The Upper Hand

by Johnny Shaw

  “We don’t got to watch, right?” Pepe said. “I was going to head back to the bus and do anything else but this.”

  “You two go ahead,” Kurt said. “I want to listen for a while.”

  Kurt found a seat on a stage block. He looked out at the crowd, who were enraptured. All the faces fully engaged with the man on the stage. Except one, who was staring right at him.

  FBI agent Harry Cronin had figured out how to straighten his eyebrows, but the goatee he wore was about three shades different. He looked like a Chinese-made knockoff Mr. Potato Head where nothing was quite right. Cronin winked.

  Kurt hadn’t forgotten the deal they had made, but he had no idea how he would deliver.

  An hour later, Brother Floom hadn’t lost any steam. There were times when his words got away from him and didn’t quite make sense, but his passion never waned.

  “We hear the word ‘redemption.’ We take it to mean that our soul has been saved, which is true. Jesus forgives us, redeems us, gives us second and third chances. We are who we are and not who we were. We are who we are and not who we might become.”

  Kurt watched from the backstage area, transfixed on a man he had seen almost every day for the last thirteen years. It was strange to see Brother Floom from that angle. The man looked thirty years older in person. The strongest father figure in his life, but like his real father, the persona and the reality were in conflict.

  Brother Floom paced, wiping his forehead with his signature gold silk handkerchief. He reached to heaven, one hand filled with a fat Bible that bloomed open. He smiled and joked and yelled and barked. It was like watching an end-of-career farewell tour. A greatest hits album. All his catchphrases and expressions and mannerisms were on display.

  It reminded Kurt of his mom. The deep echo of something as simple as sitting on the couch in silence. Since her death, Kurt’s relationship to her memory had become more complex, but it didn’t make him miss or love her any less.

  It must have been how Gretchen and Axel felt when Dad died. He was too young for it to resonate, his father an idea he barely remembered. They had lost someone they had an actual relationship with, someone they had history with, someone they had their quiet moments on the couch with, someone they loved and cared for.

  For the rest of the night, Kurt would try to forget that Brother Floom was a character that his grandfather was playing and let himself sink into the show. It was the best way—if for a short time—to be back on that couch with his mom.

  “Redemption!” Brother Floom shouted. “Another meaning of the word, the same but different, means to clear a debt. So when we are redeemed, we are paying God back what we owe him. What do we owe? Our souls. Our lives. Our whole selves. Yes, yes, and yes. If we don’t give our whole selves over to Jesus, over to the Lord. If we don’t have faith in life everlasting, then we still owe him. We are not truly redeemed. Are you on that path? To have redemption, you must change. Are you who you were or who you are or who you might be? I know that I am not who I once was.” He glanced back at Kurt, then repeated even slower, “I am not who I once was.”

  Kurt froze. It felt like a moment of clarity. A communication directly to him.

  Brother Floom took a long pause, as if lost in thought. The church went silent. Dead air. An odd feeling. He staggered around the stage looking confused.

  After a half minute, Vic Profit took a step toward him. “Brother Floom? Are you okay?”

  Kurt looked out to the crowd. He could no longer find Agent Harry Cronin in the audience.

  “I am not who I once was,” Brother Floom said, snapping the lull and turning back to the crowd. “When I was younger, I did things that, looking back, I wish I hadn’t done. Mistakes, regrets, harm. Don’t we all have regrets, sins, in our past? I look back and wonder if I am the person who did those things. I am and I am not. I cannot undo my actions, but redemption is possible. I can only be the man I am. And strive to be better. The Lord knows and accepts that. The Lord forgives. People don’t.”

  Brother Floom’s voice grew softer as he spoke. At one point, he stared at the lights and spoke with his back to the audience. “Forgive our trespasses as we forgive those that trespass against us. I wish the world heeded that call. Didn’t hold on to animosity and pettiness and hate.”

  Brother Floom turned back to the congregation. He dropped his Bible. The thud echoed to the back. He stared blankly at the faces in the crowd. “Who the hell are you people?”

