by Johnny Shaw
Kurt and Mother waited by the junkyard office while Michael Ucker hitched the trailer to the back of the rental truck. The single-wide mobile office that sat on top looked a little banged up, but it would serve its purpose.
“Don’t tell Michael anything about what we’re doing,” Mother said. “He’ll angle his way in. The office is a set rate, not a percentage of the take. He doesn’t got to know nothing.”
“I wasn’t going to tell anyone anything,” Kurt said. “We’re committing crimes. That’s not small talk.”
“You can’t always trust family,” Mother said.
“I can trust you, though, right?”
“Definitely not.” Mother winked.
“Speaking of family,” Kurt said. “There’s something that’s been bugging me. I get that Dad was a thief and all that, but why do you think he went back to thieving if he stopped?”
“From what I pieced together—I didn’t have a lot of contact—he lost his job at the gypsum factory around the time you got sick.”
“I don’t know anything about that. I was too little.”
“Sepsis, if I remember right. Medical bills piled up.”
“He went back to crime because of me?”
“Not because of you. Because of bad luck and bad timing. He did what any good father would do. And Dolphus did what any bad father would do. He swooped in. They partnered on some jobs.”
“Until the last one.”
Michael wiped his hands on a rag as he walked to them. “How long you going to need it? Hildy thought she might have something going in October and has it reserved for then.”
“Not more than two weeks,” Mother said. “Probably less.”
“It’s a standard office setup inside. Desk, chairs, corkboard, filing cabinets. You’re going to have to dress it for whatever scheme you got, though. What exactly are you doing?”
“Like I would tell you.” Mother laughed.
“I need to have a word with Kurt here,” Michael said.
“He ain’t going to tell you nothing neither.”
“He’s a grown-ass man.” Michael put an arm around Kurt and walked him away from Mother. Mother started to follow, but Kurt waved her off. They strolled down a row of old rusted cars. Dogs barked somewhere close. They sounded ferocious.
“How’s your leg?” Kurt asked. “Never seen no one fork-stabbed before.”
“No big deal,” Michael said. “Only two tines. Not the first time. Probably not the last. I was surprised he didn’t go steak knife.”
“You guys know that you’re not like other families, right?” Kurt asked.
“All families are messed up,” Michael said. “Has Matty got you mixed up in something sinister? She’s my cousin, but she’s shifty, even for an Ucker.”
“She’s helping me and my brother and sister get some money back,” Kurt said.
“Be careful is all. She’s not a Good Samaritan. She don’t do nothing without getting the lion’s share of a thing.”
“We ain’t got nothing to take that ain’t already been took,” Kurt said.
“You need anything, you let me know,” Michael said. “DJ told me to thank you for the card you sent him. You got real friends in this family.”
“I figured a funny card was just the thing for someone in prison. Everyone likes The Far Side.”
“He appreciated it. If you want to tell me about what the score is, you can. You can trust me.”
“I appreciate that,” Kurt said. “Mother really is helping us. You got nothing to worry about there.”
“I doubt that,” he said. “You know, I don’t even know where she lives. She keeps it a secret, in case she needs to hide after screwing one of the family. She always needs to have the upper hand.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“And then I told Mother that I wouldn’t tell anyone about anything,” Kurt said. “And then Michael was all ‘Don’t trust no one,’ and then I was like, ‘Okay.’”
“But you’re telling me right now,” Louder said.
“You’re my best friend. I’m obviously going to tell you everything.”
“Your new family is a trip, that’s for sure.”
Louder’s face looked big and distorted through the fisheye lens. It got even more rounded at the edges as she drew it closer. The screen went black when she shoved the lipstick camera up her nose.
“Gross,” Kurt said. “I’m going to have to baby wipe that now.”
“Boogers are sterile,” Louder said. “That’s science fact.”
Kurt checked the video surveillance equipment one piece at a time. It had taken him a half hour to untangle the cables. He wanted to be thorough. If something was going to go wrong, it wouldn’t be because of him.
