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The second of seven chapters that will run all week.

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Brother Bob was finishing up his sermon on how the Lord will bless those who dig deeper when they tithe.  It was the same sermon he gave every year when it was time for the congregation to sign their tithing cards and drop them in the collection plate.  Rusty Hammer had already determined the amount he was going to put on the card and was irritated by the whole process.  

“Sometimes I feel like he’s selling God instead of saving souls,” Rusty complained to his wife as she made breakfast before church that morning.  She just figured he was in a mood.  He’d recently been put on generic tadalafil for problems in the bedroom and they discovered last night that the effects of the drug were hit or miss.  It bothered Rusty more than it did his wife.  She figured he was still tense about it.

The congregation stood for the final hymn, What Does the Lord Require of You, Rusty glancing at his watch, trying to determine how long the line would be at the K-Bob’s by the time they got out.  “I’ll never understand why we can just sing the first two verses,” he whispered to his wife as they sat down.  After the benediction Rusty headed to the side door for a quicker shot to the parking lot.

While Rusty got in his truck, Buck Bollinger appeared out of nowhere.  Rusty tolerated Buck, only because he bought a lot of supplies for his ranch at Rusty’s store.  But Buck tended to act like they were friends, and they weren’t.  “Hey Rusty!” Buck said.  “Got a minute?  I got a little somethin’ I need to visit with you about.”

“Oh, hey Buck.  Actually me and the missus were about to head over to K-Bob’s.  Is it somethin’ that can wait till next time you’re in the store?”  Rusty tried to hide his irritation, something he was rarely good at despite numerous attempts.

“Naw, not really,” Buck said.  “It’s of a personal nature.”

The experience last night with the prescription Rex had filled was something of a personal nature, too.  But Rusty damn sure wasn’t going to try to discuss it in the parking lot of the Second Baptist Church of Fort Stockton.  ‘Good god, there’s a time and a place for everything,’ Rusty thought to himself.  The length of the line at the Salad Wagon was probably getting longer by the minute at the K-Bob’s.  “Yeah.  Sure,” Rusty said begrudgingly.  “What is it?”

“It’s about my boy, Maverick.  You remember Maverick, don’t you?” Buck asked.

Everybody in Fort Stockton knew Maverick, Rusty thought.  The kid was a spoiled little shit.  Folks knew the kid had been arrested for drugs and numerous speeding violations.  He was trouble.  The only thing that kept him from being kicked out of Our Lady of Immeasurable Concern High School was the repeated donations toward the gym refurbishment Buck and his wife continued to make.  Rumor was that keeping Maverick on the school roster had cost his parents a full $250,000 for the floor of the basketball court.  They knew he couldn’t go back to Jim Bowie High, “Home of the Fighting’ Knives.”  He’d been kicked out of there twice.

“Yeah.  I remember Maverick.”  Rusty could tell they’d already be out of the cat head muffins at K-Bob’s by the time he got there.

“He’s a good boy.  Just needs a little direction.  And a job.”  Buck had moved closer to Rusty than Rusty liked.  The thought of Maverick Bollinger working at the Rusty Hammer, he liked even less.  “I figured it would be right up your alley to take him on.  Show him the hardware and feed store ropes.  He’s a smart kid.  Catches on quick.  Works hard.”

“I don’t know Buck,” Rusty stammered.  “I already got a full crew and this is the slowest time of year.”  He could tell the generic argument was going to be as ineffective as the generic tadalafil had been last night.

Buck moved close enough that Rusty could smell alcohol on his breath, and it was only grape juice in the communion cups at Second Baptist.  “I spend a lot of money at your place, Rusty.  A LOT of money.  I’d hate to have to take my business to Marfa.”

Rusty and his wife had to wait in line at the K-Bob’s for a good 15 minutes.  The only thing that salvaged the whole morning was the fact that they still had plenty of cat head muffins, and they were still warm when the waitress brought them to the table.

Maverick Bollinger showed up for work after school the next day.

At the Rusty Hammer Hardware Store, where every employee drove a pickup truck, Maverick Bollinger pulled up in a Monte Carlo Blue Metallic over Sakhir Orange Merino leather upholstery BMW M5.  It was kind of like Cinderella showing up in a fancy gown for a bull castration.  The guys working  inside looked up, saw the Rogue Engineering short-shifter kit, an Alcantara-wrapped steering wheel, and aftermarket speakers as well as a carbon-fiber trunk lid spoiler and rear diffuser and then looked over at Rusty and just shook their heads.