  A gasp rose from the crowd, but also a few laughs.

  “Where am I?” Brother Floom said.

  Something was very wrong. Brother Floom looked scared and lost. The kind of look Pepe got when he was too high and tried to play a first-person shooter. Without thinking, Kurt stepped onto the stage and walked to Brother Floom.

  Behind him, he heard McCormick say, “Do not go out there.”

  Kurt put a hand on Brother Floom’s shoulder once he reached him. “Sir, are you okay?”

  Brother Floom turned and grabbed hold of Kurt’s face and pulled him toward him. “My son. I knew it was you.”

  “Why don’t we get you some water and a place to sit?” Kurt said, giving a pleading eye to Vic Profit, who took the hint and walked to center stage.

  Kurt walked Brother Floom toward the side of the stage. “It’s going to be okay, Grandpa.”

  “What did you call me?” the old man said right before he collapsed. Kurt caught him by one arm and eased him to the floor.

  “Someone call a doctor!” Kurt shouted. “Call 9-1-1.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Axel knocked on the hotel room door. He wasn’t even sure why he was there. He should be on his way back to San Diego. He didn’t have a strong-enough work ethic or sense of loyalty to keep doing a fake job for free. Gretchen bringing that woman was unforgivable and irreparable.

  Virginia answered the door. “Come in. Pour yourself a drink. If you don’t drink, that’s fine, too. I never know, especially with people that had visions in parking lots.”

  She was already drunk. Not six-whiskey-sours, walking-like-a-boat-on-rough-water drunk, but three-glasses-of-wine, not-able-to-not-smile drunk. The more fun, less chaotic of the two. Virginia welcomed him into the modest hotel room and gestured toward a pile of mini liquor bottles.

  “I drink,” Axel said, a little too loud, following her into the room. “I mean, not a lot. I’m not an alcoholic or someone who used to be an alcoholic either, which is technically an alcoholic but one that doesn’t drink. I find wine to be part of a sophisticated evening.”

  Virginia laughed. “Are you okay? Your face is really red, and you’re sweating. Are you holding your breath?”

  “No.” Axel exhaled and picked up a mini bottle of vodka. Remembering his last excursion with that particular spirit, he put it back and chose whiskey instead. As if that would have a different result.

  “You’ve got some catching up to do,” she said. “Don’t think I do this all the time. It’s been a long, stupid, frustrating few months, and I’m blowing off steam. You’re one of the only people I can stand on this whole dumb, stupid, dumb tour.”

  Axel took a big swig of the whiskey.

  “I always talk about me.” Virginia sat on the corner of the bed. “Tell me about you. Do you have any family?”

  Axel spit whiskey all over Virginia. It usually took years to perfect the fine misty spray that is the hallmark of a great spit-take. Axel hit perfection on his first try, but his audience had no appreciation for the moment.

  “My eyes,” Virginia screamed, reaching her hands blindly in front of her.

  “Oh crap. I’m so sorry.” Axel looked around frantically. He ran into the bathroom, soaked a washcloth under the sink, and hurried back. He placed the dripping washcloth in her outstretched hand.

  Virginia wiped her face. “What the hell was that?”

  “Whiskey,” Axel said. “Went down the wrong way.”

  “It burns.”

  “Sorry. I’m so sorry.”
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br />   “I’m going to not get mad,” she said, obviously mad. “What were we talking about? Say something to get my mind off the intense pain.”

  “Family. We were talking about family. Parents are dead. I have a sister, but we’re not talking. I have a brother, too. He’s the good one. How about you?”

  “Only child.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “That’s a seriously weird question,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I be sure?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I don’t want to talk about my dad. Let’s try not talking.” She took the towel away from her face and blinked her bloodshot eyes open. “Can you turn off the light?”

  Axel found the switch and dimmed the lights.

  “Why don’t you come over here?” Virginia said, tapping the bed.

  “Uh” was all Axel said. And then he said it again. “Uh.”

  “You had to know this was a hookup.”

  “A hookup?”

