by Doug Worgul
The mothers of the church followed the families. They were dressed in long white cotton robes and wore white cotton head coverings. Walking behind the mothers—also in long white cotton robes—were the candidates for baptism; William, John, Esther, Mrs. Sykes, Mr. Washington, and LaVerne.
So take me to the water
Take me to the water
Take me to the water
To be, to be baptized
Last in the procession was Pastor Elmer Jackson, wearing a black suit, white shirt and black necktie. He carried his Bible.
I’m going back home,
Going back home
Gonna stay here no longer
I’m going back home,
Going back home
To be baptized
The deacons walked into the river and poked the long poles into the river bottom, looking for holes, sunken logs, or catfish. When they found a safe and steady spot they stuck the poles into the river mud, forming a triangular space in which Pastor Jackson stood.
One by one the candidates waded into the water, where Pastor Jackson took them by the hand and pulled them to himself and put his arm around behind their shoulders. He called them by their names and asked them if they had come to be baptized and they said yes. He asked them if they loved the Lord with all their hearts, souls, and minds, and again they said yes. And then one by one he covered each of their faces with a clean, dry, white handkerchief and lowered them into the Trinity River, saying in a loud voice “I baptize thee in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
*
Delbert watched as one by one they were lifted out of the water. Emerging from the river, Irma Sykes let out with a whoop and a Halleluiah! William got a bad case of the giggles.
When LaVerne came up from the river he wasn’t smiling. He was shining—the sun reflecting off the water streaming down his calm and quiet face.
As the newly baptized made their way to the shore, the congregation began singing
When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well; it is well, with my soul.
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, with my soul,
It is well; it is well, with my soul.
Delbert felt the words move in him. On the far bank he saw a small turtle, no bigger than the palm of his hand, sunning itself on a log. Something had changed. The Trinity had been redeemed. The boy had baptized the river.
45
Crixa
Sometimes when Rudy Turpin got in over his head he prayed. Other times he stole valuables from the women he was living with at the time. When he prayed, he promised he’d never gamble again if God would just help him this one time to find a way to pay his marker. When he stole, he broke into the house to make it look like a burglary, trashed the place up a bit, and, just to be sure no one would ever suspect him, he always stole some of his own belongings.
Generally, Rudy found stealing more expedient than prayer in getting what he needed.
Sometimes he felt guilty about stealing from his lady companions, especially since it usually involved taking their jewelry, which they all seemed to have sentimental attachments to. But jewelry was so much easier to conceal and fence than, say, a big TV, that, as a practical matter, he really had no choice. Usually, however, by the time his financial situation got to the point where he had to resort to robbing his girlfriends, his gambling had pretty much ruined the relationship, so he didn’t feel as guilty as he otherwise might when he made off with their stuff.
Rudy made good money at the GM Fairfax plant, but still lived paycheck-to-paycheck. The bank had foreclosed on a house he’d owned and had repossessed two cars because of missed payments due to gambling. He had a studio apartment, but had to hock most of his furniture and appliances. Living with a woman was the only way he could live comfortably. Some of them he became quite fond of, maybe even loved. But sooner or later they all ended up telling him to quit going to the casinos, which was something he never succeeded in doing.
Rudy’s bad luck streak started when Mona Bennett died. He had a good thing going with Mona. She and her friends liked going to the boats and having a good time. There was always lots of laughing and drinking. She had a nice house and some pretty good jewelry. He checked.
After Mona died, he had a hard time developing a lasting relationship with another woman. This made for a lonely life, devoid of TV, dependable transportation, and cash advances. He got panicky when he thought about it. He knew he was in a sorry and unattractive state. He needed to make himself presentable to the opposite sex. He needed new clothes and some dental work too, but was unlikely to get either unless he scored some cash.
*
Bob Dunleavy arranged ahead of time that, on the Saturday of A.B.’s wedding, Mike Owen would drive him and Warren around in the Cadillac Fleetwood to pick-up A.B., LaVerne, Ferguson, and Leon, and deliver them to the church where the groom and his groomsmen would change into their tuxes and get ready for the ceremony.
“If you gotta go, you may as well go in style,” he teased, throwing his arm around A.B.’s shoulders.
A.B.’s apartment was the first stop on what Bob was calling the “Wedding Express”. A.B. got in the car, hung his tux bag on the little hook above the door, and immediately started apologizing.
“Jeez, Bob, you won’t believe this, well, you probably will believe it, because I do this kind of thing all the time, but I left the shoes that go with my tux at the restaurant. I picked it up yesterday afternoon, and then when I went back to work, I brought it into the restaurant because I didn’t want to leave it in the car in case someone stole it or something. Anyways, I noticed this morning that the shoes were missing. They’re on top of the filing cabinet in the office. I know that for sure because I remember putting them there so I wouldn’t forget. But obviously I did forget. So, I’m really sorry but we have to stop at the restaurant so I can get ‘em. It was stupid that I forgot ‘em.”
Bob laughed. “Whoa! Relax there, fella. You’ve got wedding day jitters. Everything’s fine. We’re going right by the restaurant anyway. We’ve got to pick up Ferguson, remember? It works out great.”
