The Whole Truth (19 page)

“Mr. LaSalle.”

“Is that what you call him? The Master?”

“That's what he is, so that's what you call him. So you're Johnny's brother.”

“That's right.”

“You have a special privilege, my friend. Special. To be allowed in here.”

A woman, maybe in her early thirties, came by with a pitcher and poured libation into Steve's and Buzz Cut's cups — chalices, actually. The woman kept her eyes down, except for a brief look at Steve.

For a quick moment he thought she was . . . pleading with him.

Then, just as quickly, she looked away.

And moved down the table, serving.

Steve turned to Buzz Cut and said, “Can I ask you about the women?”

“Thought you might be interested,” Buzz Cut said. “Hands off. They belong to the Master.”

“Belong?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I'm not sure I do.”

Buzz Cut leaned a little closer. “We get our fish in town. Plenty to go around. You'll see. Right now, just take it easy and don't ask too many questions. You'll catch on.”

He caught on to the food, at least. It was meaty, hot, abundant. He was trying to figure out how this gathering could be legally positioned as a church. In some ways this was like a Catholic monastery. Not that he was expert in that. But didn't they eat venison in cloisters and down casks of ale? Wasn't that what Friar Tuck did before joining the merry men?

Maybe Robin Hood could have made a claim he was running a church.

All Steve knew was that the First Amendment was pretty broad these days. From Scientology to Santeria, there was a smorgasbord of religion for all tastes. America was the HomeTown Buffet of spirituality.

But LaSalle's group was claiming to be part of the Christian tradition, so he'd have to watch carefully. He knew that any religion needed to operate consistent with its own charters. Eldon LaSalle was for the separation of the races. That was going to be a dicey item for the church bylaws.

The pinging of a utensil against a cup brought all conversation to a halt. Eldon LaSalle had called for order.

“We have a special guest with us tonight,” he announced. “Steve Conroy, Johnny's long-lost brother, a renowned legal mind, has joined us tonight. Let's welcome him.”

The group applauded as heads turned his way. Steve gave an embarrassed half wave.

“Steve and Johnny were separated as children, but now by God's grace are brought together again,” Eldon LaSalle continued. He leaned forward. “It was my desire that the relationship between Johnny and Steve remain a secret. But that wasn't done.”

He paused, and Steve caught a glimpse of Johnny's face. It was tight, and it seemed clear to Steve he'd just been rebuked by the patriarch.

“And so it is absolutely imperative that this news does not spread. Is that clear to every one of you?”

Heads nodded.

“ ‘If ye endure chastening, God dealeth with you as with sons; for what son is he whom the father chasteneth not?' ”

Whatever that means
, Steve thought. Though he had to admit the combination of King James English and LaSalle's deep voice was effective.

Only Johnny seemed to be stewing.

But one thing these people knew how to do was eat, so that's what he did. He did note the passive faces of the women as they served. That would be another item to look into. If this was a polygamy thing — women
belonging
to Eldon? — he'd have a whole new area for Sienna to research.

After the dessert, a robust serving of cookies-'n'-cream ice cream — Buzz Cut said it was the Master's favorite — the table was officially dismissed by LaSalle. The men got up and started filtering out.

Johnny left without saying anything further to Steve. Or anyone else that Steve saw. Steve was about to follow Johnny out when Eldon said, “Steve, would you join me in the library, please?”

THIRTY-FIVE

In the library, Eldon indicated a large chair for Steve, facing the fire. The flames cast a flickering glow on the wall of books. Achan still warded off his fate on the bas-relief.

Eldon positioned his chair across from Steve and next to a pipe carousel on a small table. He removed a pipe, packed it, and took a wooden match and lit up.

“Quite a collection you've got here,” Steve said.

“All the people are here of their own volition,” Eldon said.

“I meant the books. On the wall.”

