Riven

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  She laughed. “Fine, thanks. I’ll tell him you asked.”

  “When will we be seeing you again, Rav?”

  “You never know. I might be coming your way in the spring. Some of us in criminal law will be visiting the county seat up there in Adamsville.”

  “Not till then? Not Christmas?”

  “Don’t think we can swing it, and it doesn’t sound like you can either.”

  “Likely not.” He told her of the prospect of his witnessing a hanging before New Year’s.

  “Henry Trenton? I wondered about that. Big, noisy case here, as you can imagine.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “Oh, sure. The capital cases get a lot of attention in law school. That guy is a poster boy for your type.”

  “My type?”

  “C’mon, Dad. You haven’t softened on capital punishment already, have you?”

  “Well, I still believe Satan is the author of death.”

  “I think capital punishment is satanic too, Dad, though I doubt that’s what you were implying. Still, it’s hard to argue against in this case. That monster still call himself the Deacon?”

  “Yes, but I have my doubts about his salvation.”

  “Wow, I wonder why.”

  “No one is beyond re—”

  “Redemption, yeah. But can you see why most of the people I know think there’s something wrong with the prospect of sharing heaven with a child molester and murderer?”

  “Degrees of sin,” Thomas said, wincing. Why was it so hard to talk to his own daughter?

  “Well, get him saved, Dad, so he doesn’t have to have his neck broken and burn for eternity.”

  Thomas closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “Rav, I know we don’t see eye to eye on much anymore, but I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t be so flippant about things I hold sacred.”

  “Point taken, Dad. Sorry. I do find it interesting that we’re going to wind up in virtually the same field, maybe on different sides of the same fence. Now get Mom some help and let me know how it goes. Don’t put this off.”

  Touhy Trailer Park

  Something was distracting the usually mellow Stevie Ray, but Brady wasn’t sure what it was until his wife had to leave the dinner table to tend to the squalling baby.

  “One of those guys you’re living with is my weed guy, man.”

  “Pepe?”

  “He’s the one.”

  “He told me he’s looking for help selling. What do you think? I could make a lot more with him than I will wearing that monkey suit at Burger Boy.”

  “Dealing dope? It’s your call, Brady. You do want a car and all that.”

  Brady nodded. “Selling grass to rich kids? Like shooting fish in a barrel. They’re gonna get it somewhere anyway. Why shouldn’t it be from me so I can get my cut?”

  Brady left Stevie Ray’s an hour before he was due on the forklift. Sober and subdued, he didn’t look forward to the work like he had even the day before, and he dreaded a long evening at the laborers’ shack, then trying to sleep there. But no way would he humble himself and move back home.

  He wandered over to the trailer and found Peter alone. How his mother could just leave the boy there every evening until she and her boss/boyfriend were finished partying—or whatever it was they were up to—was beyond him.

  Petey glanced up from his video game and blinked at Brady. “Wanna play?” the boy said.

  Brady shrugged and sat next to him. They played in silence until Brady was hopelessly behind, as usual, and tossed away his controller. Peter shut down the game. “I don’t like it when you’re not here,” he said. “Lonely.”

  “I can come by every day.”

  “That’d be good. Hey, you think Ma knows my birthday’s coming up?”

  Brady snorted. “You’d think she’d remember that. She was there too, you know.”

  “When I was born? Yeah. I get it. All I got last year was a shirt. And I’ve never had a party.”

  “You want a party?”

  “Sure.”

  “But not here,” Brady said.

  “No way. I don’t even want kids to know I live here, let alone have them see it.”

  “Then where would you have a party?” Brady said.

  “What about Burger Boy?”

  “I practically run that place! I’ll check it out.”

  “Ma would never pay for it.”

  “I can handle that, too.”

  “Meals and treats for everybody?”

  “Sure, how many?”

  “Twenty?”

  “Twenty! Wow. Can you cut it to twelve?”

  Brady hadn’t seen Peter this animated in ages. “Yeah, I can do that. I’ll invite my favorites. Just the guys. You’d really do this for me?”

  “’Course. What are big brothers for?”

  Brady was doing the math in his head. This was going to be over a hundred dollars. Brilliant. Him and his big mouth.

  But somehow he felt warm all over as he left. There was nothing like doing something for somebody else, especially when that somebody was your little brother.

  Funny thing about Brady’s mood, though. Something deep in his gut still niggled at him. His life, which had never been much to speak of, was spinning, spiraling. Brady felt as if he were sinking, and somewhere inside simmered a fury he feared he would not be able to control.

  Right now it was focused on himself. He knew he was the reason for all his own problems. But it made him want to lash out. Even his grandiose offer to Petey had more to do with showing everyone else that he could be thoughtful, generous, than it did with pleasing his brother. And even if it wasn’t true, he could appear to have the means to pull it off. That ought to show somebody something.

  Adamsville

  Thomas had barely touched his own meal. He peeked in on Grace, and she had not moved. The soup and sandwich and tea were cold, so he took the tray back to the kitchen. He didn’t want to wake her. Would she sleep through the night? That would be okay too. But he wouldn’t forgive himself if he didn’t do all he should for her.

