Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [30]
Brady felt like a fool, but he reached out. Tatlock’s hand seemed twice as thick as his, and it was calloused. The man gripped firmly.
“I won’t hurt you, but you can tell I could, can’t you?”
Brady shrugged and nodded. There was no future in challenging this guy. “Well, I’m innocent. I don’t know where your money is, and since you obviously don’t believe me, I quit.”
“It’s not that easy. You owe me at least two hundred dollars. It’s probably a lot more, but that’s what I’ll settle for. And that’s the only thing that’s going to keep me from calling the cops. Now give me your keys. You’ve got three days to get me the money.”
Two hundred was all Brady had left in his car fund, but he didn’t want to risk actually answering to the police. Not when the musical was in rehearsal and he had to do something about his schoolwork.
“What’d he want?” his mother said.
“He wants me to work more hours; you believe that? I can’t with schoolwork and the play and all.”
“You could use the money.”
“Forget it! I quit.”
“Tell me you didn’t!”
“I did. He’s an idiot. Thinks I can work an extra hour each night. No way.”
“You’d double your money, Brady! Don’t be a fool. Tell him you’ll do it.”
“Too late. I already quit.”
“You’re an idiot. What’re you gonna do for money?”
“I’ll find something when the play’s over.”
“And you’re gonna mooch off me till then? No way.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
Brady knew he should study, but even his script wasn’t inviting as he undressed for bed. He was jittery, and a cigarette didn’t help. He wanted to sneak over to Stevie Ray’s for a beer, but when he had returned the guitar the other night, they had wound up drinking till dawn and he’d suffered a hangover the next day. No more of that.
He dug around in the closet for his stash and found less than five dollars.
“Ma! Where’s my money?”
“Be quiet or you’ll wake up your brother!”
“I don’t care! Now where is it?”
“Don’t ask me! I didn’t even know you had money.”
“Yeah, right. You didn’t take my car fund?”
“I don’t need your money!”
“Well, somebody took it! What am I supposed to live on till I find a job?”
“That’s your problem. You’re the one who quit.”
“If I find out you took it, I swear—”
“Oh, please. Stop threatening me, Brady. It’s getting old.”
He slammed the door in her face and flopped onto the bed. Something made him grab his long, greasy hair and pull as hard as he could. He screamed into his pillow, but nothing could lessen the rage. He wanted to hurt someone. He didn’t know who, and he didn’t care. The kids who soaked his clothes? The girl who had accused him of stealing? Alex? He could take that kid’s head off without a second thought. North’s snotty family? Tatlock? Funny thing about him: he was right. Brady was ashamed, humiliated, caught.
Problem was, where was he going to get two hundred now?
12
Sunday Night | Oldenburg Rural Chapel
To Thomas’s great surprise, Paul and Patricia Pierce followed through on the installation service, and even Jimmie Johnson, the denomination’s executive director, showed up to make it official. It seemed as if every member of the five bodies had made it, and 230 filled the pews.
A makeshift kids’ choir sang, as did an adult ensemble. Two soloists performed, and an old farmer played “I’ve Got a Mansion Just Over the Hilltop” on, of all things, a handsaw.
Mr. Johnson read a couple of kind letters from parishioners in two of Thomas’s former churches, then had to excuse himself for a trip that required him in Illinois by the next morning. Thomas assumed no one else gave that more thought than he did, but it would prove portentous.
Grace gave her testimony, telling how she was led to Christ by her father—also a pastor, now in heaven—when she was a little girl. “And I’ve never looked back. I used to wish I had a dramatic story like some who were saved out of lives of sin and degradation. But I’ve learned over the years that it’s just as much