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then, all because they trusted their government. Petunia knew better, which is why she kept all of her money hidden in a secret place. Fuck the government. This way, Medicaid got stuck with the six-motherfuckin’-thousand- dollar-per-month nursing-home fee, and this was Helton’s good fortune now. He’d never before asked his mother for money—money was something he rarely needed—but he knew she’d understand once he explained the complexion of the matter.

He kept gently nudging her. “Maw?”

The withered face looked like something trying to suck in on itself. Flap-like eyelids fluttered; then a rheumy gaze found Helton’s face.

“Helton, my wonderful son,” the voice creaked like old boat timbers. “It’s heavenly to see ya but—oh, dear, son—ya know I asked ya not to visit me. I just cain’t bear fer no one to see me like this…”

Helton squeezed her ancient hand. “I knows, Maw, and I’se terrible sorry fer not abidin’ by your wishes, but see…see… Somethin’ happened…”

Old and dilapidated as the woman was, her senses immediately seized on her son’s words. “Aw, Lord Almighty…is it my great grandson Crory?”

Helton swallowed hard. He could still hear the monstrous sounds from that DVD machine, the sounds the poor tot’s head made whiles goin’ in and out, in and out. “Yeah, Maw,” was the only reply he could muster.

The vigorless woman seemed to age another year just in the next few seconds; wells of tears magnified the cataracts in her eyes. “What yer face is tellin’ me, son, is my wonderful grandson is dead—”

Helton nodded.

“—and it weren’t by accident.”

Helton had to steel himself. “No, it weren’t—it were cold-blooded murder, Maw, of the horriblest kind. S’matter’a fact, what they done to Crory was so awful, I couldn’t never tell ya ’bout it, never.”

The old woman’s breath rattled in her sunken chest. She made a despairing nod. “I’se understand, son.”

“I knowed ya would, Maw. Ain’t no recourse but ta git our proper revenge, and with God’s help, I think I can.” He looked deeply at her. “See, Maw, what was done ta Crory was so devilsh, there ain’t but one way ta deal with it…”

Petunia Tuckton brought a crabbed hand to her bosom and moaned. “Aw, son, I know! I know what yer talkin’ ’bout! Thought them days was done, but I guess that were just wishful thinkin’. The world don’t get better, it just gets eviller. And I trust in yer judgment so’s…you do what’cha must.”

“I gots the truck, and Dumar’n Micky-Mack’re with me to help. But, see, we’se gonna have to be on the road, maybe fer a spell. We’se gonna have to go out inta the world, Maw.”

The woman nodded knowingly. “So’s you’ll need money ta do that, I know.” With great effort, then, Petunia leaned up, grabbed Helton’s collar, and pulled him close to whisper, “Ya gots my permission ta take as much as ya need.”

Helton knew he’d have to keep his voice down. If the folks here found out his mother had a stockpile of cash, then that six-motherfuckin’-thousand-dollar-per-month nursing-home bill would surely be levied against the Tuckton family.

Fuck that.

“Thanks, Maw. I’ll leave ya now, so’s we can go’n fight fer the family’s dig-ner-tee. When it’s all done…I’ll come back’n tell ya…”

“My wonderful, wonderful son,” the old woman wheezed. “It ain’t natural fer no one ta be livin’ in the wretched state I am—ain’t what God intended, these nursin’ homes. And I know my time’s near.” The claw-like hand grabbed Helton’s. “Ain’t nothin’ more important than family, son, so you do what’cha need to so’s ta restore the family name. God be with ya, and if’n I move on to the Firmament’a Heaven a’fore your tasks are done…just know I’ll be smilin’ down on ya the whole time…”

Choking up, Helton kissed his mother on the cheek and left.

The truck waited outside in the parking lot: a 20-year-old behemoth of a step van nearly twenty feet long. Helton and Dumar’s know-how of engines and such kept the corroded rattle-trap in fine working order, though they rarely used it for anything more than transporting firewood. The door on either side slid open, quite like that of a UPS truck.

“How’s Grandma?” Dumar asked behind the wheel.

Micky-Mack looked up from the back, hope in his eyes.

“Best we not speak of it, fellas.”

A short drive past Crick City took them to Petunia’s fine, old log cabin, and it only expended minutes for Helton to retrieve $50,000 in banded $100 bills. Best to have more’n we need than not enough, he reasoned. But now further provisions would be required…

“Where to now, Paw?”

“Boys. I’ll ‘splain more as we go,” Helton said, fairly dreading what came next. “Life has it’s travails, as my Daddy used to say. We ain’t city folks but I’se afraid we’se gonna have to go to the city now. The big city…”

Dumar and Mick-Macky cast Helton beseeching looks.

“Pulaski,” Helton finished.

In their youth, Dumar and Micky-Mack were excited by the prospect; it was very rare that any of them left their backwoods domain. Helton could see the evil of the city, could see how cities changed folks in their hearts. Traffic lights, shopping malls, cars and trucks going this way and that, folks honkin’ their horns’n givin’ each other the finger… Surely, city life stifled the natural good will of humankind. Helton had seen too many fine men fall prey to the lie. But it didn’t take long to arrive in Pulaski where the first thing they saw were streets lined with buildings—all crammed together—and bigger buildings in the background, apartment buildings, no doubt, where folks lived all hemmed in like chickens in a coop stacked on top of one another. “Watch these blasted traffic lights, son. If’n ya drive through one that’s red, a poe-leece man’ll make ya pay money.”

“Dang! Just fer drivin’ on the street?”

Helton nodded, already disheartened. “This is the world outside’a where true folks like us don’t live.”

“Ain’t been here in so long,” Dumar muttered. “Looks even bigger now.”

“It’s what they call progress…”

“Unc Helton! Cousin Dumar!” Micky-Mack blurted in excitement. He pointed in awe. “Lookit that! A real, live subway station!”

All of them peered at the squat, yellow-roofed building with the SUBWAY sign. “I heard’a subways,” Dumar said.

Helton frowned. “Just more’a the outside world gettin’ inta folks like chiggers.”

Micky-Mack was beside himself. “I heard a subway’s like, a train, but one that runs underground!”

“That it is,” Helton said disapprovingly. “Ain’t nothin’ natural ’bout underground trains.”

But Dumar was squinting at the queer building. “So the trains…are underground?”

“Yeah, they is, son. That’s why we cain’t see ’em.”

“But, shit, Paw. Don’t look to me like they’se selling train tickets in there. Looks like all’s they’re selling are sandwiches,” Dumar said of customers exiting the building as they munched on big long sandwiches.

“Guess they’se fixin’ ta eat them sandwiches while they’se ridin’ the underground train,” Micky-Mack speculated.

Helton nodded. It had been quite a while since he’d been here, but his memory remained keen. He directed Dumar around several more turns. “Nice Christmas decorations,” the younger man observed of the blinking wreaths atop the street lights. “But, ya know, it just don’t…,” and his words trailed off.

How’se can we enjoy the spirit’a Christmas time, Helton realized, after seein’ what happened to poor li’l Crory…

Many of the street posts, however, had signs on them. NEIGHBORHOOD CRIME