an excerpt from my script treatment/novel, Casual Labor

(note: the text is rated mature for adult situations, language)

Casual Labor
by
Michael Aaron Bodi
email: starman76@verizon.net

1.
After a long day of sulking in her bedroom (and feeling sorry
for herself) Avery Boyce descended her homes only staircase and
entered a parlor. She made it five paces when Tilda Allard pounced.
Poor thing, you must be in shock! Tilda crowed. To lose a
mother at your age? I cant even begin to imagine. Such a tragedy!
She plucked a handkerchief from her cleavage and daubed her eyes.
Hi, Aunt Tilda, Avery said, with a tone of mockery. You look
chipper these days. Have you seen dad? I need to talk to him. Now.
Tilda gasped. Redheaded heathen! When I was sixteen children
had respect for their elders. Just look at yourself. That horrid tan
and all those freckles. And your hair! When was the last time it saw
a brush? If I were your father Id take a strap to you, young lady.
Tilda indicated the hearth and hmphed in disgust. There Avery
espied her father, Lane Boyce, and John Mallory, the county sheriff.
Johns 68 frame was bent toward the much shorter Lane, who stood
with one hand on the mantel and the other notched on a hip pocket.
Avery made a beeline through an assembly of Conlons, Allards,
Boyces and Gillens, across the parlor and toward the hearth. Dad.
John? she said at last. I wanted to thank you. For your eulogy at
the service this morning. What you said about mom. It meant a lot.
Youre welcome, love, John said. Its good to see you again.
Too bad its for this. Aye, sad events. How long are you here for?
For the duration. Or until dad kicks me out, Avery said.
Theyre my raison d'tre, the house and dad. Moms folks too maybe.
The whole hard-headed lot. I dont understand. They should be here.
Breton Cove is far and away, pet, John said. Sorchas people

2.
drank a pint of stout in her memory though, Im sure. Lane? Ill see
you tomorrow. You stay strong, lamb. Its going to get better, I
promise. He shook Lanes hand and parted with an enigmatic wink.
Avery waited until John was out of earshot before she spoke.
You and I havent had a moment alone since I got home, she said.
We need to talk. About school. About mom. You, too. Everything.
Like the beers swiped from the basement freezer, or the valium from
the bathroom medicine cabinet, or the dwindling stash of pilfered
cigarettes, carefully concealed out of sight in her bedroom upstairs.
Well talk tomorrow, Lane replied. And the next day, and the
day after that. Well have more time to talk than you can possibly
imagine. He finally raised his dark eyes and returned Averys gaze.
Its been a long day. Get something to eat, kiddo. Do as I say.
Lane looked haggard, twice his forty-nine years. Certainly not
the man he was during his salad days at the University. What course
did he teach? Avery asked herself. Superheroes in pop culture. Right.
The buffet table was laden with breads, casseroles, poultry.
Avery would have leftovers, enough to last until she got her kitchen
in order. Yes, Avery was hungry. Ravenous. She needed something in
her gut, bulk between her and the valium, or she was going to vomit.
A parlor door was left open to cool the room. Averys cousins
leapt through lawn sprinklers and turned cartwheels on the lawn
outside. Some wise-ass lit a bottle rocket and a rope of firecrackers.
Near the door, Aunt Vi sat before a 1910 carved oak Beckwith
and hammered through Nearer My God To Thee. And seated on a chair
beside the harmonium was the most peculiar girl Avery had ever seen.

3.
She was just 5 tall, and had large grey eyes, a broad upturned
nose, and glossy blue-black hair shorn in a pageboy bob. Her dire
appearance was made all the more noticeable by coal miners boots
and a hooded red sweatshirt that was frayed at the elbows and cuffs.
One hand was clenched on her lap while the other rested on a
grubby Jansport book bag beside her chair. Avery surveyed the room.
Did anyone else see her? Who was she? A distant relation perhaps?
Her gaze circled back to the parlor door again and the girl was gone.
The last of the Boyce Privy Council departed after midnight.
Avery

withdrew

to

her

bedroom

and

levered

castaway

mattress

against the door. She feared what sleep would bring. Nightmares.
Horrors from the grave. Her mothers waxen face, cold as a dead cod.
Instead she sifted into a dreamless void and awoke in the
morning, entreated by the noisome clank of pots and pans downstairs.
2.
Avery roped her hair into a ponytail and made her way to the
kitchen. There she found her ginger tabby cat, Ranger, reposed in a
hook of morning light aside the sink, and her father. Lane nursed a
pan of scrambled eggs and nodded at Avery as she entered the room.
Two slices of cold toast lay on a saucer where she would sit.
Ordinarily this type of breakfast fare would have made Averys flesh
crawl, but today she was too pissed off and too hung over to care.
She grabbed a juice box from the refrigerator and plopped down at a
wooden table, a salvaged picnic ground relic, with an affected thump.
Lane scraped a blob of eggs onto Averys plate, then his own.
He sat and the pair ate in an uncomfortable but respectful silence.

