The Upper Hand Read online

  Gretchen and her brothers huddled in the corner. Louder joined the group, giving Gretchen and Axel each a hug. She put a hand on Kurt’s arm. “You okay?”

  “Someone has to say something,” Kurt said. “I don’t want to ruin the funeral—although Axel might get that prize—but you can’t just claim a cookie is fresh-baked if it isn’t. That’s fraud.”

  “Nobody cares, Kurty,” Gretchen said.

  “Yeah,” Louder said. “I don’t think it matters.”

  “I care,” Kurt said. “Those over there, those are Chips Ahoy, plain and simple. You could blind-taste-test me all day. I know my store-boughts. Mrs. Conley claimed she baked them. I’m going to find her.”

  Kurt walked into the crowd and looked around the room. Louder followed, turning and giving Gretchen a shrug.

  “Poor guy,” Gretchen said. “And poor Mrs. Conley if he finds her.”

  “Is that’s Kurt’s girlfriend?” Axel asked.

  “That’s Amanda Lauden,” Gretchen said. “Louder. They’ve been best friends since like third grade. How do you not know her?”

  “Because I suck.”

  “Do you see that gigantic lady?” Gretchen asked.

  “She doesn’t seem like she would be a very good hider.”

  “Who is she?”

  “I’m your aunt,” the big woman said, making both of them jump. She stood directly behind them like a three-hundred-pound ninja.

  “Shit!” Gretchen yelled.

  From across the room, Pastor Lucas gave her a headshake.

  “Come on, Pastor Lucas,” Gretchen said, raising her voice so that the pastor could hear her. “Axel said a lot worse.”

  “Did you just say you were our aunt?” Axel said.

  “I’m your father’s sister. Everyone calls me Mother Ucker.”

  “Oh, I bet they do,” Gretchen said.

  “It’s good to finally meet you kids,” Mother said.

  “People pull scams at funerals all the time,” Gretchen said. “Long-Lost Relative is a classic. If that’s your scheme, I’ll save you time. My mother didn’t have any money. Neither do we. There ain’t a nickel to gain.”

  “I do love the fight in you,” Mother said, “and your instinct for distrust. Nobody’s going to get nothing past you. Full of raw potential.”

  “And you’re full of shit,” Gretchen said, saying “shit” softly and glancing toward Pastor Lucas.

  “Do you have some kind of proof that we’re related?” Axel asked.

  “The whole story is long,” Mother said. “One you’ll want to hear. Short version is that your mother hated her in-laws. She didn’t want anything to do with any of the other Uckers.”

  “She told me that much,” Gretchen said. “What kind of bad are you?”

  Mother laughed. “The good kind.”

  “How much more family do we have out there?” Axel asked.

  “Aunts, uncles, and a truckload of cousins. You’ll meet them. If you want. It’s up to you.”

  “Still haven’t seen any proof,” Gretchen said. “In fact, you dodged the question.”

  “I don’t want anything from you kids. I want to help you. I want to bring you back into the family. Uckers look out for one another.” She took a black-and-white photograph out of her bra and handed it to Gretchen. It was warm to the touch.

  “Let’s meet,” Mother said. “Next Saturday, a week from today. Let’s say noon. Bring Kurt, too. I’ll give you all the proof you need. We’ll talk about your future.”

  Gretchen looked at the photo, Axel leaning over her shoulder. Six children, two girls and four boys. The oldest girl was unmistakably Mother Ucker, not quite as big, but definitely on her way. The other girl could have been Gretchen’s sister. But the face that Gretchen stared at was the oldest boy. The one who looked like Axel. Gretchen silently pointed at him.

  “That’s your father,” Mother Ucker said.

  “What do you mean you’ll talk about our future?” Axel asked.

  “I have plans for the three of you.”

  “Could that have sounded more like a threat?” Gretchen said.

  “Why would your aunt threaten you?” Mother asked. She scanned the room. Her eyes landed on the man with the bad hairpiece and pasted-on eyebrows. “I’ll contact you about Saturday,” she said, and walked to the door.

  “How?” Gretchen said. “You don’t have our information.”

