The Bastard Hand (17 page)

Just like Mayor Ishy’s “casual” conversation Monday night, his secretary’s words seemed rehearsed—or maybe I was just overly cynical about politics.

The Reverend said, “Well, I’ll tell you one thing. This town would be hard-pressed to find a better man for the job. And there ain’t no contender with a finer-looking secretary than ol’ Bishop.”

“Oh. Well . . .” Jeannie Angel smiled nervously, touched at her hair. “Thank you, Reverend. That’s . . . that’s so kind of you.”

I frowned, still amazed at his bravado even after everything I’d seen him do. Apparently, he’d decided to seduce the mayor’s secretary next.

But he put the rest of his seduction agenda on hold for a moment, said to me, “Listen, Charlie, I really need to talk to you before the sermon. Miss Jeannie Angel, will you excuse us for just a minute?”

“Yes, yes, of course. And please, Reverend, call me Jeannie. None of that ‘Miss’ stuff.”

He grinned at her. “Jeannie. Thank you.”

Her cheeks suddenly red, she hurried off and perched daintily in the front row. He watched her, grinning, and she waved at him with her fingers and grinned back.

When he turned his attention to me, I said, “What do you want?”

“Aw, Charlie, don’t be sore. I’m sorry about last night.”

“What the hell got into you?”

He showed me the palms of his hands. “I don’t know. I really don’t know. Charlie, there was just no excuse for the way I talked to you, and I’d give anything if I could go back and erase it. I reckon I’d just had a long day, working on the sermon, and I was plumb frazzled out.”

“Frazzled out.”

“Charlie, you have to believe me. I’m just as sorry as I can be. You know what it was? I’d been alone all day long, just slaving over my desk, and I reckon I was looking forward to seeing you and relaxing a little bit over a couple glasses. And when you didn’t show, I started getting irritable. I mean, I didn’t know you were gonna go visit Miss Garrity, did I? And by the time you showed up, I was just plain bored and ornery.”

“Ornery?” I said.

“I was a complete and total bastard. Don’t take this the wrong way—I ain’t a homo or nothing like that—but I reckon I was kinda jealous. I lashed out at you.”

I said, “Jealous? What the hell could you be jealous about? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Again, you’re absolutely right. Weren’t no call for it. Elise Garrity is just as fine a woman as ever lived, and I’m shamed that I said such things about her.”

Well, with an apology like that, how could I not forgive him? I’d known, of course, that he’d be able to talk his way out of it; that’s why I hadn’t wanted to speak to him. But now that it was out in the open and he’d said his piece, I had to concede.

“Okay,” I said.

“Forgiven?”

“Forgiven.”

“Well, all right!” He slapped me on the shoulder, said, “Thanks, Charlie. I just can’t stand to have you mad at me.”

Despite her half-promise to the Reverend, Elise didn’t show up at the sermon that night. I could hardly blame her. The news about her mother would only renew the vicious gossip about her and make the whole evening torturous.

But by seven o’clock, it seemed like Elise was the only person not at the Cuba Landing Freewill Baptist Church. Mayor Ishy showed up with his wife, took a seat in the front pew next to Jeannie Angel. Captain Forrey and Officer Oldfield were there, sitting with their respective families. Mrs. Edels, Mrs. Hadley, and the other members of the Church Ladies Club were in attendance, gathered near the front where they could be seen in all their devout glory.

I took a seat in the farthest back corner of the church, very near the front doors. It was a lesson I’d only needed to learn once.

Exactly one minute after seven, the serious-looking young man at the organ struck a note. Everyone shifted. Then he started into the first chords of “Jesus Met The Woman At The Well”, and everyone stood up and began to sing. I didn’t know the words, but I got to my feet and faked it. The music swelled over our heads, filling the church with sound. With two or three exceptions the voices were poor, but, melded together and singing in praise, it was a pleasing sound and strangely moving.

After the song, the Reverend approached the podium and spoke gently, “Please remain standing for a prayer.”

Heads bowed. In the silence, he said, “Dear Lord, please bless our gathering here tonight and keep us safe in Your love and comfort as we meet to praise Your name. Let us come ever closer to Your glory, Dear Lord, and not stray from the path of righteousness. In the Savior Lord Jesus’s name, amen.”

