“A rusty one,” one of the Twoomeys giggled.
John began to convulse, and I don’t even think he was aware of it. He looked up at Bubba as if he were looking at the physical reality of a phantom that had haunted his dreams.
Bubba straddled John and brushed his hair back off his forehead. “That’s the deal, John. Okay?”
“Okay,” John said and nodded several times.
“Okay,” Bubba said with a satisfied nod. He patted John’s cheeks and climbed off him. Then he stepped over to Manny and tossed some vodka in his face.
Manny woke coughing, bucking at the ropes, spitting at the vodka on his lips.
The first thing he said was “What?”
“Hi, Manny.”
Manny looked up at Bubba and for a moment he tried to look fearless, used to this. But Bubba smiled, and Manny sighed, then looked at the ground.
“Manny!” Bubba said. “Glad you could join us. Here’s the deal, Manny. John’s going to tell Patrick and Angie what they want to know. If I think he’s lying, or if you interrupt, I’m going to set you on fire.”
“Me?” Manny said.
“You.”
“Why not him? I mean, if he’s the one who’s lying?”
“Because there’s more of you to burn, Manny.”
Manny bit his upper lip and tears welled in the pockets of his eyes. “Tell them the truth, John.”
“Fuck off, Manny.”
“Tell them!”
“I’ll tell them!” John screamed. “But not because of you. ‘Why not burn him?’” he mimicked. “Some friend. If we get out of this, I’m telling everyone you wept like an old woman.”
“I did not.”
“Did too.”
“John,” Angie said, “who screwed with Patrick’s bank account and credit cards?”
He looked at the floor. “I did.”
“How?” I said.
“I work for the IRS,” he said.
“So you’ll fix it?” Angie said.
“Well,” he said, “actually it’s a lot easier to wreck than it is to fix.”
“John,” I said. “Look at me.”
He did.
“Fix it.”
“I—”
“By tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? I can’t do that. It’d take—”
I stood over him. “John, you can make my credit disappear, and that’s a very scary thing. But I can make you disappear, and that’s a little more scary, wouldn’t you say?”
He swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat for a moment.
“Tomorrow, John. Morning.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”
“You make other people’s credit disappear?” I asked.
“I—”
“Answer him,” Bubba said, looking down at his shoes.
“Yes.”
“People who try to leave the Church of Truth and Revelation?” Angie said.
Manny said, “Hey, wait a minute.”
Bubba said, “Who’s got a match?”
“I’ll shut up,” Manny said. “I’ll shut up.”
“We know all about Grief Release and the Church,” Angie said. “One of the ways you deal with naughty members is to screw with their finances. Correct?”
“Sometimes,” John said, his lower lip protruding like a kid caught looking up the girls’ dresses in school.
I said, “You have people working in all the good companies, don’t you, John—the IRS, police department, banks, the media, where else?”
His shrug was constricted by the ropes. “You name it.”
“Nice,” I said.
He snorted. “I don’t see anyone complaining when Catholics work for those same organizations. Or Jews.”
“Or Seventh-Day Adventists,” Bubba said.
I looked at him.
“Oh.” He held up a hand. “Sorry.”
I bent down by John, placed my elbows on his knees, and looked up into his face.
“Okay, John. Here’s the important question. And don’t even think about lying to me.”
“That would be bad,” Bubba said.
John glanced nervously at Bubba, then back at me.
“John,” I said, “what happened to Desiree Stone?”
11
“Desiree Stone,” Angie repeated. “Come on, John. We know she was treated by Grief Release.”
John licked his lips, blinked. He hadn’t spoken in over a minute and Bubba was getting restless.
“John,” I said.
“I know I had a lighter around here somewhere.” Bubba looked bewildered for a moment. He patted his pants pockets, then suddenly snapped his fingers. “Left it downstairs. That’s what I did with it. Be right back.”
John and Manny watched him jog toward the stairs at the end of the loft, the hammering clunk of his combat boots echoing off the beams overhead.
As Bubba disappeared downstairs, I said, “Now you’ve done it.”
John and Manny looked at each other.
“He gets like this,” Angie said, “you never know what he’ll do. He tends to get, you know, creative.”
John’s eyes spun in their sockets like saucers. “Don’t let him hurt me.”
“Not much I can do, if you don’t tell us about Desiree.”
“I don’t know anything about Desiree Stone.”
“Sure you do,” I said.
“Not like Manny does. Manny was her primary counselor.”
Angie and I swiveled our heads slowly, looked at Manny.
Manny shook his head.
Angie smiled and walked over to him. “Manny, Manny, Manny,” she said. “The secrets you keep.” She tilted his chin until he was looking in her eyes. “’Fess up, muscle boy.”
“I have to take this shit from that psychotic, but I ain’t taking it from no fucking girl.” He spit at her and she leaned back from it.
“My,” she said. “You get the feeling Manny spends way too much time at the gym? You do, don’t you, Manny? Lifting your little weights and pushing smaller guys off the StairMaster and telling all your steroid buddies about the bimbo you used and abused the night before. That’s you, Manny. That’s you all over.”
“Hey, fuck you.”
“No, Manny. Fuck you,” she said. “Fuck you and die.”
And Bubba came bounding back into the room with an acetylene torch screaming, “Suc-cess! Suc-cess!”