Page 31 of Lula Dean's Little Library of Banned Book
This time, Mitch didn’t feel any need to respond. The woman was clearly obsessed.
“Look, I’m not trying to get at you,” she continued. “I would have done the same thing if I’d had any talent. Instead, while all y’all moved away, I stayed here and watched everything go to seed. Didn’t seem like there was anything I could do to stop it. Truth is, I didn’t figure out what I’m good at until recently. You know what my gift is?”
“I can’t wait to find out.” What he really wanted to know was why was he sitting inside a giant vagina discussing this woman’s gifts when he honestly couldn’t give a fuck.
“I’m very good at finding people who are just as frustrated as I am. Folks whose fortunes have fallen and those who worry their circumstances will be reduced. I know how to talk to them. I know how to rally them to the cause. You know how I do it?”
Now they were getting somewhere. “How?”
“By saying the things they’ve been afraid to say and doing the things they’ve been afraid to do. You asked what I stand for and it’s real simple. I believe that we’re at a crossroads. People like my opponent want us to give up everything we’ve always held sacred. Our values, our history, our place in this world. If she wins and this town follows her, men like you are going to be tossed on the scrap heap of history right next to Augustus Wainwright.”
“And ifyouwin?”
“I will follow the lead of the two white men who built this town—Augustus Wainwright and Jesus Christ. And if you’ll join us, Mitch, I truly believe we will make Troy great again.”
He liked the sound of that. “Then count me in.”
“Wonderful. But before we can do anything, we need to destroy Beverly Underwood.”
“Remind me who that is again?” Mitch Sweeney asked.
Outside, reporters had gathered. Mitch and Lula stood together outside her picket fence. Red, white, and blue Lula for Mayor! signs called out from the yard behind them.
“Thank y’all for being here today,” Mitch addressed them. “I came down to Georgia because things have gone way too far. The radical left has pushed its agenda into our schools and our libraries. I hear they’ve got our kids baking dirty cakes and learning how to use butt plugs. Now they’re out todestroy our statues and what’s left of our great heritage. If we don’t rise up and stop them now, I promise you, there will not be another opportunity. If we want to return to the way things were—to a time when our way of life was honored and respected—we have to defeat these libs for good. That’s why I urge everyone here in Troy to vote for Lula Dean!”
“Thank you, Mitch,” Lula cooed as she accepted the microphone. “I gotta say, I’m just tickled pink that an international movie star like Mitch Sweeney would come all this way to lend me his support. I think it shows how much good we’ve done so far. People are tired of being pushed around. Life used to be simple in towns like Troy, and I’m convinced that it can be again.”
“Let’s get a shot of you both with Lula’s little library,” a reporter from theHeraldcalled out.
Mitch and Lula posed on either side of the purple book-filled cabinet.
“You should take a book.” It sounded more like an order than a question. Lula reached in and pulled out a book and thrust it into Mitch’s hand.
“Well, how about that? I didn’t know you stocked the classics,” Mitch joked. “This here’s my favorite book.” He heldThe Art of the Dealup for the reporters to see, offering them his widest grin. “I think we’ve all got a lot to learn from the master.”
Chapter 13
You Can’t Go Home Again
Jeb Sweeney sat on his front porch wearing blood-spattered camo and drinking a cold Bud Light. In the distance, a truck pulled up at the end of his drive. Jeb raised his rifle and put the sight to his eye. His older brother slid out of a 3500 and rattled the locked gate. Jeb kept him in the crosshairs as Mitch paced back and forth in frustration before hoisting his ample form up the four-foot-high cattle guard. He made it over the top, lost his footing on the other side, and fell backward onto the gravel.
“No stunt doubles down here, son,” Jeb muttered, setting the gun aside and taking another sip of his beer. He picked up his phone and opened his brother’s favorite app. The first thing that popped up in his feed was Mitch’s response to a post by Lula Dean welcoming Troy’s prodigal international movie star back to town. Jeb put his beer down and began to type.
Well how ’bout that. @mitchsweeney has set foot in Georgia for the first time in 10 years. #fakesoutherners #hollywoodelites #igotyournumbermotherfucker
Jeb picked up the gun again and watched his brother pull out his phone and type like mad. Mitch had clearly set up an alert. Jeb was almost touched.
When I find you I’m going to rip off youre head off and shit down your throat.
Jeb came a hair short of snorting beer out his nose.
Good luck with that dumbass. #igotyournumbermotherfucker
Jeb didn’t bother to hide the phone as his brother approached. He’d been trolling Mitch online for years. The accounts changed as soon as he got blocked. But the hashtag remained the same.#igotyournumbermotherfuckerwas Jeb’s anonymous calling card. Mitch still hadn’t figured it out. He’d never been the brightest bulb on the tree.
“Hey,” Mitch said. “Almost didn’t see you there.”
“Was that a camo joke?” Jeb asked. “Y’all find that sort of shit funny out in California?”
