Deviation (9 page)

She closed her eyes and leaned her head on his
shoulder, loving the fact that he was there and that he was trying
to help her; to encourage her to be brave and to take control of her
own life. “Actually, I should get to the bank. I'm not sure
what time it is. I'll loan you the money whether I go with you or
not.”

Frank put his arm around her. “I appreciate
that, Dianne.”

They were in the kitchen again, eating turkey subs
which Dianne had bought on her way back from the bank. She was
drinking a can of Sprite in an attempt to stop her hangover before
it really took hold. Frank was drinking more beer. On the table
before them was a thick envelope filled with cash.

Frank finished
chewing and took a swallow of beer. “Are you sure you
wouldn't like something a little more...
psychoactive
to drink?”

Dianne guzzled more soda. “No thank you. I'm
still plenty high.”

“If you change your mind, you know where to find
the supplies.”

“Maybe later.”

They ate in silence for several moments, devouring the
subs. When Dianne began to feel full she set the last few bites
aside and sipped from her can. “So why is it you need to
leave? Or is it a secret?”

Frank thought about his answer while he finished
eating. After a swig of Pabst he sat back in his chair and wiped
his mouth. “Do you ever watch the local news?”

“Sure. Sometimes.”

“Are you familiar with the so-called epidemic of
missing children?”

She nodded slowly, feeling suddenly anxious. “Yes.”

“I don't know for certain, but I believe our
local pastor may have something to do with it. At least in the
cases of some of them.”

She allowed the information to sink in. “You
mean he killed them?”

“Among other things.” Frank took a drink
of beer. “Douglas McKenzie is the most vicious man I've ever
met. Very dangerous. Very unstable, too, and getting progressively
more so. He can turn on the charm when he wants to, but the truth
is he's a raging lunatic. One of your classic top-shelf
sociopaths.”

“And you think he's a serial killer?”

“He's a pedophile for sure. And a homosexual.
There's been certain... evidence... that suggests he might be the
common denominator in the lives of most of these kids that have
disappeared.”

Dianne looked sick. “That's horrible. Where is
he now?” She glanced nervously around the room as if he might
be hiding nearby.

“I don't know. He's disappeared himself. It's
been about four days.”

“And you're afraid you might be arrested in
connection with... whatever he's been doing?”

“Something like that. There's a good
possibility that there's physical evidence right here in the church.
Most likely the basement.”

Dianne felt a chill. “You mean he buried them
down there?”

“I don't know. There's a walk-in vault down
there. I'm unsure how big it is, exactly, or what's inside. It's
absolutely impenetrable.”

She shook her head. “Why don't you just call
the police? Tell them what you suspect?”

Frank smiled sadly. “I would never call the
police on anyone. It goes against everything I believe in. They'd
probably have me locked up before the day was over. Anyway, you
have no idea how dangerous the pastor is. Intelligent, too.
Something tells me he'll be back here before too much longer. I
don't think I want to see him again. The more I consider it, the
more certain I am that he's eventually going to feel the need to...
dispose of me.”

Dianne took a drink of Sprite. “You said
there's evidence. Maybe if --”

There was a sudden muffled knocking from somewhere
else in the church. Dianne jumped, her eyes going wild.

“Relax, Dianne. That's probably only Lester.”

“What if it's not?”

“It's certainly not McKenzie, if that's what
you're thinking.”

“How do you know?”

Frank stood up. “He wouldn't knock. Would you
like to come with me, or wait here?”

They both glanced down at the envelope on the table.
“Which would you prefer?”

“It's entirely up to you.” Frank picked
up the money and then stepped over to the counter. As Dianne
watched, he removed another of his paring knives from the drawer and
slipped it into his pocket. “Just a precaution.”

She nodded. “I guess I'll go with you. Just in
case.”

“Thank you. It shouldn't take long.”

As they made their way into the sanctuary there was
another knock on the front door. Dianne stood near the outer row of
pews as Frank continued on, reaching the door to the foyer just as
it opened and Lester peered in.

“Come in,” Frank said.

Lester glanced at him and then stepped inside,
shutting the door behind him. “You really ought to get a
doorbell for this place.” His eyes roamed around, coming to
rest on Dianne who was standing off to one side. He stared at her
for a very long time. Finally he looked back to Frank. “Who's
she?”

“A friend. Did you bring my supplies?”

Lester noticed the envelope in Frank's hands. “Maybe.
I don't like audiences.”

“You don't need to worry about her.”

He looked at Dianne again, licking his lips. “Let's
hope not.” He was a heavy-set Mexican with short black hair
and a thick mustache. He was wearing a hooded sweatshirt, both of
the pockets bulging in front. He lifted his hands and slipped them
into the pockets as if guarding their contents. “How do you
want to do this?”

“Come.” Frank motioned to the altar at
the front of the room. “Show me what you've brought.”

Lester nodded, seeming to relax a little. They made
their way up to the altar, leaving Dianne alone on the far side of
the room.

She wanted to go with Frank, but didn't think it would
be appropriate.

When Lester reached the altar, he pulled a thick
Ziploc bag from one pocket and set it down. Frank stepped up
quickly and lifted the bag, analyzing the contents through the
plastic.

“That's two ounces of Lemon Skunk,” Lester
informed him.

Frank sniffed the bag, frowning. “Why the fuck
do these assholes have to add all these goddamn flavors nowadays?”

Lester laughed softly. “Hey, man. That's just
the way it is. It's a good strain. It will get you just as stoned
as anything else.”

“I'm sure it will. I just wish I didn't have to
taste lemon every time I light my pipe.”

“You want it or not?” He turned his head
and studied Dianne again, his eyes holding on her a little too long.

Frank moved the bag aside. “Yes, yes, I want
it. What else do you have?”

