Free Long Black Curl by Alex Bledsoe Page A

us.”
    â€œYou turning into a socialist? Did you sign up for Obamacare or something?”
    â€œDo you even know what a socialist is ? ’Cause I don’t.” Junior turned to leave.
    Tirrell laughed. “Actually, I do. And I’ll tell ’em if I see ’em. But you’re gonna owe me a favor.”
    â€œSee?” Junior said as he went out the door. “That’s what I mean. Nobody does nothing for nobody.”
    He got into his truck, started the engine, and took one of the beers from the cardboard case. The first beer he ever drank was Miller, when he was fourteen, and although he’d sampled others over the years, he kept returning to that familiar, icy tang. It represented to him what “beer” in general was supposed to taste like, and the freedom that came with it.
    Of course, that freedom—like the beautiful girls, and the fancy clubs, and the friends who always laughed at your jokes—was just an illusion. No, actually, it was worse. It was a lie. Like a woman saying she loves you just to get away from her parents.
    In the side-view mirror, he saw the old man talking on the phone, and smiled. He could make the Tufa telegraph work for him, too. Whichever Hicks Tirrell was calling, the word would get back to the one Junior actually wanted to talk to. Then things could progress. Seeing old Rockhouse bloody, mutilated, and afraid had opened up vast chasms of ambition in Junior, and he saw no reason to wait to put his plan into action, especially with Bo-Kate Wisby skulking around. But first he had to know what might be in his path.
    He put the truck in gear and pulled out onto the highway. He turned on his lights, as it was getting dark. He passed four cars heading the other way. Anytime he saw more than two vehicles together, he assumed they were on their way to a meeting of the Silent Sons. Once he’d wanted more than anything to be a member, but now he just saw them as one more obstacle.
    Let them talk, he thought. While they’re flapping their gums, I’ll be doing something. We’ll see who stands tallest when it’s all done.
    *   *   *
    It took almost an hour for Bliss to reach the Hyatt farm. The snow was particularly slushy, and even her four-wheel-drive had to proceed with caution. She saw an extra truck already there, and realized Chloe had called her daughter, Bronwyn.
    Ever since her marriage to Craig Chess and her move to his home across the county line in Unicorn, Bronwyn had spent a vast amount of time commuting back and forth. Even now, eight months pregnant, she was as likely to be here as at her own place. It signaled no trouble in her new marriage; she and Craig had hashed all this out ahead of time, and he was, as always, even-tempered and supportive. Bliss, who lived alone and probably always would, envied them more than anyone knew.
    But now First Daughter business had called the three of them together. She struggled up the slope to the front door, knocked, and was immediately let in. She stood on the rug and took off her boots and coat, then gratefully accepted the hot coffee Chloe offered.
    Bronwyn sat at the kitchen table and didn’t stand. On her slender build, the baby made her look like she’d swallowed the king of pumpkins whole, and her face was drawn tight with discomfort. She said at once, “Are you sure ?”
    â€œGood to see you, too, Bronwyn.” She looked around. “Where’s Aiden?”
    â€œHe’s in his room,” Chloe said. Her youngest child, thirteen and stereotypically sullen, interacted with the family less and less. “Playing Minecraft. That’s all he does anymore.”
    â€œNever mind that,” Bronwyn said, although she knew more about her baby brother than their mother did. She knew that he liked a girl from a farm down the road, and often snuck out to meet her. Since the girl also liked another boy, one who was older and had a motorcycle,