tears.
A two-by-four swept out from the red cloud and cracked John square in the temple. The fat man rolled midair, blood arcing from his nostrils into the sky, his eyes rolling up into his head. With a low moan, he thundered to earth onto his back a foot from Paco. Like a mortally wounded bear, John lay on his back—huffing, bloody, and immobile.
One of the illegals stepped from the red cloud of dust with the two-by-four. He looked down at John with a curled lip of defiance and disgust. The other illegals had also picked up lumber from the woodpile.
Paco had heard it said that there’s no more pissed-off person than a woman who has been done wrong, but he came to think otherwise as the illegals and their clubs finished off John, pounding him into the red earth long after Satan had taken his soul to its dubious reward.
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
THE FORTUNE-TELLER HELENA WAS MAKING a liverwurst on rye in the pantry behind the séance room when she heard Abbie’s heft thumping down the stairs. “Lena!”
“In here.” Helena put the French’s back in the fridge and picked up the paper plate with the sandwich on it. Who had time for washing plates?
“Lena!”
“In here, Abs.” Helena took a bite of the sandwich over the sink and chewed thoughtfully. Wasn’t the same without Miracle Whip.
You have to appreciate the contrast between this and the knife fight, am I right? Blood spewing in slow motion through the air versus the importance of Miracle Whip. There is irony in this, and they will love it at Cannes.
Abbie huffed and puffed into the séance room. “Lena, you won’t believe it.”
Helena walked through the beaded curtain and stopped, still chewing, eyebrows raised without too much genuine anticipation.
“Lena, I know who he is!”
“ Who he?”
“The man.”
“What man?”
“Last night.”
“Oh.”
“I was just watching The View, and at the break, there was one of them things where the news people tell you the headlines, you know, the way they do.”
“Mmm.”
“Anyways, they have this newsflash, and Purity Grant was in court this morning about that thing with the horse.”
“ Horse who?”
Abbie was trying to catch her breath. “’Memmer when Purity Grant stole a horse and rode through Central Park with her top off?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Well, she was in court this morning about that, and when she was coming out, she fainted, and they took her to the hospital.”
“Is she OK?” Yes, Miracle Whip would have made a better sandwich.
“They don’t know.”
“Was it something she ate?”
“I dunno, Lena, but—”
“Because there’s been a lot of food poisoning lately. A lot. They talk about it on the news all the time.”
“I dunno what it was, I don’t know if they know. Anyways—”
“Could have been stress. That girl takes on a lot of stress.”
“Anyways, they show her ambulance arriving at the hospital—”
“You can get sick just being at a hospital. Germs .”
“—and they show a picture of her father.”
“I somehow feel sorry for that tramp. Rich people, they think they have it so good, but then you see this.”
Abbie groaned as she settled into a chair at the crystal ball. The chair groaned back. “Her father, Lena.”
“Hm?”
“That’s him.”
“ Who him?”
“Aren’t you listening? Him him. From last night.”
Helena stopped chewing and swallowed. “That was Purity Grant’s father?”
“That’s what I’m saying, Lena. Robert Tyson Grant. He’s a gazillionaire. And his stepdaughter is Purity Grant, the one who’s in trouble all over the place.”
“You’re shitting me. Really?”
“Lena, would I run all the way down here like this in the middle of The View to tell you this if I was lying?”
“You sure?”
“Poztiv.”
Helena sank into her chair at the dark crystal ball. “You sure ?”
“ Poz- tiv.”
Helena shot a suspicious glance at her liverwurst sandwich and set the paper plate on the table. “He’s very
A two-by-four swept out from the red cloud and cracked John square in the temple. The fat man rolled midair, blood arcing from his nostrils into the sky, his eyes rolling up into his head. With a low moan, he thundered to earth onto his back a foot from Paco. Like a mortally wounded bear, John lay on his back—huffing, bloody, and immobile.
One of the illegals stepped from the red cloud of dust with the two-by-four. He looked down at John with a curled lip of defiance and disgust. The other illegals had also picked up lumber from the woodpile.
Paco had heard it said that there’s no more pissed-off person than a woman who has been done wrong, but he came to think otherwise as the illegals and their clubs finished off John, pounding him into the red earth long after Satan had taken his soul to its dubious reward.
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
THE FORTUNE-TELLER HELENA WAS MAKING a liverwurst on rye in the pantry behind the séance room when she heard Abbie’s heft thumping down the stairs. “Lena!”
“In here.” Helena put the French’s back in the fridge and picked up the paper plate with the sandwich on it. Who had time for washing plates?
“Lena!”
“In here, Abs.” Helena took a bite of the sandwich over the sink and chewed thoughtfully. Wasn’t the same without Miracle Whip.
You have to appreciate the contrast between this and the knife fight, am I right? Blood spewing in slow motion through the air versus the importance of Miracle Whip. There is irony in this, and they will love it at Cannes.
Abbie huffed and puffed into the séance room. “Lena, you won’t believe it.”
Helena walked through the beaded curtain and stopped, still chewing, eyebrows raised without too much genuine anticipation.
“Lena, I know who he is!”
“ Who he?”
“The man.”
“What man?”
“Last night.”
“Oh.”
“I was just watching The View, and at the break, there was one of them things where the news people tell you the headlines, you know, the way they do.”
“Mmm.”
“Anyways, they have this newsflash, and Purity Grant was in court this morning about that thing with the horse.”
“ Horse who?”
Abbie was trying to catch her breath. “’Memmer when Purity Grant stole a horse and rode through Central Park with her top off?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Well, she was in court this morning about that, and when she was coming out, she fainted, and they took her to the hospital.”
“Is she OK?” Yes, Miracle Whip would have made a better sandwich.
“They don’t know.”
“Was it something she ate?”
“I dunno, Lena, but—”
“Because there’s been a lot of food poisoning lately. A lot. They talk about it on the news all the time.”
“I dunno what it was, I don’t know if they know. Anyways—”
“Could have been stress. That girl takes on a lot of stress.”
“Anyways, they show her ambulance arriving at the hospital—”
“You can get sick just being at a hospital. Germs .”
“—and they show a picture of her father.”
“I somehow feel sorry for that tramp. Rich people, they think they have it so good, but then you see this.”
Abbie groaned as she settled into a chair at the crystal ball. The chair groaned back. “Her father, Lena.”
“Hm?”
“That’s him.”
“ Who him?”
“Aren’t you listening? Him him. From last night.”
Helena stopped chewing and swallowed. “That was Purity Grant’s father?”
“That’s what I’m saying, Lena. Robert Tyson Grant. He’s a gazillionaire. And his stepdaughter is Purity Grant, the one who’s in trouble all over the place.”
“You’re shitting me. Really?”
“Lena, would I run all the way down here like this in the middle of The View to tell you this if I was lying?”
“You sure?”
“Poztiv.”
Helena sank into her chair at the dark crystal ball. “You sure ?”
“ Poz- tiv.”
Helena shot a suspicious glance at her liverwurst sandwich and set the paper plate on the table. “He’s very
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