“Ah.” He hissed a couple of puffs. “You are certainly correct about that. And I have read every one in here, some several times. The great books, the timeless ones. The men who move the world are those who have made the most of the life of the mind. Would you agree?”

“Sure, I suppose.”

“No supposition about it. Books have been my education and my solace and have enabled me to understand the ebb and flow of history, without which we would all be subject to brute force.”

Steve thought he was waiting for a response, and Steve had no idea what to say. So he offered, “How is that?”

Eldon puffed a few times. “History is but a fragment of biology, Steve. That's the first lesson you must learn. It is the key to understanding everything we do here.”

Which is what Steve wanted to hear about. He looked into the fire and listened.

Eldon said, “Biology is about competition. Darwin was right about that much. Competition is not just the life of trade. It is the trade of life. Cooperation between groups may keep the peace for a time, but only until resources — material or spiritual or psychological — become scarce. Then survival is a matter of who eats whom first.”

Steve nodded. He could agree that not getting eaten first was a good thing.

“Every group,” Eldon continued, “be it a community or race or nation, has an ethos centered on partisanship and pride, acquisitiveness and aggression. In such an environment, selection is bound to take place. On a national level, there are wars. Within nations, there are groups that seek to dominate. And one of the factors that plays a role in all this is race. Would you agree?”

Steve measured his words carefully. “That's the reason we have laws. To keep people from killing each other.”

“Which happens despite the law. We cannot depend on manmade institutions to save us when the enemy comes calling.”

“Who is the enemy?”

“Anyone who is against us.”

That might be a pretty large group, Steve thought. And it might include the federal government. “Could I ask you something completely personal?”

“Of course, Son.”

“How did Johnny come to live with you?”

Eldon, his face half in shadow from the firelight, nodded slowly. “Our Lord said, ‘Suffer the little children to come unto me.' When I heard about the terrible thing that was done to your brother, I couldn't sit back and do nothing. Johnny became my son as surely as if he had come from my own loins.”

“Why didn't you try to get Johnny back to our mother?” Steve asked.

“I considered that. I even had some of my people look into it. But in prayer the Lord told me that this boy needed one thing above all else. A father. A real father. Yours had, in despair, taken his own life. That's a terrible thing to inflict on a child.”

He had that right. In spades.

“May I ask another question?” Steve said.

“Certainly.”

“We were told that my brother died in a fire. There was a body found, a little boy Robert's age. An autopsy was performed by a doctor named Phillips. Walker Phillips.”

Removing the pipe from his mouth, Eldon said, “Phillips. He was a fool. But God uses fools, and used him for a greater good.”

“How so?”

Eldon put his head back against the chair. “Your brother was kidnapped by a loathsome creature named Clinton Cole. Cole had a cabin in these mountains. Do you know what kind of a man Cole was?”

“A pedophile?”

Eldon nodded. “Evil. I found out what he'd done and dispatched some of my people to get Johnny out of there. Not long after that, Cole was killed in a fire. No one knows if he set it himself or someone else did. But they found in the fire not only Cole, but the body of a child. Connections were made. The authorities assumed the child was that of Robert Conroy, your brother. Phillips confirmed that in his autopsy. That was the hand of God, you see?”

“But you could have cleared everything up. You could have brought Johnny back to us. Why didn't you?”

For nearly a minute Eldon LaSalle did not speak. The crackling of the fire filled the space, popping like the random thoughts in Steve's mind. And he was feeling the desire again. He tried to picture Gincy in the room, pointing at him, telling him to calm down.

Finally Eldon spoke, just above a whisper. “I want you to prepare yourself, Son. I hoped I wouldn't have to tell you this.”

“Please tell me.”

“Your father. He was a friend of Clinton Cole. He shared Cole's . . . interests.”

Steve's throat clenched. Short breaths squeezed through.

“Steve, I don't pretend to have acted properly at all times. But I was not going to let your brother go back to that. Time went on, and when your father killed himself, it seemed to me a sign from God. I am sorry for your mother. And for you. I want you to believe that I was always acting in what I thought was the best interest of your brother. Will you believe me, Son?”

