Benefit of the Doubt

by Les Cowan

  Rocío’s little brother Juan was getting into bad company and smoking far too much dope. Then he had to pick pockets or shoplift to pay for it all. He even tried to relieve David of his wallet one day in Puerta del Sol without realizing who it was. Finally the drugs tipped over from being exciting and fun to a monster that was strangling him. In the middle of his latest escapade he remembered his big sister and her man and phoned them up from a police station. They agreed to release him if he had a home to go to and a family to look after him. So Juan came to stay. And the mystery of God-given change came over him as well. One day he got down on his knees, admitted the truth about himself, and handed it all over to a higher authority. By the time he met Alicia – daughter of a pastor from A Coruña – he was in charge of his own halfway house, and a man who could once again be trusted. And so it went on – another day, another deliverance. David would have to be very clear to the Dynamis listeners that this was not the result of a successful rehab programme; it was a something much deeper than that. Sometimes he felt like the lucky man standing under the window when a toddler falls out. Just be in the right place at the right time, trying to do the right things, and you get to stop a life from breaking. How cool is that?

  On the TV over the bar, Real slotted in another one and the Liverpool players’ heads went down. Dios mio – what was the time? Twenty-five past five. So much for arriving a tiempo. He dropped a couple of Euros on the table and ran.

  “Pastor David. Thanks again so much for coming in today. We have lots more questions for you, coming up right up after this.” The presenter, a young man with dark olive skin, jet black hair, wrap-around sunglasses perched on top of his head, a T-shirt with the station logo, and enormous silver headphones, sat behind his console. He pushed a slider up on the panel in front of him, hit a couple of buttons and slipped the headphones down round his neck.

  “Well, that should hold them for a few minutes. We get all the Latin-owned businesses that want to advertise to the evangelical community. It doesn’t cost much and it’s perfectly targeted. Why do all the dentists come from Bolivia? I don’t know. Anyway, feeling ok Pastor David?”

  David slid his own headphones off and scratched the slightly greying hair round his temples.

  “Yes. Fine. No problems. I’ve done a fair amount of radio over the years.” The young presenter pushed his chair back and took a quick drink from a can of Aquarius.

  “You know, I’ll have a few questions for you myself when we’ve finished,” he smiled. “Live phone-ins are always a bit hit and miss. Opening the airwaves can be a risky business. Sometimes we get really intelligent questions that come across really well. Other times it’s ‘What’s your favourite Bible verse?’ or ‘Would you pray for my daughter. She’s in love with a presbyterian!’ You never can tell.”

  David smiled. No pastor of a growing church would fail to recognize the problem. But for every question you thought was a waste of breath there was someone who had a doubt, a fear, a dilemma, and that was a pastor’s job – to take it all equally seriously and help people find an answer that works for them. Then the ads were done and they were back on the air.

  “You’ve told us a bit about your own journey, Pastor David. How that night Pastor Morales challenged you – the late Pastor Morales, I should say, a great loss to us all. And how you eventually came to faith for yourself. Bringing things up to date now…” He glanced at the big clock on the studio wall – they were still ok. “… Warehouse 66 is one of the biggest churches in Madrid these days. Probably the fastest growing too. Your drug rehab ministry has been widely admired – some would say, copied. Aren’t you worried all this attention is going to bring a backlash? You must have reduced the market for drugs in Torrejón by half just by yourselves.”

  David polished his gold-rimmed glasses for a second. “Of course it’s an issue,” he said at length. “We’ve had death threats. Property damaged. Someone sent me a dead rat in the post once. But when you think about the lives that have been changed, how can we stop? It’s a mission, but the point is it’s not our mission. It’s something God gave us. We have to keep on. We don’t pay for protection – we get our protection from another source. And it’s free.”

  The presenter smiled, glanced quickly up at the clock, then deftly slipped the headphones on again, ran another slider up, and pulled the mike a little nearer on its boom.

