Chapter 4: Greed and Grudges

Because of the seventy thousand dollars, the parents of the seven perpetrators had a falling out. It started with whispers at the diner, turned into shouting at the gas station, and ended up with lawyers circling like vultures.

One of Travis McClure’s cronies’ fathers was especially stubborn and rigid. The kind of man who counted every nickel and held grudges longer than the Mississippi River.

He insisted: “My son was egged on by your son Travis, he wasn’t the ringleader, just an accomplice. Why should we split the compensation equally?” He pounded his fist on his Formica kitchen table, making his coffee slosh over the sides.

Of course, the real reason was poverty. Ten thousand dollars was a huge sum and hurt to hand over. It meant second jobs, skipped meals, maybe even losing the old Ford pickup.

At the time, someone had died and everyone panicked, so they gave whatever was demanded. Nobody wanted trouble with the law, or with the McClures.

But now, looking back, it didn’t seem like such a big deal. The memory faded, replaced by the sting of empty pockets.

So he joined with the other five parents to discuss it. They gathered at the VFW, over cheap coffee and stale donuts, voices rising as the arguments went round and round.

Everyone quickly agreed—paying ten thousand was unfair. They were all lackeys, taking the fall for Travis. Helping out was one thing, but why pay up?

That’s why people say: tough times breed troublemakers. In a small town, old wounds don’t heal, they just scab over until somebody picks at them.

You really can’t fathom the way these people think. Pride and poverty, mixed together, can drive folks to madness.

The more they thought about it, the more upset they got. After discussing, they went to the McClure house, awkwardly stating their case. They shuffled their feet, hats in hand, too proud to beg, too desperate not to.

When Mr. McClure heard them, he said: “What? You want money from me? Did you give me any money?” His voice carried across the porch, echoing down the street.

“Wasn’t this money paid because of your son? By rights, you should pay it all, and you should even give our kids some hardship money since they took the blame, right?” The words tumbled out, tangled in resentment and fear.

“Yeah, yeah, our demands aren’t high, we’re all neighbors—forget about the hardship money, but at least give us back the money we paid.”

“Right, our family isn’t like yours—ten thousand is nothing to you, but we gave everything we had...”

Everyone started talking at once, all with the same goal: get their ten thousand back. Voices rose, fists clenched, old friendships forgotten in the rush of anger.

Mr. McClure exploded: “Goddammit, in my whole life, no one’s ever dared come to my door asking for money! Whoever hits, pays! Who made you take the blame? If you dare to hit, you dare to admit it! Who forced you? You’re all in your twenties, not toddlers—don’t you know right from wrong?” His face turned red, veins bulging at his temples.

“When this first happened, every one of you was scared stiff, didn’t dare say a word. If I hadn’t handled everything, do you think it would have been settled for just ten thousand? Now it’s all over and you’ve grown guts? Asking me for money? I should be charging you for smoothing things over! You gave the money to whoever, go ask them for it!” He slammed the door in their faces, the sound echoing down the block.

Don’t ask how I know all this so clearly. In that town, everyone knew, because after being kicked out by Mr. McClure, the six families spilled everything in the street. Gossip traveled faster than the morning train, and nobody could keep a secret for long.