Raising Cain (8 page)

“Yes?” A plump, fortyish white woman answered the door.

Joseph removed his hat. ‘We’re here about the dog.”

The woman hesitated, and a man suddenly appeared at her side. “These people are here for Pete,” she told him.

Brownie looked into the yard. Behind the fence was the most beautiful dog he’d ever seen: a fluffed-up collie, just like Lassie.
He smiled, and the dog wagged its tail.

“You’re too late,” the man said abruptly. “We already gave him away.”

Brownie looked up.

“We called about it,” Joseph said.

“Sony.”

Brownie grabbed his father’s arm. “But… “ He was pointing toward the yard.

“Wouldn’t happen to have another, would you?” Joseph asked.

“No, ! don’t Not to give away.”

“Daddy!” Brownie was still tugging at his arm.

“Thank you anyway, “Joseph replied, replacing his hat and turning toward the car.

“Daddy!” Brownie persisted.

“Get in the car, son.”

Brownie slammed the door and stared at the collie peering through the fence. “They had the dog!”

Joseph kept silent as they drove back to the highway.

“Didn’t you see, Daddy? They had the dog!”

“I saw it, son.”

“So why didn’t you do something?”

“The man didn’t want to give it to us. That was his right.”

“Why not? Because we’re black?”

“Maybe. But it was still his right. He can give the dog to anyone he wants.”

“As long as they’re white,” Brownie said under his breath.

They were out of Sedgewick Estates now, in the countryside. Joseph pulled off the road and stopped the car. He put his hand
on Brownie’s shoulder and looked into his eyes. “I want you to calm down, son,” he said. “You can’t go through life bein’
a hater.”

“But they were haters!”

“Yes, they were. That’s their problem. We don’t have to be like them.”

Brownie’s eyes filled with tears. “But we didn’t get the dog!”

Joseph rubbed his son’s neck. “Plenty of dogs in this world, Joe, at least as nice as that one.”

They sat for a moment in silence. Then Brownie leaned over and hugged his dad. When he pulled away, his tears had dried, and
he was trying to smile. “Probably had fleas, anyway,” he said.

*   *   *

Brownie fought back a tear and looked up at the pulpit.

“Friends,” Reverend Boyd continued, “a prominent member of our community is here today to join this celebration. He has asked
to say a few words, and I’d like him to come up now, if he would….” He pointed to the back of the church, and Reverend Taylor
hustled down the aisle and ascended the steps. Preened and resplendent in black, he was ready to preach.

“Thank you, Reverend Boyd.” His smooth voice poured into the pews and flowed from the speakers. “I knew Joseph Brown, as we
all did, and I agree with most that’s been said so far. Joseph was a good man, a kind man, a peaceful man. He was a
man
in every sense of the word… but I must respectfully disagree with one thing Brother Boyd told you here today….”

The congregation hushed.

“Maybe God did not
call
Brother Brown to him just yet.”

Several mourners looked around, and Taylor paused for effect, his heavy breath rumbling over the PA system.

“Maybe Brother Brown was
sent
to the Almighty before his time.”

Gardner stared up at the altar. This didn’t sound like a eulogy.

“This life may not compare to the one God’s got waiting for us in the hereafter,” Taylor continued, “but it’s a life.”

“Un-huh,” someone said.

“God gives us life, and life is precious.”

“Amen!”

“God doesn’t
want
us to come to him until our job here is done!”

“That’s true!”

Taylor stopped suddenly and looked out across the room. “We honor Joseph Brown here today, but we don’t accept the fact that
his
time
had
come
!”

“That’s right!”

“We don’t let any
man
tell us that our
time
has
come
!”

“Amen!”

Gardner stirred in his seat. Taylor was inciting the crowd, and the implication was clear: someone had killed Joseph Brown.
In truth, it was just conjecture, Brownie’s hunch. But Taylor’s words were making it fact.

“What’s happening?” Jennifer whispered.

“I don’t know,” Gardner replied over the din.

“God can
call
us,” Taylor yelled, “but no
man
on this earth can tell us it’s time to go!”