Warren nodded. “Unless you want to get married in your bare feet.”
Medication was tricky business for Warren on occasions such as this. Too much and he was lethargic and non-responsive. Not enough and he was anxious and obsessive. It was too early to tell how the day would go.
The next stop was LaVerne’s house. Even though he was not officially a member of the wedding party, Jen had bought him a forest green silk tie that matched the fabric of her bridesmaids’ dresses. Angela came out to the car with him and gave the knot of his tie a final adjustment. She wore a light green dress with a forest green silk scarf.
“See you all at the church in a little bit,” she chirped, bending to peer in the open car window at the other passengers on the Wedding Express.
“I forgot my shoes,” A.B. announced unprompted. He shook his head, trying to come to grips with his oversight. “They’re at work.”
Angela took A.B.’s hand and squeezed it. “Aren’t you going right by there anyway to pick up Ferguson?”
A.B. nodded. “I guess.”
“He could go barefoot,” LaVerne suggested.
Warren grinned. “That’s what I said.”
*
Ferguson was waiting in front of his condo building when the Fleetwood pulled up. He was decked out in full Scottish regalia—Mackintosh tartan kilt, black short-waist formal jacket, starched white shirt with wing collar, black bow tie, cream-colored knee-length woolen socks, and a tartan fly plaid over his shoulder, pinned in place on the left lapel of his jacket by his father’s silver Celtic cross brooch.
“You’re just jealous because your legs aren’t as pretty as mine,” Ferguson sniffed, nose in the air.
“I forgot my shoes,” A.B. informed Ferguson. “We have to stop over at the restaurant, if you don’t mind. They’re on the filing cabinet.”
“That’s, okay, A.B.,” Ferguson said. “I’ll pick up a slab of ribs to go while we’re there.”
*
What Sammy Merzeti was most curious about was whether Rudy remembered him—if he remembered going to the Kings game or singing in the car. He wondered if Rudy remembered his name. That’s why he kept going back to the corner of 17th and Walnut. Maybe he’d see Rudy there again. Maybe Rudy knew that guy who worked at that restaurant. That’s why he went there again on Saturday. To wait for Rudy. To find out if he remembered. He would use the gun in his pocket to jog his memory if he needed to.
He stood across the street from the restaurant, smoked a cigarette and wondered what things might have been like if his mother and Rudy hadn’t split up.
Even though it was early in the afternoon, it was dark inside the restaurant. He hadn’t noticed anyone going in or coming out. He crossed the street to take a look. There was a piece of paper taped to the door. It said: We will be closed Saturday do to a wedding. Sorry for the inconvenients.
Sammy spat on the sidewalk and turned to leave, and there was Rudy, approaching the restaurant. He glanced at Sammy as he passed. He went to the door and read the note. He tried the door handle, then leaned close to the window to look inside.
Sammy stepped up behind him. “Looks like nobody’s home, Rudy.”
Rudy spun around. “Do I know you?”
Sammy put his hand in his pocket. “Do you know me?”
Rudy didn’t like the way this punk was getting in his face. “I know you’re a inked up freak. Now get out of my way.”
Sammy had hoped that Rudy would recognize him and that maybe things would be different than they were about to be. He slid the gun out of his pocket and punched it into Rudy’s ribs.
“Let’s go around back and talk about old times.”
Sammy grabbed a fistful of Rudy’s jacket and pushed him around the corner of the building toward the alley behind Smoke Meat. They stopped between the woodpile and the dumpster where Sammy slammed the handle of his gun into Rudy’s head and shoved him up against the back door of the building. He held the muzzle of the gun against Rudy’s temple.
“Are you sure you don’t remember me?” he hissed.
Rudy’s glasses were sliding off. “Look, if this is about money I owe then just tell me who you work for and I’ll make it right.”
“It’s too late to make it right,” Sammy said. “But, since you don’t remember me, please allow me to introduce myself. My name used to be Sam, but, you can call me Degen.”
*
The Wedding Express had arrived. A.B. hopped out of the Fleetwood, unlocked the front door of the restaurant and scurried back to the office to retrieve his tux shoes from the top of the filing cabinet.
As he turned to leave he heard a loud bang and a thump on the back door.
He put his hand on the doorknob and listened.
He heard moaning and someone say something.
He opened the door and Rudy Turpin’s bleeding body fell onto him.
“Jesus!” A.B. screamed, jumping back. Rudy’s body flopped onto the office floor. A.B. looked down in horror. “Jesus, Rudy!”
Sammy put the end of his gun under A.B.’s chin and lifted his head up to face him. “Did you know this guy?”
“I did. I do,” A.B. wheezed, trying to breathe. “Rudy Turpin.”
Sammy pushed A.B. backward through the office into the restaurant, with the nose of the gun under A.B.’s chin.
Sammy shouted. “How did you know him?”
A.B. shouted back. “He used to live with my mother! That’s all! I didn’t know him very well! Why? Why are you doing this?”
Sammy kept pushing A.B. backward with the gun, into the dining room.
LaVerne, Ferguson, Bob, and Warren had heard the shot and were there just inside the door.
