Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [83]
“Not till then? Not Christmas?”
“Don’t think we can swing it, and it doesn’t sound like you can either.”
“Likely not.” He told her of the prospect of his witnessing a hanging before New Year’s.
“Henry Trenton? I wondered about that. Big, noisy case here, as you can imagine.”
“I had no idea.”
“Oh, sure. The capital cases get a lot of attention in law school. That guy is a poster boy for your type.”
“My type?”
“C’mon, Dad. You haven’t softened on capital punishment already, have you?”
“Well, I still believe Satan is the author of death.”
“I think capital punishment is satanic too, Dad, though I doubt that’s what you were implying. Still, it’s hard to argue against in this case. That monster still call himself the Deacon?”
“Yes, but I have my doubts about his salvation.”
“Wow, I wonder why.”
“No one is beyond re—”
“Redemption, yeah. But can you see why most of the people I know think there’s something wrong with the prospect of sharing heaven with a child molester and murderer?”
“Degrees of sin,” Thomas said, wincing. Why was it so hard to talk to his own daughter?
“Well, get him saved, Dad, so he doesn’t have to have his neck broken and burn for eternity.”
Thomas closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “Rav, I know we don’t see eye to eye on much anymore, but I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t be so flippant about things I hold sacred.”
“Point taken, Dad. Sorry. I do find it interesting that we’re going to wind up in virtually the same field, maybe on different sides of the same fence. Now get Mom some help and let me know how it goes. Don’t put this off.”
Touhy Trailer Park
Something was distracting the usually mellow Stevie Ray, but Brady wasn’t sure what it was until his wife had to leave the dinner table to tend to the squalling baby.
“One of those guys you’re living with is my weed guy, man.”
“Pepe?”
“He’s the one.”
“He told me he’s looking for help selling. What do you think? I could make a lot more with him than I will wearing that monkey suit at Burger Boy.”
“Dealing dope? It’s your call, Brady. You do want a car and all that.”
Brady nodded. “Selling grass to rich kids? Like shooting fish in a barrel. They’re gonna get it somewhere anyway. Why shouldn’t it be from me so I can get my cut?”
Brady left Stevie Ray’s an hour before he was due on the forklift. Sober and subdued, he didn’t look forward to the work like he had even the day before, and he dreaded a long evening at the laborers’ shack, then trying to sleep there. But no way would he humble himself and move back home.
He wandered over to the trailer and found Peter alone. How his mother could just leave the boy there every evening until she and her boss/boyfriend were finished partying—or whatever it was they were up to—was beyond him.
Petey glanced up from his video game and blinked at Brady. “Wanna play?” the boy said.
Brady shrugged and sat next to him. They played in silence until Brady was hopelessly behind, as usual, and tossed away his controller. Peter shut down the game. “I don’t like it when you’re not here,” he said. “Lonely.”
“I can come by every day.”
“That’d be good. Hey, you think Ma knows my birthday’s coming up?”
Brady snorted. “You’d think she’d remember that. She was there too, you know.”
“When I was born? Yeah. I get it. All I got last year was a shirt. And I’ve never had a party.”
“You want a party?”
“Sure.”
“But not here,” Brady said.
“No way. I don’t even want kids to know I live here, let alone have them see it.”
“Then where would you have a party?” Brady said.
“What about Burger Boy?”
“I practically run that place! I’ll check it out.”
“Ma would never pay for it.”
“I can handle that, too.”
“Meals and treats for everybody?”
“Sure, how many?”
“Twenty?”
“Twenty! Wow. Can you cut it to twelve?”
Brady hadn’t seen Peter this animated in ages. “Yeah, I can do that. I’ll invite my favorites. Just the guys. You’d really do this for me?”
“’Course. What are big brothers for?”
Brady was