The local Avalanche paper was only printed twice a week, so the article hit everyone like a shockwave.
Mahalia warned me about it. She texted Buy the local paper. See page 14. I had to zip down to The High Dive to get a copy of that worthless rag. And maybe it was my imagination, but people were already looking funny at me.
I sat inside and ordered a coffee. Cornucopians were allowed to drink booze and coffee, I guess one of the original 19th century tenets they’d reinstated. There were comics and editorials on page fourteen, but my eye went to a gossip column called Around the Horn. Referring, I guess, to a cornucopia being a horn of plenty.
“Some ‘newbies’ in town have already created quite a stir with their colorful pasts and questionable lifestyles—and for once it’s not a member of an outlaw motorcycle gang. The fellow who is attempting to start an occult arts studio on Crosstown Street, Levon Rockwell, should have lots of experience dealing with the public. He’s still the owner of a house of ill repute up in Bountiful. I shan’t give out the name for fear of giving free advertising to such an establishment. Let’s just say the workers there are of the male persuasion, and one of them has shacked up with Levon. I shall not name him because he’s attempting to go straight, so to speak, and start a new career. Don’t let it be said your faithful reporter is only interested in slander! Just juicy gossip. More, please, more!”
My heart sank into my stomach as I read the vile slander—yes, it was slander! Only a few of the facts were even true! Levon wasn’t kidding—this Pratt asshole was out to get him. And to drag poor Deloy into it!
When I dared to look up, that odious bartender Skippy Cavanaugh was definitely giving me the evil eye. Why did they keep that guy around, anyway? He was obviously in Cornucopia’s back pocket. I knew for a fact that even though he lived outside their walls, he had at least three wives, the better to get into heaven with. It was rumored that most of the decrepit and moldy Avalanche town council—men only, of course—had multiple wives.
The swinging doors burst open. I was relieved to see Gideon, Dingo with his ever-present laptop, Deloy, Sledgehammer, Maximus and a few others. Their heavy engineer’s boots shook the old wooden floorboards, and most of them demanded coffee from Skippy. I got Gideon’s attention, and he sat at my table. Wordlessly, I slid the newspaper over to him, but he had already stopped me with a raised hand.
“I know. I saw it. It’s fair game that Levon was a sex worker, let’s face it. What community is not gonna be all over that in a few seconds? But I draw the fucking line at what they’re trying to do to Deloy. This ruling class has gotten way the fuck out of hand. That’s our main agenda item today. I don’t normally talk business with lambs, but I want you to know we’re on top of this. We’re going to submit our own candidate for mayor. Dingo’s been all over everyone’s background to find someone clean. This mob rule has to stop.”
“Well, yes!” I cried, jabbing my finger at the offending newspaper article. “And I don’t even agree that Levon’s past is fair game, Gideon. When is a man allowed to put that past behind him and start fresh, like Deloy’s trying to do?”
“Well, Levon’s an adult, and he knew the risks. He says he’s fine with people knowing his old business because he’s got nothing to hide. What tweaks me is these are the same people who tried to ruin these kids. Now they’re doing it to them all over again. We’ve got to put a stop to this shit.”
“How does this ‘writer’ know about Deloy’s school? Who’s feeding him this sort of information?”
“We’re working on that, too, Oaklyn. Don’t worry. We’re not gonna just sit here and take this shit. This guy knows way too much for a guy no one in our backyard even talks to.”
“I’ll say. I suspect that bartender.”
Then a couple more men entered—the Stanford geologist Dust Bunny, the coffee shop owner Yosemite Sam—and it was time for them to enter their “chapel.” Gideon stood, asking me,
“How’s Levon’s dog? He gonna pull through?”
“Yes,” I spat, “no thanks to that corrupt building inspector. He’s Pratt’s puppet too. Poor Lazarus comes down here and this is the first shit that happens to him? Poor baby is still at Urgent Care on IV fluids.”
“Yeah. Heard about that fucked-up mess. We would take care of that too, but that’s Levon’s battle to fight.” Gideon chuckled. “He’d probably get tweaked if we took care of it and sucked all the wind out of his sails.”
“Yes,” I said skeptically. “I just hope he doesn’t get in trouble when he ‘takes care of it.’ All eyes are on him now.”
“Don’t worry, sister. We’ve got it.”