  “Radio Dynamis, 87.5 FM, throughout Madrid. And it’s Luis Ortega on the sofa with Pastor David Hidalgo of Warehouse 66 in Torrejón, one of the fastest-growing churches in Spain. We have another caller on line one. Tell us your name and what you would like to ask Pastor David.”

  So the phone-in rambled on through the evening show. A few insightful, interesting questions among a majority of bland or predictable ones – wheat with the chaff, just like life – till about ten minutes before the end.

  “So, just time for one more question, then a final track from the fantastic new album by Marcos Vidal. Caller on line two, what would you like to ask Pastor David?”

  A pause as the caller drew breath.

  “Caller on line two,” Luis prompted, “You have a question…”

  “Sure, I have a question,” a slow dry, voice replied.

  “And your name please, caller,” Luis interrupted, charming but professional.

  “David Hidalgo knows my name,” the voice replied, smooth and unhurried.

  “But we’d like to know too, caller,” Luis was smiling at David and holding the boom mike to the side of his mouth.

  “Shut up, Ortega,” the voice intoned without a break in the rhythm. “And don’t cut me off or I’ll cut you off.” Luis looked at David, eyebrows raised, gesturing across his throat the universal symbol for ending things. David shook his head.

  “I know what they call you,” David said into his table mike, staring straight ahead. “I don’t know your real name though. Raúl el Niño, isn’t it?”

  “Full marks, Pastor,” with heavy sarcasm on the “pastor”.

  “Do you have a question, Raúl?” Luis was now looking anything but relaxed.

  “Sure I do. My question is this: do you love your wife, Pastor? Do you think she’s worth more than your ministry? What do you think she would say?”

  A confused mix of sounds. Maybe a scuffle. Then unmistakably a muffled scream.

  “David! David! I…”

  “That’s enough!” Raúl barked, before the sound of a blow, a deeper voice with a Colombian accent swearing heavily, another blow, and a scream rapidly cut off.

  “Stop that at once!” Raúl was shouting away from the phone. Not a finger. I told you. Miguel, sort it out!” Then an eery quiet.

  “Still there, Pastor David?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Well I’m here too. And so is your lovely wife. She must be such a blessing. So cute. So full of fun.”

  Luis was looking helplessly at David, hands and arms up in a “what do you want to do now?” gesture. David covered his mike.

  “Can you trace the call?” A nod. “Then do it.”

  “Pastor? Pastor? You’ve gone all quiet. Not losing the faith I hope.”

  “What do you want, Raúl? Let her go. I’ll meet you. Name the place.”

  “Sorry David.” The voice was slow again. “Too late for that, I think. I’d have been nice to you, you know. I really would. Even though you’ve been taking my customers away. But talking to the police – I can’t forgive that. You see I’m not even a Christian.”

  “We didn’t call the police, Raúl. They came to us. We let them speak to some of our members. That’s all. How could we stop them?”

  “Well, that’s your problem. And now you have another problem. There’s a price to pay, Pastor David. By you and those around you. We call it the ultimate price, don’t we…?” A sharp crack like a dry stick breaking, and then the line went dead. Luis turned off the open
lines and pushed a button on the CD stack. Marcos Vidal started to sing that God would always make a way. David sat with his head bowed forward, forehead in his hands. His face had suddenly lost all colour. Beads of sweat were on his brow.

