by Rob Byrnes
“I still don’t get it,” said Farraday, finally adding himself to the conversation. “What do they need with all that cash lying around? Why not bank it?”
“Banks have paper trails, Cousin Paul. Everything else they do at the Cathedral goes beyond the legal requirements. Every dollar is accounted for, and they’re independently audited twice a year. Everything is clean…except the cash donations.”
“Yeah, but…”
“Let me explain a bit more. The Cathedral and the Moral Families Coalition…”
“What’s this Moral Families Coalition?” asked Grant.
“It’s a political organization attached to the Cathedral. Anyway, they account for everything but the cash. The money goes for…oh, you name it. Everything you’d want to spend money on, but don’t want a paper trail. Mostly it supplements the income of Hurley and Merribaugh, but I’m pretty sure it’s also used for bribes and things like that.” Leonard Platt’s hands went back to the knot in his tie. “Things they want to keep off the books.”
“Okay, so how come you want help?” asked Grant. “If I was you, I’d have grabbed it and kept it for myself.”
Leonard smiled, and for the first time it seemed natural. He was finally on solid ground in this apartment full of thieves. They were all now thinking alike…and Leonard had been thinking it first.
“Maybe if they had given me a few days to pull it off, I would have. But all of a sudden they were escorting me off the cathedral grounds, so I didn’t have enough time. Heck, I didn’t have time to react to being fired, let alone rip them off. And now getting back in and grabbing the safe, well…I’ll need associates.”
“Because you can’t go back. Because you’ve been fired.”
“Exactly.”
“Just one safe?”
“Just one safe,” Leonard confirmed. “You’d be surprised how small a space you can stuff a lot of cash into.”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
Leonard’s face flushed. “No, of course not.”
Grant was still having a hard time wrapping his head around the concept that people would just keep seven million dollars in an office safe, where anyone—him, for example—could steal it.
“I still don’t get it,” he said. “What do they need with all that cash?”
“The Cathedral is near Washington, of course, and the Moral Families Coalition is gaining a lot of prominence on Capitol Hill. I doubt Oscar Hurley is making friends with senators and congressmen due solely to his winning personality.”
“You’re talking bribes?”
“I’m talking bribes.”
Grant looked at the floor, and distaste was etched in his face when he finally looked back at Leonard. “So we’ll have to go to Washington?”
“I doubt it. Maybe through it, but the money isn’t in DC. The church—and the safe—is about forty miles west, in Northern Virginia. Ever hear of a place called Nash Bog?”
Grant frowned. “There’s really a place called Nash Bog? No. But already I like it more than Washington, DC. I hate Washington, DC.”
“So you said. But wait until you get a taste of Northern Virginia.” Leonard’s hands left his tie and began doing half the talking. “They call Nash Bog ‘Cash Bog.’ It’s one of the richest communities in Loudoun County, which is one of the richest counties in the nation. And one of its richest residents is Dr. Oscar Hurley. Does that give you any idea of the potential?”
Grant settled back in his chair. “I don’t know about this. Sounds like the stakes are bigger than I’m used to. And I don’t know from Virginia.” He turned back to Leonard. “So let’s talk turkey. Say we manage to steal this money. What do you expect?”
Leonard’s face went blank. “Expect?”
Farraday, standing at the bar refreshing his drink, interpreted for him. “He means, how much do you expect for your share of the haul?”
“Ah!” said Leonard, and he placed a finger thoughtfully on his chin. “I would think half would be fair.”
Grant let the suggestion hang in the air for a moment. Then he said, “You should think again.”
Leonard was perplexed. “But I’m the guy who brought you the job.”
“You’re also,” Grant reminded him, “the guy who can’t do it without us. Now, if you’d like to shop it around and try to get yourself a better deal…”
“Maybe I should.”
Grant looked at Farraday, shaking his head with disappointment. Leonard did not understand their business. “No, maybe you shouldn’t.”