  He leafed through the yellow pages, finding listing after listing for general practitioners. That was no way to find a doctor.

  Thomas phoned Gladys. After she determined exactly what part of town he and Grace had settled in, he could hear her rummaging through some papers.

  “I think you’ve got a family clinic not far away,” she said. “Friend of a friend knows one of the doctors there. Worth a try. Here it is. Plum Creek Medical Center.” She gave him the number.

  “I owe you, Gladys.”

  “I’m keeping a tab,” she said, chortling.

  Thomas reached the after-hours answering service, and the woman on the other end seemed to be reading from a manual. “I can contact the physician on call and ask him to call you. Otherwise, you’re advised to check the patient into a local emergency room if necessary. We recommend Sky Ridge. Would you like me to have the doctor call you?”

  “Uh, no, not yet. Would I be able to get his number, in case—”

  “I’m not authorized to provide that, sir. But you can call back anytime, and I will have him call.”

  Grace appeared in the doorway. “Who are you talking to, Thomas?”

  30

  Adamsville

  Grace was none too pleased with Thomas’s initiative, despite his loving motive. She convinced him that she had just needed a long nap and that it had done the trick.

  “I feel 100 percent better,” she said. “I have pep I haven’t had in ages. And don’t you think my arms look better?” She moved close and raised her sleeves.

  Thomas wouldn’t have sworn to it, but there could have been some lightening in the bluish marks.

  “I’m serious, Thomas. I feel like a new woman. In fact, I think I’m up to a walk. Are you?”

  In truth Thomas was not up to it, but what could he do? He was eager to test her claims. He changed clothes and joined her, and she seemed to maintain a brisk pace with no i
ll effects. He did not let on that he had discussed her health with Ravinia. When they got home, he reminded her that she still had a commitment to see a doctor very soon.

  “If I need to,” she said.

  Three Days Later | Addison

  Things had not gone well at Burger Boy. Brady wondered what he had been thinking when he agreed to dress like an idiot and smile at demanding customers all day. The work looked easy enough, but people with just a little more experience seemed to be able to do it in their sleep. Everything felt clumsy to Brady, and he took every complaint as a personal attack.

  He snapped at customers and was sarcastic, which bought him meetings with his shift supervisor, a woman in her early twenties who looked like a young teen. He promised to do better, but he had already been officially warned, and she told him he would be carefully watched.

  Worse, not one of the kids on the Burger Boy team looked like a druggie or even a prospect. This would be no place to start a career as a pusher.

  Brady made sure he removed his vest and hat before visiting Petey each day. His brother would never see him in that getup if Brady could help it.

  Every visit saddened Brady more. Petey seemed so down, so unhappy. And why not? He said he had fun and had friends at school, but there was nothing for him at the trailer park. Brady wanted to get rich somehow and get them both out of there.

  He was distracted that evening trying to do his work at Dennis Paving. For the first time in days, he broke two stops and was tempted to try to hide them, though he knew better. No, it was best to be honest and stay on good terms with Alejandro, prove himself worthy of more work if any ever arose.

  With nothing to do between work and bed, he hung out at the Laundromat, hoping to see Tatlock. He thought about seeing Petey again, but his mother would be home by then, and he didn’t need the aggravation. Anyway, desperate to find the money for the party he had promised, Brady didn’t have any for even taking his brother to a movie, so there was no sense getting Petey’s hopes up.

  As he sat waiting, Brady thumbed through the entertainment magazines, reminding himself how much he missed the stage. Mr. Nabertowitz had referred to him once as a dilettante, making Brady ask for a definition.

  “It’s someone who likes an area of interest and dabbles in it but is not an expert.”

  “Then I don’t want to be that,” Brady had told him.

  “That’s on you. You’re brand-new and you seem to have unlimited potential, but there’s only one way to move from dilettante to pro, and that’s a lot of work.”

  Brady had already royally screwed that up, and now as he followed the exploits of the young hunks of Hollywood, he realized he had made his odds of getting there about as remote as they could be. He was deep into an article about a young director and his lofty ideals when Tatlock interrupted him.

  “Conrad Birdie,” the man said as he swept in.

  Brady rose quickly. “Need to talk to you.”

  Tatlock looked at his watch. “No payment due for a few days. What’s up?”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I need to skip just one payment if I could.” He told Tatlock what he planned to do for his brother.

  “Come with me,” Tatlock said, and they went to the back room and sat. “And you’re no longer at home why?”

  Brady explained, embellishing everything as usual.

  “Makes no sense you would give up the last three performances at school.”

  “Yeah, that. I wanted to give the other guy a chance. He’s going for a scholarship and all.”

  Tatlock seemed to study him, squinting. “Well, I like your thinking—about your brother, anyway. Nothing more important than family. But you know what, Brady? I’m going to challenge you to follow through on that promise, but I’m afraid I’m not going to let you postpone even one payment.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “Because you have responsibilities, obligations. Plus I see something in you. I think you can do the hard things. Find a way to earn extra money while still paying your bills. Someday you’ll be a husband and a father, and you’ll have car payments and a mortgage, and something will come up. An injury, an illness, a repair. You’ll have to adjust. That’s life, son.”

