by Alan Cook
They didn’t try to join in the singing. They did find themselves joining the congregation in moving their bodies as the music engulfed them. Tony surveyed the other parishioners. His guess was that the majority of them were of African descent, with a sprinkling of Europeans and at least one woman he could see who looked Asian. He did not see Nathan.
The singing went on for another five minutes. Just when Tony wondered whether it was ever going to end, it came to a conclusion with a final amen. Reverend Hodgkins motioned for the congregation to sit. In order for Tony to have enough room to stretch out his left leg, he had to sit somewhat sideways. He sat facing toward Shahla so he wouldn’t lose contact with her. What to do with his crutches was another problem. He finally laid them on the floor.
Reverend Hodgkins was giving announcements of the kind made in many churches. News of congregation members who were sick and one who had died. He said of the deceased, “He has preceded us into Glory, where we will be joining him soon.” Tony wondered how soon “soon” was.
He heard the Reverend saying, “We have two guests with us tonight. It is customary for our guests to give their names and tell what prompted them to come to our church. Would you please stand and be recognized?”
The Reverend had sharp eyes. So much for trying to stay incognito. Shahla clearly wasn’t going to stand unless Tony did, and for Tony to stand again after he had just sat down would have taken a major effort. Everybody had turned around and was looking at them. Tony felt growing embarrassment.
He said, in what he hoped was a voice loud enough for everybody to hear, “It is difficult for me to stand because of a recent injury, but I want to thank you for welcoming us here tonight. My name is Tony and this is Shahla. We are friends of Nathan Watson, whose talk about your church has made us curious.” Realizing that “curious” wasn’t a good word, Tony said, “We are on a spiritual quest, and we have been led to your door.”
“Nathan,” Reverend Hodgkins said, focusing his eyes near the front of the congregation, “Do you acknowledge these guests?”
Nathan stood up from the third row and looked back toward Tony and Shahla. “They are my friends, and I take full responsibility for them.”
Tony detected a certain lack of conviction in Nathan’s voice and suspected that his presence, rather than Shahla’s, caused it. But Nathan couldn’t admit that he had screwed up in front of the congregation. Apparently, not just anybody could wander in off the street and attend a service.
Reverend Hodgkins had them bow their heads in prayer. Tony was thankful that the spotlight was off them. He glanced at Shahla, whose return look showed doubts about what they were doing here. Perhaps they would leave during the singing of the next hymn, when the attention of the parishioners would be focused elsewhere. Tony was plotting their escape when the words of the Reverend’s prayer caught his attention.
“It is written that the Day of Judgment is coming,” Reverend Hodgkins said. “Others have tried to pinpoint this day and have failed. With your divine guidance, oh Lord, we, your humble servants, have been privileged to discover the correct date. Let our hearts be light as we divest ourselves of our material possessions and use them for the greater glory of your Church.”
Then he started to talk about the wonders of heaven. To hear the Reverend tell it, heaven was indeed paradise, with amenities to suit every fantasy. If you liked tropical beaches, you would be on a heavenly Bora Bora. If you liked mountains, you would be surrounded by them. If you had been unhappy in love in this life, wait until the next one. Reverend Hodgkins made the possibilities sound better than the seventy-odd virgins promised to every Muslim suicide bomber.
Then he came back to this world. It sounded to Tony as if the Reverend was telling them to turn their possessions, or the proceeds from selling their possessions, over to the Church. He looked around and wondered whether these people were really buying into this. He wondered whether Nathan was buying into this.
When the length of the prayer threatened to put Tony to sleep, he remembered he had a printed program and looked at it for the first time. If he was correct about where they were in the service, the offering came next. And then the sermon. Who knew how long the sermon would go? Reverend Hodgkins was a strong-looking man who could probably talk for hours. Tony’s attention was also called to the fact that he had not had a chance to pee since leaving Shahla’s house, where he had drunk a bottle of beer with dinner. How long could he hold on?
The prayer finally ended, and Reverend Hodgkins asked the men and women who were going to collect the offering to come to the front. He presented them with bowl-like containers, larger than the offering plates Tony was used to seeing in churches. He wondered why. He soon found out. People were dumping in large envelopes, presumably containing cash, as well as checks. This was evidence that the members of the congregation were taking the Reverend seriously about divesting their assets. Tony almost felt guilty about putting in only ten dollars. But why? What was going on here was a sophisticated form of robbery.
And when the sermon started, Tony discovered that it wasn’t an ordinary sermon, building on a quotation from scripture or something similar. It was more of a planning session. Planning for the big day. Except that the Reverend didn’t say when the big day was. He went through the congregation, person-by-person, family-by-family, having them stand and tell how they were progressing concerning divestiture of their possessions. If they owned a house, had they sold it? Was it in escrow? Did they have a place to live, temporarily, after the sale closed? He wasn’t satisfied with the money they had already contributed. He wanted more.
After their interrogation, some people remained in their seats, but others stood up and wandered around, talking to fellow members of the congregation. A few left the building, staring at Tony and Shahla on their way out. Tony had a whispered consultation with Shahla and they decided to leave after they heard Nathan speak.