From his other pocket Lester produced a much smaller
bag, this one filled with white powder. “Ounce of coke.
$2,500, the best I could do. With the weed, it's $3,200.”

Frank stared at him. “What about the meth?”

Lester shook his head once, quickly. “Disruption
in the supply, who knows? Gimme a couple days, maybe I can find
it.”

“I need it tonight!” Frank could feel his
blood pressure rising.

“I can't get it tonight. I probably can't get
it tomorrow, either. That's why I brought this other stuff. It's
gonna be a little bit of a wait on the meth. It's just not around
right now.”

Frank gnashed his teeth. He tried to keep his voice
low enough to prevent Dianne from overhearing. “But I need
it!”

“Sorry. You and a dozen others.” He
pointed at the cocaine. “That'll take the edge off. It's
better, anyway.”

“For you, maybe.”

“Hey, I don't use any of this shit.”

Frank looked at Lester's pocket, which was still
bulging. “You've got something there. You sure you don't
have any meth?”

“I'm sure.” Lester pulled a 9mm pistol
halfway out of his pocket and immediately slipped it back in. “No
need for this here.” He looked at the envelope in Frank's
hand. “$3,200.”

“I've got the money,” Frank assured him.
“But I really need that meth.”

“I already told you, I don't have it. I'll call
you when I find it.” He swiveled his head back to the left
and resumed his study of Dianne. It was obvious he found her
desirable.

“Are you sure? Maybe you're just trying to make
it seem more valuable to me?”

Lester appeared angry now. “I'm telling you, no
meth.”

Shaking the envelope, Frank leaned closer to him.
“I'll pay you double.”

Lester's fat tongue poked out and wet his lips. He
was still staring at Dianne. “I'll tell you what. I really
don't have your meth, padre, but I might have a tiny sample tucked
away which belongs to someone else.”

Frank's eyes lit up at the news. “How much?”

“Just a taste.”

“I mean, how much do you want for it?”

Lester's eyes hadn't strayed from Dianne. “A
taste.”

“I heard you the first time. How much money?”

“Wake up, padre. A taste of your little friend
there. Say, 30 minutes and it's yours.”

Frank was grinding his teeth again. He had a sudden
impulse to harm Lester. “Forget it. I'll pay you what you
ask for it, but you're not going anywhere near her.”

Lester shrugged. “Too bad. It's really good
shit.”

There wasn't much Frank hated more than associating
with drug dealers. It seemed that Lester was no better than the
rest of them. This was only the third time he'd done business with
the man, and it would certainly be the last. “Give it to me.”
He shook the envelope again. “Name your price.”

“I already did.”

“She's off limits.”

“30 minutes. It'll be over before you know it.”

“Give me the meth,” Frank growled.

Lester was glaring at him. “I told you. No
meth.”

“Turn out your pockets,” Frank insisted.

“Fuck you! Fork over that little bitch or shut
up about the meth.”

“I'm telling
you, I
need
it!”

“And I'm telling you, I don't have it.”

“Cocksucker!” Frank felt betrayed. He had
only the smallest little bit left in his baggie and he was already
feeling withdrawal symptoms. “The meth was the whole point!”

Lester clutched his gun, but kept it concealed within
his pocket. “Give me the $3,200. Otherwise I'm taking this
stuff and walking away.”

Frank pulled at his
chin, trying to think. He glanced over at Dianne, seeing that she'd
moved a little closer, a troubled look on her face. “You've
got to have
something
,”
he complained. “You just admitted you did!”

“I think we're done here.” Lester grabbed
the cocaine and stuffed it into his pocket. As he was reaching for
the marijuana, Frank pulled it out of his grasp.

“Just a hit,” Frank pleaded. “A
fucking gram. I'll pay triple.”

“You don't fucking get it, do you?” He
withdrew the pistol and leveled it at Frank's chest. “Give me
back that weed.”

Frank tucked the bag under his arm and pulled the
sheaf of bills from the envelope. He began counting out hundreds
onto the altar. “Let me have the coke. Here's the fucking
money.”

Lester watched as Frank finished counting out the
$3,200. He made no move to turn over the cocaine. Glancing over at
Dianne, he, too, noticed she was closer. He stared at her
longingly, his eyes glowing. “One last chance. 30 minutes
with the bitch.”

The comment fueled Frank's rage. “She's not a
bitch. Give me the cocaine.”

“I never should have agreed to do business with
you again. A fucking priest.” He reached over and scooped up
the money, tucking it into his back pocket. “Consider this a
lesson.” He kept the pistol leveled at Frank as he took
several steps back.

Frank dropped the rest of the money and the bag of
dope on the altar. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”

“Burning your ungrateful ass. It's your own
fault, padre.”

“Just give me the fucking cocaine! You don't
want to burn me!”

Lester took another step back. “Adios and vaya
con dios.”

“Give me that coke!” Frank shouted. He
pulled the paring knife from his pocket and closed the distance
between them.

The sight of the little blade caused Lester to smile.
“You're crazy, padre. But I guess you already know that.”
His finger tightened on the trigger.

“Don't shoot him!” Dianne yelled.

Lester turned to look at her, alarmed. It was all the
distraction Frank needed. He lunged forward, his hand cutting an
arc through the air as the tiny blade tore a gash diagonally across
Lester's face, his large nose severed into two sections. He
screamed and fell back, blood running down over his mustache and
into his mouth. He fired the pistol, but his loss of balance caused
the shot to go wide and the bullet disappeared harmlessly into the
far wall. As he steadied himself he fired again, and again his aim
was off. He was bellowing and blowing blood out of his mouth, his
eyes crossed as he tried to look down and assess the damage to his
face. Frank grabbed his free arm, twisting it behind his back. In
one swift motion he raised the paring knife and cut a deep gash
across Lester's throat.