That’s How I Roll: A Novel by Andrew Vachss Page A

afraid.
    Years before he could understand words, I promised him that, one day, I’d make it stop. All of it.
    For good and forever, I’d make it stop.
    I chanted it like I was calling up a spell.
    I didn’t try praying. I had already figured out that God wasn’t listening.
    But once my little brother came, if I could have sold my soul to the Devil to make things right, I would have done it on the spot. And spit in the face of Jesus to seal the bargain.
    ory-boy believed anything I told him. He always did. And that was only right, because I never once lied to him.
    Tory-boy had faith in me. True faith. I knew even the truest faith couldn’t save people. They’d scream out in church how they’d been saved, but their lives would stay the same misery they’d always been. Nothing would change, yet their faith would persist. Like the people who tore up their lottery tickets and walked away chanting, “Maybe next time.”
    I’d had faith, once. The Bible was right about the Beast; I knew that was the truth even before I could read. So maybe God just didn’t think me and Tory-boy were worth saving. But if He created us, how could that be? Why bother to plant rocks?
    That was a puzzle I couldn’t solve, so I put my trust where it belonged. Once I accepted Tory-boy’s pure faith in me, it was up to me. Me, alone. My balance wasn’t enough, not then. Even though I was building it, working on it constantly, I knew it would take time for me to get it perfect.
    I didn’t have that time. The only person I knew whose world was in balance was the Beast himself. I couldn’t hope to match his balance. Only if I could find a way to disrupt it would he be vulnerable. Only then.
    I watched him like he was under a microscope. I not only had to recognize the opportunity to disrupt his balance, I knew I’d only get the one chance to try it. If I failed, I wouldn’t get a second one. The Beast would take me outside, crush my skull with a rock, and tell the Law I must’ve fallen out of my wheelchair.
    It wasn’t that I would have minded dying so much. But then Tory-boy would be left without protection. Not from the Beast, not from Rory-Anne, not from anyone at all.
    I could not chance that. My plan had to be perfect. It had to throw the Beast’s balance off so bad that he’d never get it back.
    Somehow, I knew that that could be done, and that I could be the one to do it. I was always searching for a soft spot. I was … Ah, there’s no truth in nice words. I needed to kill him. But I couldn’t see how to do that, no matter how hard I looked.
    It’s a good thing I never needed much sleep—the only dreams I ever had were worse than being awake.
    kept studying. After a while, I learned about certain things that would poison a man to death. Plants I could find for myself, right out in the woods. Only, I also learned that it would take a long time—not hours, not days, weeks—for that kind of poison to work. I could cook, but it wasn’t like the Beast was around to be fed every day.
    It would only take a few seconds to blind him. I knew what I’d have to mix together to do that, and the Beast slept deep when he was drunk. But it was still too risky—even the smell of my fear might wake him up in time.
    And, inside that shack, the Beast could find me and Tory-boy even if he was stone-blind—he’d done that in pitch-tar-black nights often enough.
    I daydreamed about getting a pistol. I knew just the place to keep one hid. But I’d never used one, and I’d never get to practice shooting without drawing attention.
    By then, I had one thing truly my own. My faith. Not the faith that makes you believe in things you’ll never see, the faith you have in yourself.
    By then, I knew all I needed was patience.
    And I surely knew I had that by the ton. Patience may be a virtue, but I didn’t need to be virtuous. I had such patience not because I was blessed with it, but because I learned it. When you’re born under a curse,