He
gave her a quick account of the arrest at the Walk On Inn.
"So,
it is a prostitute he hits," she said. "That makes a difference?"
"It's
complicated. I gave the guy a concussion when I put him on the ground. Now, he claims that there was no real dispute
between them, and she backs his story."
"But
you saw him hit her?"
"Yes."
"Why would she lie?"
"Money.
What other motivation is there for a prostitute? I don't know. Maybe she just doesn't want the trouble.
He's an influential man."
"Will you lose your
job?"
"I don't know."
"Doesn't
Mr. Shively know you would not do what the man accuses you of?"
"Shug
doesn't have a choice, Jill. After all there's my history of violence."
"This is so unjust. You are the least violent man I know.
There must be something we can do. We must hire a lawyer to dispute these . . . these specious charges."
Hiring a lawyer would only escalate the incident, which, if Richard read it right,
was the last thing his boss wanted in an election year.
"Let's
just let it ride, Jill. Shug's a good man. He knows that I didn't do anything wrong and I think he'll do what
he can for me. In the mean time, maybe I can do a little handyman carpentry. Of course we'll have to tighten out
belts."
"Perhaps you should switch to a bargain brand of beer," she said. "I'm
sorry. I shouldn't have said that."
"You're
right," he said with a wry face. "But it's not the money you're really worried about, is it?"
"This is just so depressing for you," she said. "It's not fair."
"I'll be all right if you can handle it," he said. "I promise."
They made it through dinner acting as if nothing were wrong, but the conversation was forced
as they sought to avoid talking about his suspension. They went to bed early trying to put a merciful end to the day,
but Jill, trying too hard, came in after her shower wearing his favorite negligee. He dutifully pulled her close, and
she dutifully caressed his chest, but they were like awkward lovers lying together for the first time.
51.
"What's wrong?" she murmured.
"I
love you," he said softly, like a reluctant confession. "But I just can't . . . I won't make love
to you for the wrong reason. I won't . . . use you for therapy."
"Maybe
I'm the one who needs the therapy," she said.
"I
can't, Babe."
Sometimes people, especially extremely intelligent ones like Jill, have trouble reconciling
what they know with what they feel. Intellectually, she understood the logic of his explanation, but she felt
rejected.
When time changes me will he not find me desirable? she wondered. She resisted
the urge to go look at herself in the bathroom mirror to see if her pregnancy had already begun to change her figure.
Will we some day become just a habit?
She considered
exchanging the skimpy nightie for something more comfortable, but decided against it in case he changed his mind. She
molded herself to her man, and went to sleep with her breasts pressed to his bare back.
Jill
awoke alone, but his side of the bed was still warm. When he didn't return she got up, slipped on her robe, and went
to find him. He was outside, smoking in the dark.
"Back
to the cancer sticks," he said. "Disappointed?"
She
was tempted to let the question slide, to say she understood.
"Besides
endangering your life and health without regard to your wife or your child, we cannot afford it," she said sternly.
"Well," he said after a moment of stunned silence. "You're right.
We can't afford cigarettes or me moping around. I'll straighten up."
She
knew it wasn't that simple, but Richard still labored under the false premise that depression could be banished by will power
alone.
"I know you're upset about losing your job and---"
"I'm not going to lose my job," he said, sucking smoke deep into lungs.
"At least I don't think I will. But even if I do, it won't be the end of the world."
He flipped the cigarette into the darkness, and then tossed the pack after the arcing ember.
"I appreciate the symbolism," she said. "Especially if you mean
it, but you shouldn't litter," she said.
"I
just thought a dramatic gesture was called for."
52.
She turned to look over the rail. "Could that start a forest fire?"
"Not the way things have greened up," he said, rising.
He slipped his arms around her and pulled her back against him.
"I love you," he said as he nuzzled her neck and lightly nipped her ear.
"You do not have to do this," she said, fearing he was trying to make up
for his earlier rejection of her.
"No, but I'd like
to. It's your call."
She turned in his arms, stared
into his eyes.
"Tell me that we will never become just a habit."
"What?"
"That
we will never be just two people sharing a house."
"Oh
Jill. How could that ever be?"
Canaan Camp, May 18
Joshua looked at him curiously as Paget entered the bedroom with his evening wine.
"You're preoccupied tonight, Cal," he said as he took the glass. "What's
bothering you?"
It unnerved him that Joshua could read
his moods.
"Just the change, sir. I'm still trying to find my way here."
"I know what's bothering you, son."
Paget
stiffened although it was impossible that the old man even had a clue as to what was bothering him.
"You do?" he said, careful to keep his tone and body language neutral.
"It's only natural for a young man to have such feelings. I hope you don't
expect them to go away just because you joined the Church or any such nonsense like that."
