Good Friday Gone Bad

Linc sat through the Palm Sunday homily well aware that the upcoming Holy Week could be his last. The details of his financial misadventures were not as important as their deadline. Which was imminent. With emphasis on “dead”. He needed fast cash. His drop-dead date was in a week. He needed to pay off Gino after church on Easter Sunday or Gino would crack his skull like a Cadbury egg.

Linc’s best prospect was the Sigil Bank & Trust. Just down the block. His idiot cousin was the manger there. Golden boy always was prattling on at family dinners with logistical details that were dead boring to the ordinary man but catnip to someone casing the joint. Like Linc. Details about guard staffing and break policies, gripes with the security cam company, cash delivery schedules and the like. Bloviating about the old Yankee names and jersey numbers he used for the branch security codes.

Linc took this inside info and determined the optimal time for a strike would be Friday. That left him time to prepare. And still plenty of time to get to Gino what he owed. Then kick back and hide some eggs with the kids. Watch Chuck Heston and the burning bush on TV. “So let it be written, yada yada yada.”

Linc bounded up the marble steps to the trust company Friday morning ready for action only to find the answer to his problems… Closed. Then it hit him. Good Friday! That most obscure of bank holidays. A relic of a lost Christian nation, bringing the inexorable wheels of commerce to a halt on this of all days. Talk about minority rule. Some antiquated state blue law would be his undoing. Linc was sunk. Defeated. Hung out to dry. Dead. Then, he thought, without irony, better than he had died on this day.

Where else would a good criminal go at such a time? Back to church of course. A long line of crooks and grifters back to Barabbas had their slate wiped clean by the church. He knew they would be open today. Maybe there’d be a miracle afoot. Or at least some comforting balm. Couldn’t hurt. He sat in the pew head down rubbing his temples when he noticed glare off the polished stone floor. He looked up and the blinding reflection was from the sun striking the apse and highlighting the dazzling array of gathered gold treasures. Including candleholders that shone with beatific splendor. A sign. Linc hadn’t read Les Miserables, but he saw the movie.

Come Sunday, Linc sat in Easter mass counting his blessings. His troubles with Gino, just a memory. He’d texted the gorilla to let him know he’d receive his payoff, in kind, right after the finale of the service. Go in peace, indeed.

Father Dowdle ascended the podium to kick things off, huffing like a locomotive. “Dear friends, I start this blessed day with a heavy heart. God knows we have friends in more dire need, but I am sorry to report apparently some lost soul broke into the sanctuary Friday night and made off with various valuable articles including the gold candlesticks commissioned for our visit from Pope Paul in 1966. At this time let us think of the poor sinner in need reduced to such a deed.”

This development came as a shock and surprise to everyone assembled. Except Linc of course.

Linc made a mental note that he was overdue for confession but decided when he did unburden himself, he ought to keep things general.

Then he listened. Really listened. Heard the oft told story. About taking the hit. Being the ultimate stand-up guy. This time really hearing it. For the first time.

Linc sprang up during communion and ran out to his moth-eaten Lexus. Popped the trunk and retracted the clattering canvas bag. Dropped it in the used clothing donation dumpster. Some old biddy would find the pot of gold during sorting day on Tuesday. An Easter miracle. There would be nothing for Gino. Not so much as an extra wafer. Linc returned to his unforgiving wooden seat.

He saw his cousin among the crowd gathered outside after the final blessing. “How’s the bank?”

“Just got a promotion. Perfect service record. Not a dime unaccounted for.”

Linc congratulated him.

Linc didn’t make eye contact with Gino as he hustled out. That day would come. Soon. Linc had that same feeling he’d felt Friday. At his lowest. Knew he was as good as dead. But also felt something different today. Something that overcame the feeling of death. He felt reinvigorated. Revived. Reborn. Back from the dead. After all, better than he had been resurrected on this day.