Free Tussinland by Mike Monson Page B

cut.”
    “Oh shit,” Bethany said. “That thief. How much?”
    “Like I said, we’ll figure it out tonight. Logan won’t give it up until all four of us meet.”
    “That’s stupid, we can’t be seen anywhere near Logan.”
    “He insists. Sorry. You’ll have to wait a little while longer.”
    Bethany crossed her arms. She looked at Pete, then Miranda.
    “You better get back to your meeting,” she said.
    “We’ll call you later Mom,” Miranda said. “Jeez, just chill for once.” She walked out the door.
    “I need to go too, sweetheart,” Bethany said. “I’m going to call the bank. Maybe I can stall them another week or so.”
    The two hugged, gently, then kissed, deeply. Bethany noticed his erection and smiled.
    “Whatever is going on is all Miranda’s idea you know,” she said. “She’s the brains of that operation. And the boss. I wonder what she’s up to.”
    “We can handle her,” he said. “We always have.”
    “Be sure and get a hold of Rincon.”
    “Don’t worry. Hey, your mother still hasn’t said anything?”
    “Not a word. But then, we haven’t been talking much lately.”
    “It’s hard to imagine her keeping something like that a secret. Hard to imagine her keeping anything a secret.”
    “This is different though, I guess.”
    Bethany kissed Pete on the lips and his forehead, ran her fingers through his hair, and walked out the door.

FIFTEEN
     
    Outside, Miranda went back to the Hole in the Wall. Bethany walked to her black Mercedes. She saw the three men from the church coming from the back of Mr. Tokyo’s. They looked pumped. Two of them even high-fived each other.
    She turned and looked up at the new sign.
    “Fucking hypocrites.” Paul was limping up behind her. He clutched his stomach. His right eye was red and swollen and blood streamed from his mouth and his right ear. He gasped in pain as he walked. Went from car to car, reached out his hands to trunks, roofs, and hoods to steady himself as he walked.
    Bethany studied at her brother. She smiled.
    “What happened to you?” she said.
    “I got gay bashed by some of the … Reverend’s idiot sycophants, which is strange since I’m not even gay.”
    “But you stick up for fags,” Bethany said. “So you aren’t any different.”
    “If you were any kind of Christian and any kind of sister,” Paul said, “you’d call me an ambulance and report those men to the police.”
    “Sorry,” Bethany said. “I have something more important to do.”
    She got into her car and drove away.
    Paul stared after her before walking to his car, just as the meeting was ending and dozens of people streamed out to the parking lot to their motorcycles, cars, trucks, toward the liquor store and bar while furtively glancing back, or to gather in clumps to smoke and talk until the next meeting at six.

SIXTEEN
     
    “Uncle Paul!”
    Miranda ran out of the meeting with her card in her hand. Paul ignored her, kept going toward his car.
    “Uncle Paul,” she said. “What’s wrong? What happened to you?”
    “Nothing you need to worry about,” he said.
    Miranda tried to reach out and use her arms to help him walk. “Why can’t you walk? Is it your back?”
    Paul flailed his arms to keep her off.
    “Leave me alone,” he said.
    Miranda looked like she was about cry.
    “Uncle Paul? What’s wrong?”
    “Isn’t your grandmother here to pick you up?”
    “She’s not here yet, but who cares? Did someone beat you up? You look horrible.”
    “Did you kill Tina? Did Logan?”
    “What? No way. As if.”
    “You trying to put the blame on me? What the fuck?”
    “Uncle Paul, I think you’ve been dexing a little too heavy.”
    “Huh?”
    “You think I don’t know about what you do late in the evening when you go into the bathroom with a bottle of Robitussin and lock yourself in your room all night?”
    Paul avoided her eyes.
    “You really need to stop that shit, it’ll fry your brain. I used to do it when I was in junior