The Upper Hand

by Johnny Shaw

  “I can’t say I’m surprised about McCormick,” Axel said, “but stealing from a church is so low.”

  “I was curious if I would see you again,” she said.

  “There are some things I want to talk to you about.”

  “Oh wow,” Virginia said. “You have that serious voice people get when they have a secret that they’ve finally got the guts to reveal.”

  Axel laughed a fake laugh that sounded like a fake laugh. He turned and walked into the café without saying another word.

  The rest of the date went well. Despite sitting through two bad poets, a woman singing an eighteen-minute song about menstrual cramps, and a comedian that ran off stage crying halfway through his set because no one was laughing, Virginia was a sport about the place. She appeared to enjoy her Thai chicken wrap.

  Virginia nudged Axel. “You’re a loyal supporter of these guys, aren’t you?”

  “Kurt and Louder are family,” Axel said. “We’ve had some trust issues recently, but I still trust the two of them more than anyone on the planet.”

  “I wish I had that,” Virginia said.

  “You do,” Axel said.

  She could trust him. Except for the lies, of course.

  What had come to be known as the “Mississippi Cataclysm” (also the name of an upcoming Skinripper tune) had taken a lot out of all of them. Gretchen was hell-bent on finding Mother and getting the money back and then some. Gretchen knew revenge. Axel had the scars from his teen years to prove it. The big, fat form that their defeat had taken gave her a target, but little direction.

  When Axel had gotten back to San Diego, exhaustion and pessimism slowed down any enthusiasm for finding Mother and Fritzy. He had been kneecapped, nut-punched, and given an emotional wedgie too many times over the last few months. He had no energy for revenge. Sometimes it’s better to stay on the ground than to take more of a beating. Mother had a comeuppance coming, but he would let Gretchen pursue it.

  Axel had called it, licked his wounds, cut his losses, stopped throwing good money after bad, quit using cliché phrases, and gotten on with his life. He was resigned to the fact that they weren’t ever going to find Mother.

  Gretchen called him a week after they got back. It was the first time they had spoken since Mississippi. Her voice was cold and businesslike. “I’m going to brace Joe Vee tomorrow. You want in?”

  Axel knew it was a fool’s errand, but those were the first words Gretchen had said to him since Mississippi. He couldn’t say no.

  They didn’t say a word to each other on the drive to Warm Springs. When they walked into Joe Vee’s office, he looked resigned, having to had known that this day would come.

  “I knew this day would come,” Joe Vee said, confirming Axel’s assumption.

  “Who hired you to give us the fake will?” Axel said.

  “You know,” Joe Vee said. “The big-boned lady. She had the document all prepped. Your mother’s signature. Told me to bring it to you, give the spiel, make it sound legit. I got paid. Was promised a bonus, but I’m thinking I ain’t ever seeing that dough.”

  “Every way this was going to play out would eventually lead us back to you,” Axel said. “How did you think you were going to get away with it?”

  “I live in the moment,” Joe Vee said.

  “What does that even mean?” Gretchen said.

  “Got a problem with the little ponies,” Joe Vee said. “I owed money to violent people. I couldn’t be worried about today when I was concerned about living through that day. I could deal with you now or them then. You don’t look like you cut off fingers.”

  “Try me,” Gretchen said.

  “Between me, you, and this desk, I’m not very good at lawyering,” Joe Vee said. “I don’t advertise it, but I got disbarred three years ago. Nobody checks way out here in Bumfuck.”

  “Because of you,” Axel said, “we don’t have a house. She leveled it. You’re going to jail.”

  “You don’t want to call the police or nothing,” Joe Vee said. “I’m practically family.”

  “You are not family,” Gretchen said. “This asshole is family.” She pointed at Axel. “And I resist punching him in the stomach every time I look at him.”

  “I knew your old man, from back when I was less legit,” Joe Vee said.

  “How could you possibly be less legit?” Axel said.

  “I might or might not have fenced some things or not things for your old man. I liked him.”