Nathan’s turn came about thirty minutes into this phase of the program. His only significant possession appeared to be a car. He stated that he thought he could sell his car, but that he needed it as long as he was working. The Reverend suggested that he stop working because the Great Day was at hand. Nathan seemed hesitant. Reverend Hodgkins admonished him saying that only true believers would be admitted to heaven. And they had to demonstrate their belief with actions.
“Let’s get out of here,” Tony whispered to Shahla. He laboriously turned his body around to face the aisle and just as laboriously rose to his feet. They attracted more attention as they walked out of the church. The man who had given Tony the program on their way in smiled at them and said, “Have a glorious evening.”
They went down the church walk to the street and were turning onto the sidewalk when a voice behind them called, “Wait.”
They turned around and saw Nathan running after them. When he caught them, he stood panting for a moment, looking at the ground. When they didn’t say anything, he said, “Isn’t he wonderful?”
Was Nathan serious? Tony was speechless. He began walking toward the car. Shahla and Nathan followed him. He hoped Nathan would get lost. He didn’t want this weirdo around Shahla.
When they had gone a few feet and had separated themselves from other people who were leaving, Shahla said, “Nathan, don’t you realize that this is a scam to get all your money?”
At least she had her head screwed on straight. Tony listened for Nathan to respond.
After a few seconds, Nathan said, “No. No. You don’t understand. You don’t understand.”
He seemed incapable of saying more. Tony said, “The Reverend never said when this big day was going to take place. When is it?” When Nathan was silent, he continued, “You don’t know, do you? He’s going to announce it after he has all your money. And then, while the faithful flock gathers on the hillside and waits for the chariots to come for you, he takes off to Bora Bora or one of the other paradises listed in his prayer.”
They were at the car. Tony unlocked it w
ith the remote and opened the passenger door for Shahla. As she got into the car, Nathan fell on his knees beside it and actually raised his head and looked her in the eyes.
“It’s not true,” he said. “You believe me, don’t you? You want to go to heaven, don’t you?”
“I want to go home,” Shahla said. “I’ve got school tomorrow.”
She shut the door in Nathan’s face. Tony limped around to the driver’s side, stowed his crutches in the backseat, and slid behind the steering wheel. As he maneuvered out of the parking place, he saw Nathan standing there, looking at Shahla, with a strange expression.
“He’s as crazy as some of our callers,” Shahla said as they pulled away.
“I’m glad to hear you say that,” Tony said. “I’m almost as relieved as your mom will be that you’re not getting mixed up with Nathan. But in addition, I don’t think I could have any part in a religion where you have to be a member of the elite to get into heaven. I guess I’d call that the religion of the smug.”
Shahla laughed. “You know, you’re a pretty smart guy.”
“Thanks.” Maybe he was smarter than he thought he was.
CHAPTER 26
Detective Croyden listened to Tony’s story while doodling with his Mont Blanc pen on his pad. He didn’t take any notes that Tony could see. When Tony was finished, he said, “That’s not our jurisdiction. That’s LAPD.”
“Then why did you let me talk so long?”
“I wanted to see if there was anything about this Nathan character that we should be looking into. He sounds like a harmless kook, however.”
“He may be harmless, but he’s about to lose all his money.”
“As I said, you’ll have to tell that to LAPD. I can’t do anything about it.”
“If I go to them, what do you think they’ll say?”
“They’ll ask you if you have suffered a loss. Since you haven’t, they’ll ask whether you know of anybody who has. You will mention Nathan and the rest of the congregation. They will ask why none of those people has complained to them.”
“By the time they complain, it will be too late. This Reverend Hodgkins will be long gone. With their money.”
“Tony, it isn’t illegal to contribute money to the nonprofit organization of your choice. It’s not even illegal to contribute all your money.”
“Unless the leader of the nonprofit absconds with it.”
“Which hasn’t happened yet.”
Tony felt thoroughly frustrated. “What you’re telling me is that there’s nothing the police can do.”
Detective Croyden shrugged. “Believe it or not, I’m sympathetic to your point of view. We see this all the time. But until a crime is committed, our hands are pretty much tied.”
“These people are going to be wiped out. And when the big day comes and they don’t get lifted up into heaven, they’re going to be homeless and starving.”
“You’re welcome to go to the police station nearest the church and tell them what you told me.”
“But you don’t think it will do any good.” Tony considered. While he was here, should he tell Detective Croyden about the panties he had found in Josh’s drawer? No, he wasn’t ready to do that yet. Shahla had said she wanted to look at them again. He clung to the hope that she would reject them as evidence.
“Have you got any leads?” he asked.
“We’re working on a number of possibilities,” Detective Croyden answered, enigmatically.
“In other words, no. Thanks for your time, Detective.” Tony carefully got to his feet and swung his crutches into position. He was able to bear some weight on his bad leg now and hoped he could discard the crutches soon.
“Always a pleasure, Tony. By the way, what’s with the crutches?”
“I fell and hurt my knee.”
“Well, try to keep your balance.”
“I always do.”