4.
Just when Lanes petulant distance began to grate on Averys
nerves, he spoke. So, what are your plans for the day? Lane asked.
Im going to take a mop and a bucket to this place and clean
it up, Avery replied. Lane sipped coffee and mm-hmm-ed in agreement.
And I need the keys to the truck too. No arguments, Avery
went on. Im going into town later to look for a full time job.
Doing anything. A cashier, a waitress. I dont care. You might want
to rattle around your own house like a zombie forever, but I dont.
Lane stopped eating and stood abruptly. His bench tipped and
smacked the tile floor with an angry thwack! that made Avery flinch.
I was too busy watching your mother waste away and die to
worry about this wreck of a house. Then again you might have known
that if you had bothered to call either one of us once in a while,
Lane said. He collected his cup and plate and strode from the room.
All of a sudden you care about what I think and what I say?
You didnt give a shit about my feelings two years ago when I
practically begged you and mom not to pack me off boarding school,
Avery shouted over her shoulder. Oh and by the way, when youre out
this afternoon doing who-knows-what do yourself a favor and get a
fucking decent haircut. You look like a God damned street person.
Avery heard Lanes study door slam. Then silence, then music.
Spring, from Vivaldis The Four Seasons. Allegro. Henryk Szering. It
was the 1969 LP Lane played after he and Averys mother had their
verbal combats, which were epic in amplitude and ferocity. Avery
would likely find Lane laid out on a settee in the study later,
asleep with his forearm over his eyes. If she cared to look, that is.

5.
Lane left without a word later. He carried a leather messenger
bag, an anniversary gift Avery hadnt seen in years, under one arm.
Lane hefted the bag into their SUV and sped away in a billow of dust.
She would have to strike a truce with her father, Avery thought
as the SUV vanished over a rise. Attain a ceasefire or some level
of dtente at least, or life inside the house would be untenable.
It was that or finally address the shadow in the corner, her mother.
Avery opened curtains and shutters and vacuumed floors. She
avoided

her

parents

bedroom

upstairs

and

her

mothers

studio,

cosseted in a haunt of wisteria and Glamis Castle roses behind the

house, like a fairy tale Bloody Chamber. Both filled her with horror.
Two hours later Avery was in a cold sweat. She finished her
work, sat at the kitchen table, ate pizza slices and drank a beer.
Then she checked her iPhone for voice messages or emails. Nothing.
3.
North

Capes

streets

were

already

swamped

with

their

daily

flood of lunch hour traffic when Avery entered the citys limits.
She crept through an endless series of four-way intersections until
she finally spotted a help wanted sign taped to The Green Mans
door and circled her pickup truck around to park, two blocks away.
Avery walked the distance and ducked inside the bistro. It was
busy at midday, wall-to-wall with college kids and hard hat townies.
Avery found a vacant stool near the espresso machine and asked a
barista about their help wanted sign. The bistros manager appeared
a

moment

later

and

passed

Avery

generic

questionnaire.

Avery

ordered a caf mazagran and filled the application out on the spot.

6.
She noted a profusion of modish tattoos, beards and flannel on
the male hipsters about her. The girls wore Doc Martins, outsized
knit caps and Misfits t-shirts. Perhaps this place wont be so bad
after all, Avery thought. Her gaze finally came to rest on a girl
seated alone in a corner booth, a girl in a hooded red sweatshirt.
The girl sipped iced coffee and read a manga, Battle Angel:
Last Order. After several minutes she carefully stowed the manga
inside the same Jansport book bag, then hefted the bag onto one
shoulder, tossed her empty cup into the trash and exited the bistro.
Avery slid her application to the barista and hustled outside.
The girl had already crossed the street and was trudging westward
with swift, regular strides. Avery pursued her through block after
run-down block before the girl finally stopped and entered a bodega.
The AC was on full blast. Avery ducked into a far corner below
the exit sign, well away from the dour, watchful gaze of the Sikh
clerk behind the register and the six or eight matronly Tias who
shopped inside, and watched the girl cruise up and down the aisles.
She was shoplifting. Avery knew this because she had done it
herself, in boarding school. The girl bought a candy bar and a pack
of gum for effect, and left the bodega. Avery followed after her.
I know what you did in there, Avery shouted to the girl, who
was about twelve feet away. The girl froze dead in her tracks and
turned to face her. You were shoplifting, Avery said. I saw you.
The girl thrust out her chin, marched toward Avery and dropped
her book bag to the pavement. You saw me did you? the girl asked.
Her voice was throaty and textured and she spoke with an accent

