Vernon God Little

'Use those toilet bowls, over there,' calls some asshole in a fake girl's voice.

'Hey, yeah,' says a lady, 'I saw some toilet bowls around here somewhere – maybe that'll help you pretend.'

'Wait up!' says Ella Bouchard. 'You better not use them potties – snakes sleep in 'em.'

'Oh my God,' says the lady. Todd, wait! I better come with you.'

They crackle through the bushes into my nest. I stand out of the dirt and pick up my bike, casually, like I'm in the freezer section at the Mini-Mart or something.

'It's the psycho!' says the kid.

'Shhh, Todd, don't be silly,' says the lady. She turns to me. 'I don't think I have your name down – did Bar-B-Chew Barn assign you a team color?'

'Uh – green?' I say.

'Can't be green, it can only be a color from their logo.' She pulls out her phone. 'I'll call Mrs Gurie and check the list – what's your name again?'

'Uh – Brad Pritchard.'

'Brad Pritchard? But we already have a Brad Pritchard…'

There comes a wet rustle from the bushes, like a dog eating lettuce, then Brad tiptoes into the clearing with Mini-Mart bags tied over his Timberlands. He points out a cloud with his nose. That's nouvelle; having the convict look for his own gun.'

'Vaine?' says the lady into her phone. 'I think we need some assistance.'

I jump onto my bike and hit the pedals hard. Dirt spews across the clearing.

Girls giggle, camera tool-belts rattle, and in amongst them as I ride away, ride like the fucken wind itself, you hear Brad Pritchard faking a dumb girl's voice. 'Hey, Bernie – wanna see my south pole

?'

I spin twisters along the track to town. My only option is to hit the fucken road. Right away. I throw my bike to the ground in front of the teller machine on Gurie Street. I love my bike, but I just crash it the fuck down. It ain't a fancy bike, but it's strong, and used to belong to my grand-daddy, back when the town still only had two roads. I crash it down. That's the kind of twisted shit this life has in store for you, guaranteed.

I put my bank card into the machine, and tap in the code -6768. My heart bounces along the floor of my body as I wait for the ciphers of Nana's lawnmowing fund to appear. After nine years, a message jumps to the screen.

'Balance – $2.41,' it says.

ten

I have no option but to spin home and grab stuff to pawn or sell. It's after four when I reach the house, willing it to be empty. Empty. Like: yeah, right. Lally's rental car is out front. I enter like a ghost through the kitchen screen. At first everything's quiet inside. Then there's a knock at the front door. An air-dam of perfume collapses into the hall. I freeze.

'Shhh, Vernon, I'll get the front door.' Mom scuttles over the rug like a hamster.

'Do-ris?' the kitchen screen opens behind me. Leona wafts in, flouncing her hair.

'Shhh – Lally's sleeping

!' hisses Mom.

Get that. When my daddy used to doze on the sofa after a few beers, she'd put on high heels and clomp around the kitchen, just to wake him up. I swear to God. She'd pretend to be doing stuff that required clomping, but she wasn't actually doing anything at all. She'd clomp back and forth for no reason, instead of just saying 'Wake up'. That was in the days after he hit me, after things went kind of sour.

A bedspring creaks up the hallway. Mom gently opens the front door to the reporter Lally owes money to. 'Afternoon, ma'am, is Eelio Lemeda here?'

'Lally? Well, he's here, but he's indisposed right now – can I tell him who called?'

'I'll wait, if you don't mind.'

'Well he shouldn't be much longer.'

The toilet flushes deep in the house. The bathroom door bangs, and Lally stomps down the hall. 'Vanessa, have you seen my therapy bag?'

'No, Lalito – anyway, I think you're all out of your gin-sling things.'

Fucken Vanessa

? I search her face for clues. One thing you notice is her cheeks are all proud and peachy, like when she eats ice-cream in important company. Her eyelashes flutter double-time.

'Vanessa?' says Leona.

Mom blushes. 'Well I'll explain just now.'

She hides another final notice from the power company behind the cookie jar, then goes to fuss over Lally, who only has his robe on, you can just about see his cock flapping all over the place. If you had a fucken electron microscope you could just about see it. He strides into the kitchen with this smile full of teeth, and grazes a hand to Leona's butt as he passes. She gives a wiggle.

'Lally,' says Mom, 'there's someone at the front door for you.'

'For me?' His smile stiffens. Joy wells up in my heart. As he turns to the door, I tackle Mom into the corner of the kitchen.

'Ma, go check Lally's visitor – fast! Go on now!'

'Well Vernon, what on earth's gotten into you? That's Lally's private business.'

'No it ain't, Ma, quick – it's real important.'

'Oh, Vernon – cope for God's sake.' She flashes her creamiest-pie smile as George and Betty clack into the kitchen, in the middle of one of their typical conversations.