by Steph Post
He dialed the number and pointedly turned his back on the librarian, who was now making disgusted faces and pointing at the ABSOLUTELY NO PHONE CALLS sign posted on the wall next to him. Three rings into the call, however, it dawned on him. He tossed the phone down and frantically thumbed back through the pages of his notebook. The library printer was out of ink, so he’d had to write down everything down by hand. He found the Times Union headline and then searched online for the article again.
“Although the Committee on Environmental Protection and Conservation had previously indicated their support of Peace River Basin Industries’ proposed phosphate strip mining operation in Bradford County, yesterday’s vote to refuse EPA and FDEP permits to the company tells a different story. This was a surprising turn of events, but the road to bringing PRB Industries to Florida has been a rocky one. While larger companies such as Mosaic have, in the past, pushed forward and appealed similar decisions with favorable outcomes, PRB Industries announced today that they will be withdrawing their proposal from further consideration by the state and instead will be exploring more promising sites in North Carolina and Idaho. State legislators participating in the vote had no comment on the matter.”
Clive scribbled down the details in his notebook, but he still didn’t understand why the permits had been denied to the mining company. It was another turnaround decision, but one that essentially destroyed all of the plans Sister Tulah had laid over the last five years. Clive kept staring at the newspaper article displayed on the screen, knowing there was something he was missing. When it finally hit him, he nearly choked. The vote had taken place only three months earlier, on May 13th. The Last Steps of Deliverance Church of God had burned on May 10th. Clive sat back in a daze. There had to be a connection between the two. If Sister Tulah could control local officials, who was to say that she couldn’t manipulate state lawmakers as well? Something must have gone wrong for Tulah’s church to be attacked and the vote to swing against her interests, but Clive was sure there was a link between the two. His hand was shaking as he went to pick up his cellphone, but he stopped himself yet again. This was huge. This could be everything for him. And he wasn’t going to blow it this time. If Clive was going to try to fry a fish this big, then he’d better make sure he had the right pan first.
AS SOON as he saw the copperhead winding its way out of the thick underbrush lining the side of the path, Brother Felton knew it was the sign he had been waiting for. He had been on his way to the church, hurrying along the worn trail cutting through the scrubby woods that linked his small corner on the south end of the property to the church, the road and Sister Tulah’s house. It was Friday, the start of the second weekend in August, and Felton knew that he would have to get the church as spotless as possible if he was to have any peace before Tulah left for The Recompense. Though she wasn’t leaving until Saturday, he knew she would already be irritated, agitated and looking for someone to lash out at. Felton didn’t know what exactly The Recompense was, as far as he was aware not even the Elders knew of its true significance, but the final preparations for it had commanded his aunt’s attention for weeks. Felton was just glad he’d have a break from Tulah until Monday night. She only left her church once every three years for the event, and, especially this time around, Felton was thankful for it.
He was about halfway down the sandy path, humming to himself, trying to ignore the itchy patch of sweat already seeping through the back of his shirt, when he laid eyes on the snake. Felton had the strange feeling, though, that it was more like the snake had laid its eyes on him. He waited as the copperhead purposefully crossed in front of him, knowing it was about to happen. Felton felt a tingling at the center of his palms and at the back of his neck, as if the very air around him had become galvanized. A metallic taste flooded his mouth and he clapped his hands over his ringing ears. A brilliant, scarlet light crept in at the edges of his vision and he felt a sharp bolt of pain shoot from his left to right temple. Felton squeezed his eyes shut, but didn’t cry out. Just as soon as it had come over him, the pain dissipated, seeming to float away from his head like tiny particles of dust. He slowly opened his eyes. Everything he could see still had the strange red tinge to it, but he was no longer afraid. He dropped to his knees in front of the snake and the creature rose up until it was almost standing on the tip of its tail. Brother Felton stretched out his arms, beseeching.
“Tell me.”
The snake’s piceous eyes sparkled and its tongue flickered, testing the air, but Felton was not afraid. Everything surrounding him focused in on the snake, telescoping to the point of the snake’s gash of a mouth.
“Rise up. Rise up.”
Felton could feel the tears streaming down the sides of his face. He extended his hands out to the snake.
“Please. Tell me.”
The snake flicked its tongue again.
“Arise, shine; for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee.”
Isaiah again. Felton recognized the scripture, but he still did not understand. He inched forward on his knees.
“What is my task? What must I do?”
The snake’s narrow head weaved back and forth.
“Rise up. Find your voice. Find a way.”
Brother Felton trembled.
“How?”
“Rise up. Rise up. Use the book. Use your voice. Find a way.”
Felton felt a wave of vertigo crash into him and suddenly the snake dropped unceremoniously to the ground. Felton blinked a few times, but then stood up. He still didn’t understand the message, but he felt shot through with an electric sense of clarity. The snake slithered away, but stopped just before disappearing into a tangle of low creepers. The snake turned its head in his direction and Felton nodded to it.
“I will. I promise”
The snake quietly slipped into the underbrush, but Brother Felton could still hear the rustling whisper of its voice.
“I know.”
