by Mike Gomes
“Hmmm. Hmmm, Hmmm.” sounded a man clearing his throat and letting it be known that he was in the room. Locke stayed in prayer despite knowing that the man wanted his attention. He heard the men taking a seat and whispering amongst themselves. The devoted priest said another Our Father and two more Hail Mary’s before kissing the crucifix in his hand and laying it upon his chest. He placed one foot out in front of him and pushed up rising to his feet hearing his knees crack. He turned to the visitors with widened eyes.
Father Locke looked to the men and didn’t move toward them. He inspected them. Two young men with rifles by their sides. They were dressed in white shirts and linen pants. They sported sunglasses and a rugged look about them. Sitting between them was Lawrence Whitmore dressed in his normal white outfit and hat. The gray hair and beard looked to have turned even whiter than the last time he saw him. The look on Whitmore’s face was hard and unwavering.
“Are you here for confession? Unburden your soul and ask for forgiveness?” asked Father Locke giving the slightest smile.
Whitmore laughed, and his guards followed suite like conforming lemmings.
“Oh, Kerick, you do have a good sense of humor.” said Whitmore tapping the end of his cane into the floor showing his joy.
“I was not joking. I think confession could help everyone. Some people need it more than others. The sins against God escape none.”
Nodding his head slightly Whitmore put both hands on the top of his cane and rested his chin on the top of his hands. He looked to be deep in thought focused on the words of the priest.
“Will you forgive me for God?”
“I will let God work through me.”
“So I tell you my confession and you pray to God and he then forgives me?”
“He will.”
“But prayer does not work. It’s a sham. Has no meaning other than talking to yourself.”
“The lord...”
Whitmore rose to his feet and banged his cane down hard to the floor and raised his voice in anger. “The lord is not there. At least he does not listen. You think prayer works? Well what about a little boy who prayed day and night to save his father from the cancer that ate away at his body, but he still died in unimaginable pain. What about that boy praying for his mother to find a way to save them but instead she fell to the streets with drugs and prostitution. Did your lord hear any of that? Did he show mercy? NO!” Whitmore moved from behind the chairs that sat in front of him and shortened the distance between him and the priest. His voice dropped down to its normal volume, but he still held the jagged anger in it. “In this life you get only what you take. You do not live life to see what comes next. When you see what you want you need to move on it and make it yours. There is no other way and there is no judgement from anyone.”
A wave of sympathy fell over the priest seeing the lack of faith not only in God but anything for the mining boss. Folding his hands in prayer his eyes showed sympathy for the older man. “We will just have to agree to disagree about this issue. But should you ever change your mind I will be here to assist you if asked.”
“You’re going to assist me?” replied Whitmore overflowing with sarcasm. “Right now little Kerick you should be thinking about helping yourself.”
The two guards pulled their rifles up from the floor and held them in front of them ready to respond to any command they were given.
“You see I did not come here to debate theology with you. I have other business with you.” said Whitmore taking two steps closer to Locke.
Feeling his back brace and adrenaline start to flow through him. His body filled with the same senses that he would get as a boy just before a fight. His fight or flight instinct was keenly honed to fight and not avoid confrontation but that stood in direct contrast to his vows to the church.
“Well then, what is it that you come to talk to me about?”
“You are going to stop visiting the quarters of my workers at night. You are going to have no contact with them. Do you understand?” said Whitmore holding up the cane and pointing it at the priest.
“They are members of my flock. They want the word of the Lord and communion. They have hard lives that are not made any better by working for you.”
“Kerick, I was not asking. I am telling you how it will be.”
“I do not take orders from you. My boss is God!”
“Those workers belong to me. I am the one who feeds them, clothes them, and gives them medicine. Not your God and not you. You are crossing too many lines and it all ends now!”
“These are not your choices. The people can choose if they want religion or not.”
“I own them!”
Locke took three hard steps toward Whitmore only to be quickly met by the guards that placed themselves between the priest and the older man.
Whitmore turned away and looked up to the ceiling. “Foolish pride.” said Whitmore turning back to Locke “Your foolish pride has always got you in trouble. You just do not know when to leave well enough alone. You just keep pushing. Don’t you realize that I own everything around here. The mine belongs to me. The town belongs to me. The people belong to me. You, young Kerick, belong to me. You are my property. Everything here dies without me.”
Father Locke pushed forward hard being grabbed by the guards now each hitched onto one arm. “You do not own me. My life is in God’s hands. I am no slave to you.”
“No, you’re no slave Kerick. You’re more like a dog or livestock just like the rest of the subhuman workers I have in the mine.”
“Is that why you brand them with your initials. Because they are no more than property to you.”
“That’s right. I needed to let them know what they are and who is in charge. I needed to stop them from making decisions that could harm them and have them lose all they have. Sometimes they need to be motivated to see things the right way. You my old friend seem like you could use some motivation to see things the way I do.”
A blank expression fell across the face of Father Locke and the hands of the guards dug in tighter and they pushed their rifles to the side.
