Fade In:
SLIP BACK INTO RAND’S SKIN
There he is. Flaunting moral corruption on social media. You knew him as Dean Halverson, but today he goes by Dean Green, and his blog is the Green Screed. Apparently he’s morphed his perversions into white nationalistic hate mongering. And the fucker will be a featured speaker at a protest in Tucson today.
This could be your moment, Rand.
The instant you even that score
once and for all.
There’ve been rumblings about the rally for a while. Some guys on the construction crew are planning to march on the pro-immigration side. You’ve heard them talking, and they expect maybe ten thousand path-to-citizenship supporters to swell the streets surrounding the U of A campus. So, of course, a bunch of white-power pricks feel the need to flex their muscles.
This being open-carry-crazy Arizona, you know that “patriots” will dress up in camos and exhibit assault rifles and parade around shouting racist slogans. And Dean fucking “Green Screed” Halverson will climb out of his hole and lead the charge, yelling into a megaphone.
A stray bullet could come from anywhere,
and shut him up forever.
You wouldn’t be privy to this information at all if not for an odd conversation you had with Cami last night, and that might not have happened if not for Waylon.
When you arrived home from work, Cami’s car was absent. About the time you slipped out of your boots and went to wash up, she came in, Waylon in tow. “Where’ve you been?”
Innocent question, and an innocent answered it. “At Gramma’s.”
Cami blushed peeled-beet red, the approximate shade of guilt. But her excuse seemed valid. “I called to talk to Noelle and couldn’t get hold of her, so I tried Mom, who was having coffee with a friend. When neither of us could rouse Noelle, we both went to see what was wrong. She’d had a seizure and was just coming around.”
You tossed up your arms in disgust. “I thought you said her new meds had everything under control.”
“I guess she didn’t sleep much last night. Exhaustion is a trigger.”
You’ve heard it before. “Uh, yeah.” That was pretty much all you had on that. “So then you hung out?”
“For a little while. But she needed to sleep, so I let her nap.”
“Me and Gramma took a nap,” said Waylon.
“Go play,” urged Cami, herding him toward his toy box before turning back to you. “He was really cranky, so Mom offered to lie down with him while I talked to Noelle. Before I knew it, everyone was asleep, so I ran a couple of errands.”
Errands. Déjà vu. For someone with very little to do, she sure comes up with a lot she has to do. “Like what?”
“Okay,” she confessed. “That wasn’t exactly true. I took in a movie.”
Last time you went to a theater was almost a year ago, on your anniversary. Your bullshit alarm initiated a hot creep of suspicion. “You went by yourself? What did you see?”
Cami rattled off the name of something current, or maybe not so. You have no way of knowing, anyway.
And then, changing the subject, she mentioned, “Oh, I ran into Daniel’s half brother, Tim.”
“You mean the guy who helped Silas beat Daniel to a pulp?”
“Yeah. But, listen . . .”
She offered up a woeful tale, the upshot of which was that hooking up with Daniel might very well mean Grace is in danger. Truthfully, there is something off about the guy. But he dotes on her. And, anyway, Silas is her actual stalker.
Nothing she said made sense in the context of what you know. Something was definitely wrong. And things kept getting stranger.
“So, you visited with Noelle today, you won’t need me to watch Waylon tomorrow?”
“Actually, I do. There’s a big rally downtown and I promised I’d take Noelle.”
“The immigration rally?”
“Yeah. She’s all into it. I figure anything that gets her out of the house . . .”
“Cami, that’s going to be crazy! They’re expecting, like, ten thousand people or something.”
“I know. Could you help me figure out a good place to park?”
So, you went online to find out exactly where the rally is supposed to be held, and your research carried you to the planned protest, including their list of rabble-rousing speakers. A couple you’ve heard of, through your criminal justice classes. But you never expected to see Dean among them.
There will be militia presence, too. Things could get dicey, and as Cami gets ready to leave this morning, you try to talk her out of it. “Sweetheart, I really don’t think you should go. What if the demonstration turns violent? You could get hurt.”
“The whole point is a peaceful rally. There will be church congregations there. We’ll stay where it’s safe, and if it looks like that’s changing, I promise we’ll leave ASAP.”