“Lambert’s right,” Farraday told his cousin. “First of all, you don’t know any other crooks except the ones in this room, do you?” Leonard frowned. “I didn’t think so. But even if you did, the more people you start telling about this seven million, the more people who’ll want to get their hands on it.”
“With you,” Grant added, “or without you.”
Leonard’s shoulders slumped. “Okay, so what do you think my share should be?”
“A million five,” said Grant with an abrupt finality.
It was better than Leonard thought Grant was going to offer, so he pretended to mull it over for twenty seconds or so. Finally he said, “I guess I’ll have to live with that.”
“Beats unemployment.”
Farraday cleared his throat. “While we’re discussing shares…”
“A hundred thou as a finder’s fee and for any driving we’ll need. I pick up the expenses. If we have to steal a car or two, you can keep those, too.”
“C’mon, Lambert. You can do better than that.”
Grant shook his head. “I think I have to remind you both that Chase and I will be taking almost all the risk, doing all the planning, picking up the expenses, and using our professional expertise. You wouldn’t try to shortchange a plumber or electrician, would you?”
“As a matter of fact…” Farraday stopped when he found himself on the receiving end of one of Grant’s scowls.
“A million and a half for Leonard; a hundred thou for Farraday. You guys wanna renegotiate between yourselves to keep peace in the family, feel free. Any way you divvy it up is fine with me, so long as you get one-point-six between the two of you. The rest goes to me and Chase. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”
“Take it,” said Farraday—he could always lean on Leonard for another hundred thou or two later—and his cousin offered a slight nod of agreement.
“And, of course, it’s all conditional.”
“What do you mean?” Leonard asked, suddenly alarmed. Farraday tried to shush him.
“You only get the money if the job is successful.”
“And if it isn’t?” asked Leonard, ignoring another shush.
“In that case, no one here is going to have to worry about money for a long time, because the government will be providing our room and board.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He means prison,” snarled Farraday. “Meaning, you’d better be right about this safe, Cousin Leonard.”
Leonard smiled, finally relaxed, and for the first time in weeks seemed as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “Oh, I am, Cousin Paul. I am…”
3
The Reverend Mr. Dennis Merribaugh, a manila folder tucked under one arm, rapped three times, rapidly and lightly, on the half-open door, and when there was no response, rapped twice more with slightly more force. When there was still no answer, he pushed the door fully open but didn’t step into the room. Instead, he waited at the threshold, and his voice a light tenor, whispered, “Dr. Hurley?”
There was still no response, so he took one tentative step across the threshold. “Dr. Hurley?” Nothing. He dropped his voice a half octave. “Oscar?”
A response finally came, in the form of a muffled flush. Merribaugh took a step back to the other side of the threshold, pulling the door to its original half-open position. When he heard Hurley open his bathroom door, he repeated the light rap.
“Dr. Hurley?”
“C
ome in.”
Now properly invited, Merribaugh pushed the door open and walked into Dr. Oscar Hurley’s office. Hurley glanced up at him before returning his attention to paperwork spread across his desk.
Even though he’d been in this office several times a week for the nine years in which he’d been affiliated with the Virginia Cathedral of Love, the Rev. Mr. Dennis Merribaugh still marveled at its opulence. Calling it an office, he thought, did it a disservice. It was 750 square feet of luxury. A fireplace dominated one wall, while valuable tapestries depicting Biblical images hung from the others, which were lined with bookcases and credenzas. Atop those bookcases and credenzas were dozens of gold-framed photographs of Hurley with an assortment of dignitaries, including more than a few United States presidents and foreign leaders. Positioned in a semicircle in the center of the room were three overstuffed couches, their frames gently curved inward to align with the edge of a white circular carpet.
That carpet depicted the official seal of the Virginia Cathedral of Love: a representation of the Crucifixion on a towering cross, encircled by dozens of pink and red dogwood blooms, with single red and blue stripes circling the outer edge. The dogwood blossoms represented Virginia; the red and blue stripes represented the United States of America.
Jesus, Virginia, America. That was what the Virginia Cathedral of Love was all about.