Of course, if they guys inside knew that amenities included a head-up display, Comfort Access keyless entry, four-zone automatic climate control, rear sunshades, and iDrive infotainment with navigation and a CD player, and the car was one of only 118 built for the North American market, they  . . . wouldn’t have cared one iota.  “I heard his parents gave 50 grand for a ten year old car for the little turd blossom,” the guy behind the register said as they watched it pull up right out front and park.

“Whatever.”  Rusty said.

“I can tell he don’t know a branding iron from a bridle,” said the guy stacking Weedeaters into a display inside the big window at the front of the store.

The first three weeks of Maverick Bollinger’s employment was rife with problems, to no one’s surprise.  The kid showed up late most days,  a couple times not at all.  Once or twice he seemed to clearly be under the influence of something.  He was sent home immediately.  Whether that’s where he actually went or not wasn’t ever clear.

The kid was a mess.  Rusty was no expert on parenting, but it was obvious that the kid had a terrible home life.  His father’s method of showing any kind of attention was by throwing money at the kid, when what Maverick really needed was some affection.  Something to help him find something other than drugs, a fast car, or god knows what to fill the void he was carrying inside himself.

Most of the other employees avoided the kid.  It was obvious he didn’t seem to want to learn anything about the business.  But after a while Rusty tried to work with him one on one, completing the simplest tasks.  By the third month, the kid was showing up regularly and on time.  Rusty was giving him a little more responsibility, though, keeping him away from the cash register and most of the ‘regular’ customers who would have been put off by his long hair, leather coat, and attitude.

At church, Buck thanked Rusty for the opportunity his son had received.  “The kid seems to like working for you.  His grades have even come up a little.”  Buck seemed surprised by that development.

“The kid’s got potential,” Rusty said.  “Have you talked to him about what he wants to do after he graduates?”

“We don’t talk much,” Buck said.  “I’m sure he’ll find something that suits him.  My ol’ man didn’t do anything to help me find my way and I came out of it pretty damn good.”  Rusty thought about offering a few suggestions on finding common ground, but Buck seemed to be in a hurry.

In the truck headed over to K-Bob’s, Rusty said to his wife, “The kid is like any other 17 year-old kid.  He’s drifting.  I try to spend time with him at work, but it’s limited.  I wish I could do more.”

“Maybe we should have him over to the house for dinner sometime.  You could grill burgers.  When our boys were home some of the best talks they ever had with you were out by the grill,” Rusty’s wife said.

“How do you know that?”  Rusty seemed surprised at the observation.

“The boys told me.  It’s just like you to not even know what’s going on under your own nose,” she replied.

Maverick came out to the house a few times after that.  Once he even brought his girlfriend, a girl a year younger than Maverick who went to Jim Bowie High.  She seemed a little lost, herself, but enamored of the long haired misfit Maverick.  After the couple left in the BMW M5, Rusty’s wife closed the door and said, “Funny how young lost souls find each other, despite all odds.”  Rusty just laughed.  She hugged him from behind while he started on the dishes that had stacked up on the counter.  He knew she was referring to their own story and the fact that she’d made him a different man than the one he would have likely turned out without her.

A couple weeks after that, Maverick came to work with a haircut that made other employees look twice, just to be sure it was him.  When nobody was looking, he went to the locked key cabinet in Rusty’s office.  He knew where Rusty kept the key.  He grabbed the key to the forklift out in the quonset hut storage building back behind the store.

Despite the fact that he had no training on the forklift, Maverick had watched others operate the thing and it seemed simple.  Certainly easier than driving a 2014 BMW M5 Competition Package 6-Speed.  He’d heard Rusty tell one of the other guys that he was going to move all the wood-crated lawn tractors from the storage building to build a display in front of the store for the big promotion coming up.  But he hadn’t had time, what with all the other projects.  Maverick wanted to surprise Rusty by showing him he could handle just such a project, based on what all he’d learned.

Of course Rusty never would have allowed such a thing.

But that was no consolation when Rusty went to the storage building looking for the boy and found him beside a flipped over forklift and under a stack of mangled lawn tractors.

Buck Bollinger buried his son in the family plot and immediately filed a wrongful death lawsuit against Rusty Hammer and the Rusty Hammer Hardware Store, LLC.  He wanted a million dollars for the loss of his son, plus pain and suffering.

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