Believe this?
This?

Could he? He didn't know.

“You're not a praying man, are you?” Eldon asked.

“No,” Steve managed to say.

“Not a believing man?”

“There are some things I believe in.”

“Would love to hear them.”

“Recovery. I believe in recovery. And, as imperfect as it is, the justice system.”

“Those are good things to believe in. Tell me, do you think I deserve justice?”

“Everybody does.”

“Do you think people deserve a chance to recover from their past sins?”

How could Steve argue otherwise, now that he'd put his high-sounding philosophy out on the table? “Sure.”

“Then I must know, Son. Do you have any hesitation about coming to work for us? To be our trusted adviser in all things legal?”

“I'm not saying no at this point. I just — ”

“Would a sixty-thousand-dollar retainer help make up your mind?”

Steve's stomach almost jumped out of his body, megaphone attached, shouting, Take the money!

“Is that not enough?” LaSalle said. “How about seventy?”

“I think,” Steve said, “that sounds very fair.”

“And for that we will expect top-notch work, agreed?”

“Top.”

Eldon stuck his hand out and Steve took it with some reservation. But not enough reservation to turn down seventy grand.

“Good,” Eldon said. “This is very good. This is the will of God, that you're here with us. Here, you can begin to heal.”

Johnny walked Steve out to his car. A half moon hung in the sky. The cold night air bit.

“You sure you won't stay?” Johnny said.

“I think I'll drive back.” He needed to get back to his own place. His small apartment and a scruffy cat. He needed to think this all through.

“Got lots of room.”

“Thanks anyway.”

“It's been quite a night, hasn't it?”

“You could say that.”

“You were in the library a long time with Eldon.”

“He told me. Everything.”

Johnny stopped on the gravel drive, looked at the ground.

“Why is he in a wheelchair?” Steve asked.

“Happened about ten years ago. One of the women rebelled.

Got a gun and shot him.”

“Whoa. What happened to her?”

“We went through the system. She was arrested, tried, and convicted.”

“How long did she get?”

“Forever. She died in prison.”

“What?”

“That happens sometimes.”

Hardly ever in prisons for women, Steve knew. But things were tough all over.

Johnny said, “I know the whole thing. When I got nabbed, must have been hard on you, on our mother.”

Steve said nothing.

Suddenly Johnny held him in an embrace. “You're home now.”

Steve felt the warmth and strength of Johnny LaSalle, and for one moment in the night it was life and redemption. A starting over and a healing. A grip of one last hope. Steve threw his arms around Johnny and pulled hard, as if to squeeze the last of his doubts away.

To allow himself to be home.

THIRTY-SIX

Tuesday, Steve met Sienna just outside the entrance to DeWitt Law School. The school was tucked in near an old residential area about three miles from downtown Los Angeles. It was not one of the prestigious ivory towers attached to a university. But for almost seventy years it had catered to students who usually had to work their way through. It was known for its four-year night program.

“You didn't have to drive all the way down here,” Sienna said, meeting him in the lobby.

“You're a struggling law student,” Steve said. “You can't afford the gas to come out to my office all the time.”

“How do you know I can't afford it?”

“You have a rich father or something?”

“No. But you don't know that.”

“There's a lot I don't know about you, Ms. Ciccone. But we're going to take care of that right now.”

They walked around the corner to the street behind the law school. The brick building was from the early thirties and was, at one time, a Presbyterian church. Steve had used the library a few times and read a pamphlet on the history of the place. It was fitting, Steve thought, that Sienna Ciccone would have chosen this place to study law. A little religious heritage to go with her own.

A strip of grass along the south side of the school held a couple of red iron benches. They sat. Sienna was dressed in Levi's and a navy blue sweatshirt with the school emblem on it. Steve caught a whiff of her hair. It smelled like morning.