  “Not enough to not screw over his kids,” Axel said. “You’re going to tell us everything we need to know about our dad, our mom, and the fat lady. And any other damn thing. How do you contact her?”

  “I leave a one-star review for the book Lamentation by Joe Clifford on Amazon, complaining about the profanity. She calls. We set something up. If I do it now, though, she’ll know what’s what. She ain’t stupid. You want to make contact, you’ll have to wait for her to call me.”

  “You gave us a forged document,” Axel said. “You don’t have a law license. That’s a lot of crimes. You could go to prison.”

  “I thought I was going to make a bunch of money.”

  “That’s your defense?” Gretchen asked.

  “What would be the point of calling the cops? You do that, you’re going to have to start calling the police on everyone you know that commits crimes.”

  “That’s what people do,” Axel said.

  “Where is that going to lead? To anarchy.”

  “You really are an awful lawyer,” Gretchen said.

  “I provide a service to the less than legally inclined. I could maybe provide that service for you. Let’s call it store credit. I can’t help you if I’m in prison.”

  “You can give us any money Mother paid you,” Axel said.

  “Your brother is talking crazy now,” Joe Vee said. “That money is long spent.”

  Walking out of the lawyer’s office in Warm Springs, Axel couldn’t decide if Joe Vee was a moron or a savant. But he had been right—there was no upside in calling the police, but potential in him owing them a favor.

  “I’m going to find Mother Ucker,” Gretchen said on the drive back to San Diego. “I’m going to find her and—well, I don’t know what I’m going to do when I do, but I’m going to find her.”

  “It’s time to move on, Gretch,” Axel said. “I’d love revenge, but we got nowhere to look. What’s the point?”

  “I don’t care what you do,” Gretchen said. “I don’t need your help. I don’t want it.”

  “Is this where we’re going to leave things between us?” Axel asked.

  “It’s where it’s at,” Gretchen said. “It’s where you put it.”

  They drove the remainder of the trip back from Warm Springs in silence. Neither of them even moved to turn on the radio. The silence made more sense.

  “How’d you like it?” Kurt asked, joining Axel and Virginia at the table after his set.

  “I’m going to grab some drinks,” Louder said. “You losers want anything?”

  “You sounded great together,” Axel said. “I’m good, Louder. Virginia?”

  “No, thank you,” Virginia said.

  Louder walked to the counter.

  “A different venue for you,” Virginia said. “Different music. I like it.”

  “Yeah, about that,” Axel said. “I wasn’t exactly straight with your father or the ministry or you. When I said Kurt is family, I was being literal. Kurt is my brother. He doesn’t really play Christian music. He threw INRI together in three days.”

  “That explains a lot of things,” Virginia said. “Ballsy move. What do I care? You tried to get your brother a sweet gig. You ended up pissing off Thrace. Bonus for me.”

  “Heard he might do time,” Axel said.

  “I’ll believe it when I see it,” Virginia said.

  “We wrote all the songs on the drive from California to Louisiana,” Kurt said. “I think we could have figured it out with more time. Like a full week.”


  Virginia turned to Axel. “Is that the big secret you wanted to tell me? That you hired your brother? It doesn’t seem like a big deal.”

  “Not exactly,” Axel said. “My name isn’t Fletcher Christian. And I didn’t have a come-to-God moment in a parking lot. I’m barely a Christian.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said, waiting for the kicker.

  “You sure you want to do this?” Kurt asked.

  “I have to,” Axel said. “It’s time she knew.”

  “I meant with me sitting here,” Kurt said. “It’s making me feel awkward, very third wheelish.”

  “You’re part of it,” Axel said. “My name is Axel Ucker, and I’m an undercover reporter doing research for an exposé on televangelists, faith healers, and the evangelical moment, with an emphasis on the prosperity gospel. I pretended to be someone else to get close and see the inner workings of the organization.”

  “Oh,” Kurt said. “That.”

  “I feel like I’m Jamie Lee Curtis in the movie Perfect,” Virginia said.

  “Excellent reference,” Kurt said.