***
Tony went to the Hotline after leaving the police station. On the way there, he bought a gyro to go at the drive-through window of the Beach House. He was eating on the run more and more lately. He knew that wasn’t good for his attempt to control his weight. Too much fat and too many empty calories. Or was it too many carbs? He had to get back to his days and nights of relative leisure, before he had started working at the Hotline. Well, that wasn’t going to happen tonight.
Shahla was already there when he arrived. She almost ran to meet him as he came through the doorway. The first words out of her mouth were, “Did you bring the panties?”
Tony quickly looked around the office to see if anyone else was there.
“Tony, don’t be so squeamish. We’re alone. Did you bring them?”
“I…er, they’re in the car.”
“Give me the keys, and I’ll get them. It will take you all night to hobble down to your car and back. At least I’m not a cripple.”
“But you are showing your usual sensitivity. My knee is actually feeling better, thank you for asking. I should be able to get rid of the crutches soon.”
“Sorry, but we’re running out of clues.” She held out her hand for the keys. “I want to make sure we follow up on the ones we have.”
“Bring the whole attaché case so that we’ll have something to keep them in, just in case somebody else shows up.”
Tony was on a phone call when Shahla returned, having eaten no more than two bites of his gyro. He watched Shahla take the panties out of the case, while at the same time trying to concentrate on his caller. She looked at them from all angles and then another call came in, tying her up. She placed the garment on the table. Tony spent the next twenty minutes listening with one ear for the sound of somebody unlocking the outside door of the office, in which case he was prepared to put his caller on hold, even though she was talking nonstop, rush over to Shahla’s table, grab the panties and stuff them into the attaché case. Until he remembered that he couldn’t rush anywhere in his current condition.
Fortunately, that eventuality didn’t occur and when Shahla ended her call thirty minutes later, Tony was examining the panties, himself, while attempting to fathom the vicissitudes of life that found him looking at a woman’s underwear from the point of view of a detective rather than a horny man. He didn’t see anything unusual about them. They didn’t contain any obvious tears or stains. As to their age, how did one tell? Could they use carbon dating on panties?
Shahla finished writing her call report and said, “Tony, we’ve got to turn these in.”
“To the police?”
“No, to the Goodwill. Of course to the police.”
“I was hoping that you would be able to prove they didn’t belong to Joy.”
“So was I, for your sake, but I can’t. They’re too generic. Both the size and the style.”
“You said they were conservative.”
“So? It proves nothing. Maybe Joy’s mother bought them for her.”
The shit was really going to hit the fan. If his relationship with Josh had been stumbling a little, now it was going over the cliff. Tony had a strong impulse to destroy the panties, perhaps to burn them. But that would be tampering with evidence. And what if Josh had actually killed Joy? No matter how many times he thought about it, he couldn’t rule out that possibility.
The phone rang. Tony answered it. He thought he heard somebody breathing before he heard the click. Hang up. He and Shahla chatted about their adventure of the night before while he finally finished his sandwich. They concluded that Nathan was a harmless dupe, as were the other members of the congregation.
Tony said he was going to spend part of his Saturday telling the story to the Los Angeles Police Department, if for no other reason than to clear his conscience. Shahla said she would go with him. Tony said it was unnecessary, and he didn’t want to waste the time of both of them. He thought she looked a little disappointed, but that may have been wishful thinking on his part.
The phone rang again. Shahla answered it. After a few seconds, she signaled to
Tony and put the call on the speaker. The voice wasn’t immediately recognizable to him, but then he hadn’t had as much experience with the Chameleon as Shahla had. And the Chameleon was a master of voice disguise, sometimes even using some sort of mechanical means to change it.
The voice was saying, “If you’re too busy I’ll call back another time.”
Tony looked a question at Shahla. This couldn’t be the Chameleon.
Shahla saw his face and pressed the Mute button. “This is part of his act,” she said. “It puts us off guard.” Into the receiver she said, “I’m not busy. You can talk to me.”
“Well, this problem is kind of embarrassing. There’s a girl who lives next door. She’s in high school. She has tattoos.”
The caller paused and Shahla prompted, “She has tattoos?”
“Yes.”
Another pause. Shahla pressed the Mute again and said, “Sometimes you even have to drag it out of the masturbators.” And to the caller, “Have you seen them?”
“I was talking to her one day. She mentioned that she had tattoos.”
Another pause. This time Shahla waited him out, while making circles in the air with her hand, a gesture meaning, let’s get on with it. Tony stifled a laugh.
“I asked her where her tattoos were. She said she’d show me one.”
Pause. The Chameleon—Tony was certain by now that it was the Chameleon—was really milking this.
Shahla said, “And did she?”
“Did she what?”
“Show you her tattoo.”
Shahla cradled the phone on her shoulder and put out her hands, palms up, in a gesture of supplication. Tony almost laughed again.
“She told me to look out my window at ten o’clock that evening. My window faces her bedroom window. When I did, she had her drapes open. I saw her undress. When she took off her bra I saw the tattoo. It’s on her breast.”
“So what happened then?”
“I watched until she closed the drapes. Now I look out my window every evening, but her drapes are always closed. I can’t get anything done. I’m obsessed with her tattoo.”
