e quivered, or if moths and porchlight through the willows ruffled her skin like funeral satin in a gale. Either way, dawn showed a puddle between her feet. It tells you normal times just ran ho

kind of fucken

Feels like a Friday at school or somethin

ere today. You'd remember Clarence Somebody, that ole black guy who was on the news last winter. He was the psycho who dozed in this same wooden hall, right on camera. The news said that's how little he cared about the effects of his crimes. By 'effects' I think they meant axe-woun

but it seems kind of pointless when I'm naked. Anyway, my fingers are sticky. This

hew Barn box in her arms, along with a bag of my clothes, and a phone that she tries to speak into. She's slow, she's sweaty, her features hu

to a squeak. 'Gh-hrrr, I am not calling you a moron, I'm explaining that, stuss-tistically, Special Weapons And Tactics can limit the toll.' She sq

dn't. I knew she wouldn't, that's how smart I am. I still wa

he clothes in my la

n tight we are, instead of all laughably fucked up. If my ole lady came with a user's guide it'd tell you to fuck her off in the end, I guarantee it. Everybody knows Jesus is ultimately to bl

the door. I get the stained chair. Pulling on my clothes, I try to imagine it's last weekend; just regular, rusty moments drippi

offers half-heartedly, though, and frankly you'd feel sorry to ev

herself. 'Gh-rr, let's start at the beginning. Your h

ma'

e reside

, just

to her name badge. Deputy Vaine Curie it says unde

ew Jacks rub together for moral sup

squint. 'Vernon - we're talking accessory to

but

oy. Don't tell me you weren't just about his onl

must be plenty of witnesse

e here - do you?' Like an asshole I look around. Duh. She catches my eye

, I g

a hard thing to do, I'll remind you that, stuss-tistically, only two major forces gov

alth and

lth and

and

to name the two categories of people that inhabit our w

and eff

s. Are you with me, Mist

s,' but I don't. For all I know she doesn't even have daughters. Now I'l

take it you know what a liar is? A liar is a psychopath - someone who paints gray areas between black and

ma'

ount for yourself at a quarte

in sc

what p

- ma

t important facts have I only now finished

ay I was in

ng. A wooden hairdo pokes into the room. 'Ve

hat says 'Don't relax' and points her bone at t

en noise she makes just gives it a turn. It cuts even deeper now that my daddy ain't around to share the pain. My shoulders round up when I see the phone,

okay?' Feel the b

tupid. It's a subliminal plea for her not to be p

e the bathr

, Mom

you get that -

anyway. Never mind the slimy details, my ole lady just added the whole affair to my knife, so she could give it a turn every now and then. Once she even wrote about it to my teacher, who had her own sta

s morning,' she says, 'so I wo

fore she plants the whole fucken Ginz

re you

g to Depu

her I know her sister Re

't LuDe

now Pam sees him eve

arry. I hav

ng an ovenful of joy cakes for the Lechugas, s

U

the car - town's cra

e. I ain't saying I'm to blame, don't get me wrong. I'm calm about that, see? Under my grief glows a serenity that comes from knowing the truth alwa

means loosen up some facts, young man. Sheriff Porkorney has firm notions about Tuesday, you should be tha

d the gym, I didn't

you were

was our m

eways. 'You take ma

N

ren't you

Mr Nuckles, and got

Nuck

ysics t

aches

N

ooking real gray, Mist

st look at me: clump of lawless brown hair, the eyelashes of a camel. Big ole puppy-dog features like God made me through a fucke

I have w

hat r

ckles

he prods the dry

ch of

And where are th

esn't come to my brain, it comes to my eye as a tear tha

re they? So Vernon - let me ask you two simple

-

ss the wall, then herds them back to

N

a key, eyeing me all the while. Then she jabs the key. The theme from Mission: Impossible chi

e dismay of no more meat made her seek other comforts, t

the room, tacked around the soul of Sheriff Porkorney. 'This the boy?' h

say he

ith him.' He closes

urning to the corner like it makes her absent.

outside. Bothered fol

there, sir - I

rner. One of her eyes flicks back,

ture on the door, and traces a line around Jesus' face, his bangs of blood, h

out thi

se, though, y

he was going to

Gurie. 'Examine Littl

er did,'

rgarm

ar Y-f

the back of 'em, did you, Vaine? You know certa

med clean

right out and say it. I try to muster some control. 'Sir, I ain't gay, if that's w

stache. 'Regular boy then, are you, son? You l

ur

ue. How many offices does a girl have t

fic

ies -

-

fs up like he just disco

memories of the Mini-Mart loading-bay after a storm; tangs of soggy cardboard and curdled milk. Somehow I don'

box, nodding to Gurie. 'Get it on record,

officer through

d the sheriff. I'll be back with ano

earmint breath. But all I whiff, over the sweat and the barbecue sauce, is school - the kind of pulse bullyboys