And then there was the centerpiece of the room, placed exactly halfway between the couches and a set of floor-to-ceiling French doors opening onto a terrace overlooking scenic views of the Northern Virginia countryside.
The Desk of Christ.
Not that Christ had actually owned it, of course. It had been well-established over the past two millennia that Jesus Christ did not hold a desk job.
In fact, this ugly, imposing, eight-foot-long desk was considered by most people to be unworthy of its surroundings until they learned of its provenance. Only then did they believe.
The Desk of Christ was made of cedar, pine, and cypress: the woods used in the True Cross, according to Eastern Orthodox Christianity…and more importantly, according to Dr. Oscar Hurley. The symbolism gave it a beauty to believers that went deeply beyond its surface ugliness; there was even a worn spot on its veneer where Cathedral parishioners were known to touch the desk to be closer to Christ.
Still, even the Desk of Christ wasn’t the highlight of the room. Not now, at least. That honor went to the tall, trim man in his mid-sixties who was seated behind it, silver pompadour shining in the sunlight cascading through the windows.
Dr. Oscar Hurley.
He finally looked up from whatever he’d been doing and beckoned the Rev. Mr. Dennis Merribaugh to take a seat on the center couch. Merribaugh did as he was told, his plump frame settling comfortably into the cushions. Only then did Dr. Oscar Hurley tent his fingers across the bridge of his nose, and—in a deep baritone with just a honeyed hint of Southern accent—ask, “How are our talking points trending, Dennis?”
Merribaugh opened the manila folder and rustled through some papers until he found the one he wanted, pulling it out and setting the folder in his lap. He read from the sheet.
“New World Order is down eight points over the past month. That one doesn’t seem to have much traction among the congregation.”
Hurley hiked an eyebrow. “Really? That surprises me. I thought that one would frighten them.”
“You’d think so,” said Merribaugh with a slight shrug. “But they don’t seem to buy into it.”
“That is an unfortunate result of our modern world. The more it’s globalized by the elites, the less people are frightened of globalization by the elites. Not unlike in the days of the Romans…” He really wanted to stoke fears of a New World Order, but if the public wasn’t interested…He shook the unfortunate thought away. “Next.”
Merribaugh glanced at the sheet of paper. “Abortion’s still strong. There’s been a slight downward tick, but it’s still a hot topic.”
“They may like it, but I’m bored with it. I spent most of 2010 on abortion, and it was like treading water. Blah, blah, blah…Maybe next year I’ll have that old enthusiasm back. Next.”
“Socialism polls high numbers. I think as long as Obama’s in office, it’ll stay strong.”
Hurley leaned back and his desk chair gave a slight groan. “Maybe. Of course, those are the same people who elected Obama in the first place, then decided they didn’t like him…so they elected a Republican Congress, then decided they didn’t like them. Who knows what they’ll think when they wake up tomorrow morning.” He again tented his fingers over the bridge of his nose. “I’ll play that one around the edges. No sense in getting too far ahead of the flock. Next.”
“The new trade treaty with China…”
“Bored. Move on.”
Merribaugh looked up from his sheet of paper. “Are you sure? My polling shows the congregation eighty-one percent opposed.”
“Eighty-one percent of the idiots who make up this congregation can’t even balance their checkbooks. Next.”
“But—”
“Next!”
Merribaugh’s eyes returned to the paper. “The gay issue is still a winner.”
“Always has been, always will be.”
“It polls at ninety to ninety-four percent.”
Hurley considered that. “Should be one hundred percent.”
“And we have the Project Rectitude conference at the end of the month, so there’s a nice tie-in.”
“Hmm.” Hurley was silent for several long moments. Finally he rubbed his eyes. “And how is your little conference shaping up, Dennis?”
Merribaugh felt his stomach flutter but suppressed it. The conference had been his own idea—Hurley had not been enthusiastic—and it hadn’t been going as well as he had hoped. No need to trouble Hurley with the details, though.
“Fine, Oscar. Just fine.”
“Only fine?” There was a sneer to Hurley’s voice.