The entire congregation said, “Amen” as one, then took their seats.

When everyone had gotten comfortable and the throat clearing and seat shifting ended, the Reverend said, “Friends, I’d like to thank all of you for coming out here tonight. I know it’s a beautiful evening, and some of you would like to be outdoors right now, maybe grilling on the barbeque or having an iced tea and gazing at the sky, so I’ll try not to keep you here all night. Maybe we can all do a little bit of Wednesday evening loafing before it gets too late.”

Polite, subdued laughter, more shifting of seats.

Clearing his throat, he rested his palms on the podium and said, “Regretfully, my first sermon here tonight comes in a time of tragedy for the community. I’m sure you all know by now about Mrs. Kimberly Garrity. I’ve heard fine, fine things about her, and I’d like to just take a moment to express my sincere condolences to everyone who is close to her. The Garrity family has had more than its share of tragedy, and they’ve come through it all with faith in God intact. And from what I know of Reverend Jathed, I’ll be doing a wonderful job if I’m able to achieve even a fraction of what that great man achieved. He was a symbol of honor and piety in this town, a symbol sorely needed. A symbol carried on by his brave and devout mother. I know I could never fill his shoes, but, as God is my witness, I’ll do my very best.”

There were a few appreciative nods; someone muttered, “Bless you, brother.”

Allowing a bit more power into his voice, he said, “It’s generally believed now, based on what the proper authorities have told us, that Jathed has passed on. Nobody would believe that this great man would willingly give up his duties here at the Cuba Landing Freewill Baptist Church, and so the speculation, sadly, is that he is gone from this mortal coil. Reverend Garrity fell to a disease, brothers and sisters. He fell to a disease more devastating than cancer. He fell to a disease more horrifying than AIDS. More deadly than any plague ever to ravish the face of the planet. And do you know what the name of that disease is? Do you know what name this scourge upon the earth goes by?”

A rhetorical question, of course, but he still paused and let his eyes pass searchingly over the congregation. Then he said, “The name of that disease, friends, is violence.”

“Amen,” someone said sadly.

“Violence. It’s everywhere you look, ain’t it? It’s all over TV. And not the just the TV shows, all the cops and robbers programs that our young people watch, and all the so-called music videos glorifying violent life-styles, but all over the news! The news, friends! What we turn to when we wanna find out what’s going on in this sorry world we live in!”

“Amen!”

“Tell it!”

“Amen!”

He was only starting, tugging gently at the congregation, provoking spontaneous responses. Only a matter of time before he had them all whipped into a frenzy.

He shook his head sadly and said, “It’s everywhere, ain’t it? Tearing our cities apart. Making battlegrounds outta our schools. Our very children, brothers and sisters, our very children, go to school every day, and we don’t even know if they’ll come home in one piece. There’s guns in the classroom. Kids killing kids.” The wildness came into his eyes suddenly, and his voice boomed, “Kids, I’m telling you! Eleven, ten, nine years old! Killing each other! With guns!” He slammed his fist down on the podium when he said guns, and every single person in the church jumped.

And then he started easing into it, coming around in front of the podium and stalking back and forth like a caged cat. He held his Bible in his hand, like it was a brick and he was ready to throw it through a window. His energy vibrated through the church, infecting everyone, and I could practically feel the pew buzzing under me.

“I tell you, friends, the Devil has got a grip on this world, and he ain’t letting go. It’s a disease, and it’s reached epic proportions. When a man, a good, God-fearing man like Jathed Garrity, can fall to it, you can bet your bottom dollar it’s out of control. And what does it tell us? What does Jathed’s violent death tell us? It tells us that violence ain’t just something on TV. It ain’t just something that happens over there—” He made a gesture taking in the outside world, “—in the big city or in Iran or some such place. It happens everywhere! And it affects you, my kind friends, it affects you every single time. Not just when someone you know and love, like the Right Reverend Garrity, falls victim. But every single time a man or woman or child is killed. Every single time, people, because all of us are God’s children! For the Good Book tells us, whosoever slayeth a man slayeth me! Whosoever kills a man, kills me!”

A voice I recognized said, “Amen!” Oldfield, getting some of that old time religion. About twenty other voices chorused, “Amen! Amen!”

