es,' says the sheriff on TV. 'So if a weapon is found

atch - case closed?

u b

don't go to the Tragedy Sale in those shoes, you heard what everybody thinks. Ple

rlands

's not much of a job, but, as Lally says, it's im

't do anyth

ys Lally. 'Don't arg

with a tie and all. Suddenly t

fucken long. To cap it off, Kurt started barking again. I swear the barking circuit that orbits town every night starts and ends with fucken K

runts, 'remember what we talked about? If I get the seri

ks like Nancie got one. Anyway, if you saw her old refrigerator you'd know w

w speakerphone, didn't we? Now you d

the fucken world. It just wasn't enough, in the end, I guess. The day he got his first thousand dollars, the neighbors must've got ten. Aim for a millio

hen screen. 'This glorious Saturday smells of joy cakes,' he booms. I

imistic-looking bakes, offering it up like it was a feel of her tits twen

s to smile at me. 'And you

Lally, 'he'll give a hun

tall - we're hoping to raise ten gra

Little House on the Prairie. 'This town sure is teac

tion,' says Gibbons. 'Word is, one of the networks might even put us national today.' He p

certainly be giving you some camera time, Past

pital show. 'All right, Vernon,' he says, nudging me towa

there,'

of Mom's sight, he grabs my ear and twists it hard.

He doesn't talk to me at all. We pass Leona Dunt's house, with the fountain in front. Her trash is out four days early again. That's to help you take sto

ed Martirio' splattered across it in red. Another has holes ripped through it, and says: 'I went

s. 'Twenty dollars for a

y tracks creep up alongside us as we approach the New Life Center. The radio is pissing me off now, to be honest. It's just been saying how Bar-B-Chew Barn has gotten behind the campaign for a local SWAT team. Now it's making noise about the hu

the word 'Jesus' painted over with 'Lord'. I help the pastor unload the car and carry stuff to a cake stand right next to the train tracks. He installs me there, as caretaker of the cake stand, and - get this - I have to wear a fucken choir

told, they probably installed a fucken panic button or something, In Case of Vernon. Probably connected it to Vaine Gurie's ass. Or Goosens's pecker or something. It means I'll have to

guess. Mr Lechuga even turns his desk away from me, over by the prize tent, where he's selling lottery tickets. After a while Lally and my ole lady arrive. You can't actually see them yet, but you can hear Mom's Burt Bacharach disc playing somewhere. It cuts through the gloom like a pencil through your lung. Nobody else would have that disc

f her belly in the air. I guess she quit mourning already. She also has sparkly red sunglasses. All she needs is a fucken p

my stall and prods a

fifty,

right way - come on, Vern, lure the bucks in - t

't. You'd think I had though, for the fucken da

he snorts ove

yes flick over the crowd, then she sidles up to me like a spy. 'Vernon,

at's what you say aroun

what you say around here if you mean 'Tough shit'. 'If you could just get a job,' she say

ulalio aroun

all that's happened! You always said be independent - w

hat he d

. A woman knows these things. He already told me about an amazing investment company - over ninety percent r

we have mone

t another loan, I me

snake-oil

bs a trail of spit across an imaginary smudge on my chee

a - even m

t behind her. Don't even ask me what the laws of fucken nature say about this one. I mean, you see reindeer and

enims throws a shadow on her skin, which means there's space in there. Just the up-thrust of her butt keeps her jeans up. Not like my ole lady, who just about needs a fucken military harness. My mouth quivers like an asshole, trying to say something cool to win

l on the way. 'Sorry,

e guy's eye across the beer stand. 'I'm gettin a posse up,' he calls, 'to hep the Gur

'll we

gonna cover the trail through Keeter's - word is, the teacher Nu

ust keep fucken seeing them; with Betty Pritchard, without Betty Pritchard. At Leona's champagne stand, away from Leona's champagne stand. I tingle cold in the heat for a who

ers George. 'Of course he'll fetch

ike that, ehm -

Betty. 'Honey, I don't think passive

now

ir and slips me a Twinkie. Finally, at two o'clock,

You can see Mom, Lally, George, and Betty on the far side of the lawn, mooching by Leona's champagne stan

l been waiting for - the grand prize draw!' Ev

e their lips over their braces, like they have a fucken radia

up and down. 'Not in a

y, you don't have to wear it,

ch you

get a commis

or ind

the kid's only fucken ten

e,' he

u eighteen pe

er heard of a joy cake anyway, I never he

zy breaks through the tent. The kid stops, and drags a mangled pink ticket from his

! Here Pastor, gr

gasping, and hustle her into the tent. Boy is she

call metal

one hour,' he says

'm Bill Gates

ve bucks,

, pre-loved refrigerator, generously donated, without a tho

ole lady's voice. Probably fore

-

ays to me, 'flat, one cal

r rather, I would've been hung out to dry if I was even coming back to pay him. But I ain't coming back.

