by Mike Gomes
“Road builder?” questioned Falau desperate for more information from the man with the shotgun and all the power.
“Yes Mr. Road builder. You don’t recognize me, but I recognize you. You came in the night with Father Locke looking to change all our lives with the new road. You wanted us to stand up to Whitmore. But now you’re a priest and a sad looking one at that. So what is it. Are you a road builder or a priest?”
“I think you have me mistaken with someone else.” said Falau starting to drop his hands down.
The man pumped the shotgun placing a shell into the chamber and pointed it at Falau.
“Hands in the air!” he demanded taking two steps closer. “I don’t care if you’re a priest or a road builder because one way or another you’re a liar. Mr. Whitmore wants his men to bring people like you in and that’s what I am going to do.”
The man moved to within five yards of Falau.
“Turn around and start walking that way. I am sure you know how to get there.” said the guard.
“This is ridiculous. I am a man of God and you have mistaken me for some road builder.”
“Turn around!” barked the man pulling the shotgun up to eye level. “I will kill you.”
Falau turned and looked back over his shoulder. “It’s clear you’re nothing more than Whitmore’s boy!”
‘What did you say?”
“I said you’re Whitmore’s boy. Do you run errands for him as well?”
“You fucking pig!” yelled the man pulling back with the shot gun and driving the butt end of it forward into the center of Falau’s back. Falau dropped to the ground in a pile as the man moved forward and raised the gun into the air to repeat the same powerful blow down on Falau’s back.
Rolling to the side Falau saw the shotgun start to descend on him. The big man drew back his leg pulling his knee up to his chest and fired it out planting his shoe firmly in the knee of the man with the gun. His movement down was stopped as his leg Locked, and the shotgun fell from his hands to the ground.
Pulling the same leg back Falau kicked hard into the back of the same knee that he had just damaged on the man causing him to fall to the ground face first and on top of the shotgun.
Falau drew back his fist waiting for the man to lift his head to get his bearings. As soon as he did Falau punched down hard on the man placing a punishing blow on the bridge of his nose.
The man grabbed his face in pain and rolled onto his back muttering and swearing to himself. Falau pulled up the rifle and returned the favor of the butt end strike hitting the man at an angle crushing what was left of his nose and flattening it.
The man’s hands dropped to his side and the fight was over. Pulling himself to his feet Falau took a quick look across the area to see if there was anything he could tie the man up with. There was nothing. His shoe laces would need to suffice for now.
Looking down at the body Falau saw the man’s eyes were open but not moving. His chest laid still and there was no indication of life. With caution Falau knelt down and turned the man’s head to look for a pulse. A small wave of blood came rolling out and there was no pulse. Inspecting the man Falau realized the last strike with the butt end of the shotgun must have caused shards of bone to slice into the man’s brain killing him.
Laying the man in a pile of thick vegetation next to a rock the body was covered the best he could. The big man looked down and cleaned off his clothes of the dirt and started again on his way.
Chapter 32
“DO YOU HAVE AN APPOINTMENT, Father?” said the man in the guard shack sounding more annoyed than anything. He wore a basic uniform that had the same intertwined letters that the other workers for Whitmore wore. The man was older and carried a bit of disdain for being pulled away from listening to his radio for someone who was not in a hundred thousand dollar car.
“I have no appointment, but I am sure that Mr. Whitmore would want to see me. I am taking over the local church and it is my understanding that Mr. Whitmore is the biggest benefactor of the church. I just wish to pay my respects.” said Falau smiling at the man.
The older man stood stone faced giving no reaction to Falau and his request. He pulled the clipboard up and ran his eyes down it again. “As I said before you do not have an appointment. You’re not on the list.” He said holding up the clipboard and pointing to it. The man dropped the clipboard back on the small makeshift desk and stared blankly into the eyes of Falau.
“Sir, I have spent over twenty minutes with you only to have you look at the same sheet of paper over and over again and tell me I do not have an appointment.” said Falau changing his voice to a pleading tone.
The guard interrupted “yet you keep staying here and keep asking.”
Falau let out a sigh and rolled his eyes at the man. “May I ask what is your name?”
“No you may not.”
“Do you work this post everyday?”
“You don’t need to know that.”
“Well, you are going to make this as difficult as possible aren’t you?” said Falau feeling the frustration building up in his chest.
“It’s what I do best.”
“Then you leave me no choice. You cannot keep me from Mr. Whitmore forever. When I do make his acquaintance I will have to be sure to tell him about this interaction. He needs to know about the man he employed and how he treats people.”
The guard made no change in his look making the big man realize that he had to push his threats into overdrive to get what he was looking for. “It would be a shame if I had to inform him you have been drinking on the job. That I came here today, and you attempted to assault me. That you are a danger to his company and an accident waiting to happen.”
The guard smirked at Falau “You can’t do that you’re a priest and priests can’t lie.”