JUDAH SHOOK hands with Bernie Tillman, who grinned and clapped him on the shoulder before half stumbling down the rickety metal steps. Judah stood at the top of the stairs, in front of the open door to the office trailer, and lit a cigarette. Bernie had just dropped off an envelope of cash in exchange for the load of catalytic converters Alvin would be driving over to High Springs later that day. The money wasn’t half of what was brought in each week from the off-site businesses, but it was needed. With a little fuzzy math in the books, Ramey could wash everything out as long as there was something halfway legitimate to back it up.
Judah smiled around his cigarette and waved as Bernie backed his truck out onto the main road, but his face fell when he saw the shiny blue Charger turning in after it and pulling up in its place. Before the car had even stopped, Judah knew who was inside it. He shut the office door behind him and reluctantly came down the stairs. Judah stood on the bottom step, waiting as the ATF agent took his sweet time getting out of the car. He straightened his pastel tie, ostentatiously re-buttoned the jacket of his fancy suit and swaggered up to the office. It was all Judah could do not to roll his eyes; he knew every deliberate move the agent was making and why he made it. The law had been walking up to his door in the same way ever since he was still crawling around on the living room rug. Judah flicked his cigarette over the metal rail and came down from the last step.
“Special Agent Grant.”
The agent stopped a few feet away from Judah and removed his dark sunglasses. He squinted through the brilliant afternoon sun, reflecting in a blinding sheen off the side of the office trailer.
“Judah Cannon. I’d like to have a word.”
Judah stared blandly at the agent.
“You mean you’d like to question me about something.”
Agent Grant raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sun.
“Yes. That, too.”
Judah grunted and crossed in front of the agent as he headed around the garage to the back. He could hear Grant crunching through the dus
ty gravel behind him as he followed. If Judah was going to have to talk to this guy, he’d rather do it in his own space. And in a place where he knew Ramey had his back and Benji was at least another pair of eyes. The agent called out from behind him.
“Nice place you got here, this Cannon Salvage. It was your father’s business, wasn’t it?”
Judah ignored the comment. He turned the corner and quickly found Ramey’s eyes. She stood up from behind the desk, but Judah jerked his head slightly in a warning. Ramey dropped the stack of papers in her hand and came around the desk, immediately crossing her arms. Benji, one hand keeping him steady on a crutch and the other up inside the guts of a Taurus on the lift, saw the agent, too. He tossed the breaker bar in the bucket of tools against the wall and reached for the other crutch. Judah walked past the lift and casually sat down at the poker table, pointing at a metal folding chair across from him and indicating that the agent should sit as well. Judah kept his eyes on Grant, but knew Ramey was just behind him, leaning against the desk, and Benji, for what he was worth, was just behind the agent.
Agent Grant was slow to sit down. He craned his neck, examining the garage around him as if he really cared.
“Wow, this sure is some place. Two lifts, huh? And a lot of space to work. What do you do with all the cars once you’ve finished with them?”
Judah knew the game. This was going to take forever. He jutted with his chin out the bay doors. The agent nodded.
“I guess that would make sense. But with all those stacks of cars out there. I mean, don’t you ever worry they’ll topple over one day?”
“No.”
The agent turned back to Judah with a wide grin on his face. He looked over Judah’s shoulder at Ramey.
“And we’ve met before. I guess you never told Judah to give me a call.”
Judah kept his eyes on the agent.
“Oh, she did. We’ve just been busy. Livelihoods and all, you know.”
Agent Grant turned to look behind him.
“And you must be the kid brother, Benji.”
Agent Grant pointedly looked down at Benji’s leg.
“Motorcycle accident, right?”
Judah was almost proud of the look of pure animosity Benji delivered back. A year ago, Benji would have been offering the agent a cold drink from the mini-fridge and trying to make small talk to ease the tension in the room. Now, his brother understood how things worked. He understood that unless a lawman was in your pocket or in your debt, he was firmly on the other side of the line. Judah waited until the agent turned back around and then he waved his hand toward the chair again.
“Agent Grant. Please sit and ask your questions so you can move along and get out of my garage. We do have work to do here.”
The stupid grin fell from the agent’s face and he pulled out the chair and sat down heavily in it.
“Yes, quite the operation you’re running here.”
Judah crossed his arms and stared at the agent.
“Your questions?”
Agent Grant fixed Judah with a hard stare.
“It’s all above board, correct? Nothing illegal? Nothing that could get you into trouble? It’s my understanding that you Cannons don’t exactly like to follow the rules.”
Judah leaned forward slightly.
“Excuse me?”
“Well, I guess it was your father who had the biggest record on the books. Goes all the way back to 1959. First arrested at thirteen for petty theft.”
Judah didn’t say anything. He knew where this was going and he didn’t like it. He stared at the agent, waiting for him to continue.
“And you’ve got a record yourself, Judah. Just three months ago you were sitting pretty in the state pen.”
Judah refused to show any emotion. He kept his tone even.
“I did my time.”
The agent twisted in his chair to look at Benji.
“Your older brother Levi’s got a rap sheet as long as Sherwood’s, but you can look up my man Benjamin here, too. Arrested for marijuana possession, right? Twice, if I remember correctly. Though somehow or another, no prison time for you. And then this one.”
