by Martin Clark
“So, did you like me and then decide to falsely accuse me or hatch the plan first and then grow to like me?” Joel paused, thought for a moment. “I’m not sure which is worse, but I’d like to know.”
“What?”
“When did you and Edmund decide to do this?”
“When?”
“Yes, when. That’s not a tough question.” Joel was perturbed by her stalling.
“Oh, yeah, okay. Let me think. He was like standing behind me when we were leavin’ church, when everyone lines up to shake your hand, and he heard me say something about our counseling, and he could tell I was into you.”
“Did you even know him?”
“Nope. I’d seen him at church, when I had to be there. I went on Mother’s Day, and you know, like Christmas I went, and when I needed a little slack around the house or a cash boost from my parents I would go with them. Sunday service was always worth a few bonus points.”
“And he approached you straight out of the blue?” Joel asked.
“Pretty much. He talked to me after the service.”
“A total stranger? A total stranger asks you to tell horrible lies about your preacher, and you just enroll in the program as quickly as possible?”
“Of course not, Joel. He talked to me and got to know me and gave me presents and seemed interested in what was going on with my life. At first I thought he wanted to get with me, but he never tried, never did anything like that. He had two tickets to Key West he couldn’t use, and he let me and my know-better friend Cammy have them. He—”
“He what? He gave two seventeen-year-old girls tickets to Florida?”
“So what’s wrong with that? And Cammy was eighteen.”
“Did he go?”
She switched off the engine but left the electrical system on, didn’t turn the key all the way to last position. “No, he didn’t. He never did anything other than be nice to me. He told me his daughter had been killed in a bad car wreck, and he thought a lot of me. I reminded him of her. When he was gone he let us use his house, stuff like that, but he never so much as bought us a beer or patted our knees.”
“Unbelievable. I’ll bet he never even had a daughter.”
“I’ll bet he did, Joel. I saw her picture.”
“So how did he rope you into this dreadful scheme?”
“I don’t know. I was just like, you know, complainin’ one day about how wretched it was to have no money unless I begged my parents and how four years at some stupid college was going to get me what—a cubicle and a boring job at a marrow-sucking corporation in Atlanta or Richmond? On Fridays I could dress down, and maybe I’d be paid enough to take a trip to Myrtle Beach with my old roommates once a year. Hit the free appetizers and dollar draft at every ‘Wild Wednesday,’ collect donations for the United Way, wear Sam and Libbies, shit like that? No thank you.”
“So Edmund persuades you to tell a horrendous lie without regard to any of the consequences?” Joel scratched his chin with his thumb and forefinger. The radio volume was turned low, and he could hear bits and pieces of a rock-and-roll song coming from the speakers, thumps of bass and occasional guitar notes. “Amazing.”
“To tell you the truth, I more or less asked him to help me, not the other way around. He, like, totally understood my dilemma, and he has several businesses based on, like, the Robin Hood principle, to take money that nobody will ever miss.”
Joel had to laugh. “Right, and Robin Hood needs a new Cadillac and a custom-tailored sharkskin suit. And, I imagine, the new BMWs will be in the showroom any day now. I’m sure you and the rest of the oppressed, penniless band of merry men don’t want to miss out on a sunroof or the leather interior or the sport package. Robin Hood indeed.”
“Screw you, Joel. See, you have no clue what I’m saying. He let me try a few small projects to make some cash, and it was just like he promised. He knew what I wanted and didn’t make fun of me. So who could know my plan . . . the thing with you . . . wouldn’t be perfect like all of his, like all the rest? I knew it was a big deal, serious. I considered that. But I suppose you’ve never done anything wrong, never lied or cut corners.”
Joel considered what she was asking. He thought of Edmund’s plastic leg stretched across the Cadillac seat, recalled the battered pride in Edmund’s voice when he talked about overcoming his handicap, how there’d been a hint of sadness but no rancor in his words. He remembered how the cold potato lumps had tasted when he licked them off his sister’s floor, how fine grit and dirt had mixed with the mush in his mouth and scraped his teeth. And now, in his rented car, there was a bag of jewelry, looted from someone else’s home, the grist for an illegal scheme that was nothing more than old-fashioned stealing. “Nobody’s perfect, Christy,” he answered after a few minutes of silence. “Especially not me. I can understand why you’re doing what you’re doing. Edmund can be very convincing when he’s telling you the things you want to hear and dolling up sin in its Sunday best. It’s impossible to walk away sometimes even when you know you should. I certainly blame him more than you, and I want you to understand I forgive you. This is behind us now, okay? I’m not angry where you’re concerned.”
