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 work 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.”

“That’s my business, but I just got mugged and my rent money was stolen.”

“Not my problem.”

“C’mon, Alejandro! I need money to live on. Can’t you loan me some?”

“No way, man. You’ve really disappointed me.”

“Well, you’re disappointing me!”

“Brady, don’t make this worse. You screwed up. Now just get your stuff out of the house and don’t come back.”

On his way out, Brady slammed the door so hard it flew back open. He wanted to kill someone, and he didn’t care who. Maybe he was the one who ought to die. He marched to the laborers’ shack and clomped up the stairs. Manny was alone in the house, but when he started to follow Brady, the boy turned on him.

“Don’t even start with me!” Brady said. “Just stay out of my way right now if you ever want to see your money.”

“Pepe’s looking for you too, Brady.”

“Tell him to watch out too.”

Brady grabbed his clothes and his sawed-off and stuffed the ammunition into his pocket. Manny ducked out of his way as he trotted down the stairs and bounded outside.

Brady ran back to his mother’s trailer and found Peter watching TV.

“Hey, Brady! Is it true that you—?”

“All a big misunderstanding, buddy. I’m moving home though.”

“Cool!”

Brady stowed the sawed-off and ammo in the closet and hung his clothes.

“Gotta go to work.”

“Bring me home a shake?”

“Sure.”

Adamsville State Penitentiary

One of Thomas’s prayers had been answered. Beyond all reason, while going through the arduous process of getting from his office into the bowels of the prison, God had granted him what Thomas and his ilk called a “burden” for Henry Trenton.

It made no sense, and Thomas knew it could only be from the Lord. The Scriptures he had been memorizing all his life made clear that no one was righteous, but if ever there was a man who tested the unconditional love of God, it was the Deacon. Monster, predator, abuser of the helpless, murderer. Even the most ardent anti–capital punishment activist would sooner not talk about Trenton.

But something had come over Thomas. As he thought and prayed about what to say, he never once doubted that justice would be meted out the following night. The tragedy would be that a man would also be sentenced to hell. Oh, the so-called Deacon deserved that too. But so did Thomas. So did everyone.

But how great was the love of God available even to a man such as Henry Trenton. Like the thief on the cross, Trenton would have no time to do good, to live for God, to tangibly thank Him for His unspeakable gift. But grace was available even to him. What a God Thomas served, who would pour out His love on the basest of sinners if they would sincerely repent and believe.

Thomas picked up his pace, so eager was he to plead with Deke to listen, to understand, and to comply. It would be a mistake, he knew, to allow his emotions to show. Or would it?

Thomas had been warned by everyone to never show weakness, but was that what it would be if his urgency and compassion became obvious? Knowing that Russ and Gladys and Grace and Pastor Kessler and others would be praying caused Thomas to expect a miracle. He wanted Henry Trenton for the Kingdom, an example of the deep, deep love of Jesus.

The Deacon stood near the front of his cell, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Thomas knew he should stand far enough away to avoid tempting the man to try to grab him. But that seemed counterproductive to everything he was expecting from God. So Thomas approached the front wall and leaned close. His face was inches from Trenton’s. If the man wanted to spit at him, throw something at him, grab him by the tie and try to choke him, he could go ahead. Many officers were watching and would immediately come to Thomas’s aid.

“You just can’t go anywhere without that, can you?” the Deacon said, nodding at Thomas’s Bible.

“I could, but I wouldn’t. Especially when there is such important news in it.”

“I know as well as you do what’s in there, Reverend.”

“Well, I doubt that, but who knows? You just might. If you do, then you know what is available to you.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You don’t? I’m here at your request. What do you want to talk about?”

“I hear Russ isn’t coming, even though he promised.”

“Don’t start with that now, Deke. He never promised that. In fact, he made quite clear—”

“Whatever. So I got to die alone.”

“That is your choice.”

“You got plans for New Year’s Eve?”

“Of course, but I am here to serve you, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir.”

“To tell you the truth, Henry, I’d rather call you that than ‘the Deacon.’”

“I understand.”

“You do?”

“Sure. You know me too well.”

“I don’t know you the way your Maker knows you. And in spite of everything—”

“I told you, I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Your time is running out, Henry.”

Trenton moved away and shook his head. “You think I don’t know how much time I have?”

“Of course you do. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry. You said something out of line, and you’re sorry. You’re standing here in front of a man who is unforgivable, and you’re—”

“Don’t ever say that, Henry. When you say you’re unforgivable, you besmirch the name of God Himself. Forgiveness is His job, not ours.”

Trenton was silent for more than a minute, and while it was awkward, Thomas felt he should wait the man out.

Finally Trenton lifted his eyes. “So you’ll be with me tomorrow night?”

“As you wish.”

“You will do as I wish?”

“Certainly.”

“I don’t want you to bring your Bible.”

“Are you sure?”

“You think I haven’t thought this through? Yes, I’m sure. That’s what I want.”

“May I bring my heart?”

“What?”

“I have hidden His Word in my heart, so I will bring those Scriptures.”

“Whatever. I just don’t want to hear any of them, all right?”

“If that is still your wish at the end, I will reluctantly honor it.”

“Count on it.”