Paget's puzzled expression made Joshua smile. He delicately sipped at his wine before
continuing.
"Cal, go pour yourself a glass of wine and come back. We'll talk about this
man to man."
53.
Paget went to the kitchen for the wine trying to figure out what the old man thought he knew.
Joshua watched him leave the room, and thought about his own motivation. Why had he
elevated the young man so quickly? John didn't like it, and John usually had good judgment.
So what about this young man appeals to me? He has potential. John's faithful,
but he's not strong, not a warrior. He hasn't seen enough of the enemy's ways. This young man could be my "Paul,"
an enemy turned champion of the faith, a warrior in the holy cause.
The
man he knew as Cal Hodges came back with a small glass of the dark wine that Joshua favored.
"Sit. Drink."
Paget
tried to keep from making a face as he sipped the nauseatingly sweet liquid. The crap overwhelmed his taste buds, almost
totally masking the aftertaste of the alcohol.
This stuff would cure a wino, he thought.
"I've been watching the way you look at the young sisters," said Joshua sternly.
Paget wondered how to play it? He didn't think it would be a good idea to deny it.
What does the old man want to hear? he asked himself, a version of an "impure
thoughts" confession?
"I don't want to
think the way I'm thinking about them," he said, trying to sound contrite. "Maybe when I'm completely . .
. you know purged my sins I won't do that."
Joshua
laughed aloud, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Cal. I'm not laughing at you. I'm just laughing
at the nonsense someone has taught you."
The laughter
infuriated him, but at least now he could relax. Nothing more serious was coming down than another of the old faggot's
boring lessons.
"Answer me some questions,
Cal, and I'll show you that you already know the answers."
I'll
have to remember that line, thought Paget. He had a vision of the old man spread-eagled while he waved a knife
in his face. Answer me some questions, Joshua, and I'll show you that you already know the answers.
"Why did God take a rib from Adam and fashion Eve from it?"
Paget knew the story, but he couldn't ever remember being told why that was done. He
sat, feeling like a child in school, called upon for an answer that he was supposed to know but didn't.
"It was because Adam needed a helpmeet, a companion."
54.
Paget applied a smile. Nothing was required now but
for him to be grateful for the old man's wisdom and insight.
"She
was made for his needs, one of them being sex. Now the purpose of sex is to beget children, but the reason
we have sex is because we enjoy it, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that."
The young man's surprised expression delighted Joshua.
"Now
it is best that a man wait until he is married, but is that possible except for the man who gets married at an extremely
young age? I think not in most cases."
Paget wondered
if Joshua were about to offer him one of the women in the camp.
Maybe I'll get my pick, he thought in amusement.
"I've seen the way you react when Sister Raven is near."
"The dark-haired girl?" he asked in surprise, wondering how the old man had
picked up on his interest in "Miss Dusky," as he liked to think of her.
"I'm
sorry, Father Joshua, I never---"
"No need for that,
son. She's a very desirable young lady. You aren't the first to be drawn to her. But you must not defile
her, Cal. That would be a terrible thing. We tolerate neither promiscuity nor adultery. But we do recognize
human weakness. ‘Whoever is without sin, let him cast the first stone.'"
Joshua took another sip of the syrupy wine. Noticing that Paget had hardly touched
his, he motioned for him to drink before going on. Paget choked down a small swallow.
"Occasionally a young couple . . . knows each other prematurely.
Well, then they should marry, but we don't force them. Like I said, it's natural for a man to have those urges, especially
a vigorous young man like yourself."
He paused to fix
Paget with a steady gaze. "You need to take some sort of . . . relief, don't you?"
"But not with a woman?" he blurted, thinking that he figured out what the
wine and bull session was really all about.
"Well
certainly with a woman---only not here, Brother Cal. That sort of thing causes trouble to no end. If
you had honorable intention with a woman here, then I would advise you to go ahead---to jump the gun, so to speak. Then
you two could make your restitution, be forgiven for that minor sin, and be married in the fullness of time. We understand
that sort of thing. Are we not all cloaked in flesh?"
"And
since I don't have a woman?"
Joshua finished his wine.
55.
"Do what I do when the urge becomes overpowering," he said, staring into Paget's
eyes with equanimity.
"What do
you do?"
"What Sampson did when he went down to Timnath, what Judah did mistakenly with
his own widowed daughter-in-law."
What in the hell are you
talking about? Paget felt like screaming.
"Go
down to Timnath, Cal. That's my advice."
"What
does that mean?"
"Visit a harlot, son."
"You want me to buy a whore?"
"It's
better to plant your seed in a harlot than to spill it on the ground, Cal. Do you understand that?"