“Are you like a real-life criminal now?” Louder asked.
“I haven’t committed a crime yet. Other than reckless driving and maybe fraud, and I witnessed a stabbing. Is impersonating a security guard a thing?”
“More like cosplay.”
“Crime is my family’s trade. I’m honoring family tradition.”
“My family’s only tradition is microwave Peep wars every Easter. That and binge drinking. Which isn’t nearly as cool as it sounds.”
CHAPTER 14
Gretchen knew a Sunday sermon when she saw one. A secular sales pitch with all the fervor and passion of any preacher’s plea for salvation. Fire and brimstone and merchandising.
On Sunday, the final day of the Mark Land Symposium, the speakers threw out all the stops. An emotional and spiritual fire sale. The main message from the pulpit seemed to be that if Gretchen and the others wanted to progress more in life, love, and business, they needed to keep coming back. Nothing was an overnight fix. Change wasn’t easy. One weekend was a good start, but the work was for a lifetime. That was the Mark Land way, the Mark Land vision, and the Mark Land promise. Not coincidentally, all checks should be made out to Mark Land Symposiums Worldwide LLC.
The speaker enthusiastically presented the seven-step method for achieving a true metamorphic breakthrough. The PowerPoint looked like someone had Photoshopped a food pyramid and replaced it with Mark Land products. Where grains would have been, Mark Land’s Six-Month Goal Achiever Super Planner and Scheduler was inserted. Products and events—growth opportunities, as pitched—were available for purchase and booking after the presentation. All major credit cards accepted, including Diners Club, which Gretchen hadn’t known was still a thing.
Sitting next to Gretchen, Stephanie Holm took feverish notes. Gretchen suddenly felt self-conscious that she wasn’t taking notes. Would Mark-Land-True-Believer Gretchen take notes, even if Mark-Land-Is-Full-of-Shit Gretchen wouldn’t? That was the question. She wanted her first deep cover assignment to be successful. As adept as she was at burglary, she was out of her comfort zone.
She was overthinking it. She needed to use as much of the truth as she could. Any good liar knew that. Fake Gretchen and Real Gretchen should be identical twins. And Fake Gretchen wasn’t taking any notes.
“Ha,” she said in triumph.
“What’s so funny?” Stephanie whispered.
“Nothing,” Gretchen said, digging for a save. “I watched a video of a farting hippo earlier. The image jumped in my head.”
“That’s a good one,” Stephanie said. “Sounds like a buzz saw.”
“And it just keeps going.”
The two of them laughed, covering their mouths. They got a few stares, two bad kids in the back row passing notes.
Stephanie and Gretchen had spent the better part of the weekend together. Gretchen could never be sure which parts of Stephanie’s personality were her and which were Patricia—her current alias—but Gretchen had laughed more in that weekend than she had in ages.
The speaker paced the stage, talking about finding meaning and direction in one’s life. Gretchen didn’t need to shell out eight hundred bucks to have someone show her the way. She knew where she was headed. If she could just figure out her relationships,
she would have life in the bag.
That was the way things were. There was always something that didn’t work. You fix one thing, and another falls apart.
“Life has no inherent meaning. We are not born with meaning, and it’s not going to fall in our lap. You can search and search, but it’s not out there either. It’s in here. And in here.” The man pointed to his head and his heart. “You have to create meaning for yourselves. You are not entitled to anything. You don’t deserve anything. Life is neither fair nor unfair. It is a blank slate. Tabula rasa.”
Tell Gretchen something she didn’t know. You had to be middle or upper class to see that as any kind of insight. Poor people didn’t dwell on fairness. They made the best with what they had. For the Venti-half-caf-latte crowd, this might be revelatory, but regular folk had no truck with the idea of a meritocracy. The American Dream was a nice idea, but if you took it too seriously, you ended up spending your life chasing something out of your grasp. The American Dream was what made Americans so pissed off. Everyone’s told that they could accomplish anything. When they don’t, they blame themselves, hate themselves, and then blame immigrants to feel better.
