As Brady made his way back to the shack, he stepped in not one but two puddles of slush, freezing his feet to his shins. He couldn’t wait to get back and smoke one of the joints. Maybe the high would curb his fury. He hated everybody in his life except Petey and his aunt and uncle. Even Tatlock drove him crazy. What was with that guy?
He sees something in me? What a sap!
It made no sense, Brady knew, to be so bothered by a man who kept giving him breaks. But Tatlock’s kindness made him face himself and realize that he had become a criminal. He was a bad kid, a horrible brother. He hated his jobs, hated his bosses—and that was ludicrous too. Alejandro was one of the good guys. But why hadn’t he found more work for Brady so he could leave Burger Boy and quit selling dope?
It wasn’t Brady’s fault he’d had to resort to that. Hadn’t Alejandro promised him? Pretty soon he was going to have get tough with the foreman and tell him he needed more work or he was going to have to move on.
But where would Brady go? He’d have to find a new place to live. That would be all right too, if he found work that allowed him to afford someplace half decent. It was no fun living with a bunch of scary guys who didn’t like him anyway.
By the time Brady got to the trailer park, he was so antsy for a joint that he was about to burst. And when he passed the Laundromat, he was reminded of everything Tatlock was and he wasn’t.
He stopped and stared at the place, all quiet and dimly lit under a single fixture over the sign. Tatlock was tidying the place himself these days, and it looked like it would pass military inspection.
Livid, Brady looked around till he found a frozen chunk of dark snow. He hefted it in his bare hands and guessed it weighed at least twenty pounds. When he heaved it through the plate glass window, it set off a ringing alarm that sent him slipping and sliding into the night.
33
Adamsville
Thomas Carey couldn’t sleep but didn’t want to disturb Grace. He eased out of bed and into the living room, where he sat in the dark, watching the snow fall and thinking about how to confront his wife about what he had discovered. Maddeningly, he couldn’t keep his mind from drifting to Henry Trenton.
Thomas wondered if he should have called Chaplain Russ and told him what the Deacon wanted. If he did that, he would also have to tell the man that he didn’t believe Deke was ready for eternity. But he guessed Russ was fully aware. Aside from everything else, Deke didn’t seem to be one who would hide his opinions.
Deep in his gut, Thomas knew Trenton would ask for him late, and he would be pressed into gallows duty. But the child sex offender and murderer—Thomas still had difficulty ranking one crime over the other—had already clarified that he didn’t want prayer or Scripture or even any counsel about his fate. Short of those, all Thomas had to offer was company on the night the Deacon was to die.
Thomas didn’t want to be selfish—it wasn’t about him, after all—but, unable to provide any of the services he was trained to offer, what was the point? He had never seen a man die, and he certainly didn’t relish hearing a neck snap. Imagining it was bad enough. How long might the bite of the trauma stay with him?
Thomas prayed that God would at least allow him to somehow minister to Henry Trenton, to be more than just a companion on that terminal night. If he knew the man had repented, had prayed, had been reconciled to God, Thomas believed he could stomach the ordeal.
He shook his head. Forgive me for thinking of myself again, Lord. Is it possible to give me a love for such an awful man? I know You love him.
Thomas stood and moved to the window, finally noticing that the only light reflected in the glass was the tiny bulb at the top of the ancient Nativity scene Grace had laid out on the piano. He turned and moved to study it, reminded anew of Ravinia and her childhood fascination with the figurines. He prayed for her as he did every time she came to mind, more and more often lately.
And then Thomas Carey went a step further than he had before. He also prayed for Dirk. Thomas had no idea how serious Rav’s relationship with him was or how long it would last, being forged in ways foreign to his sensibilities. But given that Dirk Blanc might one day be his son-in-law or even the father of his grandchildren, Thomas was desperate to pray him into the fold as well.
As for the Deacon? Well, he owed it to the condemned man to at least call Russ in the morning. The hanging was set for just a few hours short of seven days away.
Addison
The laborers’ shack had a cockeyed Christmas tree with lights askew. That and the muted TV, showing some old black-and-white yuletide movie, illuminated a bottle-strewn living room full of snoring men. It was as if they had partied until they couldn’t move.
That was all right with Brady, still panting from his dash from the Laundromat. For once he could just slip upstairs unnoticed, smoke his dope in the bathroom, and crash. He kicked off his soggy shoes and socks and headed up.
A sweat-stained bandanna hung on the doorknob of the bunkroom, indicating that someone had a woman in there. Brady pressed his ear to the door. If she was still there, nothing was going on. When he finished his grass, he would just tiptoe in and go to bed.
As he emerged from the bathroom, Brady heard loud banging on the door downstairs. Whoever this was or whatever it was about couldn’t be good for him. He hurried into the bedroom and stripped down, sliding under the covers.
From downstairs he heard arguing, then shouting, then his name. That was Stevie Ray’s voice. “Just let me get him out of here,” Stevie said, then called up the stairs, “Brady! You gotta go! Now!”
