and have a strong faith like you seem to, then wouldn't you feel protected from evil? From characters like Mother Love?'
Jill's head shook vehemently.
'Oh, no. Evil's everywhere, and it's insidious. I have tremendous faith but I'm not perfect. The thing about the devil is he uses any chink in your armor, any weakness in your belief as a foothold to claim your soul. It might start out innocently enough, but Satan's persistent. He digs in and has all eternity to undermine your faith, until you finally, without even knowing it, have crossed to the dark side. He's patient and clever. And he's dangerous. Don't underestimate him, Frank.'
'No. I won't,' Frank reassured. She'd never seen this evangelical side to Jill and was slightly unnerved.
Jill stood, all tired pride and defiance. 'Anything else?'
When Frank shook her head no, Jill smiled weakly.
'I know I probably sound like some crack-pot zealot, but I'd rather be safe than sorry. This just feels all wrong to me.'
She seemed to consider an idea, then added, 'Be careful, Frank. And take care of Cheryl. She's so green. Don't let her get hurt.'
'I won't,' Frank promised.
Jill left Frank stinging with the memory of Kennedy bleeding out in her arms. That had been Frank's fault. No. She wouldn't let anything happen to Lewis.
13
The Slauson exit was coming up. Frank was on her way home, but she wasn't in a hurry. The only thing waiting for her tonight was the impassive steel in her weight room. She swung onto the off ramp, crossing back under the Ten, not at all curious about why she was going to the Mother's headquarters. It was close to 5:00 PM and traffic was heavy on the east-west artery. That was good. Frank parked across the street from the brick complex, her old Honda indiscernible amidst all the other cars.
For an hour she watched, and waited, for what she didn't know. Frank was enjoying her secret proximity to the Mother. She'd always liked surveillance and thought she would have made a great spy. She had a fine view of the entrance fronting Slauson and noted three people go inside, stay a few minutes, then leave. The first was an old black woman, followed by a well-dressed Hispanic woman, then a nervous middle-aged black woman. A thin blonde woman came out fanning herself. None of them looked like cluckheads and Frank guessed they were some of the Mother's hoodoo clients.
Debating whether she should go in or not, she saw a ragged figure shuffling towards the building. Despite the heat, a wooly gray head poked from layers of uniformly tattered and dirty old blankets. Frank couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. She got the uneasy feeling it was the same beggar she'd seen when she'd been riding with Lewis.
Frank watched the figure inch its way toward the door of the slaughterhouse. It wavered about twenty feet short, seemingly unable to travel any farther. The grimy bundle settled against the warm brick wall and sank to the sidewalk. Its blankets puffed around it like a toadstool. The figure remained still for a long moment, then slowly lifted its head.
The face was leathery, the eyes clouded and sightless. The gray head pivoted, noting its surroundings like some ancient, lumbering reptile. Satisfied, it stopped, its face square to Frank's. Through the rush of cars and trucks, Frank saw the pink mouth widen into a grin. The dead eyes were straight on her.
Frank stared at the ruined visage. It was impossible, she told herself. Just coincidence. A trick of the light.
She held the relic's leer. There was no way it could see through the thick film over its eyes, yet it stared. Right at her. Despite the broiling sun, Frank shivered.
The relic grinned. Suddenly its chin dropped to the blankets, like someone had yanked the plug on it. Frank watched a minute longer, half tempted to roust the old fuck and find out what its story was. But she didn't. Instead, she started the car, expecting the relic's eyes to fly open and fix on her. It didn't move. Frank eased into traffic, careful not to look back.
After work the next day, like a kid determined to walk by a haunted house to prove she's not afraid, Frank cruised by the impassive brick building. No one loitered out front and the thing in rags was nowhere in sight.
Continuing down Slauson, she angled southwest toward the Mother's church. Frank recognized her vintage, cherry-red Cadillac parked at the curb. Admiring the finned drop-top's showroom condition, Frank wondered what she was doing here.
She'd come as if on autopilot. She had nothing to confront the Mother with and the woman was far too savvy for Frank to run any type of bluff on. Bludgeonings, poisonings, drownings, shootings, shovings, shakings; electrocutions, defenestrations, exsanguinations, eviscerations, disarticulations, immolations—there wasn't an 'ing' or a 'tion' Frank hadn't seen. The Mother's alleged homicide was only slightly artful, yet Frank had to admit that after almost two decades of dealing with mentalities that natural selection had somehow overlooked, she was intrigued by the Mother's guile and ability. Was she really that good a con? Did she have connections in the system?
Maybe she put good luck spells on herself, Frank mused. Curiosity drew her from the car. The engine ticked behind her as she stepped across dead, yellow grass. The lawn was dried out, but neatly trimmed. Beds of flowers flanked the entrance to the simple, white-washed building. There was no graffiti on it and the church's name was high above the door where taggers would really have to work to get it.
The large, double door was locked. Frank stepped around the side where a smaller door stood open. Pushing her RayBans onto her head, she peered inside. She quickly noted a rectangular, windowless room, painted scarlet and banana-yellow. Plants splayed from clay pots. Fronds and vines were trained over a sky-blue ceiling. Rows of white benches were lined symmetrically on both sides of the center aisle. They stopped a respectful distance from a small pulpit.
One of the Mother's twins was watering plants and the Mother was adding greenery to the pulpit. She paused, turning toward Frank, even though Frank had entered without a sound.
'You said to drop by.'
'Well, here you are, then,' the older woman replied with a sweep of her bangled arm. 'Welcome to my church.'
Frank walked to the pulpit, while the Mother eyed her from soles to crown. Frank was aware of the twin cautiously returning to his work. She took in a life-size black Jesus crucified on the front wall and two child-sized plaster saints at its feet.
'Who are they?' she asked, more to make conversation than out of curiosity.
The Mother looked at the statues, appearing amused.
'They are Saint Michael and Saint Barbara.'
'So this is a Catholic church?'
'Not quite,' the Mother flashed a bright grin. 'But some of the saints are associated with the gods of my faith.'
'Which faith is that?'
With the same air of bemusement, the Mother replied, 'You have a lot of questions, child.'
'That's 'cause I don't have a lot of answers.' Frank took in the room, asking, 'So what do you do here? Save souls or something?'
Now the Mother laughed outright. It was a high, clear sound, like a bell tinkling, and Frank smiled, willing to be the rube.
'I can't save anybody's soul for them. We save our own souls.'
'You don't wash them in the blood of the lamb and all that jazz?'
The Mother stared as if Frank was teasing her.
'No, I'm serious. How do you run this place? What do you do for the people that come here?'
'I am a bridge between the people and their gods. The people are here, the gods are here. Sometimes they just need help coming together.'
'So you're like a spiritual matchmaker?'
'I guess you could call me that.'
Mother Love hit Frank with a dazzling smile, her intensity mesmerizing. Frank searched the keen amber eyes,
