The Upper Hand

by Johnny Shaw

  Axel blurted out, “Gretchen brought—”

  “Hush,” Mother said, shutting him up with a raise of a finger. “This might be your plan, but it isn’t your call. You aren’t in charge. This is a cooperative effort. You cannot shut this down. Everything is in motion. Time and money have been invested. No way you walk away now.”

  “I can if I want to.”

  “He’s good at that,” Kurt said.

  Everyone turned to Kurt, who had otherwise been quiet.

  Kurt shrugged. “He was always going to leave eventually. That’s what he does.”

  “Remember the morning Mom died?” Gretchen asked.

  “No, I forgot about it,” Axel said. “Of course I remember that morning.”

  “Remember what happened?”

  “Are you going to blackmail me because of what I was doing in the bedroom?”

  “No. I had forgotten that I had caught you jerking off.”

  Everyone looked at Axel. His face turned dog-dick red.

  “When did you . . . ?” Kurt asked.

  “Before. Before. Before,” Axel blurted out. “Before I knew about Mom. It wasn’t weird or perverted. There was a Pamela Anderson poster from when I was fifteen. I had morning wood. What am I doing? I’m not defending myself. I’m not having this conversation.”

  “So the kid tried to paint the ceiling,” Fritzy said. “It’s not like none of you haven’t dated Miss Michigan. I rubbed one out fifteen minutes before this meeting.”

  “Miss Michigan?” Kurt asked.

  “Michigan is shaped like a mitten,” Gretchen said.

  “I like Uncle Fritzy,” Stephanie said to Gretchen. “It’s like he has a degree in filthy uncle.”

  Fritzy made a strange growl and gave Stephanie a flick of the tongue. “And a minor in carpet cleaning.”

  “It’s like trying to teach a hamster how to read, I swear,” Mother said. “Can we get back to it?”

  “Are you going to keep your promise, Ax?” Gretchen asked. “Are you going to leave again?”

  “It’s not about me leaving,” Axel said. “It’s about Priscilla staying.”

  “Up yours, Axel,” Gretchen said, flipping off her brother.

  “He has a point,” Mother said. “Your lady friend’s presence deserves an explanation.”

  “I could have left you with nothing in San Diego,” Stephanie said. “I went out of my way to find a mark so that you weren’t left uncompensated for your work. Why would I do that? Because I didn’t want Gretchen to look bad. I saw a future. I had no idea Axel was her brother.”

  “Why can we trust you?” Mother asked.

  “Because I’m in love with Gretchen.”

  Gretchen turned to her. “I love you, too.”

  “That’s beautiful,” Kurt said. “Good for you two.”

  Gretchen and Stephanie kissed until Mother cleared her throat and Fritzy said, “Someone get a hose. Or a video camera.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Axel said. “She told me she loved me, too.”

  “Priscilla did love you,” Stephanie said, “but Stephanie—the real me—loves this one.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Mother said.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Axel shouted. “What’s settled? It’s not settled. Nothing is settled. How could it possibly be settled?”

  “They love each other,” Mother said. “That makes Stephanie family.”

  “Welcome to the family, Stephanie,” Kurt said.

  “Have I gone completely insane?” Axel said.

  “They’re in love,” Kurt said. “Look at them. Look how happy Gretch looks. Be happy for her.”

  Axel turned to Gretchen and Stephanie. “Doesn’t matter. It’s too risky. I’m out.”

  “Have it your way,” Mother said. “Your role is pretty minor at this point. A few modifications and we can pull it off without you, especially now that we have an extra hand. But don’t expect a cut. Which is a shame, as it doesn’t change the fact that you were complicit. Walk away if you want all the risk with none of the reward.”

  Axel’s eyes darted around, searching the room for answers. After a half minute, he said, “Damn it, but when she screws us over, you’re all going to get the biggest ‘I told you so’ that you’ve ever heard. Like an epic one.”

