Tussinland (7 page)

Paul didn’t answer.

“Stupid faggot,” Vernon said. He stepped forward and punched Paul in the stomach with his right fist. The pain was shocking. It brought Paul back to something that’d happened during recess in fifth or sixth grade.

Purple polo shirt punched Paul in the throat. Paul thought he was aiming for his face, but missed.

“Should we beat the shit out of him?” the little guy said.

“Don’t you think the Reverend would want that?” Vernon said. “I say we don’t damage him too bad or send him to the hospital or anything. Just hurt him real good.”

“I’ll do it,” the small guy said. Purple polo and Vernon held Paul’s arms while their friend moved in front of him. He looked serious yet ecstatic.

He punched at Paul’s face and stopped. He laughed and punched him in the stomach. He giggled as he kept punching his stomach. It hurt, but not horribly. Then he stepped back and kicked Paul in the balls. That really hurt, and it made the guy smile. He did it again and again and again while giggling.

“Wow, cool,” Vernon said.

Purple polo put his face really close to Paul’s like he was going to kiss him.

“Fucking queer,” he said. He bit Paul’s ear and held on. The ball kicking hurt so much he felt himself start to vomit. Purple polo seemed to sense this and let go of Paul’s ear and Paul. Vernon let go too. Paul fell to his knees but was unable to stop his fall with his hands because his entire upper body was in spasm and he couldn’t move his arms. He threw up his Sugar Frosted Flakes. He’d never thrown up this much in such a short period of time even back when he was drinking like a maniac.

“Praise the Lord and Hallelujah,” the man in the purple polo shirt shouted as he kicked Paul on his left side. Paul fell over and lay on is back.

“Okay, that’s probably enough,” Vernon said.

Paul stayed on the ground, unable to move.

“Let us pray,” the big guy said. He held out his hands to his side. The three men stopped staring down at Paul and they joined hands.

There was silence for a moment or two.

“Father God,” said Vernon, “I thank you for the opportunity to do your good work. And please bless my two friends in Christ. They are soldiers in your Christian army and today they showed their willingness to fight for your cause. In Jesus Christ’s Holy Name, Amen.”

“Amen,” repeated Vernon, the man with the polo shirt, and the smaller one. Then he turned to Paul on the ground. “Okay faggot, I wouldn’t think of calling the police on us, ’cause we will just find you and do it again, even worse, maybe even cut your dick off. You wouldn’t like that, would you?”

Purple polo shirt came up to him. He squatted down at Paul’s face. He grabbed him by the chin and forced him to look upwards. “And, faggot ass, if you’re dumb enough to call the cops, we’ll just tell them that you offered to suck us off, and they’ll probably just let us go and you’ll get a record as a pervert.”

FOURTEEN

In the back of The Church of God’s True Word, there was a dusty storage room that Pete Fish was trying to make into a proper office. So far, all he’d had time to do was dispose of the leftover Spanish-language bibles and votive candles (“heathen idolatry”), install an extra-large gun safe packed with automatic pistols and assault rifles, move in an old metal office desk, and add some folding chairs. He planned to bring in more gun safes and guns over the next several days, as soon as the Lord’s plan started to bear financial fruit.

Pete sat in one of the new chairs as the three men from his congregation beat up Paul Dunn. He watched as his wife stood over their daughter, Miranda. Bethany had just smacked Miranda across the face and the tiny young woman had fallen hard to the floor. Though it filled him with shame, the blood rushed to Pete’s penis as he watched. His wife, wearing her usual conservative pastel pantsuit well-suited for her positions as a real estate agent and a pastor’s wife, leaned over and picked Miranda up and slapped her again and again. Hard, but not hard enough to leave a mark. She held onto several of her daughter’s multi-colored braids to make sure she didn’t fall. Bethany was a tall woman, about five-foot-ten, and in her usual high heels was a bit over six feet.

From time to time Bethany glanced over at Pete with excited eyes. It had been nearly two years since the last time Bethany had beaten Miranda in front of Pete—basically since Miranda had moved out of their house and into Mavis’ and since Miranda had taken up with the violent, fearless, and very strong and scary Logan Swift. Tonight, Pete knew, their marital bliss would be great, as it always used to be after the many strict sessions disciplining Randa they’d engaged in throughout their marriage. Pete and Bethany had never spoken of the fact that they were both very turned on by this activity—it wasn’t the kind of thing good Christians talked about.

Pete didn’t want Bethany to stop, but he knew if he didn’t put an end to things soon Bethany might lose control and really do some damage to the girl.