7.
common among the rustbelt migrs who lived and worked in North Cape.
You got good eyes, string bean. What are you going to do about it?
Nothing. If you give me a pack of cigarettes, Avery replied.
The girl drew a pack of Kool 100s from her book bag and passed
it to Avery. You live in the painted lady. I know you, she said.
I know you too, Avery said with a nod. She wedged the pack
into her hip pocket and offered her hand. Im Avery. Avery Boyce.
Corlie Weeks, the girl said. She finally shook Averys hand.
Dont worry. I wont rat you out, Avery said. I need the
smokes too much. So, are you hungry? You pick the place. My treat.
Corlie chose a burger joint, an airy little dive called Highs.
Avery immediately went into a restroom stall and smoked a cigarette.
When she emerged almost fifteen minutes later Avery found Corlie
huddled in a dimly-lit corner booth at the back of the restaurant.
For the better part of an hour they discussed the weather and
North Cape and being sixteen over cheeseburgers, fries and onion
rings, with cokes and root beer floats on the side. Avery itched to
pick Corlies brain about the day before, but dared not. Not yet.
Im through with high school, thank you very much, Corlie
finally said. Im sick of the bullies and of being afraid every day.
In a few months Im going to enroll in a special education program
so I can take my GEDs and go to Beauty College out in Cumberland.
When they were finished Avery paid the tab, wrote her phone
number on a menu and passed the menu and a ballpoint pen to Corlie.
Corlie did the same. It was settled then. They vowed to call
each other directly and meet again, at a different eatery next time.

8.
I have at least an hour and half drive back to Belstone
through farm country and I dont want to be on the road after dark,
Avery said. Please feel free to drop by the house from now on, okay?
We can listen to music or watch a movie and we can study for your
GEDs. If you like I can give you a ride home too, its no problem.
Thank you, no. No, Corlie said. I can hoof it from here,
She scraped crumbs into her palm and clapped her hand to her mouth.
4.
Corlie and her mother sat within their den and ate the bologna
sandwiches that Corlie had made for them and watched Forensic Files
on television. When she had finished eating Lettie opened a pack of
Kools and smoked one after another until she began to fall asleep.
Ready for your blanket? Corlie asked. Lettie could not speak
but her sad grey eyes, so much like her daughters, sparkled with
canny intellect. She nodded and patted Corlies hand, once for yes.
Corlie

draped

Lettie

to

the

neck

with

fleece

throw

and

withdrew to the kitchen, where she sat at a table and drank a glass
of milk and ate a wedge of chocolate cake from the refrigerator.
From now on drop by any time you want, Avery had said. Just
like that, as if it were the most guileless thing in the world.
Come sit for a spell and Ill help you with your stupid little GEDs.
What a joke. No one had ever given Corlie a break and no one
ever would. She had watched for years as her mother and father
worked themselves into the ground without so much as a single ort
of gratitude from anyone. Life was engineered for the sanctified
few at the top of the food chain, and the Weeks were at the bottom.

9.
No matter. One thing was clear, and it was that any and all
things were subject to change, if given the correct amount of force.
Avery was either a simpleton or a mental case and Corlie could use
the pretense of friendship to inveigle her way back into the house.
Corlie rose from her place at the table, dumped her glass and
saucer into the sink with the silverware laid crosswise on the
plate, stood upon a footstool and opened a pair of cupboard doors.
There out of reach on a topmost shelf she found her fathers gun, in
a Quaker oats box where Ellis Weeks had stowed it before his death.
5.
Where is dad? Avery wondered. It was past 8:00 PM and Lane
still wasnt home. There were no notes, no emails, no phone messages.
Avery fed Ranger, made a bowl of tomato soup for herself and
watched Regular Show on Cartoon Network. Then she turned the TV off,
went upstairs, fell onto her bed and sobbed until her throat ached.
She lay absolutely still and after a time heard car tires hiss
on the driveway outside. The front door closed and several minutes
later Lane stood silhouetted in her doorway. Hey, kiddo, he said.
Hi, dad, Avery said. Lane entered the room and sat on the
edge of Averys bed. He looked better than he did the day before,
not so haggard but still pretty bad, like he hadnt slept in days.
I think I found a job in town today. At an espresso bar called
The Green Man. Theyll call back this week maybe, Avery went on.
And I made a friend. A girl named Corlie. Shes sixteen and shes
so tiny she looks like a little person. And she has grey eyes, too.
Lane heaved a pained sigh. They blame me for her death, he

10.
said. Your mothers family. You asked John Mallory where they were,
why they werent at the funeral. They werent there out of spite.
Lane gazed at Avery over his shoulder. There was something very,
very bleak in his stare that told Avery her father was dead serious.
Yes, spite. They say I stole her away from her home in Breton Cove.
That I kept her from her career as an artist. That I killed her.
Averys heart was in her throat. This was definitely a new one.
What Lane said sounded like a confession. She hoped for both their
sakes that it wasnt. Thats bullshit, dad, Avery said. Mom was
a rock star in the art world. Everything we have, the house, all of
it, its from both of you. Its just sour grapes, and you know it.
Youre right, Lane said. Im sorry I left you on your own
today. I was wrong and it wont happen again. But I have good news.
It involves you directly. Ill know more about it in the morning.
Lane stood and drew a saddle blanket over Averys legs. Avery
caught Lanes hand before he could leave. I didnt what I said,
Avery asserted. About you being apathetic and wanting to stay here
in the house. I just hate seeing you like this. It makes me angry.
Rest

up,

kiddo.