“What do you want? That’s your homework. When the symposium ends, the real learning begins. I want you to ask yourself a simple question. I want you to ask yourself what your goals are. What do you truly need in your life? This is in addition to everything that we’ve worked on this weekend. Finish constructing your dream boards and charting your progressional life moments, but I want focused writing on your goals. Find a partner to act as a challenge collaborator.”
Stephanie turned to Gretchen. “You want to be study buddies?”
“Are you sure?” Gretchen said. “You could ask someone more experienced. I’d understand. I’m not sure how good a challenge collaborator I am. Mostly because I don’t know what a challenge collaborator is. I mean, I’m in. It would be great to learn from someone with your experience, but I want you to get something out of it.”
“I’ll get something out of it,” Stephanie said.
“If we can do it without cracking each other up.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Stephanie said. “How about we meet up later tonight? Say seven thirty? I can pick you up, and we can grab dinner.”
Gretchen hadn’t expected it to be that easy. She didn’t know if Axel would have everything ready, but she couldn’t pass on the opportunity.
“I have to run by my office,” Gretchen said, “but after that I’ll be free. It’s not that far from here.”
“They make you work on Sunday?”
“I’ll make that one of my goals. To work less.”
“I’ll pick you up when you’re done,” Stephanie said.
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble. I want to know more about you. Your work is part of that.”
“It’s not that interesting. Roads and plans, lines on maps.”
Stephanie placed a hand on Gretchen’s knee. “I have a lot to teach you. If you’ll let me.”
Gretchen was pretty sure that she was going to let her.
“Are you sure this place is going to be ready by seven thirty?” Gretchen asked, giving the temporary office the once-over.
Axel pinned standard government posters and charts on a corkboard. He jabbed extra holes in each of the corners with a pushpin. It would have been better to rent a building, but time hadn’t allowed it. A temporary mobile building on a construction site seemed plausible enough as a fake land office.
“I didn’t know you would be so quick,” Axel said. “It’s only got to hold up to a cursory inspection. She’s going to be here ten minutes and focused on the paperwork you leave out. If you want to help, put some coffee stains on that desk blotter. Everything is too orderly and new.”
Gretchen walked to the coffee machine, poured a cup of coffee, let a little spill over the edge, and made some rings on the desk.
“Priscilla is—” Axel said.
“Stephanie,” Gretchen interrupted.
“Right,” he said.
“Although for the time being, call her Patricia so I don’t get confused.”
“I’m going to talk about her as little as possible,” Axel said.
“I can see the attraction. She’s cool as shit. Way funnier than I thought she would be. I expected an ice queen.”
“She’s not cool. She’s evil. She’s whatever she thinks you want her to be. She’s a manipulative bitch that’s going to get her comeuppance.”
“Wow,” Gretchen said. “I never pegged you as vengeful. I have mixed feelings.”
“She shat on my heart,” Axel said. “The karmic scale is getting balanced. That’s enough coffee stains. Don’t overdo it. There’s some lint in that plastic bag by the door. Can you throw it in some corners?”
“You have a bag of lint?”
“It’s actually lint mixed with dust and hair.”
“Hair?”
“It binds the dust.”
“Eww. I’m going to let you handle the room linting.” Gretchen plopped down in the desk chair, took a drink of coffee, and made a disgusted face. “This coffee is awful.”
“It should be. I added brown watercolor paint.” Axel stood back from the corkboard with his hands on his hips. He dog-eared a couple more corners.
Gretchen grabbed the trash can and spit into it. “Full disclosure, Stephanie kinda sorta hit on me, definitely hinted at possible amorousness.”
Axel turned to Gretchen. “Why would she hit on you? You’re a woman. She likes men. I’m a man. She liked me. A man.”
