Burnished Gold

[Soapy]

You have the Arizona watch, brother

[Caesar]

he once admitted to Derek he believed she was the most beautiful girl in all of Alaska

Small pool. Simp ass motherfucker. No wonder Clay be bullying him.

[redsox907]

No way he goes back

la polica would likely have something to say about that

Four Things
1. Fuck Clay.
2. Fuck Charlotte.
3. I'm about to say fuck Cassie if she don't shape up.
4. All the above.

ay, Charlotte is just 11 and has been conditioned to think she better than everyone. She a victim as much as errybody else

You have the Arizona watch, brother

he once admitted to Derek he believed she was the most beautiful girl in all of Alaska

Small pool. Simp ass motherfucker. No wonder Clay be bullying him.

[redsox907]

Season One, Episode Six - Almost Free

Iggy stood staring at the three pictures affixed behind Pastor Isaac’s desk. They were stacked vertically, sandwiched between the two bookcases that stretched from the floor to ceiling behind Pastor Isaac’s mahogany desk, the shelves themselves crammed full of theology books, memoirs of other ministers, and leadership materials. He’d seen the pictures hundreds of times as he sat on the other side of Pastor Isaac’s desk, speaking to the man as the pictures formed a backdrop. Hell, he’d been there when they were taken. But he’d never really looked at them.

The middle frame was a picture of Pastor Isaac and Clay, both men filling the center of the photo, shaking hands in front of the hole that would become the foundation of Believers of the North, a non-denominational Protestant church. The frame above it held a copy of the building plans, drafted by Clay and signed by both men.

The bottom picture featured Pastor Isaac and Clay again front and center, but this time the empty hole had become a fully constructed church. It had been modeled after the brick-and-mortar style churches that frequented the midwest. In fact, as far as Iggy knew, it was a near replica to the church Isaac Gaines attended, before he was Pastor Isaac, when he was a child in Emporia, Kansas. In the photo, Pastor Isaac and Clay were cutting the ribbon together as the rest of the congregation—many of whom had followed Pastor Isaac as he opened his own denomination—clapped and cheered in the background.

What Iggy was fixated on wasn’t the details of the picture, but the smile. Clay’s smile. It was so convincing that if Iggy hadn’t been there, hadn’t seen that same smile for himself a thousand times over, he’d believe it was genuine. It was the type of smile that could convince a man to leave his wife at a strangers house and trust he was on the up-and-up.

Iggy knew from experience what that smile really was. It was Clay’s face in public, the one that relaxed the public into thinking he was cut from the same cloth as his father Gerald, founder of Gentry Built. Iggy knew the minute Clay turned away from the smiling faces of the congregation, that smile would melt away, replaced by the scowl that often scarred his face when he wasn’t in the public eye.

‘That’s some psychopath type shit’ Iggy thought to himself. He was so deep in thought that he barely heard the soft click of the door latching, turning around just in time to see Pastor Isaac clasping his hands in front of him.

“Ignacio, so glad you had time after the sermon to meet with me.” Pastor Isaac smiled warmly when he spoke, a smile that radiated with good intentions, so unlike the false facade of Clay’s. Iggy started to move towards the leather wingback chairs in front of Pastor Isaac’s desk, but was quickly redirected by the Pastor.

“Oh, no need for such formalities, Ignacio,” he assured Iggy, gesturing towards the matching leather armchairs towards the back of the room.

The armchairs were part of a counseling area the Pastor had in his office, with a matching leather couch across from them. A modest end table, also black, sat in the middle of the furniture, a place for whomever needed the Pastor’s guidance to set their beverages on as they sought out his knowledge.

Iggy sat in one of the chairs, Pastor Isaac in the one across from him, crossing his legs at the knee and clasping both his hands on top of his leg.

Just behind Pastor Isaac’s chair was a black-and-white photo, that would have been haunting in almost any other setting. It was a picture of a tree, barren of any leaves, at the end of a dirt path. The path had a beaten and run down fence stretching along either side of it and the sky was a muted grey, as if it was drawn in pencil and simply shaded. Everything else was either sharp black, or plain white, sometimes smudged with ink to create shadows. When Iggy first saw it, the painting briefly reminded him of something he’d seen in The Ring. But now, years later, it was simply something to fixate on when he was talking to the Pastor.

Pastor Isaac cleared his throat, an attempt to draw Iggy’s attention away from the eerie painting and to himself.

“So, your father tells me you’ll be gone all summer?”

“Step-father,” Iggy corrected, trying to keep the disdain in his voice to a minimum. He knew Pastor Isaac held Clay in high-regard, like most of the general public. But even more so, because Clay had built Believers of the North completely out of pocket.

