The Wages of Sin by Nancy Allen Page B

few stalwarts with the courage to be openly gay in our backwards little community. How can you tolerate it, turning that girl over to Albertson?”
    Tina shook her head and said again, “Beggars can’t be choosers. Got to make do with what’s available.” She gave Elsie a curious side glance. “How are you up to speed on the Right Reverend Albertson? You don’t go to Riverside Baptist.”
    â€œNo. But Ashlock does.” Elsie closed her eyes and dropped her weary head onto the headrest of Tina’s car before she remembered the lump on her skull. With a hiss, she sat up straight.

 
    Chapter Eleven
    In the living room of his mother’s brick bungalow, Bruce Stout sat in near-­darkness. The plastic blinds were drawn, hanging askew; and the window facing the street was covered from the outside. Aside from one bulb in the overhead fixture, the only source of light in the room came from a television set, sitting on a plywood stand in the corner. Bruce looked away from the television screen when his mother, Nell, entered the room.
    â€œWhat’re you going to do?” she asked, walking over to his recliner with a can of Natural Light beer.
    He popped the top and the beer gave a hiss. He took a long swallow and set it on the table beside half a dozen empty cans.
    â€œNothing,” he replied, without looking at her.
    With a dour face, Nell crossed her arms against her chest and glowered as he pointed the remote control at the ancient television set.
    â€œThere ain’t nothing on. How come you ain’t got cable no more?”
    â€œI cut it off,” Nell said. “I didn’t like them shows. A hundred channels of nothing.”
    He pushed the button again and the screen went blank. “Three fucking channels. No point in having a TV at all.”
    With a grim smile, she said, “You can watch the news. See how your buddy is getting on at the jail.”
    â€œShut the fuck up.” He tossed the remote onto the scarred side table beside his chair, knocking two beer cans to the floor.
    With a weary grunt, the woman bent over to pick up the cans. “You need to be thinking on this.”
    â€œI don’t need to do nothing. He’s in jail. They’re going after him, not me.”
    â€œThey’re going to give him the death penalty. You think he’s going down alone?”
    Nell stood in front of his recliner, hugging the beer cans to her chest. When Bruce pushed the chair into a reclining position and stared at the ceiling in silence, she said, “Son, don’t be stupid.”
    He lifted an empty can and threw it at her head. “Don’t you call me that, Ma.”
    With her bare foot, she shoved the footrest of the recliner to the floor, returning him to a sitting position.
    â€œI think I done raised a fool,” she said, emphasizing the last word. “Any man who’s going down is gonna take someone with him. It’s the way folks are. And he’s got plenty of shit on you. On all of us.”
    â€œI didn’t touch that bat.”
    â€œBut you was there.”
    â€œWho says?”
    â€œThe child. She’ll tell. She’ll flap her jaw and say who knows what-­all. And that girl has seen plenty over there at the trailer.”
    Bruce tipped the can and chugged the beer, wiping his mouth when he was done. “Get me another Natty Light.”
    â€œYou done drunk them all.”
    â€œShit,” he whispered, tossing the can onto the floor, where it rolled under the couch. A black ringtailed cat emerged from its spot beneath the couch and began angrily scratching the worn upholstery with its claws.
    Staring at the cat he said, “That cat done tore up everything in this house. I don’t know why you don’t get rid of it.”
    â€œHe acts better than you.” She reached down and stroked the cat’s fur. It stopped its assault on the couch and arched its back with