Brady dressed on his way down. “Get your shoes on, man,” Stevie said. “You think the cops wouldn’t be able to tell you just got here?”
“Don’t bring no cops here!” Pepe said, coming to life on the couch. “I told you, man!”
“Cops?” Brady said.
“Just come on!”
Brady followed Stevie out to his car.
“Somebody saw you break the window, dude.”
“What?”
“Don’t start with me, Brady. I don’t need this. I came to help. Who knows you live here? Does Tatlock?”
“I don’t think so. Take me to your place.”
“You know better’n that! I got a family, not to mention I’m on parole.”
“What’s going on?”
“Somebody called the cops, said it was you. They’ve already been to your mom’s trailer.”
“Great!” Brady swore.
“What were you thinking?”
“I don’t know! I’m such an idiot! You know my ma’s gonna rat me out, tell them where I live. And Petey! Oh, man!”
“Where you wanna go? I can’t be driving you around.”
“Where do you think they’ll look?” Brady said.
“The shack, the paving company, my place.”
“You won’t say anything, will you?”
“I’ll tell ’em the truth. I’ll tell them I heard they were looking for you, so I tried to find you, knowing you wouldn’t do something like that.”
“That’s a lie.”
“So is telling them I couldn’t find you. Now where do you want to hide?”
“Agatha’s?”
“Will anybody think you’d go there?”
“Nah.”
“You’ll owe her.”
“She’s got a thing for me. It’ll be cool.”
Agatha lived on the far edge of the trailer park. Brady could see revolving police car lights bouncing off the low cloud cover through a light snow. As Stevie pulled away, Brady crept to the back of the trailer and tapped on Agatha’s tiny window. He didn’t want to scare her, so every time he tapped, he whispered her name. “It’s me, Brady!”
Finally she pulled back the curtain and raised the blind. “What do you want?”
“Just wanted to be with you on Christmas Eve, that’s all.”
“It’s nearly Christmas morning, Brady. What are you, drunk?”
“No, I just
miss you.”
She squinted at him, and in the dim light he saw hope in her eyes. He wondered if there was no end to his evil.
“You wake my dad, he’ll kill you.”
“Then be quiet and let me in.”
He met her at the front door and followed her back to her room. A huge, ugly girl, she repulsed him.
“You got to be out of here by dawn,” she said.
He nodded, removing only his shoes and socks.
“Does this mean we’re on again?” she said.
“You and me?”
“Who else?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Really?”
“’Course. But could you drive me somewhere?”
“Right now?”
“In the morning.”
“Maybe. Where?”
“My aunt and uncle’s. My ma and Petey are already there, but I had to work, and now I got no way of getting there.”
“My dad’s girlfriend and her kids are coming for Christmas dinner tomorrow, Brady. Why don’t you join us?”
“Nah. I promised. Now can you take me or not?”
Adamsville
“Merry Christmas to you, too, Thomas,” Russ said. “But something tells me you didn’t just call for that.”
Thomas chuckled and apologized, saying he hoped he had caught Russ before his celebration had begun. He told him all about the Deacon.
“I told Henry and I told the warden and I told you, Thomas, that I’m out of there. Now I’m partial to the man, and I care for him, and I’ll want to know when the deal goes down. But no, I can’t be there, and yes, I have the same misgivings about his soul. I don’t know what more to do about that, but let me tell you this: he knows the score. He can feint and dodge and play word games all he wants, but he knows the truth and the gospel and what he has to do. Don’t let him play you.”
Thomas told Russ of his frustration at having to play nursemaid to a condemned man when the man wanted nothing Thomas had to offer.
“Welcome to prison, friend. I’m sorry. Even now, just by getting you to call me, the Deacon is trying to work a guilt trip on me for abandoning him at his hour of need, but—”
“I’m doing this on my own.”
“Well, you’d like to imagine you are, but don’t think he’s not working on you. Just tell him we talked and that I’ll be thinking of him and praying for him, hoping he makes the right decision.”
Why did all this have to come when Thomas was consumed with fear over Grace? He wrestled with how to approach her. Part of him wanted to scold her, yet that didn’t jibe with his dread over her fate. He didn’t know how long he could put off the confrontation.
Two Days Later
Aunt Lois, who had expressed delight when Brady showed up for Christmas, took a call from her former sister-in-law that sent Brady toward the door.
“Wait right there, young man,” his aunt said. “Yes, Erlene, he’s here, but he clearly doesn’t want to talk to you. What’s up?”
Brady was determined to escape, but something in Aunt Lois’s eyes held him fast. “Trust me,” she said, “we’ll get him to do the right thing.”
The woman hung up, cocked her head, and beckoned Brady with one finger, then pointed at the couch.
“I’m not going back,” he said.
“Just tell me what you did and who Tatlock is.”
Brady sat and told her he and his friend had been throwing snowballs and he’d accidentally thrown one through the Laundromat window.
“That’s why you’re here?”
He nodded. “Somebody saw me and called the cops, and I got scared.”