  “I’ll make it easier,” Stephanie said. “It’s best I go. I crashed your crime. I get it. If you’re thinking about me, you’re going to screw things up. Amateurs get distracted easily.”

  “Burn,” Gretchen said. “But we’re good, right?”

  “We’re great,” Stephanie said. “I’ll see you back in San Diego.”

  They started kissing again. Gretchen wanted to see if they could make out until everyone left the room, but Fritzy held his ground. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  After a long nap and a shower, Gretchen walked into the church and found a seat in the back. The room looked like the setting for an Asia concert, almost new age in its design and color scheme. Nineteen-seventies modernism transformed over time to modern retro. She spotted Axel talking to Virginia at the edge of the stage.

  According to the short article in the local newspaper and on the church website, Brother Tobin Floom had fainted as the result of exhaustion but would be back to bring worship and salvation to McComb that night. The penultimate event before Virginia shut it down in Yazoo City.

  Gretchen wanted to maintain her vengefulness for her grandfather, but it was hard to do with someone going through such an ignoble disease. If she finally got the chance to confront him about taking the house or about her father’s death, there was no guarantee he would remember. The mystery of that day, when her father died, was moving deeper into the cloud of his senility. She wouldn’t feel bad about taking his money, but it rang hollow.

  People were still arriving as INRI got ready to play. Walking to the microphone, Kurt looked back at Louder, who gave him a thumbs-up. “Welcome, everyone. We’re INRI, and we’re going to play some music for you.”

  The crowd clapped politely.

  “We’ve played a few events, but to be honest, we haven’t been very good. We haven’t played honest music. That changes tonight. This song is called ‘Praise for the Fountain Opened.’ A hymn from 1779.” Louder counted it out on the drumsticks. When Kurt and Pepe came in with the guitar and bass, they blew off the doors. They sounded like they had in Louder’s basement. Pure heavy metal.

  Kurt belted the lyrics from deep in his throat.

  There is a fountain filled with blood

  Drawn from Emmanuel’s veins;

  And sinners plunged beneath that flood,

  Lose all their guilty stains.

  Lose all their guilty stains.

  The dying thief rejoiced to see

  That fountain in his day;

  And there have I, though vile as he,

  Washed all my sins away.

  Washed all my sins away.

  At the edge of the stage, a tall skeletal man Gretchen pegged as Thrace McCormick screamed at Axel. He did not seem happy with Kurt’s music, but Gretchen thought INRI was rocking it. She couldn’t stop smiling and banging her head.

  “Praise the Lord!” she shouted. A woman a few seats over echoed the sentiment. The room went old-school tent revival, people standing in their seats. One young man became consumed by the power of the Lord and writhed on the floor in the aisle.

  Kurt didn’t let up, stretching the song into almost twenty minutes of pure rocking. With the last flourish of guitar and drum, the church went silent, except for the kid still squiggling on the floor.

  Louder and Pepe exited the stage. Kurt put his guitar in its stand and followed them but stopped when he spotted McCormick with his arms folded in front of him. He walked the length of the stage and exited on the other side just as Brother Floom appeared at the same spot. As Kurt passed, Brother Floom grabbed his arm and guided him to the front of the stage.

  The crowd applauded loudly the moment Brother Floom appeared.<
br />
  “Thank you all for coming,” Brother Floom said. “Before I begin tonight’s sermon—it’s a good one—I want to give my personal thanks to this young man. You’ve seen his passion and enthusiasm for the Lord as you’ve listened to his music. Glorious. While the Lord can hear a whisper, sometimes it doesn’t hurt to shout. He certainly heard us tonight. What do you folks think?”

  The crowd whooped and hollered, wanting to be heard, as well.

  “What a wonderful crowd,” Brother Floom said. “Beyond being a talented and faith-filled musician—” Brother Floom paused. “I’m sorry. My memory isn’t what it used to be. Help me with your name, son.”

  “Kurt Ucker.”

  “Fuck,” Gretchen said, loud enough for the woman nearest to her to gasp. Kurt just said his name. His real name.