“Where is it?” Bethany said.

“Don’t worry about it,” Miranda said.

“Why isn’t it here?”

“I told you, you’ll get it later. Tonight.”

“It was supposed to be
last night
.”

“Sorry, change of plans, Mom.”

“You little brat,” Bethany said, as she closed her fist and brought it back behind her head.

“Okay, Bethany,” Pete said. “I think that is enough.”

Bethany ignored him.

For a moment, Bethany and Miranda just stared hard at each other until Miranda smiled. As Bethany cocked her fist back, her nostrils flared and Miranda’s grin grew larger. Pete jumped up and grabbed Bethany’s arm just as she brought it down onto Miranda’s face.

“Bethany!” he said. “Sweetheart. That’s enough now.”

Bethany continued to struggle. Her cell phone rang. It was on the desk. She glanced at it and clutched Miranda’s hair with both hands and sat her down on a chair.

“You stay!” she said to Miranda. Pete pulled her over to sit in the chair next to him. “Fuck you, Mom,” Miranda said.

“What are we going to do, sweetheart?” Bethany said to Pete. “I knew it was a mistake to have Randa and Logan do this job. We could’ve found someone more trustworthy.”

“They were our only way into that house, our only way to get our hands on the stuff,” Pete said.

“But we can’t trust them,” Bethany said. “Especially Logan.”

“Hey!” Miranda said. “We pulled it off, didn’t we? And you know Uncle Paul is going get blamed, just like you wanted. Grandma told the police all about his threats and his debts. They found out about the life insurance and pension money too. And I told the police about the gun under his bed. And I gave Mavis some phony story that Logan and I saw Paul buying a gun at that shop out on Yosemite. Way she is, she’ll tell the po-po all about it. And you guys and the police will tell Jorge Rincon everything grandma and me tell you. You two should be happy. Jesus.”

“And hopefully he can stay out of custody long enough for Rincon to catch up to him,” Bethany said to Pete. “Or maybe get to him inside?”

Miranda grinned. “That’s on you two. I’ve done my part.”

“What can you tell us about the stuff?” Pete said to Miranda.

“It’s good,” she said. “It’s not anywhere near pure Logan says, but it’s good stuff.”

“How much is it worth?”

“Like I said, Logan is the expert on shit. Okay? You’ll have to talk to him.”

“He didn’t give you any idea?”

Miranda sighed, she looked at the door. “Not really,” she said. “There’s something about whether he sells it like it is, in bricks, which would be fast, or if he sells it by these little bags. But that could take a month or more.”

“Don’t play dumb,” Bethany said. She walked up very close to her daughter. Rather than pulling back in fear of another blow, Miranda brought her own face closer. “I bet you know exactly what it’s worth, Randa. Bricks or bags.”

Miranda stood up and walked toward the door.

“I need to get back to the meeting or else they won’t sign my card.”

“Pete,” Bethany said. “Stop that little bitch.”

Pete reached out and grabbed a couple of Miranda’s braids in his right hand and jerked her toward him. He put his left arm around her waist and held tight. Bethany stood over Miranda.

“I
told
you that Logan wants to hold onto it until tonight,” Miranda said. “What’s your hurry anyway?”

Bethany slapped her daughter’s cheek. Her phone rang again, she glanced at it, muted the ringer.

“How much is it worth?”

“I didn’t want to tell you because we can only estimate,” Miranda said as she struggled. “Jesus, Dad, I have to go!”

He loosened his grip on Miranda.

“So, make an estimate,” Pete said. Bethany sat back down.

“Okay,” she said. “In bricks, it’s about two hundred thousand.”

Bethany smiled. She stood up. “And in bags?”

“Maybe a million?”

Bethany reached out and hugged her husband.

“But you know, either way, Logan wants a bigger cut.”

“Oh shit,” Bethany said. “That thief. How much?”

“Like I said, we’ll figure it out tonight. Logan won’t give it up until all four of us meet.”

“That’s stupid, we can’t be seen anywhere near Logan.”

“He insists. Sorry. You’ll have to wait a little while longer.”

Bethany crossed her arms. She looked at Pete, then Miranda.

“You better get back to your meeting,” she said.

“We’ll call you later Mom,” Miranda said. “Jeez, just chill for once.” She walked out the door.

“I need to go too, sweetheart,” Bethany said. “I’m going to call the bank. Maybe I can stall them another week or so.”

The two hugged, gently, then kissed, deeply. Bethany noticed his erection and smiled.

