Package Deal

by Jess Bentley

  “Goddamn, Dustin,” Artie drawls, grinning wide enough to show he's only got teeth on one side. “You did good, goddamn.”

  “I swear I didn't know this was going to happen,” Owen tells me, shifting to face me and pressing his shoulder against mine. “I never would've done this if I'd known. This isn’t right, Silas. It's just not right.”

  “You're fucking right it isn’t,” I growl back. “What the fuck are we supposed to do now, Owen? What did you get us into?”

  “Turn around, honey!” some fat guy with his shirt pulled halfway up his belly hollers at her. He strokes himself, edging his pudgy fingertips down toward the crotch of his light blue stretch pants.

  “You think this is all right? Did you think any of this would make sense? Any of this would be worth her life? Seriously, Owen, I'm asking you. Is there any amount of money that would make this all right?”

  Owen scrubs his hand across his face, gnawing the inside of his cheek fretfully. “Fuck, Silas, what are we going to do? This is out of control. It was gonna be a discreet transaction, he told me.”

  “Does this look in any way discreet to you?” I snarl, jerking my chin toward the scrawny old geezer yelling out dollar amounts. “It’s indecent!”

  “Nine thousand, two hundred!” Artie yells out. “And turn around, girly! We want to see your ass!”

  “I get her ass too, right, Dustin?” The fat guy yells out. “I get the whole thing?”

  “You buy it, you get to break it!” Dustin yells back, slapping his thigh like he’s said the funniest thing in the world.

  “No,” Owen growls. “No, Silas. This is not all right.”

  “That's what I thought,” I tell him. “I'm putting a stop to this.”

  “Yeah,” he nods curtly.

  I start to lead off, then double back so he understands.

  “When we get out of here, Owen, don't follow us. You got that? You lead them off, take them wherever. The compound is yours. Papers are in the office somewhere. I don't give a shit. Don't follow us.”

  His mouth opens as he meets my eyes. I can feel his shock, his unsaid objections. He wants to refuse, but he got us into this.

  “Yeah,” he finally growls back, setting his lips in a grim line. He knows what I'm saying.

  I catch Angel’s eye so she knows I'm coming. So she knows it'll be all right. Somehow she always seems to know what I'm thinking, and I know she understands it now.

  With three steps to the left, I grab Dustin by the shoulder. He flinches toward me by surprise.

  “Oh! Oh, fuck you, no!” he hollers.

  Lifting my right heel, I bring it down hard on the outside of his knee. He goes down like a stack of canned goods, curling into a ball on the floor and yelling just like he did the last time.

  The old guys jump out of their chairs, shouting and confused. I stride to the middle of the stage and grab Angel, throwing her over one shoulder. As I come back down the middle, I grab the Colt and the cash and stuff them both in my trousers.

  Everybody's too surprised to do much of anything. For a bunch of hillbilly hard asses, they sure do know how to back up when a pissed-off holy man comes through the middle of their filthy hellhole of a bar.

  Owen’s already got his bike running. He drops the helmet onto Angel's head and picks her up, puts her behind me. For a moment he hesitates like he wants to say something, but then he walks away.

  We roar out of the parking lot, gravel spraying up behind us as Owen idles there, waiting for anybody who might want to give chase, making sure they don't catch us first.

  Her arms are tight around my middle, and I feel her shaking against my back, sobbing probably, but safe.

  Safe with me.

  Angel

  The motorcycle roars through the darkest parts the county, filling it with noise. With my arms tightly locked around Father Daddy's strong body, it's not nearly as frightening. I squeeze him with my thighs, my body aligned with his, just like he told me to do. When we turn, he scrapes so low to the ground that it seems as if we’re going to fall right off and go tumbling into the ditch. But he told me not to turn away. So I don't turn away. I ride with him, leaning into the turns just like he does.

  Our bodies move together, navigating the machine over hills, past anywhere I've ever known. Even through the heavy helmet, the noise is almost deafening.

