“I’m just a dishwasher in town. Where would he get the idea that I’ve got money, Lee?”
“Now, Frank, you know… you know I haven’t told him a thing.”
Farrow stared at Toomey while he smoked his cigarette down to the filter. Toomey slid a glass of ginger ale across the table, and Farrow dropped the cigarette into the drink.
“I guess I better go see him,” said Farrow. “He in today?”
“He drives a pretty Buick.”
“There was a platinum-colored Park Avenue parked outside the church when I drove in.”
“That would be his.”
“I’ll drop in on him right now, then, since he’s being so persistent. Small town like this, can’t really avoid it any longer, I guess.” Farrow got up from the couch. “Say, Lee, you know that pistol you gave me when I first came down here?”
“Sure… sure, I remember. I was wanting to get rid of it for a long time, ’specially with kids in the house -”
“I took it up to that wildlife refuge they got, fifteen miles north of Edwardtown. You know, in the winter there’s nobody on that land. Never even seen a ranger. Anyway, I tried that little gun out. Shot one of those white birds with the long legs that lives there. One of those birds they claim is protected. Anyway, that’s a real fine weapon you sold me. Yeah, that pistol shoots real straight.”
Toomey picked at his beard and stared at the carpet. “I ain’t proud of the life I had before. And I am not goin’ back to it, I can tell you that. Look, I don’t want to have nothin’ to do with guns anymore, Frank.”
“I know it, Lee. Just wanted to thank you is all.”
Farrow went to the front door; Viola stood in the foyer, holding her little girl. She reached for the knob, turned it, held the door open for Farrow.
“Good bye, Larry.”
“Viola. Ashley.”
Farrow left the house. Martin was standing by the tree line, looking Farrow’s way. Martin grabbed a branch to steady himself when Farrow stared back. Farrow smiled at Martin and walked to the Ford.
Farrow parked next to the platinum Park Avenue outside the church. He went to the church’s varnished front door and knocked, and soon the door swung open. A large thin-lipped man with a gray pompadour stood in the frame.
“Reverend Bob?”
“That would be me.”
“My name is Larry. I’m an acquaintance of Lee Toomey. Lee said you’ve been wanting to see me.”
“Yes, Larry, thanks for stopping by. Please come in.”
Farrow followed the reverend through a kind of lobby into the body of the church, which was done entirely in stained wood: wooden beams, wooden pews, paneled walls, a parquet-floored altar with a slatted wooden podium in its center. A wooden cross hung from the ceiling, suspended over the podium. A bible with an ornate gold-leaf cover lay open on the podium’s face.
“Nothing fancy, as you can see,” said the reverend, turning left at the center aisle, signaling with a wave of his hand for Farrow to keep moving. “I don’t believe in marble and icons. Everything we collect in the form of donations goes back out in some form to the community.”
“Nice carpentry work,” said Farrow.
The reverend pushed on a side door, holding it open for Farrow.
“Local craftsmen did it for us on the weekends. Nearly everything in this building’s been donated by the members of the congregation. Your friend Lee did the electrical work, free of charge.”
“He mentioned it. You got a Buick dealer who’s part of the flock, too?”
The reverend turned his head briefly as he walked down the stark hall. “How’s that?”
“That’s a pretty car you got out front there.”
The reverend chuckled. “My one indulgence. Come along.”
He led Farrow into an office and closed the door behind them. There were framed degrees and awards on the walls, no photographs indicating family. The reverend had a seat behind a cherry-wood desk and laced his fingers together, resting them on a green blotter before him. Farrow sat across from him in a leather chair with nail heads along its scrolled arms.
The reverend’s hands were pink and soft. He wore a fine cotton, starched white shirt, onyx cuff links, and a black-faced watch with a small diamond set in the face. When Farrow was a young man, his father had worn a Movado watch just like it. The sight of it on the reverend’s wrist tightened Farrow’s stomach.
Farrow kept his eyes lowered in the hat-in-hands position. “What can I do for you, Reverend Bob?”
“I’ve seen you around town, Larry. With Lee and at other times, too. I’m curious – are you a practicing member of any particular denomination?”
“You’re gonna have to cut down on the size of those words.”
“I apologize. Do you belong to any church?”
Farrow shifted in his seat, trying to appear uncomfortable. “I did once. I’m afraid I’ve lapsed.”
“It’s never too late to come back to the fold.”
“With all due respect, Reverend Bob, I’m not interested.” Farrow tried a sheepish, down-home smile. “Besides, I make it a practice to have a few beers on Saturday nights. Sometimes I have more than a few, and on Sundays I sleep in.”
“We have drinkers in our congregation, Larry. Drinkers and womanizers and tax cheaters, and maybe worse. The service works for those folks, too. Especially for those folks. Our church is about atonement and forgiveness.”
Farrow looked directly into the reverend’s brown olive-pit eyes.
“I’m not interested,” said Farrow.
The reverend looked away for a moment, then returned his gaze to Farrow and leaned forward over the desk.
“This isn’t about just going to church, Larry. It’s about how this church reaches out to greater Edwardtown. Why, just this morning I was making my rounds out at the retirement community on the edge of town, speaking to some of our senior citizens who are in the nursing ward. I sometimes bring them candy, cards, flowers… all of that costs money.”
“Tell me, reverend. What do you tell those people, exactly? The ones who are going to die.”
“Why, I tell them to have no fear. That the journey is just beginning. That they’re going to a better place.”
“And you believe that.”
“Yes.”
“I envy you, then. A man who doesn’t fear death.”
The reverend leaned back in his chair. “How do you know Lee Toomey, Larry?”
Farrow shrugged, pausing to re-create the story he had told others in the kitchen many times before. “I got family up in Wilmington. I was heading up to Delaware to see them a couple of years back, working my way north from Richmond, where I was living at the time. I took a ride into Edwardtown on a chicken truck, decided to spend the night.
“Well, I had a beer that night at this bar in town, and the bar owner had put this bulletin board up in the head. Lee had posted a card that said he was looking for help on this one job. It was straight labor, really. I didn’t want to go home and see my people with empty pockets, so I called him up and we met and he took me on.
“Anyway, I got to liking the town in those two weeks I worked for him. When the job was done, Lee, being the kind of man he is, got me an interview with the Royal Hotel’s restaurant. Lee’s in with those people; he’s got their account. I took a dishwasher’s job in their kitchen, and I been with them ever since.”
“That’s a nice operation they got there.”
“They do real well.”
“I had an outstanding dinner there one night, not too long ago: twin fillets with a peppercorn sauce, and some very good red wine. Their house red was outstanding. You know something about wines, don’t you, Larry?”
Farrow said, “Why do you ask how I know Lee?”