“Hallelujah!”

“Death comes when God decrees it!”

“Amen!”

“Death waits on
His
commandment!”

“Yes, sir!”

“But in the case of Brother Joseph, dear friends, God did not issue the call!”

The crowd went quiet again.

“No, dear friends, God was not yet ready to take our Joseph.”

Gardner squeezed Jennifer’s hand.

“
Someone
among us decided to do God’s work
for
him!”

Gardner looked at Brownie and his brother. They were no longer immobile. Each time Taylor uttered a word, their heads moved.

“No
man
has a right to take a life!” Taylor yelled.

The heads moved again.

“No
man
can wield God’s sword!”

“Amen!”

“We may have to accept the fact that he is
gone
, but we don’t have to accept the reason
why
!”

Another hush.

“No
man
can do this evil deed and walk away!”

“Amen!” Brownie yelled.

“No
man
can escape God’s wrath!”

“That’s right!” the brother called.

“
No man
!” Taylor signaled for a reply.

“No
man
!” the mourners roared. “No
man
!” And the voices of the brothers Brown were the loudest of all.

Sallie Allen was nervous. Thomas Ruth had put the compound on alert because a police officer was coming for a visit. “Stay
in the dining hall while I deal with him,” he’d ordered. And the flock had obeyed. Without question or hesitation, they’d
all marched to the oblong building and disappeared inside, Sallie included. It was like a nuclear attack drill: a room full
of silent people, their heads down, their hands clasped, waiting for the fatal flash.

Finally, the all-clear sounded, and things returned to normal. They were allowed to venture outside. But in the dining hall,
they’d covered the windows with sheets, so Sallie had not been able to peek. She was dying to know what the police wanted.

Since her first day in the compound, Sallie had been reconnoitering. How many CAIN followers were there? Fifty, as far as
she could count: thirty men and twenty women. Their backgrounds? Diverse: mechanics, salesmen, housewives, drifters. Their
financial resources? Substantial: A fleet of cars, walk-in refrigerator, cache of food, and state-of-the-art computer. Armaments?
That was still a question mark. The restriction on her movements made that a tough one. But Sallie wasn’t about to give up.
She still needed a hook. And an arsenal of weapons would do nicely.

The followers had now fanned out to complete their chores. Sallie was on meal preparation duty, and she waited in the dining
hall for the cook to tell her what to do. Standing by the window, she could barely see the administration building through
the waves of radiating heat. She wiped a tickle of moisture from her hairline as a dust devil swirled in the roadbed and died.
Sallie knew her deadline was approaching. In the next twenty-four hours she had to get what she needed and get out. The first
draft was due the day after tomorrow.

Suddenly she saw Thomas Ruth rush from the administration building. He leaped from the porch and ran to his car. Then he backed
out, sped toward the front gate, and disappeared.

“Sister Sallie,” the cook called, “can you help me?” She was a middle-aged runaway from an eastern city, a mom who discovered
“religion” and abandoned her husband, kids, Volvo, and ended up here. Her name was Dorothy. She was dressed in traditional
CAIN garb: jeans, T-shirt, and flip-flops. Her brown hair was cinched back, and she wore no makeup or jewelry, as decreed
by Thomas Ruth.

Sallie turned from the window. “Sure.”

Dorothy handed her a list. “Bring these items from storage, please.”

Sallie took the paper. “Right away.”

The storage room was in a small garage behind the administration unit.

Sallie walked up the street. She’d been inside every building in the compound but the men’s dorm, the administration building,
and a padlocked shed down by the quarry. She’d made diagrams and notes as to what was where and what it was used for. The
days and activities were structured, and each activity had its time and place. The followers droned through the hours in quiet
obedience, their wills forfeited to Ruth just like their possessions. The preacher kept the schedule tight, kept them busy
so there was little chance to reflect on their isolation from the outside world.
Ruth
was their world now. And the woods beyond the quarry fence were as far away as the sun.

Sallie passed the men’s and women’s dormitories, former stoneworkers’ bunkhouses. They slept on spartan cots arranged in open
rows, and ate and bathed in same-sex shifts. Ruth had a thing about interaction. Men and women were allowed together only
when they prayed.

