Bank robbery was out, he decided. Joseph knew he'd never be able to pull that off. For one thing, he'd be too nervous. And as a freckled redhead who stood six feet-four in his bare feet, no disguise could be very successful.
Still, he needed to get his hands on some money, fast. His car needed a new muffler and brakes. It was so bad, he was afraid to drive it. And he'd missed last month's rent and was six months behind on his child support payments. His ex had been threatening to have him thrown in jail and was, by now, just angry enough to do it. Especially with Christmas coming.
Christmas, he muttered. The very idea of it caused more troubles. He'd like to get his kids something and maybe his ex-girlfriend, too -- a kind of peace offering. But that was impossible.
He couldn't decide which was worse; all the buy, buy, buy, buy hoopla in the stores or all that holy, holy religious malarkey.
Joseph didn't see how anyone could still believe in "peace on earth, goodwill to men" in a world where homeless folks froze to death and drug-addicted parents slaughtered their own kids. Back centuries ago, this God stuff was helpful, he figured. But today, God wasn't just dead. "He" was an idea whose time had come and gone.
He didn't need fairy tales. He needed a job. But since the plant had closed, jobs were scarce. A dry summer and early winter had stifled his small landscaping venture. And his part-time job at the bowling alley almost, but not quite, paid the bills. He frowned at the Christmas decorations through the icy bus windows and laughed bitterly. If there were such things, he thought, I could sure use a miracle.
A few blocks later, the bus reached his stop and he slowly climbed down off the bus into an icy, biting wind. He walked, head down against the weather, to his apartment building. He paused in the foyer to get his mail: two bills, a Christmas catalog, and a card from his grandmother. This last he opened eagerly. But instead of cash, this year Grandma had sent him a gift card for a fancy department store.
Joseph laughed bitterly again. Thanks, Grandma.
He climbed the stairs to his apartment and tossed the mail onto the kitchen table. He fixed a can of soup for his supper; ate, watched some T.V. and went to bed.
In the morning, he dragged himself out of bed early. He drank a glass of milk for breakfast and headed out again on his unpromising job search. He didn't have to be at the alleys until two.
He lucked out and found a copy of the morning paper on the bench at the bus stop. He scanned the want ads as he waited for the bus, and planned his day.
It was a day filled with job applications, a few interviews, some "we'll-call-you's," but not much hope. It was a buyer's market after all, and there was plenty of competition.
The day's mail wasn’t any better. It included a pay-or-move-out notice from his landlord and three more bills.
The next day was Saturday. He tried a few places that were open and worked another shift at the bowling alley.
Towards evening, his ex called to shout at him for awhile before hanging up on him. All the while, the kids carried on in the background over the blare of cartoons. That night, he watched "A Christmas Carol" and cheered for Scrooge.
Sunday morning, he figured he had until sometime Monday, then maybe, Tuesday, before his ex made good on her threat. It now all seemed to come down to a choice between bank robbery and bankruptcy. Jail was starting to look pretty damn good.
Joseph decided to enjoy his freedom, just in case. Despite the cold, he went for a walk. He walked down to the park, and wandered around a bit, then took the long way home. As he was passing Saint Michael's Church, he had an idea.
The place was packed. The collection plates and poor box would be overflowing. Perhaps he could steal some cash. All that God crap might be useful after all.
He wandered in and had a look around. Friendly smiles greeted him, and a few folks offered handshakes and words of welcome. But there were too many people around, and with all the attention, he couldn't get near the money without being seen. He wandered towards the front of the church where a group was gathered around the Nativity scene.
"It's priceless," whispered one woman.
A man standing near her whispered to his companion. "I understand it was brought over by her family from Poland. It's nearly a hundred years old. Quite a gift to leave the church."
Even Joseph was impressed. His grandfather had been a carpenter and woodcarver, and had endowed in him an immense respect for craftsmanship and antiques.
But the cash, it seemed, would remain unreachable.
So he moved closer to the altar railing, pretending to be enthralled by the beauty of the creche. He'd hang out for awhile, thaw out, and hope for a break.
The crowd milled past behind him. He was occasionally jostled by a person who smiled and cheerfully apologized.
As he loitered there, a jovial group began gathering the money and taking it into the pastor's office for safekeeping, Joseph swore under his breath, He need to get his hands on some cash. But where?
He was still feeling chilled, so he remained where he stood, staring blankly at the Nativity scene, deep in thought.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" said a pretty young brunette who stepped up to the rail beside him.
"Yeah," he said indifferently.
"And there's a wonderful story about it, too," the woman continued.
"Yeah?" Joseph answered with a bit more interest.
"Oh, yes. You see, this creche was. . ."
Someone behind them screamed, and everyone turned to the central aisle where an older woman had passed out.
The brunette, and most of those present hurried to help, or at least to gawk sympathetically. Another woman run to the office shouting, "I'll call 9-1-1."