We

probably

have

big

day

ahead

of

us

tomorrow, Lane said. He tweaked Averys fingers and left the room.
6.
Avery tottered into the kitchen at 9:00 AM. Her face was puffy
and creased from her coverlet and she had slept in her clothes. She
sat at the picnic table and held her head in her hands and groaned.
Ranger lay purring like an old four-stroke outboard motor next
to Lanes open laptop. Lane fussed busily over the stove and after

11.
several minutes ladled eggs, sunny side up, followed by dry toast,
onto a plate and scooted it toward Avery. Good morning, Lane said.
Fuck it, Avery said. She fished the Kools from her pocket,
pulled a cigarette from the pack, lit it and dragged, deep and slow
so she would get the head rush that inevitably followed her first
puff of the day. Then Avery absently tilted the laptop toward her,
peered at the text document that was onscreen and furrowed her brow.
The Walking Dead And Game Of Thrones
Moral Philosophy And The Paradigm Shift In American Popular Culture
By Lane A. Boyce
Youre writing again. Thats nice, Avery said. Her voice was
heavy with phlegm, made worse by her morning smokes. She flicked ash
onto her plates edge and fumbled for the salt and pepper shakers.
Lane poured orange juice for both of them. Avery drained half
her glass at once. We have an appointment this afternoon, Lane
said. With Buzz Jasper. So get yourself together. You might have to
answer some questions and I want you to be on your best behavior.
Buzz? Your lawyer? Avery asked. Im not in trouble, am I?
No, its nothing like that. Youll know everything when we get
there. In the meantime, eat and lets get this day started, Lane
replied. He readied his plate and sat. By the way, Im your father,
all right? Im not as senile and oblivious as you think I am. I know
you smoke. You dont need to hide those cigarettes from me anymore.
Lane spent the morning and early afternoon on yard work. Avery
sat on the front porch and let the sun warm her feet. Insects buzzed
about her ears and the trees that bordered the house were thick with
songbirds. She drew a harvest hat over her face and closed her eyes.

12.
They left early and reached Belstone Parish in 20 minutes. The
County Seat itself comprised six streets, a post office, a police,
fire and gas station, a few shops for tourists, and not much else.
Lane parked in the Stratford Hotel lot and he and Avery went inside.
Hair and nail salons resided downstairs, legal offices upstairs.
Lane guided Avery into a crabbed second-story waiting room, where a
secretary looked up from a Soviet-era PC and dialed an intercom.
You can go on in, mister Boyce. Buzz is waiting for you, she said.
They went into a hallway and entered the Holy-Of-Holies, a
smoking room so dark Avery could barely make out the clutter within.
Edward Buzz Jasper, a jocund little man in a green checked suit
and wire-rim glasses, leapt from his chair and scurried toward Lane.
Lane, glad you could make it. And Avery. My goodness, its
been what two years now? Nice to see you again. Please, sit down,
Buzz said. He ushered Avery and Lane to a couch and sat at his desk.
As her sight adjusted to the gloom Avery observed John Mallory,
looming like an attack dog or sentry, in the half-light behind Buzz.
Buzz placed his palms on a hefty manila folder, opened it with
great formality, studied the topmost document and rocked back in
his

chair.

Words

cant

express

how

grieved

am

by

Sorchas

passing, he said. Buzz removed his glasses and tapped them on his
desk. I was at your wedding and practically in the delivery room
when Avery was born. Death is a still a shock, no matter how much
you prepare for it. That said, are you holding up all right, Avery?
Avery nodded. Good. Good, Buzz said. He donned his glasses,
sat forward again, swiped the top document aside and appraised the