  “Of course I do,” Mother said. She glanced at the bald man, who turned and made eye contact with her. And then Mother was gone. The bald man followed a few seconds behind her.

  “What do we do with that?” Gretchen said.

  Kurt walked back to the two of them. “I took care of it.”

  “What?” Axel asked, still in a daze.

  “Mrs. Conley apologized for her cookie fraud. I made her cry a little. I cried, too, but I think we worked it out. Everything’s cool now.” Kurt nodded toward the photograph. “What’s that? Why are you making those faces at me?”

  CHAPTER 9

  Kurt missed his mom. He wanted to make her lunch. Instead, he parked himself on the couch in the living room and played guitar.

  At Bertha’s desk, Axel pored through the stacks of papers that constituted their mother’s financial records. The envelopes, files, receipts, paper scraps, and checkbooks filled an old US Army four-drawer metal filing cabinet.

  “Did Mom have a system?” Axel asked. “There are bills from two months ago mixed in with twenty-year-old receipts. I found a full book of S&H Green Stamps from 1985 inside a Green Stamps Ideabook. A ukulele was circled inside. If I find fourteen more books, maybe we can still get it. It’s a sweet-looking uke.”

  “I don’t know anything about the finances,” Kurt said.

  “How did you and Mom pay the bills and stuff?” Axel asked. “Where did the money come from?”

  “She got checks,” Kurt said. “I gave her whatever I made. It worked out.”

  “Things don’t work out without a plan,” Axel said.

  “Sometimes they do,” Kurt said. “Sometimes they don’t.”

  The doorbell rang. Kurt and Axel stared at each other until Kurt blinked. He stood up and went to the door, then soon returned with Joe Velasquez.

  Joe Vee—as he preferred—was the only lawyer in Warm Springs. He mostly handled drunk driving and workers’ comp cases, but he was the go-to guy for local legal needs, unless you wanted to drive for forty-five minutes. He had cornered the legal market in Warm Springs. Not everyone liked Joe Vee, but everyone knew him.

  “What can we do for you, Mr. Velasquez?” Axel said.

  “Joe Vee. Everyone calls me Joe Vee. Sorry about Bertha. It’s a terrible loss. Nice lady.”

  “I didn’t see you at the funeral,” Axel said.

  “I was fishing in San Felipe. Sorry. Heard you gave the crowd a bit of what for. Can’t say they don’t deserve it.”

  “You got your briefcase,” Gretchen said, walking into the room. “Is this business?”

  Joe Vee nodded. “I wanted to pay my respects, but yeah, unofficial official business, if you know what I mean.”

  “I don’t,” Axel said. “None of us do.”

  “It’s about your mother’s will.”

  “Oh good,” Axel said, pointing to the stack of paper. “I’ve been looking for some sense of where her finances were.”

  Joe Vee rubbed his five o’clock shadow and set his briefcase on the coffee table. “Do you want to sit down? You should probably sit down. Why don’t the three of you sit down?”

  “That doesn’t sound good,” Gretchen said. She didn’t budge, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Kurt sat on the couch, picking up a pillow and hugging it.

  “I wrote a will for your mother about a year ago,” Joe Vee said. “This isn’t Lawyer Joe talking. This is plain old Joe Vee down the road. I shouldn’t be talking to you about any of this until it’s all squared, but there’s things you should know.”

  “Things?” Kur
t asked.

  Joe Vee popped open his briefcase. “I could read all the legalese, but to be honest, I cribbed most of it from a book. A law book, but I’m going to cut to the chase—give you the CliffsNotes. Love those things. Wished they’d had them for law school.”

  “Focus, Joe,” Axel said.

  “Here it is,” Joe Vee said. “You kids aren’t in the will.”

  “What?” Kurt said.

  “Who else would be in the will?” Axel said. “A long-lost relative, a secret lover, her favorite squirrel? She didn’t know other people.”

  “I shouldn’t be doing this. Not exactly ‘ethical.’” The fact that Joe Vee put the word “ethical” in air quotes was a clue to his ethicalness.

  “Yeah, you keep saying that,” Gretchen said. “We get it. Huge favor. Thanks.”