  Chapter 9

  Muirhouse

  When your parents get divorced it isn’t necessarily a good thing in itself but there are definitely compensations if you play it right. Of course there’s less routine money around – at least that’s what Mum was always saying, usually pointing out why there wouldn’t be any cakes, sweets, real Coke or proper ice cream – in fact, almost anything that doesn’t come with a cheap “own label” supersaver wrapper slapped on it. But on the other hand there were definitely more treats. Jen didn’t think much about the dynamics of post-divorce no-blame child rearing, but the fact was that Christmases and birthdays were usually massive. Whatever Dad gave you, Mum had to give you more, and the other way about. It was like a price war in reverse – and that made you popular at school. And free cash bought ciggies, alcopops, alco without the pops, and some other stuff with names you couldn’t even pronounce. It was like steps on a stair. First this, which was fun, then that, which was better, then the next thing, which hit your brains like a frying pan till you couldn’t remember why you’d been in a bad mood all week. So you didn’t need to try to distract yourself to forget all the rows, the fighting, the accusations, and the hail of ashtrays and ornaments. You could just smoke, sniff, drink or poke it in your arm. No more hassle. Cool.

  And that seemed to open the door to new cool friends as well. There was a new bunch of guys around Pilton and Muirhouse. They were funny. They could hardly speak English, some of them, and called each other amigo but there seemed no limit to the amount of money they flashed around. Cars, computers, clothes, whatever. And they seemed to be able to supply any sort of “substance” she’d ever been warned about at school and lots she’d bet her teachers had never even heard of. None of it was dear and sometimes they’d even give you stuff for free. When she was high there were other things that all the grown-ups warned her about as well, but they were fun too. And, after all, the grown-ups were so lying. They’d all done it too, except maybe Granny. Though she must have, at least once. So what was there to get so excited about? She had to do some things she didn’t much enjoy, but so what?

  Raúl was the most fun of all. He spoke perfect English, though with a bit of an accent, and he was always really polite. He said they spoke the best Spanish in the world in Colombia, so she said they spoke the best Scottish in Pilton, which made him laugh and she laughed along too. He never gave her a row for anything, unlike Mum who never stopped giving her hassle. So she ended up spending as little time at home as possible, which wasn’t hard once Raúl said she could stay at his place whenever she wanted. It was a bit scary the first time. They had bought four flats in a block. She thought it was a bit strange that they had all been for sale at the same time, but Raúl said it was just a coincidence and that coincidences happened to him all the time. Anyway, they bought all four then got a builder in to knock through the walls. So outside it looked like any other four in a block but inside it was massive. She called it “The Mansion”. She’d never seen anything like it – beautiful dark wood, heavy dark furniture, thick dark curtains and stuff. In fact they never seemed to open the curtains much so it was always a bit dark inside. All the guys had their own room with their girls, except Raúl who had two knocked together. Every time she went in it felt like entering a magical realm where Raúl was the magician. In fact, Raúl did seem a bit like a magician brought to life. He could magic up anything you wanted. He gave her a new laptop for her birthday, which she had to tell Mum came from a scheme at school refurbishing old PCs to help with homework. In fact it was the fastest, latest, with the biggest memory and an absolutely massive hard disc. So Raúl told her anyway. And the fastest internet she’d ever seen. They used to watch porn at The Mansion on the big computer upstairs and project it up on the wall. When she tried the laptop it seemed to be just as fast and it was portable so you could watch anything, anywhere. At first she felt a bit confused and upset by what they were watching, but the guys all liked it and their girlfriends (they called them chicas) didn’t seem to mind. She didn’t want to seem ignorant so she didn’t complain. When Raúl wanted to do some of the things they’d seen in a clip it was sometimes uncomfortable or gave her an infection but he gave her so much stuff she didn’t make a fuss. She told the doctor she caught it swimming.

  Raúl was kind – at least he was kind to her, which is what mattered. She’d heard he could get angry, and people he got angry with seemed to disappear for a while. But he never got angry at her. Well, only once when she wouldn’t stay overnight. I’ve got to go home, she’d told him. Gran’s coming for tea. I promised her. He hit her so hard and told her to pick up her clothes and not come back. She didn’t have time to get dressed properly before they threw her out the door. But next night when she came back after school everyone was just like normal. Raúl never mentioned it so neither did she. She knew Mum was probably worried but if she was she had a funny way of showing it. All she seemed to do was nag, nag, nag. Do this. Don’t do that. Be in on time. Go to bed. Get up. Why aren’t you like your cousins? Raúl was never like that. And neither was Granny either, actually. She’d have loved to go to Granny’s when Dad left, but Mum said no. She knew they’d been invited. There was something between Mum and Granny she didn’t understand. Anyway they came to Muirhouse instead of Morningside. Yippee. It was a total dump. But then she would never have met Raúl in Morningside.