,' says the kid. 'S

watch says q

n after - take

side the railroad tracks toward the green end of Liberty Drive. Preacher Gibbons's voice echoes

to Keeter's. Strangers mill around Liberty Drive corner, next to a new sign erected in front of the Hearts of Mercy Hospice. 'Coming Soon!' it reads. 'La E

de must be a reporter. He breaks from a group of roaming media, and steps up t

at Willard

y that used to

io, fr

rom Nacogdoches

Nacogd

s card from his shirt pocket. 'Eulalio Ledesma Gutierrez,' it reads,

s his head. 'Basta

ybe because I finally got a fucken break. I'm going to call the number on this card, and get the slimy lowdown on Yoo-hoo-lalio. Then, when that reporter turns up at home later, for his cash

you live if you used to be less worse. Folks who beat up on each other, and clean their own carburetors, live up here. It's different from where I live, closer to town, where everything gets all bottled the fuck up. Jus

y land stretches away behind it into the folds of the Balcones Escarpment, as far as you can imagine. The sign that says 'Welcome to Martirio' stands fifty yards away on the

tal-mouth back at the sale will start bawling for me after an hour. I wipe the phone mouthpiece on my pants leg, a thing you le

A real ole lady

ndering if Eulalio

gal catch her bre

Bradley Pritcha

..' Coins clatter onto a tabletop at her end

lling for anything

s - no - around eight dollars

you, ma'am - I thought t

t's the name he chose. You tell Jeannie Wyler this was never a tinpot operation - we

lling off a cliff chained to my nan

sident isn't h

re - you must've seen

e young man. Why, I've be

l sorry,

him? Have you

he's staying at my -

, let me fi

ad and write when you're blind. I guess you etch lines that you can feel with you

on the van, and now the Wylers are suing over their video camera. Imagine that! - and I was the one who talked them into repairing it in t

ality of things. I say goodbye to the lady and ride away towards the escarpment, to find the gun. Jesu

the unknown is never more than fifteen yards away. Not many creatures come this far into Keeter's. Me

t, really. He doesn't even run it anymore. When we say Keeter's around here, we usually mean the land, not the auto shop. You might see some steers on it, or deer; but mostly just bleache

an ole mine shaft. The den, we call it. We rigged up a door with some sheets of tin, and put a padlock on it and all. It was our headquarters, dur

n two hundred yards of the den and hear a hammer-blow. Something moves in the bushes up ahead. It's ole Tyrie Lasseen, who

'Don't be touchin nothi

seen, I'm jus

uise around here, maybe you

his head. His eyes crinkle like barbed wire snagged with horsehair, and his mouth hangs open a little. Ole George Bush Senior used to do the sam

gh to the San Marcos road, I

usty sounds slither onto the breeze. 'The San Marcos road? The San Marcos road? Son, I don't recommend tak

he thin

that, and don't be pokin around here no more - this'll be a restricted area just now.' His j

nt wheel off the track and rocket through the wilds in an arc that will take me around him, to the back of the den. Bushes squat lower on this part of Keeter's, joined by tall grasses and chunks of household debris

out ole natur

ure, Steven - ther

d huddle into the nest of bowls, trying to gauge the distance between me and the dogs working their

says a lit

half electrocute

a Bouchard. She's a girl from Crockett's, who used to go to

she says, sh

m tryin to rest a

ut to me, that's what it l

nt that nobody disturb

ke doll's eyes or something. 'Wanna see my south pole?' Her

a Democrat or whatever. I still look, though. It's automatic with panties, don't tell

t - Bernie?' She cl

my name's not e

ethin like that, it's Ber

u or something? Can't we

for actual real,

just sometime, nex

omi

I pr

, hot and solid like piss. I turn my back, to invite her

I say, spinning

al, and a swish of blue cotton, she's gone. It's five minutes after three. Your

ur snack-packs!' yells a lady. 'That's the ite

at's an ole mine shaft, stay well away.' Relief scuds through me as Tyri

bushes, nobody can see.' You hear a dorkball squeak something in back, then the lady says:

s throw in that extra smart-assed thing when the media's around. The

ver there,' calls some ass

me toilet bowls around here somewhe

. 'You better not use them po

lady. Todd, wait! I

out of the dirt and pick up my bike, casually, like I'

psycho!' s

turns to me. 'I don't think I have your name do

green?

r logo.' She pulls out her phone. 'I'll call Mrs

rad Pri

t we already have a

toes into the clearing with Mini-Mart bags tied over his Timberlands. He points ou

nto her phone. 'I think

it the pedals hard. Dirt

de away, ride like the fucken wind itself, you hear Brad Pritchard

r machine on Gurie Street. I love my bike, but I just crash it the fuck down. It ain't a fancy bike, but it's strong, and used to belong to my gra

bounces along the floor of my body as I wait for the ciphers of Nana's la

- $2.41,'