Or, so Pastor Isaac thought. Iggy knew the truth, he’d heard it eavesdropping one day while Clay was finalizing the church plans. Clay had filed a tax write-off for the money he donated directly to Pastor Isaac. Then, Pastor Isaac used that money to purchase the materials, while Clay wrote off the work expenses as another charitable donation.

Clay looked like a respected member of the congregation, and community, all while saving himself money in the long run. He practically bought an entire congregation, minister and all.

“Maybe in the confines of blood relation, yes. But, he has raised you like his own son and for that, should be given credit.”

Iggy had to stifle a humorless laugh. If Clay was raising Iggy like he would his own son, he felt sorry for the unborn child.

“Yes, sir,” Iggy answered after finally fighting back the maddening urge to laugh. Then added, “You are correct, I will be gone all summer. Visiting my father in Arizona.”

Pastor Isaac’s face shifted slightly, then he settled for a nod. Iggy was sure he was about to protest Iggy calling Rodrigo his father, but couldn’t find any logical reason to debate and decided to drop the subject all together. This thought brought along another sudden urge to burst into hysterical laughter. Iggy bit down on his tongue to suppress the urge, the pain blossoming from his tongue and radiating outward as the taste of blood flooded his senses.

“Well, it saddens me that will bring an end of your participation in our mentorship program, but I can’t fool myself into thinking it would last forever. This is, after all, why I had you start training Nathanial to take your place.”

“How is he doing, from what you’ve observed?”

The mentorship program had been Clay’s idea, another behind the scenes deal to secure Clay more stature in the community. Clay coordinated with Pastor Isaac and Mayor Dunham to create a mentorship program for at-risk youths who were sentenced to juvenile incarceration at McLaughlin Youth Center. In exchange for Clay’s role in establishing the program, which becomes a lightning rod of positive approval as the Mayor was up for re-election, Clay was given the contract for the City Hall renovations.

As was often the case with Clay’s projects, Iggy was roped into being the initial “mentor” to the youth’s from McLaughlin. But over the last year, with his senior year approaching, Pastor Isaac had Iggy start grooming a successor, to take his place when Iggy himself had moved on to college.

Nathanial had been handpicked by Pastor Isaac and while he was energetic, eager to spread the word of Jesus Christ, he hadn’t been able to connect well with the at-risk youths, mainly because he never found a way to do anything more than preach.

But to admit this opened up the possibility of Pastor Isaac, or Clay, scrapping the idea of a successor and forcing Iggy to continue.

“He’s doing great,” lied Iggy, absentmindedly rubbing his hands together in his lap. “The guys really seem to connect with him.”

“I felt sure they would. He just radiates the Heavenly spirit about him,” marveled Pastor Isaac. “Which is why I feel like this is the best time to make the transition. You’ll already be gone for a substantial part of the summer, what better time than to make Nathanial the permanent mentor for our program.”

“And of course, this way, should anything go wrong, you’ll still be readily available to offer your guidance.”

Iggy nodded in agreement, rising to shake Pastor Isaac’s hand as the Pastor himself seemed to be congratulating himself on the shrewd thinking.

When the two looked eyes over a handshake, both of their smiles stretched from ear to ear. There was nothing facetious about either smile.

~~~

They moved down the aisles slowly, four teenagers working with little urgency since Randy had gone home for the evening. Tori and Tyler were on one side of the grocery aisle, Derek and Iggy the other, front facing the product as the day wound towards close.

“You’re really leaving next week huh?” Derek asked, already knowing that Iggy was getting on a plane in four days headed for Tolleson.

“Better say goodbye, D, because we all know he ain’t comin back,’ laughed Tyler, who narrowly dodged a bag of marshmallows from Iggy as soon as the laugh passed Tyler’s lips.

Tyler rounded on Iggy, both hands coming up towards his mid-section, preparing to give Iggy a light shove. As he spun towards Iggy, Iggy gestured angrily towards Tori, who had seemingly shrunk into herself at the mention of Iggy potentially not coming back.

The motion by Tyler stopped immediately, hands slumping down to his sides. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly before turning back towards the chocolate chips he’d been facing, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else.

Tori didn’t say anything, but it was obvious the comment had struck a nerve. They all worked in silence, the only sound in the aisle the scraping of cans or the rustle of a bag as they were pulled into their correct position.

Finally, Tori spoke.

“It’s okay, Ty. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.” Her voice was still small, the hurt still evident, but she was clearly trying to avoid making the moment about herself.

“I’m just glad you’ll finally be able to escape Clay’s grounding,” Tori added a few moments later, still quiet, but carrying more warmth than it had moments before.

Tyler snapped his right hand as he pointed at Tori, indicating he agreed with her.

“For real,” added Derek, “You’ve been grounded for, like, a month.”

“Two weeks,” Iggy corrected, although it had indeed felt like a month.

“Shit, knowing our boys luck, Clay will find some way to punish him from 3,000 miles away.”

This time, the second bag of marshmallows connected squarely with the back of Tyler’s head.

“Don’t you put that Juju on me, Ricky Bobby!” Cackled Iggy as the quartet burst into laughter.

Steven scowled down the aisle at them as he passed doing his hourly rounds and the group’s laughter died away as they continued pulling each item forward, giving it the illusion of a fully stocked shelf.