  Actually, it was wrong to say Raúl never nagged. He did go on at her to get her things and move in. But she was only fifteen; she couldn’t live with a man of thirty-five. Or could she? Why not? Once he bought her a diamond on a chain. She tried it on and looked in the mirror. It was unbelievable. But then he made her take it off. Yours when you move in, he’d said. She really was sorry to put him off that time. He must really love her or else at least seriously fancy her to get her something like that. She said Mum wouldn’t agree but Raúl just laughed. He said he had a way of getting people to agree with him and it seemed to be true. Even the police seemed to mostly leave him alone. Nobody bothered Raúl and all his friends seemed pretty rich and independent too. They were from Glasgow or Liverpool or London. He promised her a weekend in London. But only once she’d moved in. There was no point even mentioning it to Mum. She just kept on about homework and study and tidy your room and stuff. If she was with Raúl there wouldn’t be any need to study or go to university or even get a job. None of the guys seemed to have normal jobs but they were never short of cash. Not like the usual Pilton crowd that didn’t have jobs either but were always penniless. And there was even a chica that tidied your room for you. She looked at Jen in a funny way and once or twice tried to talk to her when Raúl wasn’t about. She looked really serious and said cuidado a lot but Jen couldn’t work out what she was on about so she ignored her.

  She suggested Raúl might speak to Mum about things but he said, no, that’s your job. Then once when she was out shopping with Mum for a new school top, they bumped into Raúl in the shopping centre. She was just about to introduce them when Mum stuck her face right up against his and said, I know who you are you piece of crap. If I ever catch you near my daughter they’ll have to scrape you off the street. And some other stuff. Nobody ever spoke to Raúl like that but he just kept smiling and called her Ms MacInnes and didn’t get upset at all. Actually, it was a bit awesome, but when she’d tried to tell Mum how cool she’d been Mum just said if I so much as catch you even talking to that maniac I’ll nail you to the wall as well. Just as well Mum thought she spent all her sleepovers at Chivon’s. Chivon was a pal and never grassed but it cost her a fiver every time. Lately she’d been asking for ten but Jen said that was too much. If she kept on about it though she’d probably have to hand it over. That or get grounded for the rest of her life.

 
All things considered Edinburgh was working out quite well, Raúl reckoned. Freeze the cojones off you of course but that couldn’t be helped. Madrid had become altogether too hot and of course there was no way back to Medellin now Pablo was dead. Still, he’d learned everything the old man had had to teach him so that wasn’t so bad. Of course he’d started young. That’s why they called him the baby – El Niño. It had annoyed him at first but he’d got used to it and joined in the joke. That was safest. If the man he’d taken to thinking of as his Papa thought it was funny that he was the niño then it was funny and you should just take the joke. Anyway, he’d learned the entire business and more importantly the old man’s style before it all went wrong. It was important to leave absolutely no doubt in anyone’s mind about the important things, Pablo said. “Overwhelming Unreasonable Force” was his expression. Any resistance, any suggestion of reluctance and you replied with “Overwhelming Unreasonable Force”. A wounding costs a life. A life costs a family. A family costs a village, etc. Once everyone understood that then you didn’t need to do it so often, which was better for everyone. And you also needed to be nice to the poor people, who were your real protection, even more than the judges and police chiefs you had to pay off every month. In fact, if you were more often nice than nasty then that was how people came to think of you. He remembered how tickled the old man was when there was a campaign “Pablo Escobar for President”. The press thought it was a spontaneous movement of the people and that amused him very much.