Tussinland (15 page)

“You have no idea what I can handle.” She smiled. Big.

“Just go stay with your mother and think this thing through.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“When have you ever let some time pass between men?”

“I’m so
not
talking about this with you. Goodbye Paul.”

She turned and walked toward the door.

“What are the needles for?”

“What?

“Come on, Teen, I know all about the shit hidden in your dresser.”

“Needles? That is such bullshit. You’re crazier than I thought.”

“Come on, you can’t fool another addict.”

“Fuck that. I’m not an addict.”

“Okay.”

“Right.” Tina snarled his way and turned to go.

“What about the house?”

She looked around. She rolled her eyes.

“This piece of crap?”

“Yes! Our beautiful house?”

“Put it up for sale, abandon it, I don’t give a shit. The market is tanking anyway. We’ll never get what we paid for it and we’ll never be able to pay the new mortgage, which starts in two months by the way. It’s going up to $3500. Good luck.”

She left and that was the last time they talked.

Except for the time he threatened to kill her and Pisko.

THIRTY-ONE

The Reverend Pete Fish stood in the small sanctuary of the Church of God’s True Word. He faced the members of his Political Action Team seated in the front row: Vernon Sanders, Eric Minor (the short guy), and Steven Harris (purple polo shirt).

“Brothers,” he said. “As you know, this is a particularly challenging time for Christians in this country. In the world. Our religion, our God, is under attack from all sides. Truly, Satan is everywhere and he is testing good Christian men and women, every second of every day.”

The Reverend paused and looked each man in the eye. He held each gaze until it was met with his own. He only moved on to the next man when he felt that each member of his team had properly connected with their anointed spiritual leader. After several minutes, he was satisfied and he continued.

“The faggots, the homosexual deviants, or the gays, as they like to be called now, are organizing and are poised to not only ruin the church and the holy sacrament of marriage, they want our sons as well. The Reverend Phillip Michael Polk has provided me with some interesting literature outlining their master plan to make pedophilia legal and to make sexual slaves of boys as young as four years old.”

The Reverend paused again and took a drink of water. He closed his eyes and appeared to be in prayer. The men in the front closed their eyes as well and didn’t open them until Reverend Fish spoke again.

“We have a mongrel half monkey nigger president who, while claiming to be a Christian, is actually a Muslim from the dark continent of Africa and is in league with the deviants, the Arab terrorists, and the communists over in Europe and Russia to destroy our church, to bring down and disrespect our Holy Lord Jesus Christ, and to take our guns so that we will be unable to defend ourselves when their plan turns violent.

“Well, I say: let’s not wait. Let’s form a militia right away. A militia of strong Christian men organizing and training right here in Modesto, California, right here in this church, to bring the fight to the faggots and the socialists and the atheists and the niggers and the devil himself. I’ve had hours of prayer and meditation, along with much counsel and fellowship with the Reverend Polk—who has experience forming his own militias down in the southern part of this great state, and I am certain that this is the path that Jesus Christ has led me to, that this is the path of light.”

“Hallelujah!” said Brother Eric.

“Praise the Lord!” said Brother Steven.

“Amen,” said Brother Vernon.

“Now I have heard,” Reverend Fish said, “from brother Vernon, that the three of you already today fought valiantly in the first skirmish in this new holy war, that first blood was drawn by you Christian Soldiers. And I am so proud of all of you and so proud to call you brothers in Christ.”

He paused again and gazed at each of his soldiers. All three had eyes wet with tears.

“And today I want to ask each one of you to be the first members of the Church of God’s True Word Christian militia. Do you accept?”

Fish paused and closed his eyes briefly.

“Do you accept?” he shouted.

“Yes Reverend Fish,” all answered in unison

“And will you be my first lieutenants and form and lead your own platoons?”

This question was followed by a very enthusiastic
yes
from each man. Brother Steven even stood up and put his hand over his heart and faced the U.S. and Christian flags displayed on poles in the corner behind and to the left of Reverend Fish. Brother Vernon and Brother Eric quickly joined him.

“Very good, brothers. Tonight, we will be truly blessed by a visit from the great Reverend Philip Michael Polk from Costa Mesa, who will help us with starting our war chest to acquire the guns and ammunition we will need for the coming fight. I need each of you to be back here at eleven p.m. to meet with me and Reverend Polk. Can you do this for God? Will you be here? Armed and ready to fight and die, if necessary?”

“I will,” said brothers Eric, Stephen, and Vernon.

“Very good,” said the Reverend Fish. “Let us pray.”

THIRTY-TWO

Logan Swift was coming to when his phone rang. He was surprised to see his pants down at his ankles. He looked around and was puzzled to be in the middle of an orchard.

Man, this shit was good. Wow.

The phone was in his pants. He pulled them up and buttoned them. He took out his phone just as it stopped ringing. He sighed and looked at the big bag of heroin on the floor at his feet. He smiled and moved over behind the wheel.

His phone dinged, indicating a message: “Dude, call me. That detective guy is on the way out there to find you guys. How did you let Uncle Paul call him? What the fuck? Your job is to keep him away from the police, I thought that was clear. Until we can lead Rincon to him, which should be soon. Take him away from the orchard and as far from that part of town as you can right now. And call me.”

Logan got out of the truck and started scrambling, searching for Paul. He ran up and down row after row. He yelled “Uncle Paul” at the top of his lungs. He almost got lost.

Oh shit.

He got back into the truck and put it into reverse and backed out of the row at about 30 miles per hour. He was a steady driver even fucked up on heroin and he avoided the trees. When he got to the end, he spun the wheel so he faced the right direction to re-enter the road. He stopped and called Miranda.

