It’s all about the looks in Madison. Like how every store is made out of bricks. I mean everything, even the Walmart. It’s a city ordinance, I don’t know. You can’t tell if you’re at a bank or a gas station half the time. It’s like they fling up these cheap strip malls, throw a layer of bricks on them, and act like they’re going to last. When they won’t last at all. They’re just as disposable as everything else in this white-flight town.
My first day at the new school, Kroner drove up in his Mustang with the tinted windows. He had his thug Ty in the passenger seat. Kroner told me if I didn’t make it up to him, if I didn’t sell enough to cover everything I’d lost him, he would cut my dick off and feed it to his dog.
“You got a dog?” I said.
“A big dog,” he said. “A Doberman.”
“I figured you more for a dachshund kind of guy.”
“A what?”
“You know, a wiener dog.”
Kroner didn’t think that was funny. His thug Ty — this big blonde-headed county boy, complete with cowboy boots and brass knuckles — stepped out of the car and beat the shit out of me. He took my wallet and my shoes. He kicked me so hard I shit my pants.
There I was, crying my eyes out in a Walgreens parking lot, when I had my idea.
I called up Pineywood Baptist Church, the biggest church in Madison. It’s the one my mom and all her friends go to. They have the big church barbecues where everybody gets hammered and figures out who they’re going to cheat on their husbands with next. It’s a horrible church full of horrible people and everyone knows it.
I asked to talk to the youth pastor. I didn’t know his name, I didn’t know a thing about him. His secretary said he wasn’t in, but I told her it was an emergency so she gave me his cell phone number.
Bless his stupid heart, Pastor Jerry was there ten minutes after I called him. Picked me up at the Walgreens in his plum-colored Honda Element. Took me straight to his house and listened to my whole bullshit story: the bullying drug dealers, my desire to come clean, to have a fresh start. He had me say the sinner’s prayer, right then and there. Then he fed me dinner.
After we ate, Pastor Jerry went to take a dump and left me in the living room with his daughter Kayla. She’s a freshman at Parkside. She’s gorgeous. I had no clue how I’d never noticed her before. She was watching fat people yell at each other on the TV. A big smiling family portrait hung over the mantelpiece: a four-year-old Kayla, Pastor Jerry, and a brown-haired beauty with gigantic tits who I guessed was Kayla’s mom.
“So where’s your mom?” I asked.
“She’s dead,” said Kayla.
“I’m sorry.”
“I bet,” said Kayla, then she changed the channel. “Are you serious about all this Jesus shit?”
“Nope,” I said.
“I hate my dad.”
“He’s a fucking tool, and he’s about to make me a hell of a lot of money.”
Kayla smiled at me. I put my arm around her.
I come home from youth group with my backpack full of cash. Just three months in and I already got ten grand hidden in a Nike box up in my room. I overcharge like crazy but the kids are too rich to know the difference, or even to care. It feels good, knowing I got enough to pay Kroner back tonight. Then I can start making the real money.
Mom sits at the dinner table in a purple dress that shows off her legs. Guess she and Dillon must have had a date night.
“Douglas,” says Mom, “we have something to talk about.”
Immediately I’m on my guard. Did they find out I’m still dealing? Did Kroner rat on me to Dillon?
Jesus, I must be stoned. That’s fucking stupid. What good would it do Kroner to have Dillon on my back?
“Dillon and I are getting married!” says Mom.
“That’s awesome,” I reply. “Great.” Dillon’s a jobless parasite, a wannabe rock star with a ponytail. But he seems to like my mom okay, and that’ll make her happy. Fuck it, whatever.
“Honey, look at the ring he bought me!” Mom holds out her hand to show me the biggest hunk of diamond I’ve ever seen in my life. Christ. Either that’s fake or Dillon robbed a bank, because that dude is broke.
Oh fuck.
I run upstairs to my room and lock the door. I go up to my closet and unscrew the air vent and pull out my Nike box.
It’s fucking empty. My future stepdad robbed me.
I call him on his cell phone.
“Howdy, Douglas, did you hear the news?” says Dillon.
“Can it, cocksucker. You fucking stole my money.”
“Oh, that little shoe box full of change? You really should take better care of your things.” He chuckles. “Actually, that’s my first lesson to you, as your stepdad. Take better care of your shit.” Dillon laughs and laughs.
“I need that money, man. I’m not kidding. I know you didn’t spend it all on the ring. Just give me what you got left over.”
“No can do, kiddo. I’m on my way to Tunica now to celebrate.”
“Do you realize you’re going to get me killed?” I say.
“Who’s going to kill you? Kroner? Come on, that guy’s a pussy. I used to give him guitar lessons when he was twelve. He’s just some Madison kid, a phony like all the rest of you.”
“Yeah, you’re real hard core, Dillon. You grew up in North fucking Jackson. Real ghetto, man.”
“Hey, I’m not the guy who just got robbed by his mom’s boyfriend. And thanks, Douglas. I never could have gotten your mom such a nice ring without your help.”
I hang up. If I ever get out of this, if I ever go Scarface, I swear to God the first person I kill will be Dillon.
I’m supposed to meet Kroner at ten o’clock on this dirt road two turns off 463. High school kids call it The Spot, but it’s always abandoned on school nights. There’s no way I’m meeting him out there alone, with no neighbors or people around. No, I got to force him to meet me in public and try to explain things.
It’s eight fifteen. Kroner knows where I live, so if I holler at him now he’ll be at my place in twenty minutes. I got to be patient, make sure he’s all the way out at The Spot before I make contact.
I light up a joint and crank my stereo and wait. At ten thirty my phone starts ringing. I let him call me for five minutes before I answer.
“Hey, Kroner, dude. What time is it?” I say.
“Ten thirty, you pussy,” he shoots back. “That makes you thirty minutes late.”
“Shit, yeah, man, I’m sorry. Just fell asleep.”
“Do you need me to come and get your ass?” he says.
“Listen. There’s a problem.” Maybe it’s the weed, maybe it’s just because I don’t know what else to do, but I go for it: “My stepdad stole all your money.”
“Are you fucking with me?” says Kroner.
“I had it hid in a shoe box up in my room and he stole it.”
“Dillon stole it? The guitar-teacher guy?”
“Yeah, him. He’s my stepdad.”
“You had my money in a shoe box? With your daddy’s old Playboys? This is some junior high shit, man.”
“I’ll get you your money back. As soon as I can.”
“No, motherfucker. You get me my money tonight.” He hangs up.
That didn’t go well. I got to get on the move, somewhere Kroner won’t know to find me. I fill my backpack with the rest of my cash and all my bud. Maybe I can bargain with some of it.
Mom’s got the TV loud and she’s asleep in her pink bathrobe on the couch. I bend down and kiss her forehead. For a second I think about waking her up, telling her everything, asking for her help. But then I remember what it was like after Dad left, the overdose on sleeping pills, how proud she is of me now that I’m Jesus Boy. Besides, all the money she’s got is whatever Dad sends her, since he had the good lawyer and won the divorce.