  “I tried to talk her out of it, but your mother left everything—the house, money, some small investments—to Brother Tobin Floom.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Axel said.

  “She loved his show,” Kurt said.

  “The televangelist?” Gretchen shouted. “The guy on TV that wears all the gold and asks people for money?”

  “That’s the one,” Joe Vee said.

  “Can we contest it?” Axel asked. “What do we do?”

  “Come to my office this week. I’ll give you the rundown of your options. I’m going to have to crack the books and learn about this stuff. The law is complicated. Whatever you do, I have to file the will in probate court this week. That starts the ball rolling.”

  “Brother Floom was her favorite,” Kurt said. “She watched him every day. He was always there for her.”

  “I can hold off on the filing,” Joe Vee said. “End of the week. Say I was out of town. That’ll give you time to get whatever stuff you want from the house without a hassle.”

  “The house, too?” Kurt asked. “Where do I live now?”

  “Sorry, kid. Even if you contest, you’re going to have to move out until it’s sorted.”

  Joe Vee set a manila envelope on the coffee table. “Here’s a copy. Don’t show it to no one, because you’re not supposed to have it yet. Wish I had better news.”

  “Not your fault,” Axel said. “Thanks for the heads-up, Mr. Velasquez.”

  “Joe Vee.” He handed Axel a business card and walked to the front door. “Let’s set up something this week.”

  The lawyer left. Axel picked up the envelope. Gretchen sat down next to Kurt. She put her arm around him and hugged him.

  “Brother Floom,” Axel said. “Brother Tobin freaking Floom.”

  “It’s not like I wanted anything,” Gretchen said, “but that’s messed up.”

  “Our house isn’t going to be our house anymore,” Kurt said. “I’ve never lived anywhere else.”

  “You can stay with me,” Axel said. “I have plenty of room. At least until I’m foreclosed on.”

  Kurt hadn’t been in his mother’s room since the day she died. Out of habit, he knocked softly before opening the door. He stepped inside, feeling the stillness and quiet.

  A gold Brother Floom prayer cloth sat draped over the top of the dresser, with ceramic figures of Jesus, Mary, and a cross on top of it. He didn’t want the prayer cloth, but he’d decide on the ceramics later. They had sat on the dresser since he could remember. Moving them felt wrong. He would wait until the last minute.

  Kurt opened the closet. It smelled like his mother—cigarette smoke and rose perfume. He closed his eyes. It was like she was standing next to him.

  “Do you need some help?” Gretchen asked.

  Kurt opened his eyes, wiped his face, and turned to his sister. She stood in the doorway, looking as if she didn’t want to enter too far into the room.

  “Maybe,” Kurt said. “I don’t know.”

  “I can take care of Mom’s stuff if you want.”

  “You’ll just give it all away.”

  “That’s obviously what Mom wanted. She wouldn’t have given it to the preacher otherwise. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take the things that mean something to you.”

  Kurt shut the closet door. He looked around the room and walked to the nightstand. “I’m going to keep her Bible. Unless you want it.”

  “It’s all yours, Kurty. The only thing I’m taking is the picture in the hall. It’s how I want to remember all of us.”

  “I don’t remember us ever being a family,” Kurt said. “I mean, you’re my sister. I love you. But do we know each other?”

  “Sometimes it takes a tragedy to bring people together. Even Axel is trying. That’s close to a miracle.”

  “There must be more than that photo that you want.”

  “Not really,” Gretchen said. “The past has messed me up enough. I’m not going to consciously bring more of it along with me. Okay, I might take the microwave, but that’s only because mine shit the bed last week when I left a spoon in a bowl. It went full Zuul.”

  Kurt carried the last of his stuff into the upstairs bedroom in Axel’s McMansion. Twenty long boxes of comics. Carefully packed action figures and figurines. Six insanely heavy boxes of records. Three computers and assorted hardware. Boxes of games and gaming stuff. His guitar. One duffel bag full of clothes made up Kurt’s entire wardrobe.

  All the other stuff that they had kept went into Axel’s garage. The random collection of items could best be categorized under the informal heading of “I don’t know—maybe one of us will want this thing—let’s just throw it in the truck and decide later.”