Joel’s genuine charity caught her off guard, the change in his attitude swift and unexpected. “Okay,” she said cautiously. “If you say so.”
He touched her arm again, this time near her shoulder. Her top was sleeveless, and he kept his hand on her longer than was necessary to gain her attention. “I hope you don’t think I was browbeating you or, I don’t know, being sanctimonious,” he said as he removed his hand. “You can understand why I’m trying to discover what’s happening to me?”
“Yeah.” She seemed uneasy.
“Getting back to what I was saying earlier, if you don’t want to drop the case or compromise for a fair amount, why not eliminate Edmund and Sa’ad? They’re nothing but leeches. You’re the one with all the risk, who’s done all the work and had to live with the stress and anxiety. Why let them free-ride your sweat and efforts?”
“Are we going to the lake?” She took a swig of beer and washed up a burp, then covered her mouth. “Sorry.”
“Maybe. We might. Or perhaps we can just drive around and listen to music. We’ll see. So you truly enjoy spending time with me?”
“Yes. I told you. Why would I, like, be here now if I was faking? I mean, you know, I’ve already done everything I need to do to get my money.”
“So why not ditch Edmund and his parasite lawyer?”
“What difference does any of this make?” She sounded cross. “How am I gettin’ more cash by tellin’ you about Edmund and his lawyer?”
“Did you meet Sa’ad? Go to Las Vegas?”
“Yeah, I did. Edmund found me a fake ID so I could play the slots. I loved it. I only was able to stay for two days ’cause I had to trick my parents into thinking I was at my friend Nancy’s in Arlington. You wouldn’t believe how superb the shops and hotels are, like this place Bellagio and another one called the Mirage that has live sharks swimming in the lobby.”
“Imagine that,” Joel deadpanned.
“It was completely deluxe. I met one of the dealers at the Mirage, and he took me to a cool club in this huge, amazing pyramid. I suppose that somehow makes Edmund a bigger jerk?”
Joel added his final incentive. “It doesn’t appear you’ve truly thought this through. If you’ve spent time with Sa’ad, you have to realize these guys will double-cross you the instant they have the chance.”
She acted offended. “I never admitted to half the shit you’re comin’ up with, Joel. You’re the one who put Edmund in control of everything, not me. And I’m not a total dunce, okay? I made over thirteen hundred on my College Boards.”
“Why did you need them to begin with? After Edmund gave you the blueprint, why bother to include him and Sa’ad? Assuming you were going to do this, once you got the idea, why didn’t you complete it by yourself and cut Edmund out?” Joel’s voice became high-pitched with disbelie
f.
“Who knows, Joel. You need to quit floggin’ me with this Edmund crap. Enough already. Jeez.” She had finished her beer, and she took the empty bottle from the sack and dumped it into her cooler. “I’m thoroughly sorry you got in trouble, but there was no turning back.”
“Okay.”
“And I swear I felt rotten when you had to go to jail, really depressed and bummed. When it was time to report you, I was really liking you and I almost didn’t do it. But you had already blown me off. And I did squash the rape shit immediately, okay? That was the original story, my first plan. I told my mom and she told the cops, but when the cops came I knew better than to put that on you, so I convinced them my mom was hysterical and hadn’t heard me like she should. I begged the stupid police and the stupid prosecutor not to do anything to you, but by now I’ve got my parents doing this circle-the-wagons production and the cops tellin’ me all the shit that’ll happen if I change my story.”
“Plus, I’m guessing that, as much as you liked me, the money was pretty important. More important than everything else, huh?”