“Leave my church now! Come back when you want to repent for your sins!” screamed Father Locke with a mix of spit and sweat shooting from his lips with the anger that was filling him.
“On his face. NOW!” commanded Whitmore to the guards who took immediate action. Locke struggled and screamed attempting to get free, but the two guards had him easily overpowered and pressed their knees into the triceps of his arms.
The sound of metal on metal cut though the yelling and struggling in the church.
Sounds like a sword being unsheathed. Thought Locke thinking back to the movies he had seen while in seminary school. The sound was unmistakable. Turning his head as far as he could Locke caught Whitmore placing the body of the cane down on a chair. In his opposite hand he held a dagger six inches in length and the handle of it was what had been the head of the cane.
Placing a knee in the back of Locke, Whitmore started to cut the black shirt of Locke up the middle pulling it to the sides. The priest’s back was exposed as he attempted to thrash to keep the mine boss away from him but to no avail.
“If you had just been willing to work with me this would not need to happen.” whispered Whitmore leaning over to the ear of Locke. “You have put this on yourself not me. Your choices to constantly defy me have led to this situation now. Now you need to learn that I am the one who dictates everything in your life just like the rest of the people around here. If I have to deal with you again you will lose being a priest and I will bring you back to the mining fields where you will live out your days with chains on your feet.”
“You will never own me!” said Locke through gritted teeth.
“We will just see about that.” replied Whitmore letting the knife penetrate his skin causing the flow of blood to run down the side of the man. Locke grunted in pain as his foot kicked off the floor hard. Whitmore sunk the knife down a half an inch and slid it down
getting little resistance from the muscle at the back of Locke’s shoulder. The knife was as sharp as it could be, making light work for the skin and muscle of the priest.
Locke moved his hands slowly and deliberately as screams and howls shot from the mouth of the priest. Removing the knife from his back Whitmore looked down on his handy work and saw his initials carved into the back of the priest.
“Now you have my mark on you. You’re going to carry that for the rest of your life.” said Whitmore motioning for his guards to get off Locke who laid in a pool of his own blood. “You will live but it will hurt like hell to care for it. Let that be a reminder to you.”
Locke turned his head on the floor to watch as Whitmore walked to the door. Struggling to remain conscious he saw the old man stop and turn back to him.
“Take notice Kerick. You screamed and yelled, and nobody came to your aid. Not one person from the hotel. Not one person from the bar. Not one person from the street. They all know this all belongs to me. Time for you to realize that too.”
Whitmore opened the door and he and his guards disappeared onto the street.
Chapter 23
THE PLASTIC THAT COVERED the seat of the booth in the diner had split making Falau push closer to the window than he normally would. The inner stuffing was lacking but pushed its way out of the opening in strands and clumps. The upholstery was cheap and easily worn out and he was sure that this would be fixed the same way that the other rips and tears in the chairs and booths had been fixed, with a piece of duct tape in a color that the management of the diner felt was close enough to matching the color of the seat. Falau was sure that the management would say it gave the diner ambiance and let people know that this was a casual place, but it was more likely it was out of laziness.
Falau lifted the cup of coffee to his mouth and took a sip and quickly looking down into the cup as if it would give him a reason for its off taste. After hundreds of trips to the diner it was more likely to get a bad cup of coffee than a good one.
The bell rang over the top of the door and the big man looked quickly to it expecting to see Tyler come walking through. To them the diner was a place of work. Digging into cases and wrapping them up often happened at this same booth. But the face that came in the diner was not Tyler, but it was similar and not one that Falau wanted to see.
The man made eye contact as more of a mistake having no idea that Falau was there. His eyes opened wide and he lifted a hand and waved to Falau with a widening smile on his face. He moved across the diner ready to engage in conversation. There was no way for Falau to avoid the situation.
“Dave, how are you?” asked Falau extending his hand toward the man.
Dave shook Falau’s hand with gusto. “I am good. How are you?”
“I am doing ok. Strange seeing you here.”
Dave gave a small smirk knowing that Falau questioned if Dave was checking up on him or not.
“Ya, I was running late today, and I figured I would run in some place and grab a breakfast sandwich.”
“And you just happened to pick this place of all the places in Boston?”
“Call it luck but I am working right up the street. This place is between the parking garage and the office.” said Dave leaning in a little closer to Falau. “Don’t worry I am not following you. That’s not how things work.”
Falau nodded his head and motioned to the seat across from him. “Take a seat. I have a friend coming but no reason we can’t catch up until then.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” replied Dave sliding into the booth across from Falau. “I only have a few minutes myself.”
“You ready to order now?” asked the overweight and constantly exhausted waitress Ruth who was a staple of the diner.
“Okay, can I get a bacon, egg and cheese on a hard roll to go?” asked Dave looking up to the woman with a smile.
“Sure. And how about you big spender? You want anything?” asked Ruth.
“Just the coffee for now sweetheart.” replied Falau nodding his head at the waitress.
“Big spender?” questioned Dave.