“But you don’t care about immigration.”
“Noelle does, and I care about her.”
“Maybe I should come with you.”
“No!”
The force of her response is surprising. “Why not?”
“Because I need you to watch Waylon. There’s no time to find a sitter now. Look. I told Noelle I’d take her, and I’m going to. Won’t hurt you to spend a couple of hours with your son, you know.”
You wince at her excellent button pushing.
“How can you even say that?”
As usual when she knows she’ll get her way, she pretends humility, comes over for a kiss. “Sorry. Didn’t mean it. Maybe you could take him to the park? You know how he loves the slides.”
The sting of defeat nicks your pride and you deflate.
“Maybe I will. Be sure to put his seat in the truck.”
“I’m going to sneak out before Waylon gets up. Love you.”
“I love you, too.”
You do, but as you watch her leave, you think maybe the emotion has tempered. The sex is still good, and you still think she’s hot, but after three years together, the fiery passion has cooled to embers. Yes, they can still be stoked, but it takes more work than it used to.
She has changed. Either that, or you’ve just opened your eyes to the kind of girl she really is.
The selfish kind, you mean.
Not like you can’t work with that, and maybe she’ll mature into a different woman. But it can be hard to live with someone who always insists on having things her way.
Besides, you value stability, and want that for your kid. Your own childhood was volatile. You never felt secure, even before the thing with Dean. After, it was like walking a tightrope over a pit of self-doubt. Your mom made you believe it was your fault, even though she had no clue what had happened. She did that by calling you weak, gullible, unworthy of love.
Waylon will always know he can count on you.
And, maybe, once you settle up
with Dean you’ll feel strong,
discerning,
valuable.
The clock informs you it’s a little before nine. Unusual for Waylon to sleep in so late. A welfare check confirms he’s still snoozing, so you go to the kitchen, make coffee, and turn on your laptop to find streaming coverage of the crowds gathering for the rally. It’s going to be huge.
Insane. Too bad you can’t go. It would be good cover. You can see the headline: RANDOM BULLET KILLS NEO-NAZI. POLICE SEARCHING FOR SHOOTER.
Then again, there will be cameras there. Lots of them. Thousands of people shooting video on their phones, not to mention reporters with newsroom equipment.
You must go to that rally.
Find a way.
Then again, then again, when you take Dean out, you want it to be personal. Just him and you, so there’s no doubt in his mind why he’s going to die. You’ve crafted the scene in your mind many times:
Fade In: Secluded desert location. Old pervert, wearing a Boy Scout uniform, crawls across the sand, begging for mercy.
“Take off your pants,” you order, and when he’s slow to respond, you put a bullet into the ground next to him.
Coward sheds his trousers.
“Now your skivvies.”
Off come the tighty whities. The sight of his pale pimply ass makes you cringe.
“Turn around and face me.”
On his knees below you, he turns up his watering eyes. “No. Please?”
“Once upon a time, I said those exact two words to you, and all you did was rape me. Do you remember my name? Do you know who I am?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
You could let him go. He doesn’t know who you are. But that, in itself, is a problem. You want him to know. “The name is Rand Bingham. You pretended to be my friend, and then you hurt me, in the most humiliating way possible. I know I’m not the only one, but I will be the lucky one who gets revenge for us all.”
And then, a single shot, right between the eyes . . .
“Daddy?”
You jump at the sound of Waylon’s small voice, but immediately fall back into the present. He grounds you.
“Morning, little man. Want some breakfast?”
He sprints across the room, leaps into your arms. “Pancakes?”
“You’re going to turn into a pancake.”
“Nuh-uh. You are.”
And so it goes. You dive into the day, keeping half an eye on the news about the rally. Seems the cops are doing a decent job of keeping the two sides separated, though there are sporadic incidents, and some protesters have been arrested.
You’ve washed the post-pancake dishes and are getting Waylon ready for a trip to the park when your phone rings. It’s an unfamiliar number, but something tells you to go ahead and pick up. You’re glad that you did, because it’s Cami.
“Rand? I’m in jail. Can you please come down here and see about bail?”
“What?”
“Because of the protest?”
“No. Long story. Please come, and bring money. They might let me out OR, but the booking cop didn’t think so.”