13.
next. Okay. First things first. You know this already, but it bears
repeating. The house and everything within, including Sorchas art,
has been willed to you, Lane, and then I assume, to Avery. On its
own the house is worth a small fortune, so dont let anyone try to
sweet-talk

you,

especially

that

gang

of

chiselers

on

the

city

council. Add the value of the acreage it sits on and Sorchas work
and you have the gross national product of some European countries.
Buzz set the document aside and straightened a sheaf of paper.
Now, here we go, he said. Avery, do you remember Albert Heaney?
Avery looked from Buzz to John to Lane and back to Buzz again,
and shrugged. Heaney. No. No. I cant say that I have. Should I?
He owned the comic book shop we used to go to, Lane said.
When you were little. Fantastic Planet. You called him mister H.
Give that man a gold star, Buzz said. It would seem, Avery,
that you are now a young woman of means. According to this document,
Mister Heaney passed away also, just a few weeks before your mother.
And as his wife Felicity died years ago and he had no heirs to speak
of, Albert has willed Fantastic Planet and everything in it to you.
Thats not possible, Avery said. Thats not possible. Dad?
Say something. Say something. Theres been a mistake. I have AP
courses in the fall, an internship at the museum of natural history
in Kingsport, SATs. What am I going to do with a comic book shop?
Buzz tossed the sheaf on his desk, sat back in his chair,
twiddled his thumbs and exhaled. I dont know, Avery, he said.
Ultimately

that

decision

is

yours.

My

advice

is

to

sell

the

inventory to the highest bidder and flip the property for twice its

14.
value. It isnt an easy enterprise but you and your father can do
it, if youre willing to sacrifice a little blood, sweat and tears.
He opened a desk drawer and produced a key ring with two keys,
one gold, one silver, and passed it to John Mallory. John strode
toward Avery and placed the ring in her palm. For the shop, pet,
John said. Silver for the security gate, gold for the front door.
Buzz closed the drawer and leaned forward. The recession has
hit us hard here, very hard, he asserted gravely. North Cape is
hemorrhaging businesses practically by the day. My opinion, Avery?
Sell the entire property before its too late, take the money under
the table and have a happy life. If anyone deserves it, its you.
7.
Lane resolved to look over the shop before he returned home.
They found a window booth in the Step Down Diner and ordered coffee.
Avery ate a dish of ice cream and watched locals scurry to and fro
like beetles in the diners forlorn parking lot. It was 100 F at
midday and a greenish squall line roiled above the western horizon.
I dont understand any of this, Lane said. He placed Buzzs
folder on the table before him and shook his head. Its all in
legalese. Theres shit I have to sign because youre a minor. And
thats just for starters. I have to get Buzz to take me through it.
So this is where you were yesterday, Avery bristled. Dotting
the Is and crossing the Ts with John and Buzz Jasper. You could
have told me, you know. Her incisive green eyes, flecked with
saffron, flashed hotly as they were wont to do when she was angered.
You needed to hear it from Buzz, not me, Lane replied. He

15.
closed the folder, sipped his coffee, leaned back and folded his
arms. But thats neither here nor there. Whats all this about AP
classes and SATs? I thought you had given up on boarding school.
I have, Avery said. I thought Id do senior year at the High
School in Belstone. Ill never go back to boarding school. Never.
Never. Never. Funny though. All those stupid piggy girls in my class?
I hated their fucking guts. Hate. But I miss my mare Hanna though.
They drove on. An hour later they came upon Fantastic Planet,
buttressed in a plaza amongst a score of florists and dingy thrift
stores. The shops faade and parking lot were in ruinous condition.
Lane opened the security gate and front door, entered the shop
and switched on an overhead light. Avery crept in after him. The
shop was a little more than 26 x 20 inside at most and smelled
pungently of mildew and disuse. Cardboard boxes menaced everywhere.
Albert must have died suddenly. Everything has been left in
place, Lane said. Avery agreed. It reminded her of The Well Of The
Souls from Raiders Of The Lost Ark, or a set piece from a 1980s
slasher film. Coupled with the storms distant rumbling outside, the
eerie scene lent their undertaking a tenor of adventure and mystery.
Lane drew a pen knife from a hip pocket, sliced a box open and
looked inside. What the hell, dad! Dont do that! Avery cautioned.
Come on, kiddo, arent you the least bit curious? Lane asked.
If we find a Hulk one-eighty-one were rich. If we find an Action
Comics number one, youll never have to work another day in your
life. Heaven knows what that old pack rat has stored away in here.
Avery looked over some of the comics on the display counter. It

16.
didnt take an expert to know that most of them were valuable, even
if sold for their cover price. This was fun, Avery had to admit, and
she hadnt seen her father so engaged, so hopeful, in quite a while.
Mister H sat there, Avery nodded toward the cash register.
Mrs. H sat in the back and watched telenovelas on a little black
and white TV. They had a Chihuahua named Peanut. Remember? I was so
miserable and bored then, all I wanted to be was someplace else. Now
I would give practically anything to have one more day like that.
A strangely prescient thunderclap seemed to punctuate Averys
narrative then, and a knotty, stinging chill rambled down her back.
Lane appraised the shop and nodded. Well, what do you think?
he asked. Looks good. Its not the most appealing property in the
world, but beggars cant be choosers. I think you can get a fair
deal on it, if thats what you want to do. Just sleep on it, okay?
They were halfway home when the storm washed over them. Lane
slowed the SUV to a crawl and finally parked by the side of the road.
What are we going to do? Avery asked. You cant drive. If we
stay here were going to run out of gas or suffocate in the heat.
Hang on a minute. I have an idea, Lane replied. He cut the
SUVs lights, veered onto a gravel driveway and inched through the
rain until he reached a meadow barn about 150 yards from the road.
Several minutes later they were safe and dry inside the barn.
Lane closed a panel door while Avery played a flashlight beam over
what lay within. A Steiger tractor, thresher, and combine the size
of a house roosted in the shadows, alongside a bi-wing crop duster.
Look at this, Lane said. Its a vintage Boeing Stearman