Paget nodded.
What the
hell kind of church is this? he wondered.
"Go
on. If the woman is already a harlot the sin is hers and her whoremonger's. Pay her price and relieve yourself.
It's the lesser of the two sins. But you must do it discreetly or you will bring discredit upon the Church."
Paget knew just the whore he wanted to see. A vague plan was beginning to form.
If he could somehow get her to let the police know that he had visited her, then the hunt for him in Missouri would soon be
over.
"Father Joshua," he began, "It would be best if I did it far from here,
wouldn't it---you know, to not bring disfavor on the Church?"
"Discredit,"
corrected Joshua. "But this has something to do with your old life, doesn't it? Once you are part of the
Church, you shouldn't have any business from your past to take care of. That should be dead to you.
A man cannot serve two masters, son."
"I
know it sounds ridiculous, but while I'm away doing my thing so to speak, I though I'd like to visit my mother. She's
not in good health, and I may never see her again."
"Laudable,"
said Joshua, nodding soberly. "Do you need money for your trip?"
Paget almost said "yes" automatically, taking advantage of the situation, but declining would make points with the
old man.
"No, I have some left over from before. But I need to borrow a car for a
few days. My mother lives in Kentucky. Will that be a problem?"
56.
"We usually don't leave for extended periods," said Joshua, frowning in thought. "But mothers are precious."
Paget smiled, thinking that if he ever saw his "precious mother" again he'd cut
her tongue out.
"Take the car parked outside whenever you decide to leave."
"Thank you, Father Joshua," he said, trying to sound as if he were choking
up. He thought he pulled it off well.
"Careful,
Cal. There's a danger of being reentangled out there."
"I'll
be back, sir. I've got no place else to go."
Blue Creek Clinic, May 18
"You can put your shirt back on, Mr. Carter," said Carl Hoag.
"Well?" asked Richard as he stood.
"I
don't think there's anything wrong with your heart. Your blood pressure is a little elevated, but normal. Cut
back on the salt and try to relax a little."
Richard smiled
crookedly as he buttoned his shirt. Far from a hypochondriac, he had been tempted to skip the appointment Jill had arranged.
Now, however, he was oddly disappointed. A physical cause for his fatigue would have been a relief.
The doctor observed his behavior.
"Look, I'll do some blood work, even run a stress test, but I really don't think
that's your problem."
"I've never had this much
trouble sleeping before, Doc. Maybe it's just something that comes with age," he said omitting mention of the racing
heartbeat he sometimes woke up to. He was doing his best to ignore it.
"Nightmares?"
The question startled him. "Not often."
Hoag nodded, then pointed with his pen at the purple scars covering Richard's right
forearm. They almost glowed under the fluorescent lights. "Have anything to do with these?"
"No," he said quickly.
It
was almost true. The dreams had come before Mic.
"Mr.
Carter, everyone knows that . . . you were . . . involved . . . in a---aw hell. I'm not any good at beating around the
bush. You killed the guy who did that to you. If you don't dream about that, then you're one cold guy."
57.
"I seldom dream about it," said Richard.
"And I don't waste my time thinking about it."
"Push
it right out of your mind, do you?"
"It wasn't
fun," said Richard, getting seriously irritated. "Look, I don't want to think about it or talk about
it right now."
Hoag nodded. "Want
to talk to a head doctor? I can set you up an appointment with a shrink."
Richard
misunderstood. "I thought you were the head doctor."
"I'm
the only damned doctor. I meant a shrink."
"That's
not necessary."
"Do you ever talk to
anyone about it?"
"A minister
or priest? No."
"How about your wife?
Does she help you with this, or does just she help you ignore it?"
Richard
smiled. "So if I won't go to a head doctor, then you'll do a stand in?"
"Well, you're a stubborn son of bitch, so I'm doing what I can. A
little medicine of this type is better than none. There's nothing physically wrong with you yet, but your body can't
run without proper rest. This constant anxiety not only deprives you of sleep, it's bad for the cardiovascular system."
"You said my heart was fine."
"Now.
Look. You're lucky. You know the cause for all this. You need to find a way to live with it."
"Don't worry about me, Doc. I'll get over it."
"Don't be ridiculous. What happened to you is who you are. You
don't change that. You just learn to accept it. If you've got guilt or shame you have to learn to live with that
too."
"I'd rather just forget it."
"You
can't. It's like an infected wound, Carter. If it only heals on the outside it becomes an abscess, goes systemic.
People die from those."
"You're speaking
figuratively, I hope," said Richard with a smile.
"No.
I'm not." Hoag crossed his arms and continued. "Your wife seems like a strong woman or she wouldn't
put up with your behavior. Talk to her. You can't keep everything to yourself."