  But I don't mind. We're together. He's going to keep me safe. I just know it.

  After a while, there are lights coming up on the horizon again. It looks like a lot of lights. Maybe a town. I've never seen a town in real life, only in books and occasionally a movie or something that somebody would play in the compound. But I’ve never been out here. It's like a dream someone else had, but it's undeniably real.

  There are lights of all colors. As we get closer, I can see that there are tall signs. Waffle house. Country buffet. A giant fat boy with a checkered waistcoat and hamburger over his head.

  I squint at the sights as we fly by, barely having enough time to piece out any of the details before the thing is gone. He swerves again, turning across traffic into the parking lot under a big sign that says Motel.

  It’s an L-shaped, two-story building with dozens of doors facing the parking lot. He stops the bike in a parking spot and shifts slightly. I know he wants me to get off, so I do, standing next to him as he turns off the motor and leans the bike on its stand.

  “You just let me do the talking,” he says.

  Of course, I think. I wouldn’t have a clue what to say.

  The bell rings over the door as we walk into the room marked Office. A skinny man sits by the desk with his feet up on the counter, peering at a magazine with a underdressed girl on the front cover.

  “Evening,” Father Daddy says politely.

  There’s a bulge in the front of the man's lower lip and he pokes at it with his tongue before he says anything.

  “You got ID for her?” is what he says.

  “Just give me a room for the night. I’ve got cash,” Father Daddy answers. His voice is tight and unforgiving. I hope this man complies quickly.

  He shrugs and looks down at his magazine, flipping a couple pages before he speaks up again. I hear him sniff for a long time, the mucus sound crackling wetly through his sinuses.

  “Can’t do it,” he snorts. “It's against policy.”

  “I don’t care about your policy,” Father Daddy answers. He nudges me with the heel of his hand, directing me to stand behind him. Obediently, I shuffle out of sight. He's so broad, I just disappear in his shadow.

  “You can do it, friend,” Father Daddy says in his preacher’s voice. “It's just one night, then we will be on our way.”

  “Can't do it,” the guy says again. “Sheriff will be here in just a minute, too. I already hit the buzzer when I saw you in the lot. You gotta be twenty-one to get a room in this county, and I bet you already knew that. Why don’t you weirdos just be on your way then?”

  Father Daddy shifts his weight back on his heels. Apparently we’re leaving.

  When we get back into the parking lot, he smiles at me for just half a second before he gets back on the bike.

  “Now, don't you worry about a thing, you hear me?” he tells me. He lowers his chin and makes sure that I'm looking right at him. “It's all gonna be fine, Angel. Just give me a second to sort this out.”

  “I know, Daddy,” I answer.

  He smiles at me, for real. Teeth and dimples and everything. I see some of the tension leave his shoulders.

  “That's right, girl. I'll take care of this.”

  We back out and ride off down the street. After just a few minutes is another motel, strikingly similar to the first but this one's sort of blue. He rolls just past it and parks by the hamburger restaurant next door.

  “Now, you just stay here, for just a minute. Just wait for me and I'll be right back, all right?”

  “Yes, all right,” I agree.

  He trots off, out of the restaurant parking lot and acros
s to the motel parking lot. I just make out the shape of his back in the fluorescent glow of the corner office. He's talking to someone, shifting from foot to foot. Something about watching him from afar, when he can't see me, from behind a pane of glass, feels so interesting. Like I'm watching this all on television. Like it's not even real.

  But it is real. In just a few minutes he reappears from the office and holds something in his hand over his head. A room key. He's done it, just like he said he would.

  The motel room is at the very far end, up the stairs and just out of sight of the office. His eyes dart around suspiciously as he unlocks the door. He peers in first, flipping on the lights and checking all around before he motions me to enter.

  “It's not fancy. But it will work.”