Sallie cautiously stepped up on the porch of the administration building: the headquarters where Ruth meditated and slept.
Sallie had never seen anyone but Ruth and a few trusted males go inside. Ruth had strictly forbidden access to anyone else,
and there was a sign on the door:
PRIVATE
. She glanced in a window. The room was empty. She moved to the next one. This, too, was empty. Sallie approached the front
door and glanced over her shoulder at the street. No one was in sight. By now she’d reached the entrance. Ruth was gone, and
the place looked deserted. She tried the door handle. It was unlocked.

Sallie slipped down the darkened hall to a room at the far end. She’d spotted the computer equipment through the window a
few days ago. Now she could check it out up close.

Her heart was racing as she entered the room. “Whoa!” she whispered. Ruth had an IBM subsidiary in there. She’d seen some
of it through the window, but not all this. There were keyboards, mainframes, modems, printers, scanners, copiers, and fax
machines.

Sallie hurried to a console and threw the power switch. The computer vibrated as it prepped for operation. Finally the electronics
had sorted out, and the blinking cursor came to rest. “PASSWORD?” the screen asked.

Sallie keyed in “CAIN.” It was as good a guess as any.

“INVALID COMMAND,” the screen replied.

Sallie typed in “RUTH.”

“INVALID COMMAND.”

Sallie tried “THOMAS.”

“INVALID” again.

Sallie didn’t have much time. If she got caught, they’d throw her in with the snakes. She shuddered and tried another variation:
“T. RUTH.” The letters faded for a moment, then began to blink. It had worked.

Sallie keyed “dir/p” on the console, a command that would display the files in memory. The screen responded with a list of
phrases.

“STRIKE ANY KEY TO CONTINUE,” the prompt said.

Sallie hit a key, and more file names rolled into view. She scanned hurriedly, looking for buzzwords.

“STRIKE ANY KEY TO CONTINUE,” the prompt reminded.

Sallie hit another key. Suddenly there was a sound down the hall: footsteps approaching.

Sallie glanced at the screen as another set of files was revealed. Then she shut off the power and ran to the window, opening
it and squeezing through as fast as she could.

Sallie hit the ground running and didn’t look back until she turned the corner. By now she was at a walk, and she casually
approached the storage room. Her heart was beating wildly, but it wasn’t just fear. She was pumped up because she’d seen something:
several file names in the mix. The computer was Thomas Ruth’s alter ego, a visual insight into his complex mind. And now something
on his mind had come to light, reflected by two of his files. “CONTINGENCIES,” the first one read. And that was followed by
a subdirectory: “
DEATH
.”

At midnight, Gardner sat in his town house kitchen staring at a glass of iced tea. He sloshed the tea and took a halfhearted
sip. Storm clouds were building, and he was worried.

Jennifer descended the stairs and entered the room. She was dressed in blue silk pajamas; her face was scrubbed, her hair
pulled back and tied.

“You’re brooding,” she said.

“I’m not brooding.” Gardner didn’t look up. “I’m thinking.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.”

“What?”

“You don’t
think, you agonize
.” Jennifer sat down at the table.

Gardner finally raised his head. “Today was a first-class bitch.”

“The funeral.”

“If you can call it that.”

“Reverend Taylor certainly electrified the crowd.”

“Yeah.” Gardner drank another sip. “Amazing what a person can do with a well-turned phrase.”

“You’re concerned about the Brown case.”

“Yes, I
am
. Who the hell told Taylor about the investigation in the first place? It was supposed to be confidential.”

Jennifer went to the refrigerator, poured some tea for herself, then returned to the table. “Brownie, maybe?”

“Maybe. But that’s not important now. The cat’s out of the bag, and Blocktown’s mobilizing for paybacks, thanks to Taylor.
This is how it starts, Jen. Rumors fly, innocent people get hurt. And for what?”

“Joseph Brown’s murder.”

“What
murder
? You read the reports. It was a heart attack. That has
never
been disputed. Natural causes do
not
equal murder.”