17.
Model 75. Whoever runs this outfit probably uses it on their crops.
Avery drew near the plane and pulled at a propeller blade. It
was as heavy as a length of iron rebar. Can you fly it? she asked.
Lane laid his head against the planes metal skin and laughed.
Im an academic and a fantasist who lives his life vicariously
through comic books and movies, kiddo. I cant fly a freaking kite.
Avery

turned

her

attention

to

the

barns

shelves

and

work

tables. She found an LED hurricane lantern among a panoply of highend farming tools, switched it on and passed Lane the flashlight.
Hey, come on, Avery said. You just broke into some random guys
barn in the middle of a derecho. That has to count for something.
Theres a lot you dont know about your old dad, Lane said.
You said you wanted to talk about everything. How about you start
with the girl you met in town yesterday. Corlie. Whats she like?
I dont know, what can I say, Avery replied. Shes all rough
edges and insouciance and bad girl attitude. You know the type. Its
all pure guff though. I think shes lonely and just needs a friend.
She

stopped

just

short

of

divulging

Corlies

still

unexplained

presence at Sorchas service. For now the less Lane knew the better.
Ah. You found a cause, Lane said. I understand. Youve done
this your entire life. Next youll be giving her your old clothes.
Avery discovered a quilt and threw it over her shoulders. A
Winchester repeating rifle and a box of .30-30 bullets lay below it.
I see you still havent shaved, Avery said. She sat against a
wall with the rifle held across her lap. You know who you look
like? she continued. Harry Dean Stanton in Paris, Texas. Travis

18.
Henderson. I saw that film once when I was little. It made me sad.
Youre getting goofy, kiddo, Lane said. He had climbed onto
the planes port wing and was peering into the cockpit. Get some
rest. This is just a little gully-washer. It wont last very long.
Promise youll wake me, Avery said dreamily. I dont want to
end up a midnight snack in some lunatic cannibal familys larder.
Avery laid her head against the wall and closed her eyes. It
was utterly silent within the barn, save for the ceaseless tattoo of
rain on the roof and the cooing of pigeons in the crossbeams above.
She drifted off and slept until Lanes hand clapped on her shoulder.
The barns panel door was open and the sky had cleared and
turned a fiery purple and seashell pink. The rains stopped, Lane
said. Come on, kiddo. Lets get a move on before were discovered.
Avery gathered the rifle and the box of bullets in the quilt
and carried all three to the SUV, and hoped that Lane didnt notice.
8.
They spent the following day in research. Zoning, insurance,
property values. Avery poured over online comic book price guides.
Routine had found its way into Averys life, and she welcomed
it. She passed the menu where she had left it on her nightstand
again and again as the day went on and wanted to call Corlie but
thought better of it. Better to let sleeping dogs lie, as they say.
When she had finally tired of Google searches, Avery tossed
garden tools into a wheelbarrow and cleared an overgrown tangle of
ivy and Rose-Of-Sharon bushes that had sprung up alongside the house.
She worked at this until Lane appeared in a wrinkled Hawaiian shirt,

19.
board shorts and jandals and announced that supper was on the table.
Lane served lasagna, crisped at the edges, with a Rioja Crianza
wine. They hashed over their progress on the shop again. Lanes
demeanor had softened but his eyes were still sad and Avery knew
that he was deeply, deeply wounded and would probably never recover.
Lane retired to the den with his Bordeaux glass and the wine
bottle. Avery said goodnight and climbed the stairs to her bedroom.
She lanced the blisters on her fingers with a sewing needle while
Lane watched an episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000 on Netflix.
Avery awoke the next morning with a 103 F fever. She writhed
in her bed and vomited into a bucket until she had dry heaves. She
hallucinated. Pale, formless things seeped through her walls and
floor and flayed human faces leered at her when she closed her eyes.
It was a long day. Lane sat at Averys bedside and force-fed
her Benadryl and Tylenol with Gatorade until her fever broke late in
the afternoon. As the sun set Avery hobbled downstairs and sipped a
mug of chicken broth. She had never seen her father look so worried.
The call came on the sixth day. Avery hustled from the parlor
and picked up the kitchen phone, an avocado-green 1970s artifact
with no caller ID, on the third ring. Chateau Boyce, she chimed.
Hey, Irish. Long time no see, Corlie replied. Avery heard
traffic and a fire engines wail in the background and concluded
that the call was most likely being made from a payphone. What
Corlie was doing on the street at 10:00 AM, she could only imagine.
Corlie invited Avery to a house party in North Cape that night.
Avery said she would think it over and call back in an hour or so.