  “I’m not going to publish the article,” Axel said. “And it’s not just because of what happened with your father. It’s because—yeah, you were right, Kurt. Can we have a moment?”

  “No problem,” Kurt said. “I’ll check on Louder.”

  “I’m sorry I lied,” Axel said when Kurt left. “When I told you the first lie, I didn’t know you. I didn’t know I’d have to keep it up. Keep telling lies. I wanted to tell you.”

  “I appreciate you coming clean,” Virginia said, “but I’m not sure why it matters now. What do you want from me?”

  “A second chance.”

  “Did we have a first chance?” Virginia stood up.

  “I thought we did.”

  “We didn’t,” Virginia said. “I thought we might maybe become friends, but we were mostly just coworkers. I’m done, though. Nothing is going to happen. You told me you lied to me right now. I don’t really know you. This isn’t a romantic comedy. There’s not a lot of depth to our relationship.”

  “But there could be. We have a connection.”

  “That’s not a thing,” Virginia said. “This is going to sound mean—and I’m sorry for that—but just because you want something, because you think you deserve it or it’s your destiny, that doesn’t mean you get to have it. That stuff’s all made up in your brain. Like love at first sight.”

  “I believe in love at first sight.”

  “Of course you do,” Virginia said. “How many times has that worked out for you? Is there anything more shallow?”

  “It’s romantic,” Axel said.

  “It really isn’t. It’s empty.” Virginia set a twenty-dollar bill on the table. “That’s for Kurt. I’m going to pick up one of his CDs on the way out.”

  Axel watched Virginia walk out of the café. When she was out of view, he picked up a newspaper to give him something to do. So he didn’t look so alone. So he didn’t feel so alone. No matter how alone he was.

  Kurt and Louder sat down across from him.

  “That did not look like it went according to plan,” Louder said. “Bummer, dude. Do you own ‘In Your Eyes’ on cassette?”

  “Too soon.” Kurt gave Louder a shove. “Her loss, Ax.”

  “Thanks, guys,” Axel said.

  “I just heard a thing,” Kurt said. “Did you know that goats pee on their own heads to make themselves attractive to lady goats? The lady goats dig it.”

  “What?” Axel said, putting down the newspaper. “Why would you tell me that?”

  “I don’t know. It was interesting. The barista told me, so I’m ninety percent sure it’s true. He looked like one of those guys who knows a lot about goats.”

  “I can’t believe she dumped me,” Axel said.

  “I didn’t know you two were dating,” Louder said. “Quit shoving me, K.”

  “I plan everything in my life,” Axel said. “In detail. All the stuff that doesn’t matter. And the important things, a relationship, family, all that stuff, I just—holy shitballs.” Axel snatched the newspaper from the table and reread the front page.

  “What is it?” Kurt asked. “Is there a sale at Penney’s?”

  Axel was too busy reading. Reading about some robberies. The robberies of three nail salons. Robberies he had planned. Robberies pulled off mostly according to those plans. Plans only Mother and Fritzy had seen. And criticized, which was even more insulting now, considering that the robberies had been successful.

  CHAPTER 33

  Axel might have given up, but Gretchen had no quit in her. She also had a ton of free time, which made not quitting considerably easier. Rather than sit at home and contemplate her next major life choice, she sat in a car for twelve hours a day and contemplated the emptiness of the building in front of her.

  Growing up in the middle of nowhere might have sucked. But if boredom and monotony had taught Gretchen anything, it was patience. She could outwait anyone.

  The downside of stakeouts was the potential for weight gain. Gretchen had put on six pounds in the last couple of weeks, five of which felt like were in her ankles. She got out of the car and stretched every half hour, but she was hesitant to let her guard down for too long. She chose to remain immobile, with her binoculars trained on the abandoned German restaurant.

  It wasn’t just the lack of exercise. The taco truck down the block was insanely good. Chorizo and egg in the morning, carnitas at lunch, and lengua in the evening were not recommended by four out of five doctors. Maybe if she claimed paleo or Atkins, she could fool her body into thinking it was healthy rather than gout-inducing.