“You bet!” said Ruth looking at Dave with a face of surprise. “You mean you have not heard. This guy comes in here for years and gets coffee and nothing more. Every time he leaves a little bit of change as a tip. Then out of the blue one day he leaves a hundred dollar bill! Just about knocked me flat on my ass from shock.”
“No need to thank me, Ruth. You earned it.” said Falau trying to end the conversation as fast as he could.
“Thank you. The way I see it now you still owe me a lot more. You came in hundreds of times and left squat. That hundred didn’t even bring you back to even.”
Ruth turned and walked away without giving the two men a chance to respond and Falau drank from his coffee again.
“I know it sounds weird but that’s how she shows she likes me. If she didn’t she would not even talk to me.”
“No need to explain. I have a waitress just like Ruth at my morning take out. She likes calling me chubs when I order a donut.”
Falau let out a soft laugh and made eye contact with Dave reading his mind.
“I know what you want to ask me Dave. And the answer is no I haven’t had a drink.”
“Good for you man. Keep up the good work, but I wasn’t going to ask you. I try not to ask anyone because the answer is far more complicated than yes or no. I am glad you’re doing well.”
“Dave, I might not be at some meetings for a bit, but I will be sober, and I will be back. Just trust in that.”
“I hear ya. You know where we are and when we meet. The door is open and if you need me you can call me at any time. You still have the number, right?”
“Yes, I have it. Thanks.”
The bell rang again over the door but this time it failed to draw the attention of Falau. His focus was on Dave and trying to make his upcoming absence sound realistic and not like a ploy to go out and drink.
“Hello, Michael.” said the smooth voice of Tyler as he came up to the table and looked down on the two men. Tyler was dressed in a suit that was simple but elegant. Black shoes and pants with a white shirt and black suit jacket and tie. “I hope I am not interrupting anything.”
“Hey, Tyler.” stammered Falau feeling the two worlds he had a foot in come colliding together. “This is Dave. Dave this is Tyler.”
The two men shook hands and nodded to one another in a generic formal greeting. Silence fell on the three men with Falau searching for something to say. He had no information he wanted to tell the other about and awkwardness overcame them all.
“Well. I need to get moving and I can see that Ruth has my sandwich ready.” said Dave sliding out of the booth and standing up next to Tyler. “Nice to meet you Tyler.”
“Nice to meet you too.”
Dave waved to Ruth and motioned her to the cash register and paid for his food and walked out the door. Tyler sat silently not pushing the conversation forward until he was sure that Dave was gone.
“Who is he?” questioned Tyler.
“A friend.”
“Bullshit. We know everyone who knows you. He is not on the list. Who is he?”
“A new friend who has nothing to do with work.”
“Is he the Dave you thought you called the other night drunk when you called me?”
“Just drop it Tyler. He is a good guy and has nothing to do with us.”
“You know I will know all about him inside 48 hours. Better to tell me now who he is.”
“Come on just leave this one alone.”
“No can do, friend. No loose ends. Not for you or me or anyone.”
“Okay. He is my AA sponsor. He came in here for breakfast and happened to see me. He is working in the neighborhood.”
“A sponsor for AA?” questioned Tyler leaning back in his seat and drumming two of his fingers on the table in quiet contemplation. “I am not going to tell you to not talk about us because I know you’re a ziplock mouth kind of guy, but I
will say I am proud of you.”
“Thanks. It wasn’t easy.”
“I can only imagine. Admitting we have any problem is hard no matter what it is. But you did it and you will be stronger in the long run for it.” said Tyler with a smile crossing his face. “So let me guess. You are out on this mission. You need to focus on being sober and getting things together.”
“No. I want the job.”
“You sure about that with trying to get sober? There is the plane ride and then the job itself. Lots of stress in this one. Why not leave this one to Gabriella and wait for the next. Get a few weeks or months of being sober under your belt.”
“I want the job. I am ready for the job. When I work I do not drink so going to work will help me more than just staying around here. Besides, I need the money.”
“You’re giving a lot of it away from what I hear. Charities, homeless people on the street. The people who lived in your building before you bought it. You’re pushing yourself to the poor house with helping others. You need to help yourself first.”
“I know, but those people helped me a lot for a long time. I am just trying to give back what I can while I can. You never know what can happen to a guy.”
Tyler tightened his lips at the thought of potentially losing his friend and understood why Falau felt so strongly about what he was doing.
“Are you sure this is the job for you? You need to be one hundred percent. If you can’t do it then we cannot send in another person to do it. The situation will be gone.”
“I understand and want the job.”
“Then let’s go for a ride.”
Chapter 24
IT TOOK TWO HOURS AND twenty five minutes before Tyler pulled off the highway in Western Massachusetts. His BMW had made short work of the long trip and now made its way through the small town and into the farm lands. The conversation was limited to current events and how the Boston sports teams were doing. With no warning Tyler cut the wheel and passed over where a curb should be. The car cut its way through the farmer’s field that sat dormant. Falau grabbed the bar that was above the passenger side door and placed his other hand on the dashboard.