“That’s where you're wrong. We can lie and commit any other sin. We should try not to, but we are just humans so when we do we go to confession just like anyone else. My guess is for something like this another priest may give me an act of contrition and two Hail Marys.”
Falau could see the smugness dripping of the guard’s face with the realization that the man of the cloth in front of him was no soft touch and was willing to play hardball to get what he wanted. The guard froze in place and Falau knew he was weighing his options of what to do next.
“To show there are no hard feelings how about we make a deal?” asked Falau causing the man’s eyes to brighten at that suggestion. “You just pick up that phone and call up to the house. Ask if they will be willing to see me so I can pay my respects to Mr. Whitmore. If they say yes I can go up and if they say no I walk away but no matter what I never bring you up to Mr. Whitmore and you can go on with this very nice and calm job here at the gate.”
The man’s mouth never opened before he turned and picked up the phone dialing a number that he kept hidden with his body making sure that Falau could not see it. The man mumbled into the phone and then hung it up and turned back to Falau.
“Wait.” he said reaching over to turn down his radio.
“Wait for what?” asked Falau confused by what the man was talking about. The man acted like Falau knew the information that was exchanged on the phone.
“Just wait and stop talking to me. Our deal is done.” said the man holding onto the last bit of control he thought he had over the priest.
Falau smiled knowing that he was going to be heading up to the house soon, but the big man questioned why he needed to wait. The big man turned away from the shack and leaned against the gate that fell across the road and pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it.
Taking a long drag off the cigarette Falau looked down the long drive that led to the house and saw an older model car moving toward him. As the car got closer he could see it was from the 1950’s. He drew again from the cigarette and dropped it to the ground crushing it with his foot.
The car pulled up to the gate that led out and the guard lifted the gate letting it pass. The
car drove another twenty feet and turned around and came back to the gate that was opened as he pulled up. The car pulled up and came to a stop. The car had been impeccably restored to its showroom glory. It was buffed to a high shine and the chrome shined in the light. If this was the car used to pick people up Falau was sure that Whitmore’s home held more riches than he expected. All purchased off the backs of his slave labor.
“Father, I have been sent to pick you up.” said the man stepping out of the driver’s seat. The man pulled the back door open and motioned for Falau to get inside. Falau felt his defenses jump up. The idea of getting into a car with a stranger was not one he felt comfortable with. He knew that he was placing himself in a vulnerable position but one that he needed to enter into. There was no excuse that would justify him walking up the drive rather than getting in the car.
Falau slid into the back of the car to find the interior was treated as well as the exterior. The seats were leather and held a similar shine to the exterior of the car. It was like nobody had ever sat in the car before. Not a scuff or pull anywhere to be found. The driver got back into the car after closing the door behind Falau and he pulled away without saying a word. Within two minutes the car reached the house and the driver was out of his seat with his hand on the handle outside the car before Falau could open the door.
“Father, just go straight up the steps and ring the bell. You will be met there.” said the driver with a nod of his head and a tip of his hat. Falau reached to his pocket thinking that he should tip the man for the ride, but he scurried away before he could do so.
The big man made his way up the steps and pressed the button sounding off the doorbell inside. Within an instant the door opened revealing Lawrence Whitmore.
Falau held himself straight as his heart rate quickened and he could feel his face go flush. For a moment he wondered if Tyler were reading his vitals at that very moment and could see the change.
“Father, so happy to see you!” exclaimed Whitmore extending his hand to shake it with the priest. Falau returned the gesture and smiled. “I wish you had called so I could have sent a car for you. No need for you to have to travel in this heat.”
Falau gave a slight bow and looked to the ground showing respect and reverence for the man dressed in all white. “I am sorry to show up unannounced, sir. I felt that I should come to see you as I have learned that you are the man that employs most of the parishioners in this area. I just wanted to introduce myself and get your perspective on things.”
“Why would you need to do that with me?” asked Whitmore showing the priest forward and closing the door behind him. “My workers are mostly in the jungle. Father Locke tends to their spiritual needs.”
“Yes sir, but I am taking over for Father Locke. He has sent in a request for a change of location so he may further his studies at the Vatican.”
“The Vatican? Hmm. Very impressive. Do you think he will get that assignment?”
“Those spots are very hard to come by. If I had to guess he will be put on a waiting list and sent to a parish needing a priest. Maybe in Europe or the United States.”
“That’s too bad. Father Locke has done a lot for the people around here and they will miss him very much. You have your work cut out for you replacing him.”
“I will do my best. I know that it is imperative that you and I have a good working relationship. I have worked in mining communities before and I prefer them. Especially the ones like this where it is away from the main cities and towns.” said Falau measuring his words trying to get Whitmore to take the bait.
“And why would that be? No city life for you?”
“I have come to understand that the men who run the mines need the workers to have faith. It helps them work harder and look forward to a better life. A priest who comes in and stirs things up and tries to get the workers to change just causes trouble for everyone. The right priest can do wonders for keeping workers focused.”