  “Obviously. It would do us both good to get laid. Don’t tell me that you’re saving yourself or it’s a sin. We’re grown-ups. You don’t come to someone’s hotel room on tour and not know that’s what’s up.”

  “I left the water on in the bathroom!” Axel shouted. He sprinted to the bathroom, closed the door, and locked it. He put his back against the door, as if Virginia might attempt to break it down. He counted down from ten, washed his face, and looked in the mirror. “Say good night and walk out of the room. No good will come out of any other choice. She’s your aunt. You’ve done a lot of dumbass things in your life. This is not going to be one of them.”

  A loud knock on the hotel room door cut off his pep talk, and then he heard voices and the door slam. Ten seconds, tops. When he walked out of the bathroom, he was the only one in the room.

  Axel closed Virginia’s hotel room door. A couple of doors down, Stephanie closed her door. They turned and saw each other at the same time. Axel heard an Ennio Morricone soundtrack in his head.

  “How did you know I was here?” Stephanie squared up to fight, one hand digging in her purse.

  Axel put up his hands defensively. “Coincidence. I was seeing a friend.”

  “Booty call,” Stephanie said. “Good to see you’ve moved on.”

  “Is your plan to go through my family one person at a time?”

  “There’s no way I’ll be able to convince you, but I’m not running a game on Gretchen. What I got with your sister, it’s real.”

  “Nothing is real about you, Priscilla.”

  “Call me what you like. Names don’t mean anything.”

  “So if I called you a lying bitch, you wouldn’t care.”

  “Sticks and stones,” Stephanie said, her hand still in her purse. “But don’t push it too far. I have limits. You’re not going to hurt me, but I don’t like being annoyed.”

  “Because I plan on never seeing you again, I’ve got to ask,” Axel said. “Was it handwritten, or computer generated?”

  “Was what what? What are you talking about?”

  “The breakup note you left me,” Axel said.

  “Handwritten. I took a calligraphy course once, when I thought I was going to pursue something normal people did. Normal people do that, right?”

  “I wouldn’t know what normal people do.”

  “The note had to be cruel. I didn’t want you looking for me to try to get back together. I needed you to hate me.”

  “Congratulations.”

  Gretchen appeared at the end of the hall. She stopped when she saw Axel and Stephanie. “What are you doing here? Are you okay, Steph?”

  “Is she okay?” Axel asked. “What about me?”

  “You’re fine,” Gretchen said. “Mother is flying out from SD. She called a meeting. Tomorrow morning. Don’t do anything until then.”

  “What’s the point?” Axel said. “We’re done here. You ended it by bringing her, not me.”

  “It might be over regardless of that,” Gretchen said. “Kurt called. Floom collapsed onstage tonight. Like mid-preach. They took him to the hospital. I don’t know how serious, but collapsing is not the sign of vivacious health.”

  “Virginia,” Axel said, running down the hall away from them.

  The first person Axel saw when he arrived at the hospital was Kurt, who chewed his fingernails in the corner of the waiting room. A pool of volunteers and a few of the 300 milled around drinking coffee. Axel sat next to Kurt.

  “You okay?” Axel asked.

  “I’m fine,” Kurt said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I don’t know. You’re sensitive.”

  “You guys have always called me that.” Kurt dropped his voice. “The only reason you think that is because you see me as a kid. I have a normal range of human emotions. I’m not any more sensitive than the next person. You and Gretchen, on the other hand, happen to be narcissists—possibly sociopaths—that only think about yourselves.”

  “When I walked in, you looked sad. That’s all.”

  “I’m in character,” Kurt whispered. “We’re playing characters. It was traumatic. He was completely helpless. I caught him on stage as he fell. I thought he died.”

  “Exhaustion,” Thrace McCormick said, giving them both a start. He stood over them, looking even more like an undertaker in the setting. “Brother Floom suffered from exhaustion.”

  “He’s okay?” Kurt asked.

  “Resting and recovering. Virginia is with him now. They were laughing and joking a minute ago. I’m on a mission to retrieve some popped corn on his request.”

