Delroy looked out on the neighborhood and felt a great sadness. The condition of the houses and the decrepit cars bore mute testimony to the truth of the deputy’s words. “My daddy would never have allowed this to happen.”
“Not meaning to take anything away from your daddy,” Walter said, “but he might not have been able to help what this place has become through economic hardship and neglect. Then again, I hear your daddy was a man strong in his faith. A hard-knuckled man when it came to that too. But those have turned into some mean streets out there. There’s stabbings and shootings. Robberies and burglaries. Fathers battling sons, and half the time they don’t know each other until the police or the deputies pull ‘em apart and introduce ‘em to one another.”
Delroy wondered how a place that looked so familiar could sound so alien. When they halted at another stop sign, Delroy spotted the Domino Parlor sandwiched between a cleaners and a Qwik-Mart. A battered pickup was parked out front. Three old black men, their hair iron gray in the morning light, leaned against the truck and talked, evidently waiting for the Domino Parlor to open.
“I was listening to Clarice and you talking last night,” Walter said.
“I thought you were sleeping,” Delroy said.
“No, sir, I was catnapping,” Walter said, frowning. “Never make a mistake about that. I don’t sleep. I catnap. Keeps me sharp and ever vigilant.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“Anyway, I was listening to Clarice and you talking about what the next seven years will probably be like. During the Tribulation.” Walter made another turn, driving past the Domino Parlor.
Delroy recognized George standing beside the pickup truck, the man who’d driven him to the cemetery. The old man waved at him and smiled. Delroy waved back.
“All that talk about the Antichrist and this being maybe the last chance to get right with God,” Walter said, “I got to thinking.” He looked at Delroy. “You know what I got to thinking?”
“No.”
“That’s okay because I’ll tell you. I got to thinking that if Satan wanted to win himself some souls that’d be cheap for the taking, why this would be one of the places to come directly.” Walter shrugged. “Ain’t nobody here gonna stand up to Satan and tell him no in this neighborhood. And he’d probably be offering most folks here a better deal than they’ve ever got in their lives.”
An old woman crossed the street in front of the cruiser. She carried a small paper bag of groceries, and her back was bent from age and from the weight of the bag. A floral patterned scarf wrapped around her head was faded from years of use.
“I come down here now and again,” Walter said. “Mostly I bust up domestic fights and take reports from people who’ve been beaten, robbed, and burglarized, and all of us knowing there ain’t nothing I’m gonna be able to do to get their stuff back, and ain’t no way I can keep it from happening again. Even if I catch the people who did it the first time, somebody else’ll take their places.”
“You paint a pretty bleak picture, Deputy.”
“Yes, sir. I suppose I do. Only it ain’t no picture. It’s a photograph. That’s what’s going on here.”
Delroy rubbed his face. He’d shaved this morning, using the toiletries from his duffel, and his skin was soft to the touch. He’d also put on his dress whites because he’d felt compelled to. He wanted a piece of himself back, and those dress whites after all those years in the navy were like pulling on armor. Shaving and dressing had helped him get his sense of self back, but he knew it was all outward appearance. He felt just as confused and lost on the inside as he had that night at Terrence’s grave.
“Have you got a point to this?” Delroy asked.
“Why sure I do,” Walter said. “What? You think I just talk to hear my head rattle?”
Delroy politely refrained from comment. Silence and Walter Purcell wouldn’t have recognized each other.
Walter kept driving and sipped from the Styrofoam cup. “My point is this: Where you gonna go from here?”
“Back to my ship. Like I told you last night.”
“Yes, sir, that you did. And your ship’s part of that war going on between Turkey and Syria.”
“Aye.”
“And the Middle East was a powder keg with fuses lit at both ends after Rosenzweig invented his fertilizer even before Syria decided to up and invade Turkey.” Walter stopped at an intersection and got his bearings, then accelerated again. “I have to ask you what you think you’re gonna do when you get back to that ship of yours.”
Delroy tried to answer but couldn’t.
“You figure on stepping back aboard her and taking up where you left off?” Walter asked.
“Aye.”
“Do you really think you can do that, Chaplain?” Walter stopped the car and looked at Delroy. “Do you think you should? By your own admission, you were mostly a waste of air these past five years. I listened to you telling Clarice that last night.”
Delroy didn’t answer.
“How much good do you think you can do them boys that you’re gonna be talking to?” Walter shook his head. “No, sir. I look at you this morning in the clear light and I see you ain’t much better than you was the other night when I picked you up out of that graveyard.”
The accusation stung Delroy as if he’d been slapped. He got mad, but he only got mad at himself because he knew Walter was correct in his assessment.
“Oh, you cleaned up pretty good,” Walter said. “And you look good in that uniform.” He reached over and tapped Delroy on the heart. “But what do you have ticking inside there, Chaplain? You got any heart left? What do you have that you can give them boys that could be going off to die? What are you