Whitmore let out a small laugh and placed a hand on Falau’s shoulder. “Would it be safe to say that a well-funded church would make a priest happy and that that happiness would be passed on through his teachings.”
“I think it only stands to reason that a man who is comfortable can help with a great many things. I am asking for no money for myself but for the parish as a whole. I could improve the facilities and let the workers know how much better their lives are than the workers from other operations. They would never think of changing their lives with you after what I can tell them of my journeys.” Week after week they can get the same message loud and clear.”
“Father, I like the way you think. I can help you and you can help me. Today is the start of a very prosperous friendship between us. I have a guest arriving in less than an hour for a party. I insist you stay and spend the night here. These people are the kind that will be happy to know you’re on our team.”
Falau smiled and shook Whitmore’s hand one more time despite his detest for the man.
Chapter 33
BEING ESCORTED TO A guest room Falau was supplied with a new shirt, pants and jacket by the butler who told him that they were compliments of Mr. Whitmore. The outfit was all in black and Falau easily fashioned the collar to hold the white strip showing he was a priest. Looking in the mirror after a hot shower Falau brushed his hair but left the stubble on his face showing himself to still be a man of the people.
The chime of the doorbell rang out and the sound of the door opening echoed off the walls of the entryway. Soon after another ring came from the doorbell. Falau peered out the front window and saw the cars parked in front of the house and making their way up the driveway. It was a stream of high price luxury cars just as he had seen before. Some of the faces were familiar and others were not. The voices started to fill the entryway letting Falau know that the guests were not moving from the stairs.
Walking away from the window the big man stopped in front of the mirror and straightened his coat. He could feel the knife strapped to his calf and the other taped to his chest. The party would be a long shot to take out Whitmore with all the guests, but after the party could provide ample opportunity if he played his cards right.
Falau stepped out of the door of the guest room and closed the door behind him. He walked the twenty feet down the way and mixed into the crowd causing people to turn their heads and periodically go silent. Falau could read the minds and looks on their faces. They wondered if the priest was going to ruin the good time they had all been looking forward to. Falau exchanged the awkward smiles and took the first opportunity to take a drink from a server as he passed by. The simple action of picking up a drink made the room roll back into conversation.
Fighting to keep his eyes from looking at the drink Falau could smell the whiskey in the glass mixed with soda.
Of all fucking things it has to be my drink, thought the big man squeezing the glass harder in his hand as he rolled his tongue in his mouth trying to fight the desire to take the liquid into his system. He kept thinking The next drink will be my last just like they said at Alcoholics Anonymous. Meaning if you take another drink there is a strong possibility that you will never stop and it will finally kill you.
The room was void of any table where he could place the glass other than the few half rounded tables that were pushed against the wall and holding flowers in a vase or a small sculpture. The glass would stick out like a sore thumb there.
Falau walked the room exchanging smiles and hellos with the guests making sure they all made eye contact with him. He knew from his training that this was the best way to establish a relationship and familiarity with them. It was far better than actually speaking with them because then they could find things they were opposed to with him. This technique let him come across as handsome, put together, and a good person. The guests would get no other information from him and start to form an opinion off that small amount of information and that was just what he wanted.
“Welcome old friends and new” called out W
hitmore from the top of the stairs. Whitmore had moved himself to the railing and held a bottle of champagne in one hand and a glass filled in the other. His hands spread wide into the air and a bold and filling smile shone across his face. “I offer this first toast of the night to you, my friends! Mi casa es su casa. What is mine is yours. Help yourself to drinks, food, and fun. Stay the night or the week if you wish. Tonight is a night for joy.”
The guests erupted with cheers and applause holding their glasses high into the air like subjects fanning for their king to come down from his throne.
“My friends here is to you and I and your friendship.” said Whitmore his voice getting lower and stronger with each word. He thrust his glass into the air and spilled some of the contents without batting an eye. The crowd joined him with another ruckus cheer and Falau took the opportunity to pour the drink into the plant that sat behind him.
As the drink seeped into the dirt Falau turned back to Whitmore walking down the steps with his arms spread wide and being met at the bottom by his adoring public.
Falau felt a twinge of guilt dumping the drink into the dirt. He thought about the harm in just one drink. How bad could it be? Would it really be the beginning of the end or just another start of being sober tomorrow.
Grabbing the arm of a server as she passed by Falau pulled her close. “I am sorry, but could you take this glass for me.”
“Yes sir.” said the young black girl who was no more than sixteen years old.
“Could you be a dear and bring me just soda next time. No alcohol. I am new to Mr. Whitmore and do not want to be the fool by getting drunk my first time here.”
“I would be happy to sir.”
“I need you to make sure for me all night. I will take no drinks unless they are from you.” Falau smiled and put out his hand for the girl to shake it. As she did she felt him press the twenty dollars from the United States into her hand.
