Loose Ends

by Amos Gunner

CHAPTER 44: ZEKE

  It’s a glorious wonder the way God puts signs in front of you. I know you don’t want to hear it, but fuck you. It’s true. They’re clever signs, too, because they don’t announce themselves as signs. You gotta get a new pair of eyes and learn how to use them before you can really see. Then you can be out in the yard and hear a bird chirp and you know God’s telling you to be more like the birds. That’s just one example. I have millions.

  Well, I was nowhere near ready to receive the subtle signs, but I could pay attention to the big obvious “Hey buddy, over here” types.

  I turn on the TV and go up a channel. Just one. And know what was on? Two dudes conversing about the bible. A week earlier, I would’ve passed it by, or I would’ve paused for a second to mock the show. But right then, God made me turn to that station at the exact moment I needed to and was ready to. Hell, maybe God created television in the first place so these guys could make a show for me to turn to. Prove to me He didn’t. Prove it and I’ll give you a carton of smokes.

  The men wore fine gray suits and pink ties. Their hair was slicked back and shiny. Looked like they were in the Wasp mafia. But whatever. They spoke the truth.

  One of them said, “God wants you to have money.” This blew my mind. My older, sinful self had assumed religion wanted you to give away all your money, that charity was like buying a place in heaven and I wanted no part of that scam.

  But they cast my false assumptions aside with real bible quotes. What I got was: if you put your faith in Jesus with all your heart and you get wealthy, then that glorifies his name to everyone else. Makes sense. If someone gave away their money and was poor, then wouldn’t you say their religion was screwy? But you see a millionaire, you ask, “What does he believe in? I want to believe in that too.”

  Man, while I’m on the subject, I need to set up a lottery in here or sell cigarettes or something.

  When they cut to a commercial, I was on a high, a nice mellow happy high. I craved more. I went to this waist-high bookshelf in the corner. The men had referenced the book of James and I wanted to read it and memorize a quote or two. But the Sutlers didn’t have a bible. Just some art books and a few on gardening and shit.

  Then guess what I see? Guess.

  No. Not Jesus, though in a long roundabout way you’re closer than you think.

  It’s Brenda. She’s standing in the doorway. She’s pointing a fucking gun at me.

  At first I thought she was joking and I told her it wasn’t funny. She agreed. I was like, “Do you even know how to use that thing?” and she was like, “Do you want to find out?” Of course I didn’t. She told me to go to the basement. Better believe I did.

  Actually, it wasn’t the basement. It was the garage. Actually, it wasn’t that either. It was an art studio. This fourth-rate painting of an apple or a heart or something rested on a whatever you call it. Easel? Paint tubes all over the place. She never told me she painted, so did that make Adam the artiste? With a gun pointed at my chest, I wasn’t overly concerned.

  She tells me to put my hands down. Didn’t realize I had them up. No one’s ever forced my hands up. Can’t believe Brenda was the first.

  She says she won’t shoot me. I’m like, “Then why point at me?” She lets the gun fall to her side. I was tempted to snatch it and blow her brains over the canvass on principle. What a pretty painting that would’ve made.

  She wipes her eyes and lays it out for me. Now pay attention: Adam’s been kidnapped. The ransom: my life. She’s supposed to kill me, then deliver my body to the kidnappers. Yep. That’s the real deal.

  Have you ever heard such a thing? I made her repeat it, it was so crazy. I said, “But that’s insane” and she said she knew it was. I was like, “No, that’s insane,” and she said she knew it was. We could’ve run that bit all day.

  She had no idea who was behind this, but I had a helluva hunch. Turns out I was wrong, but can you blame me? She said they were watching us. I could just see Sampson hidden behind a bush scoping the place, scratching his nuts and growling all the while.

  So she’s not going to shoot me. How could she? But she’s not ready to let Adam die either. She puts her hands together like she’s in prayer, except the barrel’s pointing up like a boner.

  “You have to save him,” she says.

  Do you get how fucking brilliant God is? I mean, He’s such a genius. What better way to cleanse my soul then to save Adam? Isn’t that the biggest good deed ever? There I am, thirsty for grace, and the opportunity gets handed to me on a silver platter.

  “What is it?” she asks.

  I’m sure my face was blissed out. Sure, I still had to confess and get forgiveness, but this was good. Real good.

  We hear a squeaky car pull in the drive. Even from behind the garage door, I can tell the power steering fluid’s a little low. I take advantage of the distraction and get the gun from her. She gasps a little at my speedy hands, but I think she was glad to get rid of it. It’s this light, pussy thing. More bang than a bb gun, but not much more.

  The doorbell rings. Brenda peeks behind a sash in the garage door. She whispers, “It’s my father.” I sit on a couch in the corner and think till the dude drives off.

  After he leaves, I got a pretty good plan to save Adam. Fuck that. A plan to save my soul. I ask how attached she is to this ugly couch. She sort of shrugs. I tell her to cover her ears. I blow a hole in the cushion. Holy shit my ears ring, but how I adore the seductive scent of gunpowder. I’d wear the scent all day if I could. Money. Gunpowder. I should start my own fragrance line.

  Anyway, I give her the keys to my jeep and lay on the ground. I tell her, “Now I’m dead. Let’s go get these mother fuckers.”