  By the end of the day, Axel and Kurt stood red-faced and sweaty, staring into the packed-to-the-rafters garage that held their entire childhood, their whole past. Kurt drank his Gatorade so fast, most of it ran down his cheeks.

  “Mom’s gone,” Kurt said. “She’s really gone.”

  Axel put a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “I’m starved. Let’s get changed. Tacos sound good?”

  “I have never said the phrase ‘No, I don’t want tacos’ in my life. Tacos always sound good.”

  Kurt and Axel headed into the house. They stopped before entering their respective rooms.

  “Thanks for letting me stay here,” Kurt said. “I’ll try not to cramp your style.”

  “I don’t have any style to cramp. You’re family.”

  “Speaking of,” Kurt said. “When do you think our new aunt will call to meet up?”

  “I’m not one hundred percent convinced she’s really our aunt,” Axel said.

  “My friend Rasputin authenticated that photo, said it was legit.”

  “Well, if a guy named after the Mad Monk confirmed it, I’m sure it’s okay.”

  “Raz is the preeminent forger of Magic: The Gathering cards in North America, so.”

  “I barely know what any of that means,” Axel said, “and you shouldn’t be associating with forgers.”

  “That means he can spot a forgery. If he says the photo was unaltered, that’s fact.”

  “Let’s say she is our aunt,” Axel said. “Mother Ucker—yeesh—did not look like the kind of aunt that knits afghans and puts five dollar bills in birthday cards. We can’t trust her.”

  “You’re giving me advice about trusting people?” Kurt said. “You got hoodwinked by your girlfriend.”

  “Exactly my point. You can’t trust anyone.”

  “I can trust you. I can trust Gretchen. I trust my family.”

  “Not all family,” Axel said. “We couldn’t trust Dad. Or Mom. She gave everything away.”

  “It was hers to give.”

  “You don’t have to take her side anymore. You don’t have to do what she says. You know that right?”

  Kurt was starting to get angry, which was not an emotion he was comfortable with. Luckily the doorbell rang and Axel went to answer.

  When Axel didn’t come back after a minute, Kurt got curious and walked downstairs. The front door was open. “Hey, Axel. You can’t set up my taco expectations and then not deliver. That’s a Geneva-convention-leve
l rule.”

  He walked out the front door. Someone threw a sack over his head. Before he could react, his hands were tied behind his back, and he was moved expertly across the lawn and—from the sound of the sliding door—into a van.

  He definitely wasn’t getting tacos now.

  CHAPTER 10

  The van accelerated and braked suddenly. It felt as if every turn was taken on two wheels. Axel wouldn’t have been surprised to find a twitchy cartoon mustelid behind the wheel.

  Kurt remained silent while Axel shouted a volley of muffled questions as they slid around the back of the van.

  “Where are you taking us?”

  “What’s your plan?”

  “You must have a plan.”

  “If this a long trip, is there any way I can get some lumbar support?”

  “Nobody abducts someone without a plan.”

  The radio turned on full blast. Mexican pop music drowned out his remaining queries.

  A half hour later, the van came to an abrupt stop, slamming Axel into the back of the front seats. The driver turned off the engine.

  “This has to have something to do with Gretchen,” Axel said. “She probably stole from the wrong person.”

  “What are you talking about?” Kurt said. “Gretchen isn’t a thief.”

  “How do you think she makes her living?”

  “She buys and sells comic books.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like Gretchen.”

  “Wait,” Kurt said. “Am I her fence?”

  The door opened, and the sacks on their heads were removed. A man in his sixties stood at the open door of the van. He had a bushy red beard and a mop of red hair and wore a Hawaiian shirt, which on closer view was made up of small Playboy covers.

  “Who are you?” Axel said. “What’s going on?”

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” Hawaiian Shirt said.

  Axel had a good view out the front windshield. The van sat in the empty parking lot of Hofbräuhaus, a German restaurant. The big sign featured the comical illustration of a fat Bavarian man in lederhosen holding two big steins of beer. Under the restaurant’s name, it said, “Family Style. Oktoberfest Nightly.” Weeds grew a foot high in the cracks of the asphalt.