  “That’s a relief,” Axel said. “We were praying for him.”

  McCormick nodded and walked away.

  “Popped corn?” Kurt said. “He said it like he was an alien posing as a human being. Who doesn’t know what popcorn is?”

  “And another thing, Fletcher,” McCormick said, making them jump again.

  “How do you do that?” Axel said.

  “I need you to coordinate the volunteers. If we’re going to make McComb in time for prep and setup tomorrow, we have to be on the road by three thirty.”

  “In the morning?” Axel asked. “Shouldn’t Brother Floom rest some more?”

  “The doctor gave him the okay,” Thrace said. “The tour continues as planned.”

  Axel spotted Virginia walking through the double doors from the back of the hospital. He got up without excusing himself and went straight to her.

  “Hey,” Axel said. “Are you okay?”

  She dropped into his arms. Axel held her.

  “Keep hugging me,” she said. “I want Thrace to think I’m emotional, not thinking. Make it seem like a private moment.”

  She wasn’t going to get an argument from Axel. He would hold her all night if he had to. She felt too good to be his aunt.

  “How is he?” Axel asked.

  “No worse than before.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Simultaneously drunk and hungover, but thinking clearly. Sorry about ducking out so quick.”

  “Why are we acting right now? This is a very long hug.”

  Virginia gently pulled away and double-checked that McCormick remained out of earshot. “I’m cancelling the tour. Thrace and Dad will fight me, but I’m not going to risk his health for money. That’s what all this is about. My lawyers will have everything I need done soon. I’m just hoping Dad makes it to Yazoo City without something like this happening again. That’ll be the last event.”

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Dementia. You must have noticed. The other day he called me ‘Tulip.’ He called Thrace ‘Buddy.’”

  “I thought those were terms of affection or like ‘Hey, buddy.’”

  “Tulip was my mom,” Virginia said. “Buddy Matthews was his former right hand. On stage, he’s fine—muscle memory kicks in—but otherwise he’s forgetting and lost more and more. Thrace keeps him locked away like a performing animal.”

  “That’s messed up.”

&n
bsp; “I don’t like my father that much,” Virginia said. “We have a complicated relationship that I don’t want to get into, but no one deserves to be exploited.”

  “You can’t stop it before Yazoo City?”

  “The legal stuff is complicated. It’s better to do it right than do it fast.”

  “Then, Yazoo City it is,” Axel said.

  CHAPTER 28

  The family meeting was held at a run-down motor court outside McComb. Six people in the cramped room was four people too many. Especially at five in the morning. Mother and Fritzy had gotten into town just before the tour caravan arrived.

  Gretchen marveled at how everyone had figured out how to use the space in the room optimally, to be as far away from everyone else as math allowed. It was like they had solved one of those puzzles with a Japanese name. Mother and Fritzy took the only two chairs in the room. Kurt leaned on the TV. Stephanie stayed by the front door, Gretchen on the bed.

  Axel leaned against a wood-paneled wall. “The only reason that I’m here is out of respect for the work that has been put in. Don’t expect me to change my mind.”

  “Closing up shop doesn’t make sense,” Mother said.

  “Why is she here?” Axel pointed at Stephanie. “This is a family meeting.”

  “She’s with me,” Gretchen said.

  “She’s the problem!” Axel shouted.

  “Grow up,” Stephanie said. “Get over whatever happened between us. Move on. You sound like a child that needs to get laid. Okay, that came out wrong.”

  “Be careful, Kurt,” Axel said. “When she’s done with Gretch, she’ll move on to you. She’s working her way through the Ucker family.”

  “Send her my way,” Fritzy said. “I’ll put some butter on that dinner roll.”

  Mother whistled loudly. Everyone in the room winced and raised their hands to their ears. Their neighbor pounded on the wall and told them to shut up.

  “I didn’t fly out here to listen to a bunch of bitches,” Mother said. “No more bullshit. I’m going to talk. You’re all going to listen. Do not test me. Fritzy and me, we shouldn’t have to be here. I am standing here, because you children couldn’t play nice.”