20.
At this point she was up for just about anything, so she made her
way to Lanes study and begrudgingly asked for his permission to go.
Its all on the up and up, Avery said. Its just students
from the local community college and some townies. Nothing sinister.
What do you say, dad. I need to shake things up or Ill go crazy.
Lane

consented, with a

few

standard admonitions concerning

alcohol and weed, provided Avery was home by 1:00 AM at the latest.
Avery called Corlies home number and Corlie immediately picked up.
Meet me at the Green Man at five, Corlie replied. Ill give
you directions from there. Wear something fly. See you later, girl.
Avery arrived ninety minutes later. Corlie was waiting within
the Green Mans shadow outside when she finally pulled to a stop.
Corlie ran to the truck and clambered into the passenger seat.
Tonight she had exchanged her hoodie for a slate t-shirt and jeans,
and had accented her eyes with liner and wore a dark plum lipstick.
Did you wait long? Avery asked as she steered onto the street.
Nah. Its all good, Corlie replied matter-of-factly. Youre
going want to stay on this road. Ill tell you when to turn, okay?
Avery drove the main highway northward for some time, farther
and farther away from North Capes business district and toward the
ramshackle suburbs that once housed the citys post-war workforce.
Where do you live Corlie? Avery asked. In Belstone or the city?
In the city, by the East River, with my mother, Corlie said.
Shes a shut-in and cant talk. My dads dead. Pneumoconiosis.
Life is a bitch, huh? All right. Take a left at this intersection.
They entered a labyrinth of tree-lined, single-lane streets.

21.
Bungalow houses in various states of dilapidation peeped through the
verge. Every few minutes Corlie would scoot forward and survey the
street and command turn here, turn here. Avery began to wonder how
she could possibly recollect her route and return home after sunset.
A plantation house suddenly loomed up in a wooded cul-de-sac
before them. Trucks, cars and SUVs were parked around it ten deep.
Stick with me and go with the flow, Corlie said after Avery
had

parked.

She

grinned

crookedly

and

punched

Averys

shoulder.

Ill introduce you round. Chill, Irish, youre going to do fine.

They walked to the house and Corlie rang the bell. A moment
later the front door opened and a young woman bounded onto the porch.
Hi, shortie! the woman exclaimed, and threw her arms around Corlie.
Avery, this is Saga McKee, Corlie said. We call her Mother
McKee. Saga, this is Avery Boyce. The woman offered Avery her hand.
She was a lean 6 tall at least and wore her platinum-white hair
cropped in a crisp buzz-cut. A rutted scar rambled from the corner
of her left eye to her jaw line where it incurved like a meat hook.
Townies

and

college

students

filled

the

house

to

capacity.

Avery and Corlie were guided through a circular foyer roughly the
size of an airplane hangar and into a slightly less spacious kitchen.
More guests gathered in coteries around a marble-topped island.
There a college boy who looked for all the world like a young
Jeffrey Lebowski took immediate notice of Avery and offered his hand.
Im Boomer Bennett, the Dude said. This is my lady, Dahlia,
and that tall drink of water over there is my wingman, David Holm.
Boomer indicated a girl with mallow hair looped in braided pigtails

22.
and a dilettante artiste with a baseball players lanky physique.
The jock was quite possibly the best looking guy Avery had ever
seen but was clearly much older than she was, in his late-middle
twenties if not more. Avery, Avery said, as sweetly as possible.
Saga asked the girls if they wanted something to drink, then
handed Avery a Coke and Corlie a beer from an ice-filled washtub.
Corlie elbowed Avery in the ribs. Sorry, Corlie said. I have
to see a man about a dog. Dont take off on me. Ill be right back.
Saga and David then departed as well. That left Avery alone
with Dahlia and Boomer, who regaled the girls with a rambling onesided discourse on leitmotifs in the Book of Judges and Thomas
Manns The Magic Mountain. After a time Boomers interest began to
flag and Avery quietly slipped away to explore the rest of the house.
The manse was palatial, wrought entirely in white, gold and
black. Avery passed through a ballroom that sported a monstrous
crystal chandelier and a Blthner grand piano on a revolving dais
and entered a series of hallways that terminated in a home theater.
Twenty or so guests watched something lurid on a widescreen
television. A stooped college boy in bottle-bottom glasses craned
his head toward Avery, who stood at the doorway and bit a thumbnail.
The Werewolf Versus The Vampire Woman, the boy said. La Noche De
Walpurgis. Nineteen-seventy-one. With Paul Naschy. Its a classic.
Avery nodded. The boys syrupy voice made her fidget. I keep a
personal collection here, he continued. I call them haze movies.
From El Topo and Eraserhead to Martyrs and White God and everything
in between. Risqu stuff. Have you seen The Last House On The Left?