“You will not hurt that boy,” LaVerne growled.
“Really?” Sammy sneered. There was movement behind him and he swiveled, pulling A.B. around in front of him. A man was striding toward him, confident and calm. Sammy shuddered and shot the man.
As Mike Owen staggered back and fell behind the counter, Warren screamed. “Zorn! Zorn!”
Bob Dunleavy grabbed his son to prevent him from charging the tattooed man holding a gun on A.B.
Sammy’s voice stretched to a desperate cry. “What does he mean ‘Zorn’? How does he know Zorn. Zorn came to purify the Last Peoples of the Almighty. How does he know him? I’m the one. I knew them. Both of them. They knew me.”
Bob stepped forward. “He doesn’t know Zorn. It’s just a word from a book he likes. It’s rabbit language.”
Sammy’s shaved head was red and wet with sweat. The veins on his temples pumped.
“Shut up!” he roared. He pushed A.B. aside and leveled his gun at Warren. Bob lunged toward the gun and a bullet ripped through his throat.
A.B. stumbled forward. LaVerne threw his arms around him. Ferguson tackled them both.
Sammy whipped around and managed to shoot twice more before Mike Owen crushed his skull with one swing of the Rocky Colavito model K55 35-inch Hillerich & Bradsby Louisville Slugger.
LaVerne felt a familiar fire in his right shoulder and saw A.B. standing outside, in front of the restaurant, watching Raymond up on a ladder with a paint brush and a pail of paint.
Ferguson understood there was a hole in his chest and found himself in a yellow room and wondered if it was heaven.
A.B. sensed something warm and wet on his face and raised his hand to wipe it off. He was holding his tux shoes. He wanted to ask Jen if they should have invited Rudy to the wedding.
Warren sat on the floor holding his father in his arms, rocking back and forth whispering El-ahrairah. El-ahrairah. El-ahrairah.
Michael Zosimus Owen stood guard, listening for the sirens.
46
SMOKE MEAT
Three weeks after Bob Dunleavy’s funeral, his widow Marge called A.B. Clayton, Jen Richardson, and LaVerne and Angela Williams and asked them to meet her and her attorney at her home. A.B. had never personally met with an attorney and the idea of it made him sweat.
“I’m never gonna be able to quit smoking, if horrible things keep happening,” he told Jen, as he lit another cigarette.
A.B. had been inconsolably depressed and anxious since the incident at Smoke Meat. Nearly every conversation ended with him expressing his guilt over having forgotten his shoes. The restaurant had been closed since the killings there, and A.B. had nothing to do with his time except fret and frequently cry.
Marge Dunleavy hugged each of her guests as they arrived, except LaVerne whose shoulder was still in a sling and heavily bandaged. She escorted them into Bob’s den where her attorney, Andrew James, was waiting.
When they were seated, Marge Dunleavy looked at each of her guests and cleared her throat. She held a white handkerchief in her hands.
“First, I want to thank you all for your graciousness to our family during this time. Especially to Warren. His doctors say he’s stabilized. The medication and therapy seem to be working, and perhaps he can start coming home on weekends. I know your visits and e-mails have meant the world to him. Especially from you, A.B. You’re such a blessing to him.”
Jen squeezed A.B.’s hand.
“Andrew and I have been reviewing Bob’s will this week. There are some provisions that effect you, LaVerne, and you too, A.B. Andrew will go over the details with you, but I wanted to t
ell you myself what Bob has done and why.”
She turned to LaVerne.
“Obviously, LaVerne, you and Angela have become dear friends. I remember after the first time Bob had lunch at your restaurant. He said it was the most wonderful ‘little hole in the wall’.”
She smiled apologetically at LaVerne. “I hope you’re not offended by that description. That’s why he loved the place so. It was a comfortable place where he felt welcome. He felt no need to impress anybody. He could go there with his foremen and their crews and just be himself. And he loved the food. I was always jealous when he said he’d had lunch at Smoke Meat. And I was always thrilled whenever he brought some of your barbecue home for dinner.
“When Ute Johansson’s company expressed interest in pursuing development projects in your area, Bob became concerned, as you were, about the future of the restaurant, as well as the other small locally-owned businesses on the block. So, he bought the block himself. The Preservation and Restoration Company is Bob’s company. He wanted to be sure that the neighborhood stayed a neighborhood. He’s been your new landlord for while now. That’s why your rent went down.
“I knew that he had done this, and of course, I was thrilled. We’ve been blessed with the means to do many wonderful things for our community. This had the added benefit of doing something wonderful for our friends. But what I didn’t know, until this week, was what else he had done.
“Because of Warren, Bob and I have always taken great care to keep our legal affairs in order and up-to-date. We need to make sure that Warren is well cared for after we’re gone, and even though we’re in good health . . .”
She stopped and twisted the handkerchief.
“We wanted to be sure that if something should happen to either one of us, things would be in order.”
She took a deep breath.
“LaVerne, in his will, Bob left the restaurant to you. The building and the lot the building sits on are yours. You no longer have to worry about your rent or losing the place to an unscrupulous developer. It’s yours.
