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have to quiver and be fucken devastated all the time. I know it for sure, and you'd know it too if you saw Mom watching Court TV. 'See how impassive he is, he chopped up ten people and ate their bowels but he doesn't show a care in the world.' I personally don't see the logic in having to quiver if you're innocent.
    If you ask me, people who don't eat your bowels are more likely to be impassive. But no, one learning I made is that juries watch the same shows as my ole lady. If you don't quiver, you're fucken guilty.
    'I don't know,' I say, turning to the porch.
    Ledesma hangs back. 'Don't underestimate your general public, Vern - they want to see justice being done. I say give them what they want.'
    'But, like - I didn't do anything.'
    'Tch, and who knows it? People decide with or without the facts - if you don't get out there and paint your paradigm, someone'll paint it for you.'
    'My what?'
    'Pa-ra-dime. You never heard of the paradigm shift? Example: you see a man with his hand up your granny's ass. What do you think?'

    'Bastard.'
    'Right. Then you learn a deadly bug crawled up there, and the man has in fact put aside his disgust to save Granny. What do you think now?'
    'Hero.' You can tell he ain't met my nana.
    'There you go, a paradigm shift. The action doesn't change - the information you use to judge it does. You were ready to crucify the guy because you didn't have the facts. Now you want to shake his hand.'
    'I don't think so.'
    'I mean figuratively, asshole,' he laughs, punching out six of my ribs. 'Facts may seem black and white by the time they hit your TV screen, but professional teams sift through mountains of gray to get them there. You need positioning, like a product in the market - the jails are full of people who didn't manage their positions.'
    'Wait up, I have a witness, you know.'
    Ledesma heads up the porch steps. 'Yeah, and Deputy Lard-ass is so interested. Public opinion will go with the first psycho who points a finger. You're butt-naked, big man.'
    We creak through the screen into the cool of the kitchen. Mom's here, all wiped dry with her frog mitt, a smudge of joy cake on one cheek. The other ole flaps are in the background acting natural.
    'Ladies!' says Lally, grinning. 'This is how you lounge, while I'm outside like a slave?'
    'Oh, Mr Smedma,' says Mom.
    'Eulalio Ledesma, ma'am. Educated people call me Lally.'
    'Well can I get you a Coke, Mr Lesma? Diet, or diet-decaf if you prefer?' Mom loves it when important people call by, like the doctor and all. Her lashes flutter like dying flies.
    Lally hoists his ass onto the kitchen bench, makes himself comfortable. 'Thanks, just water for me - and maybe one of these cakes. Actually I have something exciting to share with you ladies, if you're interested.'
    'Wake me when it's over,' mutters Pam in back.
    Lally pulls out the glass bottles, filled with like piss. 'Siberian Ginseng Compound.' He jams one into my hand, winking. 'Better than Viagra.'
    'Hee, hee,' go the girls.
    'So, Lally,' says Mom, 'do you sleep in the van, or …?'
    'Right now I do - motels are full between here and Austin. I hear some generous townsfolk are taking in guests, but I haven't come across them yet.'
    'Well, ahem,' Mom looks down the hall. 'I mean …'
    'Doris, you're not going to let Vernon drink that stuff, are you?' It's George's distraction technique, look at it. It gives me mixed feelings. I mean, I'm glad she interrupted my ole lady from inviting Ledesma to stay. But now everybody's attention snaps to me.
    'Oh, it's harmless,' says Lally. 'Great stress-buster.'
    George watches me fondle the phial. Her eyes narrow, which is a bad fucken sign. 'Like you're real stressed, Vern. Got a job for the summer?'

    'Nah,' I say, downing the ginseng. It tastes like dirt.
    'Doris, you hear the Harris boy bought a truck? Paid cash for it too, a Ford truck. All the boys I know have summer jobs. Course, they all have haircuts too.'
    'It ain't a Ford,' says Brad from the