CHAPTER TWO
Dantzler was escorted out of the Administration Building by Warden Curtis and a beefed-up guard who looked like he could handle the toughest NFL linebacker on any given Sunday. Handle with ease. The man was a mountain, easily six-seven, his muscled upper torso and arms pushing against a brown shirt that looked like it had been painted on. Dantzler doubted many inmates would want any part of this behemoth. He certainly wouldn’t.
They walked down three flights of stairs, across an open courtyard, toward a large Quonset hut Dantzler guessed to be the gym. No one spoke during the trip. The warden, despite his weight, moved with an ease and grace that belied his size. He hardly broke a sweat, and his breathing was steady and even. Clearly, Dantzler decided, the man was in good shape for someone carrying so much weight.
The guard, Leroy Henderson, began searching his key ring while the men were still several yards from the gym. After shuffling through what had to be fifty keys of various shapes and sizes, he found the one he was looking for. When the trio reached the back door, Henderson inserted the key, turned the lock, and pushed the door open.
“Like I said, Detective, you have as much time as you need,” Curtis reminded. “Or, as much time as the Reverend wants. When you’ve finished your meeting come back here. Leroy will be inside, in the open area to your left as you enter. If you need to speak with me again, he will bring you to my office. If there’s no need to meet, he will take you to your vehicle. Any questions?”
“Just… why am I here?”
“I suspect you’re about to find out.”
Dantzler entered the gym, which was dark except for a single row of lights that arced across center court like a 50,000-watt rainbow. Every window was shut and covered by metal shades, all other exit doors closed. An eerie silence dominated the building, that strange quiet unique to large, empty spaces. In this silence, this dark, the place felt more like a mausoleum than gym.
Dantzler waited until his eyes adjusted to the darkness before moving slowly and silently toward the man who had summoned him. For some unknown reason he felt a strange mixture of intrigue and dread. Something was about to happen, something big, and he wasn’t sure he wanted it to. Rarely did he question his own judgment; second guessing wasn’t in his nature. That wasn’t so on this occasion. This time he had doubts, questions. Buried somewhere deep inside was a nagging feeling that this was one invitation he should have declined.
John Elijah Whitehouse, the Reverend, sat in a wheelchair at mid-court, the light above him glowing like a halo. He was flanked on both sides by IV towers, each one with a bag dangling from the top. A tube trailed down from each bag, into a needle, through which the medicine was dispensed into his hands and arms. Behind the wheelchair a green oxygen tank stood like a lone guardian angel. A clear tube snaked its way around the left side of the chair, leading to the Reverend’s face, where two vents supplying oxygen had been inserted into his nostrils.
As Dantzler drew closer, he was struck by two aspects of the old man’s appearance: the Reverend’s hair and beard were long and white as cotton, and he couldn’t have weighed more than ninety pounds. His thin, bony body seemed almost lost inside his ill-fitting striped pajamas and blue housecoat.
“They tell you I’m dying?” the Reverend barked in a voice stronger than Dantzler would have expected from someone so frail. “If they didn’t, you ought to be able to tell just by looking at me.”
He laughed but it lacked mirth. “You don’t even have to be a particularly good detective to see what pathetic shape I’m in.”
Dantzler sat in the chair, leaned back, and nodded at the old man. “Sorry to hear about your situation. Cancer’s a tough break.”
“Cancer’s not tough!
“I don’t know why I’m here,” Dantzler answered, “but I doubt if it’s to discuss theology or the nature of good and evil.”
“We’ll get to why you’re here in the good old by and by,” the Reverend said. “Do you believe in God, Detective Dantzler?”
“Come on, Reverend. I didn’t come here-”
“Answer the question, Detective. It’s simple enough. God-yes or no?”
“I believe in a Creator, yes.”
“But not the God of the Bible? Yahweh?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“The biblical Yahweh is a fictional character created by the J writer.”
“Fictional? Like Superman?”
“Yes.”
“That would make Yahweh a very special fictional character, wouldn’t it? Last I heard, no one prays to Superman.”
“Look, Reverend-”
“Let’s see… you believe in a Creator but not Yahweh. Unravel that for me, will you?”
“I believe there is a God beyond the God of the Bible.”
“And how would you characterize your relationship with this God beyond the God of the Bible?”
“Strained.”
“Any chance it will improve?”
“That’s up to him.”
“You’ve got it all wrong, Detective. It’s your task to find him, not his task to find you.”
“That’s letting him off too easy. He needs to do some work.”
“Do you believe God loves us, Detective?”
Dantzler shook his head. “In the entire Bible, do you know how many people God actually says he loves?”
“Enlighten me, Detective.”
“One. Jacob.”
Eli smiled and nodded approvingly. “Malachi, first chapter, second verse. God said, ‘I loved Jacob.’ What do you make of that?”
Dantzler shrugged. “He also said, ‘and I hated Esau.’”
“God loves you, Detective Dantzler, regardless of your inclination to disbelieve it.” Eli paused for several seconds, then said, “Since you are a fan of the J writer, I take it you don’t subscribe to the belief that Moses authored the first five books of the Bible. The Torah.”
“That’s a marvelous myth, but I doubt any real biblical scholar believes it.”
“Scholars have no claim on the truth.”
“Nor do religious leaders.”
Eli nodded in agreement. “You’re not a Christian, are you, Detective?”
“More of a Gnostic, I’d say.”
“Do you know where the term Gnostic comes from?”
“Gnosis. Greek for knowledge.”
“Do you possess gnosis, Detective?”
“I chase it, but I don’t always catch up to it.”
“I like you, Detective Dantzler. We don’t have much in common, and I think you’re dead wrong, but at least you’re a thinker. That’s more than I can say for most folks. They tend to be non-thinking sheep.”
“Isn’t that what religious leaders want? Sheep, blind followers?”
“Religious leaders, politicians, merchants, generals-blind followers are precisely what they want. Not me. I always appreciated those few who challenged my beliefs. Kept me on my toes.”
“Look, Reverend-”