  Criminality 101: don’t tell people who you are before you steal from them.

  Brother Floom stared at him for a moment. “Kurt Ucker. Ucker? That’s an unusual last name.”

  “Yes, sir,” Kurt said, “but there are a lot of us. A lot of Uckers.”

  Brother Floom smiled, put a hand over his radio mike, and said something to Kurt.

  Kurt nodded and, with a small wave to the crowd, walked to the side of the stage.

  Brother Floom watched him leave. “A hand for Kurt Ucker and his band. God bless.” He turned to the audience and then back to the side of the stage where Kurt had exited. He shook his head and laughed to himself before jumping right into his sermon. “You all know the story of the prodigal son. The son that returned. When I was a child, I never liked that story, never understood. It never seemed fair. I always took the side of the older brother. The obedient one. He had done everything right but got no reward. He always seemed to get the—” Brother Floom’s voice dropped off as he turned once again to where Kurt had exited the stage. “Ucker. Such a strange name.”

  Gretchen rose from her seat and walked toward the doors.

  “My apologies. Senior moment.” The crowd laughed. “The older son seemed to get the . . . You all know that Jerry Reed song, ‘She Got the Goldmine (I Got the Shaft)’? That’s what it felt like.”

  Gretchen walked through the lobby and out into the parking lot. She called Axel. He picked up immediately.

  “Hello. This is Fletcher.”

  “Did you see Kurt on stage?”

  “He wasn’t supposed to play that loud and fast.”

  “Not that. After?”

  “No, Thrace was yelling at me. What happened?”

  “He introduced himself to Floom with his real name.”

  “No.” There was a pause. “The fairgrounds are supposed to supply that. I’m going to have to find the invoice number for you. Can you hold on?” Axel’s voice got more muted. “Excuse me a second, Mr. McCormick.”

  “What are we going to do?” Gretchen said.

  “Okay, I got like one minute,” Axel said. “How did Floom react?”

  “It threw him. There seemed to be recognition.”

  “Of course there was. Nothing’s going to happen during the sermon. Maybe he just thinks it’s a relative. It doesn’t impact you and me. Meet me in the parking lot right after the sermon.”

  “Should I get Mother down here?”

  “Can’t,” Axel said. “She’s Floom’s daughter. He’d recognize her. I’ll find Kurt. See what he’s thinking. He was quiet at that meeting.”

  “How long are the sermons?”

  “It’s a short one tonight. Only two and a half hours.”

  People tried to exit the church parking lot all at once. Some people lingered, making it easy for Gretchen to get lost in the crowd. She milled around until Axel emerged from the church.

  “What did Kurt say?” Gretchen asked. “What’s going on with him?”

  “I couldn’t find him,” Axel said. “He’s not answering his phone.”

  “Oh crap. We have company.”

  Virginia ran out of the front of the church, looked around, and headed straight to Axel.

  “Thank you again,” Gretchen said with a southern accent. “I will look into the local opportunities to volunteer. God bless you.”

  “Sorry for interrupting,” Virginia said, a frantic tone in her voice. “Fletcher, have you seen my father?”

  “No, I’ve been out here giving information for potential volunteers.”

  “Nobody knows where he’s at. He usually accompanies Thrace’s men, but somehow they lost him. He seemed dazed on stage. I’m not sure where he could have gone. I don’t know what to do. I’m really worried.”

  “My heavens,” Gretchen said. “Can I help? Brother Floom is a treasure.”

  “He can’t have gone far,” Axel said. “He probably got confused and wandered off. I’ll get the volunteers to start searching the area. We’ll find him.”

  As if on cue, the screech of tires made them turn. The Money Bus tore around the corner of the church and bounced over a speed bump, scraping the front bumper on the asphalt, shooting up sparks. With the lot full of cars, both parked and trying to get out, the bus rammed through, creating a narrow passage, popping side mirrors off as it went.