“Yeah, well, that’s why I got involved—the cash. And, like, I had a boyfriend then, so I’m not exactly sure how long-term our romance could’ve been. I’d like to get with you and all, but I’m not, you know, going to be your wife and do preacher’s wife’s deeds, hang around the church basement for the covered dishes and take turkey dinners to the shut-ins. Which doesn’t mean I’m not crazy about you—I am. And I am sorry.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“Have you been talkin’ to Edmund? It really freaked me out today when you mentioned his name at the mall.”
“No, not recently. You said something though, something I’ve heard Sa’ad say.”
“What, the part about talkin’ to a lawyer? What’s so strange about that?”
“Well, when you brought up the lawyer . . . and some other things. I just kind of put the puzzle together. Different facts, here and there.”
“So you think Edmund’s involved because of me getting mad and sayin’ crap about a lawyer? I’m still not sayin’ he is—I’ve never totally confirmed it, okay?” She punched a preset button on the radio and added volume. A rap song was playing. “I probably shouldn’t have even discussed stuff with you, but like Mr. Hanes says, it’s my word against yours now and you’ve already pled guilty. I’m all caught up in the middle, likin’ you and feelin’ guilty and still wantin’ my money, so I figured I could at least give you a scrap.”
“I’m not trying to cause you any problems.”
“Excellent. I kinda trusted you were cool like that.”
Even in the poor light, Joel was able to see her smile. “Here’s my, uh, suggestion, what I’ve been leading up to. I say we punt Sa’ad and Edmund, and you and I go partners from here on.” He loitered on the “we,” waited a beat between words. He caught himself wringing his hands and stopped, was thankful the dark concealed his darting eyes and anxiety and jittery, spring-loaded limbs.
“Say what?”
“You and I finish this and split the money.” It was easier to propose than he’d anticipated.
She extracted another large beer from her cooler but didn’t shroud this one in the brown bag after opening it. “So you’re trying to persuade me to hose them?”
“If you were to go along with me, things will turn out better for you in every regard. First, you can have a clear conscience where I’m concerned, even the score for what you did to me. You’ll be able to cure the wrong you’ve delivered into the world. Second, you’ll be able to shortchange Sa’ad and Edmund, who deserve nothing. Third, you and I sort of wind up together, maybe spend a day or two trout fishing in Montana and picnicking on the Bitterroot.” He glanced at her to see if this last overture had the desired effect. “Finally, I guarantee you’ll make more money. Much more. Financially, you’ll be significantly better off.”
“How? You keep sayin’ that, and I’m to my second beer and you still haven’t told me squat.”
“I have a plan, a good plan.”
“I hope it’s better than the last one you had, sittin’ there with a tape recorder glued to you and your eyes all buggin’ out.”
“Yeah, well, it’s an improvement, I think. I’m putting this together as I go.”
“I can’t believe you want to become involved in all this scheming and shit. It’s not the kind of person you are.”
“I am involved, okay? I’ve been for quite a while, including the delightful months I spent in jail. The question now is how do I want to be involved. I can do nothing and continue on as a mark, a fool and a doormat, or I can attempt to salvage a little something, take the bull by the horns. Those are my options. I’ve asked you to totally come clean and you’ve refused, so that’s where I am.”
“You’re kinda going to play the game, right?” She hadn’t paid much attention to her new beer, hadn’t taken a drink yet.
“You could put it that way. Yes.”
“Are you serious?” she asked, her voice gaining enthusiasm. “You think we could pull it off?”
“I believe we can.”
“So what’s the plan? I want to hear it.”
“First, I want you to tell me something, something important.”
“What?” she asked, her tone bottoming.
“How in the world did you fake my DNA?” He could see her eyes open and close several times, saw her moisten her lips.
“You tell me this deluxe plan, then I’ll tell you about the DNA. Like a trade.”
Joel nodded and slipped closer to her. There was a muted cloth-on-leather sound and a faint squeak at the corner of his seat, springs and foam recovering from his weight when he changed positions. “Fair enough. Here’s how we can make this work to our—”
“Are you sure you should be leaping into this side of things, you being a preacher and so honest and upright? Isn’t it like . . . like worse if you do it than an ordinary person? Like when the cops break the law?”
“What do you mean? You don’t even know what I’m proposing.”