“But I know what some of you are prob’ly thinking,” the Reverend said. “You’re thinking, well, that’s all well and good, Mr. Preacher-Man, but what can I do about it? I ain’t got no control over the world, do I? Folks are just evil in their hearts, the Bible tells us so, and they’ve been killing each other since Cain and Abel. They most likely will just go on killing each other ’til Kingdom Come.”

He paused, nodding his head, a thoughtful look on his face. Then he said, “Well, you’re most likely right about that. Evil folks are gonna just go right on murdering and stealing and breaking every law society sees fit to make, because they got the Devil in their hearts. And eventually, we’re all just gonna have to bite the bullet and fix up our laws so that the evil folks can go on ahead and do their thing without nobody bothering ’em.”

He looked questioningly around the church, as if seeing what everyone thought of that plan. No one liked it. He said, “Seem crazy, friends? You think that might be a bad way to go, letting the killers and robbers and rapists run around doing what they please? Well, it can’t be too crazy. After all, that’s what we’re doing now, ain’t it? Every time you ignore a law-breaker, every time you go easy on someone committing a crime, why you’re giving him permission to do it! And the Devil is just laughing and laughing and laughing!”

Oldfield said, “Amen!” again.

“Are we gonna let that happen in this town, kind friends? Or are we gonna stand together, strong with the strength of God, and fight back evil and corruption and violence wherever it rears its head?”

“Hallelujah!”

“Testify, Brother Childe!”

“Because that’s all it takes, brothers and sisters! That’s all it takes! You just say, Not in my town, not now, not ever! And you set the Devil to running, praise God!”

He did a sort of odd little victory dance right there in front of the podium, and the whole damn place exploded with religious fervor. People were yelling and shouting and carrying on as if Judgment Day itself had arrived.

“Violence is everywhere!” he screamed.

Oldfield’s shout could be heard above the din, “Amen!”

“In every city!”

“Amen!”

“In every town!”

“Amen!”

“Why,” the Reverend said, “it’s even right here in Cuba Landing.”

“Ame—” Oldfield started. But his voice choked, and the word came out sounding like “Ameugghh . . .”

I smiled, shook my head. So that was his game.

“Yes, even here in Cuba Landing, kind friends. Why, even as we speak, a couple of moonshiners are operating openly over on Moker’s Hill, operating with the full knowledge of every authority in town! That’s just the first step, people. Turn a blind eye to these men making their illegal liquor, and the Devil has the first little foothold that he needs! Next thing you know, that blind eye is gonna close on muggings in the street! And then on homes being robbed! And then rapes and murders in our beautiful park! Are we gonna let that happen here in Cuba Landing?”

The congregation was clearly not going to let that happen, and they let him know it loudly.

As everyone in the church listened, electrified with his intensity, and Oldfield and Forrey and Mayor Ishy sat gape-mouthed, the Reverend proceeded to roast Cuba Landing’s government and law enforcement over an open flame. The Aarons brothers were the kindling wood.

The sermon went on a while longer, with the Reverend quoting scripture, mostly from the New Testament. He said, “Cuba Landing can be an example to the rest of the world! ’cause God’s Word travels through one person at a time, brothers and sisters! One person at a time, one town at a time. Why, even Paul, sweet, patient, wise, Paul, brought the teachings of Jesus to the world one person at a time! One town at a time!”

But I didn’t have any time to ponder over his agenda at the moment. It was just after seven-thirty. Time for me to leave, while the congregation was still worked up and I could slip out unnoticed.

Time to take part in some of that violence the Reverend had been talking about.

“I don’t like this,” Stoker said. “I don’t like it one goddamn bit.”

Talking about me, of course. Pretty much all he’d done since I arrived was make his displeasure known, at first by glaring at me darkly, and then by cutting me off every time I opened my mouth. Now, he was finally addressing it directly.

I’d been there at the house on Stonewall Street for less than forty-five minutes, and I already knew the problem with Stoker would lead to trouble. It was unavoidable. The others, Vinnie and Bone, were friendly, even though they looked like they could use some rest. The back of Vinnie’s head was bandaged from when I smashed it into the floor, and his voice was still slightly hoarse from the effects of my boot toe in his throat. Bone had a bandage over the bridge of his nose and wouldn’t be snorting any coke for a while.