  I think it's marvelous. I've never seen anything like this. There are two beds — two! — in the middle of the room. The floor is covered in brown shag carpeting. The walls are covered in some kind of paper that's shiny in spots, with a squiggly pattern that's a little bit hard to look at. There's a machine under the window, buzzing and hammering frightfully.

  “What's that?”

  “Well, I think it's supposed be an air-conditioner,” he smirks playfully. “Go on and feel it, why don't you?”

  I’m not sure what he means, so I walk over to it and put out a hand. It's blowing air at me, but the air is cold, almost ice cold.

  “Air-conditioning! I've heard of this!”

  He squeezes his eyes shut tight and tips his chin back to stretch. The groan rumbles deep in his chest, something that sounds like a combination of sadness, regret, and maybe a little embarrassment.

  “I never get us air-conditioning, did I?” he says, almost to himself. “There's so many things I never got done, Angel. You'll never know.”

  I walk over to the first bed. It's huge. Three people could sleep in it. Crawling up on top I sit directly in the middle, crossing my legs pretzel style and just grinning at him. I can't help it. This is really sort of marvelous.

  “Like what?”

  “Like what?” he repeats.

  “Yeah, what you want to do that you couldn’t do?”

  He squints at me for a long time, then sits down on the other bed. He leans his forearms on his knees and slumps over slightly. I see the weariness in his posture.

  “Well, in the beginning… I had plans. A clear vision of Eden. It was all supposed to be this great idea. No boozing, no drugs, none of the nasty stuff people do. We were just gonna live a simple kind of life. People could pray together, eat together, work together, so everybody would be okay. That was the plan.”

  I shrug. “Well that's exactly what Kingdom Come has already been. You did it. You should be happy.”

  “But there was so much more. We were going to have a farm stand. We were gonna bring in foster children from the county, give them the kind of life they wouldn’t be able to have anywhere else. Values. Faith. We were going to do good things for everybody, but it got to be so hard to just keep living, we could never get that started.”

  “Foster kids? Like orphans?”

  “Yeah, wouldn’t that have been nice? Our Family could just grow and grow and grow. That was the dream.”

  “But you made a lot of dreams come true anyway, Father Daddy. You kept us all safe.”

  “I think the experience that we just had would contradict that, don't you?” he asks me, looking at me directly. “I mean… aren’t you mad?”

  “How can I be mad at you? You told me what I needed to do… I would do anything for you. Anything for the Family.”

  It's so simple, but he doesn't seem to believe me. How could he not believe the truth like that? But still, he seems burdened.

  “We always had enough to eat,” I continue. “We all have places to live. Everybody has someone to love. Everybody's got children and togetherness and laughter. It's one big Family. How could it be wrong?”

  “It's just not enough, Angel. There's so much more.”

  “I think you gave us a beautiful life, Daddy,” I whisper. I wait until he looks at me so he knows how true this is.

  “Thank you for saying that,” he finally sighs. “I hope you're right. Maybe you are. Maybe I just got a little lost along the way. Maybe I forgot to think about all the good things.”

  “Yes, that sounds right,” I agree. “And you have to remember your blessings, remember? That was one of your sermons last month. Don’t forget to count your blessings.”

  He yawns, stretching his arms back and letting the sound fill his mouth. It is sort of beautiful, watching him. He's like a lion or something. Some kind of majestic animal just doing something so simple like yawning.

  “You know, you must be right,” he says again. “Maybe God brought us together so that I can understand that. That I’m surrounded by blessings, not just failures. If I count them, Angel, I have to start with you. You really are a blessing.”

  I blush hotly. It feels so good when he says these nice things to me, I want to squirm like a puppy.

  “And Brother Owen?”

  His gaze darkens. I almost wish I hadn't said it.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, if God brought you and me together, didn't he bring Owen too? The three of us?”

  He yawns again, this time covering his mouth with the back of his hand. He's making me very sleepy, and I heave myself off this bed and onto his bed, snuggling in next to him and burying my face against his shoulder. His arms automatically loop around me, gathering me close. This is where I feel safe.