  A part of her knew it was pointless, something to keep her distracted until Stephanie got back from her trip to Esalen—some exclusive Tony Rogers retreat. Gretchen had wanted to watch her in action, but the invite list was only for gold-dragon members, whatever that meant. Besides, it cost $5,000. Big fish, expensive pond.

  Her phone rang. Axel. Her finger floated over decline, but she chose to accept the call.

  “What?” Gretchen asked.

  “I got something,” Axel said.

  “Chlamydia?” Gretchen said. “Never mind. That would mean that you had sex.”

  “Not likely,” Axel said. “It’s about Mother.”

  “I thought you had admitted defeat.”

  “I know you hate me,” Axel said, “but I know where Mother is going to be.”

  “I don’t hate you,” Gretchen said. “You were a dick to someone I care about. You never apologized.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry.”

  “Not only was that insincere, but I’m not the one you need to apologize to.”

  “Can we do this later? Where are you at?”

  “Later is never, but that’s what I’ve grown to expect,” Gretchen said. “I’m staking out the German restaurant.”

  “Criminals returning to the scene of the crime is a myth,” Axel said. “Is it okay if I meet you there?”

  “Do you really got a lead on Mother?”

  “I do.”

  “Then I suppose I can call a temporary moratorium on the shunning,” Gretchen said. “Bring a salad.”

  An hour later, Axel climbed into Gretchen’s car, brushing the garbage off the passenger seat onto the floor.

  “Where’s my salad?” Gretchen asked.

  “What?”

  “I asked you to bring me a salad.”

  “I thought that was slang or something.”

  “Slang for what? What could that be slang for?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I didn’t bring anything.”

  “Slang still means things. Why didn’t you ask me what I meant?”

  “I didn’t want to be unhip,” Axel said. “If you’re hungry, there’s a taco truck down the street.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  “Idiot like a fox,” Axel said. “Take a look at this.”

  He handed Gretchen the newspaper he ha
d found in the café.

  Gretchen read a few paragraphs. “City council proposes tax hike for new stadium? What about it?”

  “Above that. The nail salon robberies. Mother committed those.”

  “I doubt it,” Gretchen said, skimming the article. “These are strong arm jobs. She’s a con woman.”

  “Mother pulled a gun on us,” Axel said. “She’s not one kind of criminal. Said it herself. She sees opportunity and acts on it.”

  “One suspect had a handlebar mustache and a Bob Ross afro,” Gretchen said.

  “Fritzy,” Axel said. “He must have left the monocle at home.”

  “You’re reaching.”

  “No, I’m not. I wrote these. Planned them. For fun or whatever. Mother read them.”

  “You still do that?” Gretchen asked. “Write plans for crimes that you aren’t going to do?”

  “I find it soothing,” Axel said. “Mother told me they wouldn’t work, but that was obviously bull. I knew they were good. Great, actually.”

  “Are these the exact plans?” Gretchen said.

  “Some changes were made. More like lateral moves than improvements. They’re my targets. Doesn’t matter. The important thing is that my plan worked.”

  “That’s not important at all,” Gretchen said.

  “It is to me.”

  “It doesn’t sound like this was exactly your plan. Could be a coincidence.”

  “I showed Mother and Fritzy two plans. The nail salons and a downtown marijuana-dispensary slash armored-truck gig. She has my notebook, but I know that plan by heart. It only works on a Friday. I don’t know which Friday, but she’ll attempt it. And I know her first move.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Past is prologue,” Axel said. “If our experience is any indication, she’ll sucker someone else to take the fall. And I know who those suckers will be.”

  Gretchen didn’t bother to go home. She was already prepped for a stakeout.

  She parked in front of Stanley Pruitt’s house in Santee. The armored car driver lived in a stucco ranch-style house with an immaculate lawn and a garden gnome painted to look like Donald Trump. One of those Southern California buildings that could be found on every block and was built out of ugly in one of three colors: sun-blinding white, three-day-old salmon, and suicide beige.