Suddenly alone and unnoticed, Joseph impulsively reached down and grabbed the Jesus figure from the creche, thinking he might be able to sell it. He thrust it deep into his jacket pocket and hurried home.
As he entered his building, he held the door open for a neighbor. "Good afternoon, Mr. Rosato. Can I help you?"
Thanks, Joseph. Here, take this up to Mrs. Saranovsky. Her arthritis is really bad again. She can hardly get down the steps; let along get back up again."
Joseph nodded. "So how's things with you?"
"The same. Pension check should have been here yesterday. It better come tomorrow."
Joseph nodded again. "Mail's a bit slower this time of year."
"Well, I spent what I had left on these groceries. Any luck on the job hunt?"
"No. No luck."
"Better days will come, my friend."
"Well, they better come soon."
"I'll say a prayer for you."
"Thank you," Joseph said pleasantly. "Take care, Mr. R."
"You to, Joseph. You too."
Joseph climbed the stairs and knocked on the door across the hall from his own.
"Who's there?" cane Mrs. Saranovsky's voice.
"It's Joseph. Mr. Rosato sent up your groceries."
He waited a little impatiently for her to come to the door. But he knew she could hardly walk on these cold days.
Finally the door opened. "Thank you, Joseph. I'll have to call Peter and thank him too."
"Want me to help you put them away?"
"No. No. I'll be fine. You look tired. Go home and rest."
"Thanks Mrs. Saranovsky. Take care."
"I will, Joseph. And thanks again."
Joseph entered his apartment and draped his jacket over the back of a kitchen chair. Suddenly, he was very hungry. He fixed a box of macaroni and cheese and some green beans. His own grocery supply was getting pretty low, too.
He ate, then carried his jacket into his tiny living room and took the icon out of the pocket. He looked at it dispassionately. He had no idea how to sell it, or to whom, or even how to find out.
And by the time he did figure all that out, the whole world would have heard about the stolen Baby Jesus and no one would dare want to buy it from him.
Stupid, stupid stupid! You couldn't just take one of the damn shepherds or angels. They might not miss one of those for days. No, you had to snatch the damn main attraction. Stupid!
So what was he going to do with it?" Probably wait and try to sneak it back into the church. He looked at it more closely, frowning. Although it was exquisitely made, the right arm was at an awkward angle that made the baby almost appear deformed.
Looking closer, he saw a faint crack filled with glue and painted over. The figurine had been broken and badly repaired. Joseph shook his head. What a shame. What a shame.
He watched the six o'clock news, but here was no report of the theft. Maybe he'd get a few days' respite?
He stayed up to watch the eleven o'clock news. The missing Baby Jesus was the lead story. They interviewed the pastor and some of the church members. One woman had tears in her eyes.
"It's terrible," she said, shaking her head. "It's just awful. It's like someone's kidnapped a member of our family."
The news went off and Joseph picked up his ill-gotten possession. What was he going to do with it now?
Well, until he figured that out, he'd have to hide it. He went back into the kitchen and put it in an old coffee can, shoving it into the back of a cupboard.
He checked the lock on the door and when to bed. But it took him a long time to fall asleep.
In the morning, he awoke groggy and irritable. He thought about the news report and the stolen icon.
He went to the kitchen and pulled it from its hiding place. He looked at it again. He remembered the lady's teary expression and her words, "...like someone's kidnapped a member of our family."
Joseph smiled suddenly. That was it. The creche was priceless. But it was pretty much useless without the piece he held. He'd hold it for ransom. Yeah, that was the ticket.
He placed the figure on the table and fixed his breakfast. As he ate, he glanced at the icon while figuring how much money he could get. He didn't want to be greedy. Besides the church didn't appear to have that much money.
He sat and figured out how much he needed to pay everything up to date again, then added a bit more to fix his car and put a little aside until he could find steady work. Or until spring, when the landscaping work might start up again. He decided to ask for five thousand dollars.
He picked up the figure to put it back in the can again, and frowned at the twisted arm. He'd fix it right, too. They'd get it back good as new, almost; instead of this shitty workmanship. Hell, he was doing them a favor.
The phone rang and he almost dropped the icon. He answered it nervously, fearing it might be more trouble about the child support. "Hello?"
"Hello, Joseph," said his boss at the bowling alley. "Can you start at ten and work your shift and John's?"
"Sure, I guess."
"Great. His appendix nearly burst last night and he'll be out a couple of weeks. And... well...I thought you could use the extra hours."
"Yeah, sure. Thanks, Scott. See ya soon then." Joseph hung up the phone. Now he'd be able to pay the rent, at least.
He looked at the figurine. And this little baby would take care of the rest. But he had to figure out how to contact the church. And how to arrange...things.
*** Watch for Stave 2 Next Week ***
