Read Vernon God Little for Free Online Page A

floor.
    'Bradley,' says Betty, 'I wish you wouldn't say "ain't".'
    'Pluck off.'
    'Don't you talk to me like that, Bradley Everett Pritchard!'
    'Goddam what? I said "Pluck" for chrissakes, I mean, shit!' He spits and squirms across the rug, then stomps up to Betty and smacks her in the gut.
    'Bradley!'
    'Pluck off, pluck off, PLUCK Off!'
    I just stay quiet. Lally looks over, sees my eyes fixed longingly up the hall. He gulps his ginseng and says, 'I appreciate your help, big man - maybe your room would be a better working environment.' He turns to Mom. 'I hope it's no problem - Vern agreed to collate some local data for me
    …'
    'Oh, no problem Lally, gosh,' says Mom. 'Quickly, Vern! Hear that girls? It's a job for Lally, he's colliding data for Lally!'
    I scurry away like a pack of rats. 'Only job he'll get looking like that,' says George. 'Guilty-looking hair, if you ask me. And those shoes don't help none either, same shoes as that psycho Meskin
    …'
    Fuck her. I kick a pile of laundry, and slam my bedroom door. What I'm seriously considering, in light of everybody's behavior, is just to evacuate through the laundry door; hop a bus to Nana's, and not even tell anybody. Just call up later or something. I mean, the whole world knows Jesus caused the fucken tragedy. But because he's dead, and they can't fucken kill him for it, they have to find a skate-goat. That's people for you. Me, I'd love to explain the sequence of events last Tuesday. But I'm in a bind, see. I have family honor to think of. And I have my ma to protect, now that I'm Man of the House and all. Anyway, whoever points a finger at me, just for being a guy's friend, has some deep remorse coming. Tears of fucken regret, when the truth comes marching in. And it always comes, you know it.
    Watch any fucken movie.
    I still hear everybody through my bedroom door, talking like bad actors, the way they do. 'It's a challenging time for everyone,' says Lally.
    'I know, I know.'
    'And Vaine's pushing things so hard,' says Leona. 'Can't she sense our grief?'
    George barks a cough. 'My ole man's pushing Vaine hard - he gave her a month to pump some life into her conviction average, or she's history.'
    'You mean he'd throw her off the force,' asks Mom, 'after all this time?'
    'Worse. He'd probably make her Eileena's assistant.'
    'Oh my God,' says Leona, 'but Eileena's like - the receptionist. That's as low as Barry's job!'
    'Lower,' Pam chuckles darkly.

    You hear a quiet gap. That means everybody's sighing. Then Mom goes, 'Well this is sure a big month for Vaine. And I can't say it's going too well, the way she's handling Vernon and all.'
    'Tch,' goes Lally. 'Maybe the dogs'll shed some light.'
    'Dogs?' asks Leona.
    'Sniffer dogs, from Smith County.'
    'Well but, what can dogs do now?' asks Mom.
    'Can I call you Doris?' asks Lally. His voice drops a tone. 'You see, Doris, people are asking how anyone in their right mind could orchestrate such a rampage. They're starting to wonder if drugs were involved. If rumors about a drugs link are correct, these specialist dogs will tie it up as fast as cock a leg.'
    'Well good,' huffs Mom, 'I feel like calling them over here right now, and putting a stop to this ridiculous business with Vernon.'
    I take the drugs out of the shoebox in my closet, and drop them into my pocket. The joints leave my hand wet. Kurt barks outside.
    five
    To be fair, the rumors about ole Mr Deutschman didn't say he'd actually dicked any schoolgirls. Probably just touched them and shit, you know. Real slime though, don't get me wrong. He used to be a school principal or something, all righteous and upstanding, back in the days before they'd bust you for that type of thing. Maybe even before talk shows, back when you'd just get ostracized by word of mouth. He probably used to get his hair cut at the fancy unisex on Gurie Street, with the coffee machine and all. But not anymore. Now he slinks through the valley behind the abattoir, to the meatworks barber