~~~

“What do you mean, responsibilities?!” Rodrigo roared into the phone. “This is retaliation and you know it, Cassie!”

A deeper voice suddenly cut through the phone line, drowning out the quiet response that Cassie had started on.

“Rodrigo, you will not talk to my wife like that, or we will have to be filing some additional court paperwork,” Clay threatened through the speaker.

“You wanted visitation. You wanted to be a father again. This is what father’s do. They figure it out. So I suggest, instead of sitting on the phone crying like it’s your first night in jail and Bubba’s pocket is getting cold, I suggest you do just that.”

“Figure it out.”

With that, the phone clicked silent.

Rodrigo wanted to bash that pompous guero’s face in. Show him exactly what he learned all those years in prison while Clay pretended to be a father. And now he wanted to set conditions on how Rodrigo would be a father? As if he had the right!?

Rodrigo stared at the black iPhone in his hand, fighting off the urge to hurl it into the drywall. He knew the phone would likely punch a hole in the drywall, the phone itself snapping with a satisfying crack, pieces of it to be lost forever behind the wall.

He took one breath. In through the nose. Hold for ten seconds. Release.

Then he took another.

By the third breath, the red that had blurred his vision moments before had retreated to the edge. Two more breaths and it was gone.

He looked down at the iPhone and was not surprised to see his skin had gone white around the edges, pressure from holding the iPhone in a death grip causing the phone to bite into his flesh.

He calmly set it on the counter, checking it for any hairline fractures, then crossed the small living room to the makeshift entry way. He slid on his Nike trainers one at a time, the laces loose enough for him to slip into, but tight enough to hold them to his feet.

The hoodie hanging on the rack was next. Plain black cotton. He rolled both sleeves up to his elbows, then pulled the hood over his head.

One more breath, then he was out the door.

He slowly walked down the hallway, passing the cheap steel doors that once acted as the barrier between the hallway and one of his many friends in the unit. Now, they safe-guarded strangers who pulled their kids inside if Rodrigo came out to use the communal grill.

He took the stairs from the first floor down two at a time. As he passed the mailboxes, doors painted gold in an attempt at luxury that stretched from the floor to the ceiling, each with an individual key slot that matched each apartment above him, affixed with small block letters indicating which box belonged to which residence, there was a woman and young man crossing the threshold into the building.

She was modest, standing no more than 5’5” with slightly greying hair. But all the signs of younger beauty were there, they were simply faded at the edges from years of living hard in the unforgiving desert.

He raised a hand, waving at the pair, then addressing them once they were within speaking distance.

“Evening Claudia.” Then, with a nod, added, “Hey there, Cisco.”

Cisco sucked his teeth at Rodrigo before crossing to the stairwell and disappearing up the stairs.

Claudia waited until she’d heard Cisco’s steps disappear, then fully turned herself towards Rodrigo, the expression turning from friendly greeting to something more.

“Going for a run?”

Rodrigo nodded. It had become his ritual. Although he viewed it as a punishment for himself. Lose your temper, run a mile. Lose it at Cassie or Clay? Run five miles, strictly to try and break the habit of making things harder for himself.

Claudia glanced around to ensure no other residents were within ear shot, then leaned into Rodrigo, wrapping one arm around his waist and standing on her tiptoes in order for her lips to lightly brush his ear.

“Come over after midnight if you’ve got the energy after.”

Before Rodrigo could answer, she turned heel and disappeared up the stairwell as well, her heels clicking softly with each step, her dress billowing behind her until she was out of sight.

Rodrigo simply smiled, pulling his headphones down over his ears as he stepped out of the apartment and turned right on 95th avenue to begin his run.

[Soapy]

Tori tender

[Captain Canada]

Just did some major catchup on this. Clay a fucking bitch, my God.

Cassie going to drink herself into an early grave huh.