  Brady could not remember ever having been so conflicted. Tatlock was talking to him like a father, respecting him almost as an adult. He knew this was wise counsel, surprising because it came from someone Brady had wronged, someone who had no reason to give him the time of day.

  And yet Brady was so frustrated, so angry that Tatlock would not budge, that he imagined himself attacking the man. Except he knew Tatlock could tear him in two. Unless Brady stabbed him. Or shot him. Or something.

  Brady felt himself flush and his muscles tense. What was he thinking?

  “So I have to pay you and still try to pay for my brother’s birthday party?”

  “You can do it. I know you can.”

  “I’m glad you think so. How about a loan?”

  Tatlock laughed. “That makes a lot of sense. I lend you money so you can make your payment, and you still owe me? What’s the difference between that and letting you postpone?”

  Brady had had a chip on his shoulder for as long as he could remember. And the absolute worst thing he could imagine was being laughed at.

  He glared at Tatlock and his grin. “You’re lucky I didn’t steal more from you,” he said.

  Tatlock’s smile faded. “You’re the lucky one, Brady. You could be in jail right now.”

  “I should have broken the windows here, trashed the machines, slashed your tires.”

  “Careful, son.”

  “I still should.”

  “You threatening me, Brady? I think it’s time for you to leave. And remember, I expect your payment this week.”

  Brady rushed out, kicking the push bar of the front door and bending it.

  “And you can add a payment for that, Darby!” Tatlock called after him.

  Brady cursed him and kept moving. That guy would be lucky if he saw one more payment.

  Brady was quivering in the darkness by the time he reached the laborers’ shack. What was wrong with him? Tatlock was the one guy who had treated him better than he should have, the one who could have called the cops on him, and now Brady had turned on him. He was his own worst enemy. If it wasn’t for Petey, Brady would be better off dead.

  When he entered the shack, the din before the TV suddenly died and someone muted the set. The Mexicans looked at him and at each other.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey, Burger Boy,” one said.

  Brady smiled as if he found that funny and headed up the stairs. He nearly froze when he realized they were following. Every last one of them. He sat on his bunk and began taking off his shoes as they all crowded into the room.

  “What?”

  Some leaned against the bunks. Some sat on the floor. Manny took charge.

  “You were supposed to tell us when you got a job, man. Start paying your full share.”

  “I will. No problem.”

  “How long you been at Burger Boy?”

  “Just a few days; why?”

  “Meter’s been running.”

  “Yeah, that, well, I’m on probation, so the job isn’t guaranteed until they watch me for another week or so.”

  “That’s bull and you know it. Why didn’t you tell me you had a job?”

  “Didn’t I tell you? I thought I told you. I meant to tell you. That’s my bad.”

  “No good, gringo. We got to be able to trust you. You want to live here, you tell us what’s going on, and you take your responsibility for your share.”

  “I don’t get paid for another week. I couldn’t pay you till then anyway.”

  “Yeah, but we got to know how much to expect. Full price started when you started work.”

  “Fine. No problem. Now, we okay?”

  “We’ll let you know. Anything else we should know about?”

  “Like what?”


  “Like anything. You don’t want to be a stranger here. We got to be like family.”

  “Okay. Good.”

  “You need anything from us?”

  Brady laughed. “I need money, man.”

  “You got two jobs and you need money?”

  Brady said he had debts and wanted to throw his brother a birthday party. “I also wouldn’t mind a little weed, but I know you don’t do that on credit.”

  Everybody turned to look at Pepe, who stepped forward and smiled. He was a young-looking, round-faced man who was probably carded at every bar. “I might be able to work something out, amigo,” he said. “We can talk in private.”

  The rest of the Mexicans took that as their cue to head back downstairs.

  “Somebody said you got a shotgun,” Pepe said, sitting uncomfortably close to Brady on the bunk.

  “Yeah. A sawed-off. My dad left it to me.”

  “I love guns. Can I see it?”

  Brady shrugged. He wanted to talk business, but Pepe spooked him—so young and innocent-looking, yet clearly afraid of nothing and no one.

  Brady dug out the shotgun, and Pepe weighed it in his hands, turning it this way and that, expertly breaking it open.

  “Got any shells?”

  Brady nodded. “Not sure how old they are.”

  “Lemme see.”

  Pepe deftly popped two shells into the chamber at once. “One way to find out if this works,” he said.

  “Hasn’t been shot in ages. And that’s really old ammo.”

  Pepe smiled and shrugged. “Plug your ears.”

  “What’re you, serious? You’re going to shoot that inside?”

  And before Brady could cover his ears, Pepe pointed the weapon at the ceiling.

  The explosion deafened Brady and left his ears ringing. He could feel the rumble from the stairs as the rest of the guys in the house charged up.