23.
I saw The Shining once. I didnt sleep for a week, Avery said.
The boy nodded with pious solemnity and said, Kubrick is God.
Avery retraced her steps and returned to the kitchen. Corlie
was still nowhere to be seen and Dahlia and Boomer had moved on too.
After what seemed like an eternity Corlie finally reappeared at last.
What the fuck, Corlie! Where have you been? Avery growled. I
thought you ditched me or something! Christ, my feet are killing me
and that mullet-rock crap theyre playing is making my head pound!
Relax Irish, Corlie said. She did an about-face and leaned
against the wall beside Avery. Theres no need to get your granny
panties in a wad. So what do you think? Some kind of shindig, huh?
Your friend Saga intrigues me, Avery remarked. So whats
her story, anyway? I dont get it, whats the deal with the scar?
A guy in a bar tried to pick her up and she told him to piss
off, so he smashed her in the face with a beer mug, Corlie said. I
sat with her and held her hand while the docs sewed her up in the ER.
She looked like a piece of raw hamburger, like her throat had been
cut. Anyway, the asshole who clocked her did a nickel stretch with a
dime chaser upstate, so it all worked out okay in the end, I guess.
The girls stood by the wall and nursed their drinks and watched
more and more guests arrive. Corlie was standing on tip-toe with
her head reposed on Averys shoulder when two men approached them.
She-it! the shorter of the duo exclaimed. He looked like a
backwoods refugee from Deliverance, with a shirt of prison scratch
tattoos and the maniacal crystal-blue eyes of a veteran cross-burner.
I didnt know they let your kind partake the fire water, shrimp.

24.
No one invited you, Bobby. So shut the fuck up, Corlie said.
The taller man addressed Avery with a sonorous, lilting voice,
Foghorn Leghorn crossed with Truman Capote. Im Wade, he said.
This is Bobby Ray. Miss Weeks and I need a little face time to
discuss business. Import export. In private. Dont we, Miss Weeks.
Go powder your nose, Irish, Corlie said. Ill be all right.
Ill be on the porch out back if you need me, Avery replied.
She exited the kitchen and stepped onto a roofed veranda.
Except for the days bruising ambient heat and a smattering of
guests who chatted on the lawn the scene was hushed and peaceful.
The air fairly reeked of pitch pine resin and Veronica blossoms and
the sun, now just a brazen moiety on the horizon, was reflected
widdershins on a vast, glassine lagoon that buttressed the property.
Avery looked at her hands. They shook. She needed something,
anything to take the edge off. She pulled a pack of cigarettes from
her pocket and realized that she had left her lighter in the truck.
Hes her fence, came a voice beside her. Avery turned to see
David standing about four feet away. Wade Finch. The tall guy in
the

t-shirt

who

looks

like

Lee

Harvey

Oswald,

David

went

on.

Corlie steals high-end merch for him and Wade sells it on the
black market. She gets a small cut of the profit. Hes her fence.
David produced a chrome Zippo lighter and offered it to Avery.
Avery leaned into the flame and dragged once. Oh really, Avery
replied, and exhaled a tendril of smoke into the humid twilight air.
Really,

David

said.

Wade

Finch

operates

an

incredibly

intricate criminal racket out of the Barrows north of the East River.

25.
Everything from petty larceny and protection to match fixing, dog
fighting and car theft. He keeps Bobby Ray Hatch around as his pet,
a paid enforcer who cracks skulls when its time to pay the piper.
Do you really expect me to believe any of that? Avery asked.
Ask your friend Corlie if you want to, David replied. She
has a Saturday night special tucked in her rear waistband by the way.
You didnt see it? You cant really fault her for getting mixed up
with Wade and Bobby, what with her background and family and all.
Shes not alone. Hell if the cops were to show up right now three
quarters of the people at this party would probably end up in jail.
What about Saga? You and Boomer and her seem pretty chummy,
Avery chided. Is she a part of this vast gangster underworld too?
She owns this house, the property, everything, David replied.
Sagas an heiress. Her father is one Mason McKee, of McKee farms.
That sprawling hellhole out in Woodbine. Do you eat chicken? You
probably wouldnt anymore if you saw what they did to them there.
9.
So I gather you didnt like the party that much, Lane said.
It was morning and they were at the kitchen table again, Lane
with a plate of eggs and toast, Avery with a bowl of Cheerios.
Practically everyone there was five years older than me and acted
like I wasnt even in the room. It was loud and mostly boring,
Avery replied. Corlie wanted to stay so Boomer gave her a ride home.
I swear to God she looked like she was going to bawl when I left.
As long as you got it out of your system I guess. You need to
keep your eyes on the proverbial prize right now, Avery, Lane said.