“What about that ‘money is the root of all evil’ saying and ‘the wages of sin is death’ stuff? It’s got to go double if you’re a preacher.” Her voice was curiously deep, the giddy, scattered timbre gone. The words didn’t immediately vanish; instead they seemed to take residence in the dark, lurking and reverberating. Her eyes and mouth were impenetrable banks of shadow in the weak light, two pitchy ovals and a horizontal black gash.
Joel squinted at her, tried to determine how much of the metamorphosis was real and how much was in his mind. “It’s not where I want to be, Christy. I know exponential sin is no better than simple sin. I know that, and I know two wrongs don’t equal a right. How many times have I stood in the pulpit and warned people there is no buffer zone between good and bad, no DMZ? So, yeah, I’m worried about this. I am. Perhaps I should simply walk in tomorrow and tell the truth and hand the situation to the Lord and go about my business, leave it in His hands. My sister tells me that’s the smart choice. But even though I know better, I’m hoping . . . hoping, well, I don’t know how, in one sense, I can honestly justify wading into this. I guess if ‘the wages of sin is death,’ I’m only planning to work part-time and maybe my payment will be a boil or pustule or trick knee, not the whole amount. With any luck, I’ll catch a few locusts or a two-week famine.” Joel chuckled at his sophistry and peered out the glass. He’d raised his hands to his chest, and his fingers were interlocked, his thumbs in line with his chin. “The Lord can be merciful despite our not deserving it.”
“Damn, I just hope you know what you’re doing.” Her voice was normal again.
“Well, that makes two of us.”
“So, I’m prepared now. Tell me this great idea.”
“Okay,” he said. “Here’s how it goes.” He separated his hands and lowered them to his lap. Before he could say any more, a siren began, a mile or so distant from Mac and Maggie’s, and it became fiercer and louder,
the shrieks and whoops bearing down on them until the hubbub was right there, the vehicle ready to appear. Joel and Christy looked at the highway and saw red and white lights strobing and flashing across the pavement, heard a horn sound twice. A boxy ambulance raced by in the passing lane, a cross painted on its side above the words RESCUE SQUAD. They watched the screaming vehicle disappear but didn’t say anything about the scare it had given them both, kept their thoughts to themselves.
ten
The shirt and tie were spectacular, but the Bible, the Bible was even better. The shirt was purple, made from slick polyester that aped silk, and the tie was cut from the same bold, shiny stock. Fourteen ninety-nine at Suit City, and the talkative Pakistani gent who ran the store threw in a matching three-point pocket handkerchief, a sporty accessory of the variety favored by low-rent bankers and small-town funeral directors. “You can look like TV Regis,” the proprietor said more than once as Joel sifted through the different colors and sizes. “Very special shirts, like TV Regis.” The Bible was huge, a white leviathan with gold lettering and a wide gold border. It was a pulpit Bible, designed to be stationed on a podium and referenced in dramatic fashion when a compelling piece of scripture was needed. Joel had purchased the Bible first, then the shirt and tie, and he’d tried to find clothes that matched the gold script on the Good Book, had explored an entire shelf and two bins without any success. The Bible was bought at a strip-mall store not far from Suit City, and both stops had been convenient to Mac and Maggie’s, allowing Joel plenty of time to locate everything and shut the two bags in the Neon’s trunk prior to meeting Christy.
It was Monday morning in Roanoke, and he was standing before the broad mirror of a Hampton Inn bathroom, assessing the knot in the new purple tie. He’d opted for a double Windsor, wanted the triangle at his throat as large as possible and the length a little stunted, had pulled the front and rear sections almost equal so the ends didn’t reach his belt buckle. He was fussing with his hair, trying to comb it straight back, pasting the strands in place with a flimsy comb and perfumed CVS styling mousse. No matter how much mousse he applied, his hair wouldn’t lie flat, so he wound up with a greasy, bouffant pile parted in the center and swept back on the sides. He was wearing one of his dark suits, a classic Hart Schaffner & Marx he’d unpacked from his wife’s shipment to Missoula and brought along for the big day. He walked out of the bathroom and returned with the enormous white Bible, posed in front of the mirror and rehearsed a smarmy smile.