  Over the bus loudspeaker, the clear voice of Brother Floom resounded. “Set thine house in order. For thou shalt die and not live.”

  “Oh my God,” Virginia said.

  Gretchen didn’t see the driver, but there was no doubt in her mind who was behind the wheel of the bus. It wasn’t a coincidence that Kurt and Brother Floom were both missing. She didn’t know why or what had made him do it, but Kurt was going to have a lot of explaining to do.

  Gretchen had to give it to Kurt, though. He had the money. Hell, he had the whole damn bus.

  CHAPTER 29

  Shrapnel flew as the bus sideswiped a Toyota Camry. The screeching made Kurt’s brain vibrate, but he didn’t let up on the accelerator. He felt the clinging weight of a pickup as the bus dragged it through the parking lot. He wasn’t trying to hit anything, but nobody understood how merging worked in Mississippi. Even hopping on the sidewalk wasn’t enough to get through the bottleneck.

  Daylight arrived after he pushed a sedan out of the way. He pulled out of the driveway and jumped onto the main road.

  “I’m going to have to send a lot of apology notes,” Kurt said.

  He kept the gas pedal to the floor and picked up speed on the straightaway. The church wasn’t in the city proper but a few miles out of town on the old highway. That gave him plenty of open road to really put some distance between himself and the church.

  Brother Floom continued to preach into the microphone from the back of the bus. Kurt could only hear a muffled echo, the speakers outside.

  Kurt flicked switch after switch, trying to turn off the PA. The airplane dashboard in front of him had so many buttons and toggles and switches, he was concerned that he might hit the ejector seat on accident. Instead, he hollered back to Brother Floom. “How you doing back there, sir? Sorry about the turbulence.”

  Brother Floom stopped his sermon. “You’re not the regular driver. What city are we going to now?”

  “Yazoo City, here we come.”

  “And what city were we just in?”

  “McComb, Mississippi.”

  “It doesn’t matter, does it?” Brother Floom dropped the microphone and let it dangle from the receiver. He reached into his pocket, found something, and put it in his mouth.

  Kurt spotted a side road that looked promising, wide enough for the bus but remote enough that he probably wouldn’t see another car. He slowed down and took the turn. Not slow enough. The bus buckled and edged toward tipping. Kurt adjusted and just made it. He had never been behind the wheel of something so big before. He thought it would handle like the van, but the back end felt like it was in another county.

  Scrubby woods flew past, decent cover but not quite enough if the police broke out a helicopter. He took another turn—much slower—onto a narrower road that had last been repaired in 1958. Every time the bus hit one of the
craterlike chuckholes, Kurt bounced a foot high in his seat. Branches kicked off the roof and side windows.

  “I’m tired,” Brother Floom said, stretching out on one of the padded seats.

  Kurt glanced at the side mirror. Nobody followed. He had taken everyone by surprise. As the bus bounced down the rural Mississippi back road, Kurt simultaneously patted himself on the back and was horrified at the fact that he had stolen a bus. A bus full of money.

  Opportunity and willingness. That’s what Mother had taught him. The opportunity arose, and in that moment he was willing.

  Kurt hadn’t planned on stealing anything. While Pepe and Louder went to relax after the performance, Kurt found a quiet spot to sit, think, and eat candy.

  The meeting with Mother had been a reminder of how dysfunctional his family was. They had spent most of their adult lives fractured from each other. Why should he expect anything different? He didn’t even know if it was possible for them to stay together as a family, let alone as a functioning band of thieves.

  It made him wonder what he wanted. When he had been living with Mom, he knew who he was. After her death, he spent his days attempting to be his authentic self, but more often he felt like he was pretending to be someone else. Someone he wasn’t.

  He had eaten five of Pepe’s marijuana edibles before he realized they weren’t the package of Haribo Gold-Bears he had snaked from the hospitality tent. Which explained some of the introspection. The last time he had gotten high had been in high school. That had ended with him sitting in his backyard in the rain, crying and eating leftover Frito pie from a Tupperware.