“He isn’t here! I don’t know. I got fucked up. I know! Sorry, this shit is so pure, I don’t know my tolerance. I know, sorry … I misfuckingcalcuated. Shit. Sorry sorry sorry. I don’t
know
where he is. Where? Where? Oh, right, that’s gotta be where he went. Sure, I know the place, where the two gay guys live, with that one guy who always gives me that look like I’m so pathetic. I hate that guy. Fucking ass—what? Okay, I’ll go, I’ll get him. Don’t worry dude.”

Logan pulled the shotgun up from the floor and held it with his right hand on the triggers. He burned rubber as he entered Bangs Road and headed to Clyde Pike and Scott Love’s house.

THIRTY-THREE

In the bathroom, Paul closed the medicine cabinet door after deciding
not
to suck down the entire bottle of Robitussin. Not that he didn’t want to, but the thought of it made him feel like he would vomit bile if he even smelled the stuff.

He was about to turn on the shower when Scott knocked at the door.

“I’m going to the meeting sweetie,” Scott said.

“Okay, thanks, man.”

“You want me to call you if I find anything out? Or, either way?”

“Either way, please. Might be better if you text me, at least at first.”

“You got it.”

Phil turned on the shower and waited for the hot water to hit full strength. Even though his back felt better, it was still spasming from time to time and he was looking forward to standing still for as long as possible as a jet of warm liquid hit the sore spot just above his butt on the left.

Curious to see if Tina’s sister or Aunt had responded to his comment, he picked up his phone from the counter. The headline and story was the same, but now there was a photo of Paul, the one from his Facebook profile. He liked that photo, it made him look younger and slimmer, and like he had a deep tan.

Both Shirley and Aunt Megan had responded. Megan wrote:

Paul, you will never change, will you? Typical of you to take advantage of this tragedy to try to make yourself look good. I feel sorry for you. But I know you will pay.

That didn’t even make sense. Huh. Shirley wrote:

Paul, you are the worse kind of person. Lazy, a user, never did anything to contribute to the world. I can’t wait to be a witness for the prosecution at your sentencing hearing.

Oh shit.

The bathroom was getting steamier and steamier and the screen of his phone was fogging. He grabbed some toilet paper to wipe it off so he could type a reply to Shirley.

He couldn’t think of anything. He didn’t want to waste hot water, so he reached in and turned off the shower.

He heard a loud bang, followed by Clyde’s voice, “Now, just what do you think you are doing young man?”

“Where is he? Where is Paul?”

Fuck. Logan.

He put on his underwear and crept down the hall to the front doorway.

Clyde was on his knees looking up at Logan. His hands were in front of his face and he was cowering. He had never seen Clyde Pike cower before. Logan stood so tall over him. He had the shotgun in both hands and was aiming the grip end down toward Clyde’s face.

“Where is he?” Logan said. “I don’t want to hurt you, I know you’re a good guy, it’s that other one that’s the asshole. But I will. Don’t worry about that.”

Clyde didn’t answer. Paul was approaching behind Logan’s back and he couldn’t tell if Clyde saw him or not.

“Logan,” Paul said. “I’m here.”

Logan took a step back and aimed the barrels at Clyde’s head.

“You stay there,” he said to Clyde. To Paul he said, “Miranda said you have to come with me.” He looked at Paul then back at Clyde. “Go get your shit and put on your clothes, we have to go.”

“Logan! Take that gun off of Mr. Pike!” Paul looked at Clyde. “Sorry Dad, are you hurt?”

“No,” Clyde said. He stared up at Logan.

Paul reached out and touched Logan’s shoulder. “Come one, man, no one is going to mess with you, right? You got the gun.”

Logan stepped back and lowered the gun while keeping his eye on Clyde.

“Let’s go Uncle Paul,” he said. “Please?”

“Come on,” Paul said, “can’t I even take a shower?”

“Miranda didn’t say anything about a shower. She has this all worked out and if she wanted you to take a shower she would’ve told me.”

“Logan, you don’t have to do everything she says,” Paul said. “Just what are you two up to?”

“We’re helping you,” Logan said. “Just wait, you’ll see.”

“What do you mean?”

“I
said
, you’ll see, I can’t tell you now. Now get your shit or I’ll take you like you are.”

Logan walked backwards following Paul down the hall to the bathroom while also keeping the gun barrels pointed at Clyde.

“Hurry up, man, Miranda said the cops are coming this way looking for both of us.”

Clyde didn’t take his eyes off of Logan. He put his hands down. Slowly.

“No way mister,” Logan yelled at him. “You need to help me feel secure here. I don’t even like this. I just want to get Paul and go so we can keep him safe.”

Clyde put his hands back up and took a deep breath.

Paul came out of the bathroom zipping up his shorts. “God, I’d love a shower.”

Logan reached back and grabbed Paul by the front of the shirt with his free right hand while keeping the shotgun pointed at Clyde. He gently pulled Paul in front of him and nudged him toward the front door.

“Logan,” Paul said. “I don’t get this. Why can’t I just wait for the police here? I don’t give a shit, I don’t want to be a fugitive, you know?”

“Please be quiet Uncle Paul,” Logan said, “don’t make me do something crazy.”

“But where are we going? I don’t want to go, I want to stay with my dad.”

Logan kept nudging Paul while keeping the gun on Clyde.

“The police aren’t the only people I’m protecting you from, okay? Just trust me.”

“Huh? Oh shit.”

“Let’s just go,” Logan said. He pushed Paul out the front door. He turned back toward Clyde. “Please Mr. Pike, don’t fuck with me.”

Logan made Paul drive again. He pulled down the long driveway to the road.

“Go right,” Logan said, “toward the 99, then take the 99 south a while, give me a chance to think and talk to Randa.”

“Logan,” Paul said, “did you and Miranda kill my wife and her goddamn boyfriend?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Logan said, “don’t worry about that.”