road.”
“You’re gonna need to learn to do what I say, or we ain’t gonna have a future.” With both hands on one of the manger figures, Tony rocked it, front to back, then side to side.
Wesley kept his eyes on the house.
“Here.” Tony grunted, finally loosening the figure from the frigid terrain and hoisting it at Wesley. “Run this to the car. We’re takin’ it.”
Wesley checked the house, then the street, and made a run for the Yukon, banging the heavy figure against his legs and cursing as he ran. Stealing a religious figure—especially Jesus—spooked him. The more he dwelled on it, he nearly convinced himself he’d be cursed by God for the crime.
Once it was in the rear hatch, he stood there a moment, actually contemplating dumping the figure and taking off in the SUV. But he didn’t dare. Badino was such a mental case, who knew how he would retaliate? Wesley dashed back toward the house.
“Good job.” With the gray ski cap pulled well below his ears, Tony bent over and started running toward the big house, black trench coat flapping behind him.
Nutcase.
Wesley darted behind Tony all the way to a clearing at the side of the house where they glided to a stop, side by side, backs to the wall, puffing steam into the night.
“The shutters are open at that window.” Tony nodded. “Let’s take a look-see.”
Without waiting for a response, Tony quick-stepped it along the side of the house, then slid to his knees, crawling beneath the glowing window, then stood. Wesley took the same path, stopping on the opposite side of the window.
Easing his head about an inch in front of the window, Tony stared at the interior of the house. Following Tony’s lead, Wesley did the same.
It looked like a Hallmark card—warm and cozy. Like make-believe. There was a large family room with shimmering wood floors, big rugs, expensive furniture, a baby grand piano, and a Christmas tree with colored lights—and gifts beneath. In the distance were a carpeted dining room and several cabinets with glass doors, filled with silver and china.
Wesley would always be an outsider to such an idealistic world, a world where family members interacted in harmony and love flowed from the foundation. He strained to hear but couldn’t make out any voices—just the snow crunching beneath his feet.
Ducking underneath the window, Tony patted Wesley on the back as he walked past him. “Follow me,” he whispered and dashed along the side of the house.
Wesley glanced back at the street and was startled to notice how clearly he could see the upper half of the Yukon from his vantage point. He could actually hear his heart: th-thump, th-thump, th-thump, th-thump . The chill disappeared, and he found himself almost sweating.
He looked back and forth, listening intently for anything—anyone.
SMAAAAACK!
His head
“What’re you doin’?” he yelled to Tony, who was walking casually through the brittle grass, still covered in great part by large patches of snow.
Tony swiveled his head back toward Wesley, scowled, and gave him a regimental “c’mon!” with the jerk of his arm. Uh-oh. Tony was mad because Wesley didn’t leave the car smack-dab in the middle of the street.
Weirdo. Wesley hated it when Tony got angry, because when he did, he got crazy angry.
The manger scene, still about fifty feet in front of Tony, was lit by a single floodlight. Joseph, Mary, and baby Jesus appeared to be made of wood. The figures cast long shadows onto the snowy lawn and up against the stately white house.
Hands in the pockets of his army jacket, Wesley trotted toward Tony with his eyes glued to the lit rooms in the house. This was getting close—too close. Although he was amped with a ten-million-watt buzz, the people inside the house were not.
“What’re you doin’?” Wesley caught up with Tony, attempting to defuse the time bomb.
“Why’d you move it, Lester?”
“I’m not gonna leave a truck in the middle of the road.”
“You’re gonna need to learn to do what I say, or we ain’t gonna have a future.” With both hands on one of the manger figures, Tony rocked it, front to back, then side to side.
Wesley kept his eyes on the house.
“Here.” Tony grunted, finally loosening the figure from the frigid terrain and hoisting it at Wesley. “Run this to the car. We’re takin’ it.”
Wesley checked the house, then the street, and made a run for the Yukon, banging the heavy figure against his legs and cursing as he ran. Stealing a religious figure—especially Jesus—spooked him. The more he dwelled on it, he nearly convinced himself he’d be cursed by God for the crime.
Once it was in the rear hatch, he stood there a moment, actually contemplating dumping the figure and taking off in the SUV. But he didn’t dare. Badino was such a mental case, who knew how he would retaliate? Wesley dashed back toward the house.
“Good job.” With the gray ski cap pulled well below his ears, Tony bent over and started running toward the big house, black trench coat flapping behind him.
Nutcase.
Wesley darted behind Tony all the way to a clearing at the side of the house where they glided to a stop, side by side, backs to the wall, puffing steam into the night.
“The shutters are open at that window.” Tony nodded. “Let’s take a look-see.”
Without waiting for a response, Tony quick-stepped it along the side of the house, then slid to his knees, crawling beneath the glowing window, then stood. Wesley took the same path, stopping on the opposite side of the window.
Easing his head about an inch in front of the window, Tony stared at the interior of the house. Following Tony’s lead, Wesley did the same.
It looked like a Hallmark card—warm and cozy. Like make-believe. There was a large family room with shimmering wood floors, big rugs, expensive furniture, a baby grand piano, and a Christmas tree with colored lights—and gifts beneath. In the distance were a carpeted dining room and several cabinets with glass doors, filled with silver and china.
Wesley would always be an outsider to such an idealistic world, a world where family members interacted in harmony and love flowed from the foundation. He strained to hear but couldn’t make out any voices—just the snow crunching beneath his feet.
Ducking underneath the window, Tony patted Wesley on the back as he walked past him. “Follow me,” he whispered and dashed along the side of the house.
Wesley glanced back at the street and was startled to notice how clearly he could see the upper half of the Yukon from his vantage point. He could actually hear his heart: th-thump, th-thump, th-thump, th-thump . The chill disappeared, and he found himself almost sweating.
He looked back and forth, listening intently for anything—anyone.
SMAAAAACK!
His head
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