Grant turned back around and winked at Ramey.
“Even this little lady has seen the inside of a holding cell. Many years back, but still. Drunk and disorderly. Looking at you, I just can’t picture it.”
From behind Judah, Ramey’s tone was biting.
“Oh, you’d be surprised, special agent.”
Judah had to put a stop to it now. If the bullying continued, either he or Ramey was likely to lose their tempers and do something foolish. And Benji was a powder keg. Judah had accepted this new version of his brother, but he wasn’t sure he could control it. He smacked his hand on the green felt table top to get the agent’s attention.
“All right. What do you want from us?”
Agent Grant turned away from the grinding stare he was giving Ramey and finally focused on Judah.
“I just want to make sure we all know where we stand with each other.”
“I think we know where we stand. Now, get to it or get out.”
The agent’s eyes narrowed.
“Okay. If that’s the way you want to play it. I want to know about your connection to Preacher Tulah Atwell.”
Judah uncrossed his arms. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the edge of the table.
“The only connection I have to Preacher Tulah is that my father was found dead inside her church. That’s it. That’s all.”
Agent Grant frowned.
“But what was Sherwood doing in that church to begin with?”
Judah leaned back and slung his arm over the back of his chair.
“Jesus Christ, if I knew that, I’d be on TV with my own psychic show, now wouldn’t I? Making millions instead of sitting here with you.”
“So you don’t know what connection your father had to the preacher? I find that hard to believe.”
Judah dragged the ashtray over and dug around in his pocket to pull out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He held one out to the agent, but Grant only stared at him. Judah shrugged, lit the cigarette and then leaned back again.
“Let me tell you a story, Special Agent Grant. It goes like this. When I got out of prison back in May, there was no one waiting to pick me up. I had to walk home. When I got back to Silas, two things happened right away. I got lit to the gills and she walked back into my life.”
Judah jerked his hand over his shoulder toward Ramey.
“The next day, I woke up hungover. I spent the next few days or so trying to get my shit together. You probably wouldn’t understand that, but it’s what you have to do when you finally get out of the can. My girl and I, we decided to get out of town for a few days. Spend a little time just the two of us. We drove up to Lake City on a Saturday. We checked into a motel. And the next day we turned on the TV and learned that Sherwood was dead. We came home. The end.”
He stared hard at Agent Grant, who seemed to be considering his response. Finally, the agent put his hands in his lap and narrowed his eyes.
“You broke your parole going to Lake City. No one seemed to catch that, huh?”
Judah took a long drag on his cigarette.
“Or maybe they gave me a break. On account of my father dying and all.”
Ramey came up to stand beside him. He could tell from the taut way she was carrying herself that she’d had enough. She rested her fingertips on the edge of the table and leaned forward. Judah glanced up, though he already knew what the look on her face would be. She was shooting the agent daggers.
“Just what the hell are you hunting?”
Agent Grant only stared at her. She leaned forward even further.
“I mean, for Christ’s sake, you’re ATF. What do you want with us?”
A sly smile crept to the corner of the agent’s lips. He leaned forward as well.
“Maybe I’m just asking the questions that no one else wants to ask.”
; Judah cut his eyes toward Ramey. He needed her to keep her cool. The agent was just trying to rattle her. Maybe he had something on them, maybe he didn’t. But they certainly couldn’t give him anything to work with. Ramey crossed her arms again and stepped away from the table as Grant cleared his throat.
“So, back to our Sister Tulah.”
Judah shrugged in exaggerated nonchalance.
“Well, last I heard, she was still up in Kentsville, trying to put her church back together. Can’t tell you much more than that.”
Agent Grant leaned back in his chair and pulled the tip of his tie out of his jacket. He pretended to examine it, fingering the striped silk, before tucking it away. Judah knew this tactic, too. Was he supposed to be impressed? Envious? Judah would just as soon wear a noose as a necktie. He narrowed his eyes, though, as the agent reached into his pocket and drew something out. Grant rested his closed fist on the edge of the table.
“Well, let me ask you this, then. Do you want know what RICO is?”
Judah mashed his cigarette out in the ashtray, trying not to focus on the agent’s hand. He stared hard at Agent Grant’s smug smile.
“Yes. I do.”
Agent Grant opened his fist and Judah caught a glint of brass. The agent pinched the small shell casing between his fingers and stood it upright in the center of the table. It looked like a .9mm.
“I want to be clear here, Judah. Clear as goddamn crystal. I want you to understand this completely. If I take down Tulah, I will take down everyone who has ever worked for her. Everyone who has ever committed a crime at her direction or taken a bribe from her hands. Even if they were only just a hired gun.”
Judah glanced at the bullet casing, but quickly averted his eyes. He kept his gaze riveted on Agent Grant and hoped to God that Ramey was doing the same thing. Judah leaned back in his chair and loosely crossed his arms as he watched the agent dip into his pocket again. This time, he withdrew a slightly larger casing. He held it up to the light as if it were a precious gem. Judah still didn’t say anything. The agent stood the second casing next to the first and continued.