“We’ve had this conversation before,” Gretchen said. “Some people like men. Some people like women. And some people—believe it or not—like both. I’m sure you’ve heard of them. Or watched pornographies that depict it. Why do I have to explain bisexuality to you every couple of years? It’s not a complex concept.”
“I know, but she doesn’t seem like—”
“Doesn’t seem like what?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“Good call,” Gretchen said. “Besides, we don’t know if she liked you at all. You were her mark. It could have been an act.”
“You’re her mark now. She’s hitting on you for the same reason.”
“I know,” Gretchen said. “I’m just messing with you.”
“Not funny,” Axel said. “I don’t want to think about you two together. You’re my sister. That would be like incest. Incest adjacent, at least.”
“I didn’t think the two of you ever did it.”
“But I wanted to. I thought about it so many times that I count it as actually happening. She still pops into my erotic thoughts, and I don’t want you anywhere near that cesspool.”
“Don’t worry. It’s only our first date. I won’t let her get too handsy. Maybe brush a tit or get up on some inner thigh. Nothing where my bathing suit covers.”
“For that, you’re linting the room.”
“Nice place,” Stephanie said, walking into the temporary office a few hours later. “It’s—uh—quaint.”
“It’s filthy,” Gretchen said. “They don’t supply a maid.”
“Or a broom,” Stephanie said, kicking at some lint.
“This was supposed to be a temporary office, but I’ve been working here for two years.” Gretchen laughed. “Leave it to City Planning to have one of their offices condemned and then never finish fixing the issue. That’s the government for you.”
Stephanie casually flipped through papers on the edge of the desk. Her expression showed complete disinterest. “What kind of things do you do? Do you plan cities?”
“It’s boring,” Gretchen said. “Mostly transportation development and land-use analysis, coordination with state and federal—blah, blah, blah. Don’t get me started, unless you need to go to sleep. There’s no way you would find any of it interesting.”
“I might surprise you,” Stephanie said.
“Oh dang,” Gretchen said.
“I have to grab something from my car. Do you mind waiting here for a few minutes?”
“I hope I didn’t scare you off.” Stephanie grinned.
Gretchen looked away shyly and shook her head. “Help yourself to some coffee. It’s not fresh, but it’s—actually, steer clear of the coffee. It’s disgusting.”
Stephanie laughed and plopped down in the desk chair. “I’ll entertain myself. Get your stuff done. Don’t mind me.”
Gretchen walked down the steps of the trailer, across the open yard, and into the parking lot across the street. She got in the back of the van, where Uncle Fritzy and Kurt monitored the screens from the cameras in the trailer.
“You’re doing great, sis,” Kurt said.
“Did she take the bait?” Gretchen asked.
“Took it, ate it, shit it out, and went back for more,” Fritzy said.
“You’re one gross dude, Uncle Fritzy,” Gretchen said. “Does it come natural, or are you trying?”
“All natural.” Fritzy turned and gave her a wink. “She tried a couple of filing cabinets but then went to the desk. She’s reading exactly what she’s supposed to.”
Gretchen watched Stephanie take photos of the paperwork that they had left in plain sight for her to find.
“You did a good job playing coy when she hit on you,” Fritzy said.
“Thanks,” Gretchen said. “You think she was hitting on me?”
“Definitely. She wants to put her vagina in your vagina.”
“Is that even how—?” Kurt looked confused.
“Ignore your uncle,” Gretchen interrupted. “How long should I give her?”
“One more minute,” Fritzy said. “No more. You don’t want her too deep in that material. Your brother did a good job, but he’s no engineer. The more bullshit you throw at her, the more likely she is to smell it.”
CHAPTER 15
According to the ministry’s website, Brother Tobin Floom was currently touring sub-Saharan Africa, bringing Christianity and fellowship where it was most needed. The prosperity gospel and numerous televangelists had found a receptive audience on the African continent, where Pentecostal fervor gibed with old traditions.