You exhale loudly. “Have any idea how much?”
“No clue.”
“Okay. It might take a while.”
“Rand? Please don’t tell my parents. I love you.”
You have to get someone to watch the kid. He’s not going to see his mother in jail. What the fuck did she do, if it wasn’t something to do with the rally? Was Noelle involved?
To spring Cami quickly will probably require a bail bondsman, so you do an online search and find one willing to come out on a holiday. He was aware his services might be needed, considering that many protests lead to arrests. “I’ll check into it and get back to you.”
You’ve got two hundred bucks in the bank, and that has to last until Friday, and you need a babysitter. Your parents are out of town. Who else? Grace! Hopefully, she’s around.
You call; she’s home. But when you explain you require bail money and someone to watch Waylon, Daniel is apparently reluctant to let her come. You can hear him raise his voice in the background, and after the things Cami mentioned earlier, your brotherly defense mechanism kicks into gear.
If that bastard lays a hand on her,
you will make him regret it.
But Grace remains calm and assertive. “I’ll stop by the ATM and should be there in twenty minutes.”
“You’re okay, right?”
“Of course. Why?”
“Your boyfriend sounds upset.”
“He’ll get over it. He has to leave soon anyway. I’ll see you ASAP.”
If she isn’t here in a half hour, you’re going over to make sure he’s gone and she’s safe.
The bail bondsman calls back. “They’ve got her on a misdemeanor marijuana charge. Twenty-five hundred bail, so I’ll need three hundred seventy-five in cash. That’s fifteen percent, plus my fee. And how about a car title? I need to protect my investment.”
Marijuana? There’s no damn way! Cami doesn’t do marijuana. It’s not possible. You’d know. This has to be a mistake.
While you wait for Grace, you dig out the title to the Civic. You’ve folded it neatly in your wallet when Waylon finally asks, “Park, Daddy?”
You scoop him up, kiss his forehead. “Later, okay? Auntie Grace is coming over to play.”
“Where you goin’? Work?”
“No. I’ve got to go get your mama.”
“Where Mama’s car?”
Shit. Shit. Shit. You have no idea. Was it a traffic stop? Did they impound it? It would be nice to have some information.
“The engine quit. I’ve got to fix it if I can, so we can get Mama home.”
You set Waylon down and start to pace, realizing you just lied to your son. But you had no other choice, and it pisses you off. Cami has some major explaining to do. If she’s convicted, it could very well ruin your chance at a job on the force. You slam your fist against the wall.
“Daddy mad?”
You rein it in. “Sorry, little dude. Everything’s okay.” Oh, man, another lie.
It takes almost forty minutes for Grace to arrive, and by the time she gets there, you’ve resumed your pacing. Worried for her. Worried for Cami. Worried for your family.
Waylon greets her. “Gracie!”
“There’s that boy. Come give me a hug, then go turn on the TV.” Once he’s out of range, she says, “Sorry it took so long. I had to drop Daniel off.”
“You sure everything’s okay with that guy?”
“As okay as things get. Why?”
“Just something Cami said made me think there’s something not very nice there.”
“Like what? She hardly even knows Daniel.”
Apparently, neither does Grace. Which reminds you. “She said his brother told her some stuff. How would she know this Tim guy, anyway?”
“I really don’t know. But I do know Tim is a thug.”
It dawns on you: marijuana. Maybe she gets it from Tim the thug. “Question. Did you know Cami smokes weed?”
Her jaw actually, physically drops. “What?”
“She got arrested on a marijuana charge.”
“No way. Not around me, at least. Not ever.”
“Well, that’s what the bail bondsman said. She was holding an ounce.”
“Oh. Bail.” Grace reaches into her purse, pulls out four hundred dollars. “That’s all I could get.”
“It’s plenty. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can. Thank you. For everything.”
“No worries. I know you’re good for it. Go on. We’ll be fine. It’s been a while since I’ve had any Waylon snuggle time.”
As you leave, you feel a small sense of relief. Grace is safe. Waylon’s safe. Cami’s safe, because jail is secure.
And yet, with or without your plan for revenge, everything you’ve worked so hard for is currently at risk.
How could that selfish bitch
do this to you?
Fade Out