Free Hog Heaven by Ben Rehder

hallucination, would you know you were hallucinating? Say you walk into your backyard and see a green-and-pink zebra. Would you know it wasn’t real, but still see it? Or would you see it and think it’s completely real? Because it would be better to see it and know it’s not real. Same with a delusion. If you were under the impression that you were the president of the United States, would you know deep down that you really weren’t? On a similar note, if you began to have irrational thoughts, would you be aware that they were irrational, or would you think you were being perfectly reasonable?
    For instance, here he was, in the Mercedes with Ryan, not even seven in the morning, driving south at eighty miles per hour to pay a visit to Colton Spillar. The idea was that they would not leave Blanco County until Spillar had changed his mind. Or, to be precise, until he had changed his mind about changing his mind. Dexter had already decided that he would do whatever it took to achieve that goal. Every option was on the table. Financial inducements. Expensive gifts. The promise of a starting position. Verbal coercion, including threats of humiliation. Even physical punishment, although Ryan would have his hands full with a kid as big as Spillar. But Ryan was talented. He could do all sorts of damage to ligaments, tendons, and—
    Christ.
    Was this line of thinking rational? What sort of man does these things, and at what possible personal cost? Obsessed by a goddamn game. Had to win. Whatever it took.
    “Want me to call ahead for a hotel?” Ryan asked.
    Dexter thought about it. For a long time. Then he said, “Turn around.”
    “Really?”
    A mile passed.
    “Dad?”
    “No, don’t.”
    “So call ahead for a hotel?”
    “Well, we’re not gonna sleep in the car, are we?”
    “A hotel in Johnson City?”
    “If you want to stay in some fleabag in Johnson City, be my guest.”
    “Then, uh, Blanco?”
    “Austin, genius. Austin. It’s fifty minutes away. Get a room at the fucking W Hotel in Austin.”
    Dexter hadn’t always been so willing to put himself at such great risk. He used to stick with the basic money-under-the-table approach, knowing that if he were to get caught, his world wouldn’t necessarily come crumbling down. People more or less expected those sorts of shenanigans from boosters in college football. Boys will be boys, right?
    But these other things he’d been doing in the past few seasons, like yesterday’s little visit with Adrian Lacy? How dumb was that? Crabtree knew he was being an idiot, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. It was like watching some character in a TV show making stupid decisions.
    Was Adderall to blame? He should stop taking it. He knew that. He could stop anytime, of course, and he would. Soon. In February. Just make it to National Signing Day, when recruits had to commit on paper, with no backing out, and then he could take a breath. Wouldn’t need as much energy.
    Maybe by then, with his help, UMT would have landed a team that could win a national championship.
    Fuck.
    Why couldn’t he stop thinking about college football, even for one goddamn minute?

    Marlin poked his head into Bobby Garza’s office doorway at eight-fifteen. The sheriff looked at him and said, “Yikes.”
    “Really? That bad?”
    “You look like you got about two hours’ sleep.”
    “That’s two more than I actually got. Mind if I sit?”
    “By all means. You haven’t been home? Darrell told me you had a busy night.”
    Darrell Bridges was one of the dispatchers for the sheriff’s department. Between Darrell’s radio calls and the calls directly to Marlin’s cell phone from various area residents, Marlin hadn’t had a moment to catch his breath.
    “Yeah, once the shooting started after dark, the calls were pretty much nonstop. But would you believe I didn’t file on a single person last night?”
    “No?”
    “No road hunters, no trespassers, nothing. And here’s why: You know that big