Aunt Lois took his hands in hers. “Listen, this Mr. Tatlock sounds like a wonderful man. He told your mother he’s not interested in pressing charges. He just wants to talk to you. He swears he’ll keep the cops out of it if you’ll come back and see him. Just tell him the truth, Brady. Your uncle will drive you back tomorrow morning, okay?”
Adamsville State Penitentiary
The day before New Year’s Eve, Gladys stopped Thomas on his way to his office. “Like clockwork, who do you think wants a visit to his house today?”
“The Deacon.”
She nodded.
“Can’t you just tell him he didn’t ask in time?”
Gladys narrowed her eyes. “Sit down a second, Thomas.”
“I know,” he said.
“Sit.”
He did.
“You’re not seriously considering dissin’ this man two days before he meets his Maker, are you?”
“Problem is, I don’t think he’s going to meet his Maker.”
“All the more reason to see the man.”
Thomas nodded. “You know I’ll see him. But—”
“Russ told me all about him, Reverend. But we don’t give up on ’em till they’re gone, do we?”
He shook his head.
“Now, I’ll be thinking of you and praying for him,” she said. “A ticking clock has a way of focusing a man’s thoughts.”
“I hope so.”
Thomas called Grace, who said she would call Pastor Kessler and several others in the church. “We’ll all be praying.”
Thomas dumped the rest of his stuff on his desk, gathered up his Bible, and headed for the security envelopes that would deliver him to the Deacon’s house.
34
Addison
Glass company workers were removing sheets of plywood from the gaping hole at the front of the Laundromat when Brady’s uncle Carl dropped him off. He offered to stay, even to attend the meeting with Tatlock, but Brady said no. “He’ll understand it was an accident and that I was scared. He’s a good guy.”
But as his uncle pulled away, the all-too-common tingle up his spine overtook Brady and made him want to bolt again. Unfortunately, Tatlock had already seen him. “The back room,” he said. Brady followed him, silently rehearsing the account he’d been inventing for hours.
Tatlock sat across from him, looking more sad and confused than mad. “First I’m going to listen; then you’re going to listen. Go.”
“Well, okay, see, my friend and me came home late from a party and we were horsing around—”
“Who’s your friend?”
“I’d rather not say. He didn’t do anything.”
“Fair enough. Then?”
“We started throwing snowballs at each other, and he hit me with one, so I threw the next one a little harder as he ran past your window.”
“Uh-huh. You guys been drinking? doing drugs?”
“No, sir. I don’t do that. I know better.”
“So, what, he ducks and you chuck the snowball through my window?”
“Exactly. Then I got scared, even though I knew you’d understand. I’m sorry I ran, and I know I owe you, but you know I’m good for it.”
“You have any idea what a plate glass window costs?”
“No, but whatever it is, I’ll pay it. I appreciate you not getting me in trouble.”
Tatlock sat shaking his head and scowling. “I ought to kick your tail.”
“I know. I’d deserve it. But like I say, I appreciate—”
“Just cut the bull, will you? Why do you think you were caught?”
“Sir?”
“There was an eyewitness, Brady. Somebody saw you. Somebody I know and trust. And she says you were alone. No friend. No snowball fight. Just you staring at my place, finding a big chunk of something, and heaving it through my window.”
“Well, I don’t know how she could say that, because—”
“Because it’s true, and you know it. Rumors are you’re not even living at home anymore. You aren’t even seventeen yet, are you?”
“No. But I’m living at home. You can ask—”
“I can ask who? Your mother? Who do you think told me you’re living with the dope pushers?”
“Dope pushers?”
“You smoking, pushing, too?”
“No! I just stay there sometimes because I wo
rk there.”
“You don’t work there anymore, son.”
“What? ’Course I do!”
“You missed work and didn’t call in. I went to Alejandro looking for you, and he said if I saw you first, I could tell you to clean out your stuff.”
Brady felt blood rushing up his neck, and his ears and face burned. “Well, I, uh, I still got my shift supervisor job at the burger place. . . .”
Tatlock snorted. “You’re a shift supervisor.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Should I? Have you ever, ever told me the truth?”
“Well, it’s up to you whether you believe me, but—”
“You got any money on you?”
Brady still had the cash from his bargain sale of the marijuana, but that would cover only Manny and Pepe and leave him nothing.
“No, but I can get some.”
“Where from?”
“Well, even if Alejandro fired me, he owes me. And my check is due at Burger Boy.”
“Empty your pockets.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Do it or I turn you in right now.”
“Okay! I’ve got a little, but I need it.”
“I don’t expect to ever see you again, Brady. This is my last chance to get anything against the cost of this window.”
Brady rose as if to reach in his pocket and lunged toward the door. In a flash, Tatlock was in front of him. “Don’t do this, Brady. I don’t want to have to hurt you, but you’re not getting out of here without paying me.”
Ten minutes later, his pockets empty, Brady stormed into Alejandro’s office and demanded his last check.
“Sit down and be quiet,” Alejandro said. “The way I see it, you owe me money.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“The company owns the shack, man. Manny says you haven’t paid your rent, and Pepe says you owe him money too.”
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