Stuff Dreams Are Made Of Read Online Free

chair. “The rubes are out in number.”
    “Rubes?” James looked up from studying his cards.
    “Cashdollar’s flock,” Crayer said. “He has them all believing that if they follow his lead, they’ll be rich. ’Course, he makes sure that he gets rich first.”
    Stan, the pizza man, leaned back in his chair, keeping his cards close to his chest. Lighting another cigar, he studied us, not hiding his hard look. It was as if he was gauging our reaction.
    “And he’s back at it, pickin’ his targets.” A big mouthed guy who’d been silent up to now leaned back in his folding chair. He waved his hand at me. “The rev. Every campaign he picks a different target. Tonight he was working on this right-wing Miami talk show host, Barry Romans.”
    “He’ll get him, Mug. End of this tent meeting, Romans won’t know what hit him.”
    James sipped on his beer, holding his cards tightly. “I’ve heard Romans on the radio. Like a local Rush Limbaugh.”
    “Bigger than local.” Stan, the pizza man, took a puff off the fat cigar. “He’s got stations that carry him all over the state. Some even up in Georgia, I believe. So you boys are aware of him, huh?”
    The big-mouthed man referred to as Mug continued. “It’s gonna be brutal. Rev’s gonna accuse him of being the Devil, get his congregation all riled up.”
    “They’ll picket this Romans,” a tall skinny guy with thick glasses spoke for the first time, “and send hundreds of letters of protest to the newspaper, the radio stations.”
    “And,” our neighbor Crayer gave us all a broad grin, “we make more money every meeting. Right, Dusty? Cashdollar’s loyal following love to blame somebody else for all the world’s evils. Yes, they do.”
    I couldn’t help but smile too. More money was just what I needed right now.
    James added to the pot, apparently sensing a big win. It didn’t happen.
    For some reason I needed to know the outcome. “So does the reverend get his man? Does he bring down the target?”
    “Sometimes.” Crayer shuffled the deck.
    “What happens to Barry Romans?”
    Mug ran his hand through his unruly, greasy mop of hair. “The rev’s nailing him for being a racist, for being a card-carrying member of the NRA, for being anticivil rights, and a whole bunch of other stuff. I think he was just makin’ shit up this afternoon, just to get more reaction. He gets a good reaction when he threatens right wingers. Even a better reaction if something happens to them.”
    Mug laughed, almost like a rumble deep in his throat. “Make stuff up? The rev?”
    “And?”
    Crayer looked around at the five of us. “And? If the rev gets three or four thousand people riled up, they take Romans on. Tear him down.”
    James was engrossed. “Is that what you mean about ‘something happening to them?’ You mean he influences that many people?”
    “Kid,” Stan was puffing like a locomotive, “he’ll influence maybe ten thousand people just this weekend.”
    “Wow.”
    “You remember what happened to that talk show host, Don Imus? He made some comment about some black college girls, and got fired inside of a week, from TV and radio.” Stan took another puff on his cigar and a spiral of smoke climbed high and disappeared in the dark. “Reverend Al Sharpton took him on.Crucified him. Kid, ministers and public opinion are powerful forces. They can bring down mountains.”
    Everything got quiet, and I was aware of the warm, humid night air. The cloying odor of old grease, stale beer, cigar smoke, and sweat was getting to my stomach and I realized, with all the food we’d cooked, I hadn’t eaten anything.
    I lost three hands, folded quickly, and was down about forty bucks. James had won his first hand, raking in over $300. And then, in typical James fashion, he promptly lost the next two hands and ended up down $200. I’d locked our newfound money in a small closet in the truck, so thank goodness he had limited funds. Knowing James, he could have