“Whatever is going on is all Miranda’s idea you know,” she said. “She’s the brains of that operation. And the boss. I wonder what she’s up to.”

“We can handle her,” he said. “We always have.”

“Be sure and get a hold of Rincon.”

“Don’t worry. Hey, your mother still hasn’t said anything?”

“Not a word. But then, we haven’t been talking much lately.”

“It’s hard to imagine her keeping something like that a secret. Hard to imagine her keeping anything a secret.”

“This is different though, I guess.”

Bethany kissed Pete on the lips and his forehead, ran her fingers through his hair, and walked out the door.

FIFTEEN

Outside, Miranda went back to the Hole in the Wall. Bethany walked to her black Mercedes. She saw the three men from the church coming from the back of Mr. Tokyo’s. They looked pumped. Two of them even high-fived each other.

She turned and looked up at the new sign.

“Fucking hypocrites.” Paul was limping up behind her. He clutched his stomach. His right eye was red and swollen and blood streamed from his mouth and his right ear. He gasped in pain as he walked. Went from car to car, reached out his hands to trunks, roofs, and hoods to steady himself as he walked.

Bethany studied at her brother. She smiled.

“What happened to you?” she said.

“I got gay bashed by some of the …
Reverend’s
idiot sycophants, which is strange since I’m not even gay.”

“But you stick up for fags,” Bethany said. “So you aren’t any different.”

“If you were any kind of Christian and any kind of sister,” Paul said, “you’d call me an ambulance and report those men to the police.”

“Sorry,” Bethany said. “I have something more important to do.”

She got into her car and drove away.

Paul stared after her before walking to his car, just as the meeting was ending and dozens of people streamed out to the parking lot to their motorcycles, cars, trucks, toward the liquor store and bar while furtively glancing back, or to gather in clumps to smoke and talk until the next meeting at six.

SIXTEEN

“Uncle Paul!”

Miranda ran out of the meeting with her card in her hand. Paul ignored her, kept going toward his car.

“Uncle Paul,” she said. “What’s wrong? What happened to you?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he said.

Miranda tried to reach out and use her arms to help him walk. “Why can’t you walk? Is it your back?”

Paul flailed his arms to keep her off.

“Leave me alone,” he said.

Miranda looked like she was about cry.

“Uncle Paul? What’s wrong?”

“Isn’t your grandmother here to pick you up?”

“She’s not here yet, but who cares? Did someone beat you up? You look horrible.”

“Did you kill Tina? Did Logan?”

“What? No way. As if.”

“You trying to put the blame on me? What the fuck?”

“Uncle Paul, I think you’ve been dexing a little too heavy.”

“Huh?”

“You think I don’t know about what you do late in the evening when you go into the bathroom with a bottle of Robitussin and lock yourself in your room all night?”

Paul avoided her eyes.

“You really need to stop that shit, it’ll fry your brain. I used to do it when I was in junior high school and I didn’t know what the fuck was going on for days afterwards.”

“I know what you said to Mavis, that you lied to her about seeing me buy a shotgun.”

Just then Mavis pulled up. When she saw Paul she parked the car and got out and ran up to her son and touched his now-blackening eye. Paul pulled back—she reeked of the White Hawk: vodka, cheap stale beer, cigarettes.

“What happened? I thought you were at home, resting. My god.”

“He won’t say who did it,” Miranda said. “And I think he’s been hallucinating from all that Robitussin he drinks.”

Mavis ignored the last part. She didn’t want to hear any of that.

“I know what you two talked about,” he said. “Jeez, I can play you the message.”

Paul took his phone out of his pocket.

“What are you talking about?” Mavis said.

“Oh Grandma,” Miranda said. “You must’ve called him by mistake, you know how you do that? He heard our conversation in the car on the way over.”

“I don’t get it, but Miranda’s trying to make it seem like I killed Tina and that asshole Pisko. Then I check under my bed and I find a goddamn sawed-off shotgun. Jesus. Just after you and Logan were there. What did you do?”

“Like I said,” Miranda said, “you are
so
fucked up, dude. And you still haven’t told us what happened.”

“Here, let me show you.”

In obvious pain, Paul walked over to his car. Miranda folded her arms across her chest and sighed. She leaned against Mavis’ car. Mavis followed Paul for a couple of steps, then looked back at Miranda.

“What
ever
,” Miranda said.

“Mom,” Paul said, “Come on, you gotta see this.”

Mavis looked one more time at Miranda, then followed. Paul pushed the fob on his key ring and his trunk popped open.

“Look at this.”

