had a high ceiling that was designed to look like the inside of a boat, like Noah’s Ark. There were pews on each side, and all the way down at the other end, the altar. A big, hungry Jesus hung on the wall behind the altar, and there were candles all over the place. Right in front of me was a big vat of holy water, like a birdbath. I dipped my fingers in the stuff and smelled it. Smelled like water to me.
There were two women seated in one of the pews, both dressed in black, like widows. I didn’t want to look at them. What I needed was a priest or something, not atmosphere. I didn’t know if there was some office located somewhere, or any kind of fancy legwork I had to do to get the man’s attention, so instead, I cleared my throat. Loudly. It didn’t work. So I did it again. The two widows looked at me.
I cleared my throat a third time. A man in black poked his head out from behind one of the columns. I waved, and he strolled over with a plastic smile on his face. He was my age, with his short brown hair combed to one side, and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on the edge of his nose. He was trying to look older than he was. The hell of it was that I recognized the guy, and then I remembered: He had done the services for Pearce.
“Good afternoon, sir,” he said. “What brings you to our house?”
I blushed. I just then realized I didn’t know how to address him.
“Hey, Padre,” I said, to which he frowned, “you don’t know me, but I was wondering if I could just ask you a few questions about some stuff. It won’t take but a minute.”
“Certainly, sir,” he said. “Time is not an issue here, because the time is always right to find yourself in God’s house.”
I said, “Sure, man. Whatever you say.”
“What is your denomination?”
“My what?”
“What church have you attended in the past?”
“Oh. Well, honestly, Your Honor, I’m not here about, uh, to inquire about attending your services and whatnot.”
“Oh,” he said sadly.
“You see, I’m inquiring about the break-in you guys had here a while back. This was two weeks ago, this happened.”
“Yes, I remember. Do you … do you have any information regarding …”
“Actually, I was hoping to get some information from
I evaded the question. “The article in the local papers pointed out that nothing was stolen from the premises. Is that accurate?”
“Oh, yes. Nothing was taken.”
“How sure are you? All the crosses are accounted for, all the candles? Little things like that?”
“Yes, but … I have to wonder why you’re asking.”
“I don’t know if you’re familiar with the killings that have been going on …”
“Yes, as much as anyone else in Evelyn …”
“The break-in here happened the same night that Josie Jones went missing. The prostitute. On the night that Gloria Shaw, the first victim in Evelyn, disappeared, there was also a church break-in, with nothing taken. Allegedly. This was also the case over in Edenburgh. Don’t you think that’s odd?”
“I didn’t realize …”
“It’s a strong coincidence.”
“My,” he said. “It certainly is.”
“So, what I’m asking is, are you people sure that nothing was taken?”
“Oh, yes. Quite sure. Everything was accounted for. The surprising thing is that our poor boxes weren’t even tampered with, much less broken into. When people feel compelled to force themselves into a church, it is usually to, um, gain the contents of those boxes.”
“But that didn’t happen?”
“No.”
“Was anything done? Anything moved, or replaced? Anything at all out of the ordinary? A note, a stain, a footprint?”
“Definitely not,” said the priest.
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks for your help, Reverend.”
I turned to walk out of the place before he tried to convert me.
“The name is Peter,” he said.
“Rock on, Peter,” I called back.
My chat with Peter proved to be another strike against me, one of about a million I had accrued in the last few weeks. Just as I got home, the phone was ringing. I didn’t want to pick it up, but I just couldn’t help myself.
“Yeah.”
“Welfare can help with your bills,” said the voice.
“I’m going to welfare your fucking face.”
The man laughed, then hung up.
Made me realize that I still had a drink coming to me.
NINETEEN
The man with the broken nose turned when I tapped him on the shoulder. My right hook from hell sent him flying through the air like a kite. He landed on the edge of the pool table, then dropped down to the floor like a bag of wet clothes. His friend from the jail cell got a kick in the balls that brought him to his knees, and the other guy that did the job on me in the parking lot the night before got a left hook to the jaw. He dropped his weight down and brought his shoulder into my guts. The momentum carried me into the edge of the pool table, which screeched back along the floor. I dropped a double-ax-handle onto the back of the man’s neck, and he fell to his knees. A boot to the face left him sleeping on the floor. When I looked up, Curly was running toward the door.
I caught him in the parking lot. He was digging through the trunk of his rust-colored Mercury, and when he set eyes on me, he stepped back from the trunk with the tire iron in his hand. He swung with it once. I ducked under the arc, and then delivered an uppercut that sent him back on his heels. He dropped the tire iron. I grabbed him by the shirt and threw him headfirst into the open trunk, then retrieved the tire iron.
“You got me,” he said, his hands up.
“Give me the fucking keys,” I said.
He fished the car keys out of his pocket and handed them to me. Then I slammed the trunk lid shut. He pounded against it with all his might, but his efforts were futile. I got behind the wheel of the car, guided the car out of the parking lot and into the street, and then turned on the radio. “Take It Easy” by the Eagles was playing. I was always a big Eagles fan, so I turned the volume up as loud as it would go. The sound blocked the noise of the man trying to hammer his way out of the trunk.
The street sloped gently down to the south. With the car in neutral, I pushed it and got it going. After a few steps, the momentum carried it toward the center of town at a slow speed.
I strolled back into the Cowboy’s Cabin and took a seat at the bar on one of the stools. There was this real pretty college girl behind the counter, not the scumbag bartender from the night before. Her mouth hung open in a perfect O. I bet she’d never seen such work done before in her life. Her hair was short and dyed purple. She had on a really tight-fitting Rolling Stones shirt, which I was able to forgive her for because she had big tits. I loved the Eagles, but hated the Stones.
“Hey, darling, what’s your name?”
“Autumn,” she said softly.
“Autumn, I’d like a drink.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she said.
I laughed. “Please?”
A hand came down hard on my shoulder from behind, and a voice said, “Don’t worry, sugar, I’ll keep this guy