  “Maybe you are right, little Angel,” he admits. “Maybe that's the way it’s supposed to be.”

  “I’m really sleepy,” I mumble. Suddenly I feel like I've been dropped from a height, like I could fall right into a coma. All the adrenaline and excitement has just drained out of me, just like that.

  “Let's get under the covers,” he suggests. “Let's talk about this more tomorrow, okay?”

  Owen

  I knock on the door until a light goes on somewhere. After a few minutes, I see Melissa's outline as she approaches.

  She glares at me through the glass for long seconds before she opens the door just a crack.

  “Melissa, let me in.”

  “I can't imagine what you need me for anymore,” she hisses. “I'd say you boys got everything you wanted. Debt's paid off! I don't owe you anything!”

  I think about it for half a second, then push the door open with the heel of my hand. I don't have time for this. There's only minutes left.

  “Melissa, we need your help.”

  She shuffles back toward the sofa and sits in the middle of it in the semi-darkness. She crosses her legs and bounces her foot up and down impatiently.

  I almost want to laugh. I know this pose from long ago, back when she was all elbows and attitude. The junkie with a toddler who we took in, not even realizing all the trouble she was going to bring with her. Everything she would cost us. She's barely ever said thank you.… Just one of these women who thinks the world owes her something.

  “What is it I'm supposed to help you with? I don’t have anything left to give you, as you well know.”

  I take a couple of deep breaths. All the way over here, I planned what I was going to say. How I'd explain. But there's barely any time left.

  “We want you to run the church from now on.”

  Her eyebrows go up. She crosses her arms in front of her chest and starts tapping her fingers. I can tell she's interested, but somehow she thinks can negotiate for a better position than what I've just said.

  “Why on earth would I want to do that?”

  “Oh, come on, Melissa. You've always wanted… never mind. But you'll be great at it. You have natural leadership abilities. You’re gifted.”

  “Finally, a little respect!” she sniffs. “And what brought you this great revelation, Owen? You get hit by lightning on the way over here or something?”

  “No, it just fits,” I admit, though I don't think
she will know exactly what I mean. “Listen, Sheriff Dooley is going to be here in about ten minutes. The guys from Dustin’s will probably be here about ten minutes after that, assuming they don’t get their acts together sooner. I'm hoping to be gone eighteen minutes by then. You understand me?”

  “Not really,” she stalls. She's making me angrier than a woman should. She's been on my nerves for a very long time, and I feel it all catching up to me now.

  Silas always showed her favoritism. I don't know why. He felt sorry for her, I guess. Or he still believed so hard that God worked through him, that he picked the hardest luck case he could find. If he could help Melissa, who was practically irretrievable. then he really was doing God's work.

  She made him suffer, too. And he loved it. Like suffering was proof of how hard he was working, how nobly he believed.

  But I can see it now, even if he can’t. The real proof is Angel, not this bitter old witch. The best thing she ever did was Angel. And with the way she treats her own daughter, the best thing we can do is get her the hell out of here.

  “When the sheriff gets here, all you gotta do is explain this is private property. This is your property. And none of Dustin’s boys can get let in here. You just tell them me and Silas are gone. You don't know where. You tell him that, and everything will be okay.”

  “And why is the Sheriff gonna believe me?”

  “Oh, I don't know, Melissa… maybe because you've been fuckin’ him for the last ten years?”

  She gasps. “How dare you! How can you just come in here and —”

  “You know, I'd love to stay here and argue about this, but I gotta get going,” I cut her off. “It's not a big secret, Melissa. Everybody knows where you get the booze and the pills. But it’s turning out lucky — your relationship with Dooley will make this all go a lot easier. You hear what I’m saying? You can make it sound like it was a big strategy the whole time. You could do this, Melissa. They'll all call you Mother.”

  “Mother Melissa?” she repeats, mulling it over by letting the word slip around her mouth. I'm winning her over. I can tell.