“The hotel is booked, we’ve confirmed most of the speakers, and the applications are flooding in.”
“Flooding?” There was that sneer again.
“Well…maybe not ‘flooding.’ But there’s been a steady flow and—”
“Mr. Merribaugh,” Hurley said abruptly, half rising from his chair and stopping Merribaugh in mid-sentence, his mouth still open. It was never a good sign when Hurley called him “Mr. Merribaugh”; they’d been partners too long for that formality. “I hope I don’t have to remind you that this conference was your idea.”
“No, Oscar, you don’t have to…”
Hurley leaned back against his chair, not quite sitting. “And you can imagine how embarrassing it would be to the Virginia Cathedral of Love if it failed.”
“Yes, Oscar, I know it would be…”
“So don’t fail.” Hurley dropped back into his chair—it groaned again—and began drumming his fingers on the Desk of Christ as he stared at his second-in-command.
“I won’t, Oscar.”
After a few seconds—seconds that felt like hours to Merribaugh—Hurley ran one hand through his silver pompadour. “Okay, it sounds like I’d better make July ‘Sodomy is Sin’ month. I just hope the congregation doesn’t get bored.”
With an audible sigh of relief, Merribaugh held the sheet of paper aloft. “They never seem to get bored with the gay issue. Ninety to ninety-four percent. The numbers are strong, but you can also see it in their faces. Adults even bring along their impressionable young children to hear your moral message! Gay marriage…gays in the military…gay pride marches with bare-breasted lesbians and men in skimpy thongs having sex right out on the street where decent people and children can see it…Our congregation will never accept that sin!”
“I suppose you’re right,” said Hurley. “Of course, I said the same thing about Congress just a few years ago, and now look what’s happening.”
Merribaugh bravely ventured to correct Hurley. “Was happening. I think we’ve got that under control now
.”
Hurley sniffed. “I don’t trust any of them. Not a one.”
“The issue is still a winner. It still trends strongly. And the Project Rectitude conference…”
“We’ll discuss the Project Rectitude conference later.” There was finality in Hurley’s voice. “When your trickle of applications has finally become that flood you anticipate, I’ll be happy to talk about the details.”
“But—”
“Dennis, please!” Hurley saw the chastised look on his second-in-command’s face, and for a moment, remembered to love his neighbor. Especially his neighbor who knew, figuratively, where the bodies were buried. “I’ll tell you what; I’ll talk about it during my sermon on Sunday. Send me an e-mail with a few details and maybe I’ll be able to drum up some business for you.”
“Yes, Oscar.” Merribaugh didn’t like Hurley’s dismissive attitude but knew he’d come around. Eventually. Hopefully.
Hurley leaned back and tented his fingers again. “Speaking of the Sodomites, we have a more important item to address.”
“We do?”
“Leonard Platt.”
“Addressed. One hundred percent addressed.” Merribaugh chuckled. “We’ll never hear from Leonard again. I’ve taken care of that.”
“I hope you’re right, Dennis. But it still concerns me that he knows…some things I’d rather he not know.”
“You mean the existence of the safe.”
“I mean the existence of the contents of the safe.”
Both men vividly remembered the day they’d found Leonard Platt standing behind a file cabinet moments after they’d been throwing numbers like seven million dollars around. It hadn’t been their best moment…although it had been worse for Leonard. He hadn’t known it, but that marked the beginning of the end for him. Discovering he was a homosexual was a fortunate accident; they would have found some other reason to fire him—embezzlement would be easy to cook up—soon enough.
Merribaugh bounced the manila folder on his lap. “Leonard Platt really doesn’t concern me.” When Hurley started to object, he kept talking. “Leonard’s been fired, and Cathedral security is under strict orders not to let him back on the grounds. I suppose he could go to the authorities, but then what? Who will take the word of a disgruntled, fired employee—a homosexual disgruntled, fired employee—over the founder and the chief operating officer of one of the nation’s largest churches?” He smiled. “In any event, the contents of the safe can always be easily explained.”