Mavis stayed back a few steps.

“Jesus, Mom. Come here.”

Mavis walked over and he pointed to the bag he’d found under his bed. He pulled on the bag far enough so that Mavis could see the short, pistol-grip type handle.

“Oh, Paul,” Mavis said, “what did you do?”

“Nothing, Mom, I didn’t do anything, Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Now you watch your language with me.”

“Oh fuck that. Obviously Miranda and Logan planted this under my bed when they were over this morning. Remember they were there when we got back from the police station?”

Miranda walked over.

“Oh, that is ridiculous and you know it,” she said.

“Why else would she lie about me buying a gun?”

“Let me see it,” Miranda said.

“It’s right there,” Paul said, and pointed to the bag. “I’m sure you recognize it.”

Miranda reached down and pulled the bag off the gun.

“Jesus,” she said. “Grandma, what should we do? This is
so
fucked up, you know?”

Mavis and Miranda stared at the gun and at Paul.

“God, I need to sit down,” Paul said. He opened the back door of his Honda and sat in the back seat on the driver’s side, his feet planted on the parking lot ground. He put his elbows on his knees and rested his face on his hands. Mavis walked over and stood over him. She shook her right index finger in his face.

“How dare you try to put this off on Miranda,” Mavis said.

“Fuck you, Mom,” Paul said. “It’s time you learned the truth about your precious granddaughter.”

Mavis’ cell phone rang in her purse. She pulled it out and looked at the screen.

“Who is it, Grandma?” Miranda said.

“I don’t know,” Mavis said. “I don’t recognize the number.”

“Don’t answer it,” Paul said. “See if they leave a message.”

Mavis tapped “answer” on the screen with her thumb. “Hello?”

“Mother!” Paul said. “Come on.”

Miranda stepped close to Mavis and brought her ear close to the phone.

“Oh, hello, Detective Fagan,” Mavis said, in her sweetest, most seductive voice. “I didn’t expect to hear from you again so soon. Paul said that you’d … oh? You’re there right now? Well …”

Mavis muted her phone, and even though Fagan couldn’t hear her, she whispered to Miranda.

“He’s at the house, they need me to come home and open the door. They have a search warrant for my house, and Paul’s car. Shit!”

“Jesus!” Paul said, “Why are you telling
her
? She probably told him to go there and look for the gun. Fuck.”

“Oh, just stop that Paul. Mercy me.”

“What are you going to do Grandma?” Miranda said.

“I can’t have them in my house,” Mavis said.

“That’s right,” Paul said. “All your pot and paraphernalia and shit. Uh oh.”

Mavis looked at Miranda and Paul.

“You kids,” she said. “I should’ve moved away when Billy Joe died. I could be in a beach house on Maui now.”

Mavis’ phone started to ring again. She looked at the screen.

“Oh, must be him again … Hello? Yes, sorry, I don’t know what happened. Yes. Yes. Yes. I’ll be right there. No, I’m not sure where he is. His car’s not there? That’s strange, he was home when I left a couple hours ago. Sitting in the living room watching TV. Yes, I’ll tell him. Yes. Uh huh … see you there.”

Paul stood up. His back spasms had stopped. There was a little less pain.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Miranda said. “Maybe you better let me and Grandma go back and see what’s up. We can call you later.”

“That’s probably a good idea, Paul,” Mavis said.

“Why? I got nothing to hide, I didn’t do anything. Everybody keeps forgetting that. Besides, I have what he wants, right Miranda? Plus, I can make my complaint for the terrible assault and hate crime I just suffered.”

Paul opened the trunk again and pulled the shotgun out of the bag. He held it with both hands and stared at it for a moment. Then he put his right hand on the trigger and the grip and his left hand on the stock. He aimed the barrel at the church sign.

“Paul!” Mavis said.

“Jesus, Uncle Paul,” Miranda said, “Put that thing down.”

Paul smiled at Miranda. He held the weapon loosely in his right hand and shut the trunk. He closed the back door and opened the driver’s door.

“What are you two waiting for? Let’s go.”

Paul got into his car. Put the gun on the passenger seat. Started the engine.

“Paul!” Mavis said as Paul drove away.

“This isn’t good Grandma,” Miranda said. “He’s acting crazy.”

“What do you think he’s going to do?” Mavis said. “Do you think that gun was loaded?”

“I don’t know, but we gotta stop him. The police see him holding that thing they might kill him.”

“Dear God, he’s gone.”

“I’ll call Logan,” Miranda said. “Maybe he can stop Paul.”