58.
"What do you know about my behavior?"
He was sick of people thinking they knew what he was going through.
"She talked to me. She's worried that you're going to drop dead of
a stroke or a heart attack and leave her to raise your kid without a daddy. You're suffering from post traumatic stress,
and you need to own up to it."
"That phony
crap they came up with to explain everything that went wrong with the Vietnam vets!"
"I'm a Vietnam vet, Carter, and I suffer from that phony crap."
"No offense intended, Doc, but how come no one ever heard of that stuff
before Vietnam?"
"Because war ain't
like the damned movies we keep pretending it is. Until Vietnam this country had a bad case of the happy ever afters.
Horrible things happen in war. It always has. We see and do things that we were never meant to. It changes
what we thought we knew about ourselves. It changes who we are. Some of us never adjust to that."
"I was in the Marines, Doc. Nothing like Vietnam though. Only
action I saw was in Somalia, during the famine relief. You remember that?"
"Yeah,"
said Hoag with a short laugh. "Uncle Quixote all over again. The impossible dream. Uncle Sam sending
in the Marines to fix the unfixable! No offense. I love my starry-eyed country, and I have the utmost respect
for you jar heads. But tell me: did you do any good?"
"We
sure as hell tried. Jury's still out, I guess."
"Great
intentions, Carter. What you were doing beat the hell out of what I did though. I dropped bombs on people in my
war."
"Where were you stationed?"
"I
flew off the Enterprise until I checked into the Hanoi Hilton for three years."
Richard tried to imagine the nightmares
Hoag had experienced.
"When I got back to
New York I stayed just long enough to wreck my marriage. Then I decided to retire to a Unabomber cabin in the Ozarks
and fly fish the rest of my life away."
"So,
what are you doing practicing medicine?"
"After
I came back to the real world, I got into med-school---some crazy idea that being on the other side of the equation could
even things out, you know: kill a person, save a person. Later, things being what they were, and me being what
I was, I flip-flopped---decided I didn't owe a damned thing to anyone. It took me about six months of the hermit bit
to discover that being alone with my own thoughts wasn't such a good idea. So, after failing to save the world
and failing to save myself, I decided to settle for making myself useful."
59.
Richard nodded his head thoughtfully.
"You think maybe I know what I'm talking about?"
"You've paid your dues."
"So
go home and talk to your wife."
"Okay, I'll
go home and let Momma make it all better."
"Don't
make light of it. I wish I still had that option. My wife had a husband who was too damned self-centered to notice
what he was doing to her. Now we're both sorry, but there's no fixing it. Carter, get the hell out of here, and
go talk to your wife while you still have the chance."
Richard
nodded.
"Check in at the clinic once in awhile."
"Therapy?"
"Yeah.
For me, not you. I'd like to be able to talk to someone who has some idea of what's going on in my head."
Richard glanced at the clock in the dash. Two-fifteen. The doctor's appointment
had lasted longer than he had expected, but he still had two and half hours before he went on shift again. Shug hadn't
said how he had gotten Hall to drop the charges, but he thought it had something to do with reminding him of the wisdom on
relying on the word of a prostitute during what might become a messy trial. Richard was just glad to be going back to
work. Like Hoag, he decided to at least make himself useful. As far as sharing everything with Jill, he couldn't
and wouldn't do that. The idea of talking to Hoag, however, appealed to him. The man didn't pull his punches.
And he did know something about what had happened to Richard.
No.
Not what happened to me, what I did, he reminded himself.
11:30 PM, Fayetteville,
Arkansas
Mandy lay sprawled across
the bed, moaning occasionally, but still unconscious. Peppy had kept his cool when he came back to find his whore roughed
up. In the business it happened, a sort of normal wear and tear, depreciation of the assets. But the pimp was
scared. Although he tried to act as if nothing were going on, his eyes kept darting furtively toward the door as he
assessed his chances of making a run for it. Paget knew from the way he behaved that Peppy had talked to the police.
No big deal there. He couldn't tell them anything they didn't already know. But he shouldn't have done it.
"So, what you doing back here, Bobby Lee?" asked the slightly built
pimp, trying for a conversational tone. The strained sound of his own voice and the lack of response from Bobby Lee
compelled him to continue quickly with an obvious lie.
60.
"Man, it's good to see you!"
Paget
smiled thinly as he moved languidly to cut off the pimp's escape route. Peppy fidgeted. Adrenaline kicked up the
volume of the ICE still murmuring to his autonomic nervous system. Several hours had passed since he toked and, until
he walked in to find Paget, he had been gradually descending from the high. Now a slight tremor ran through his hands
and he had difficulty standing still. His eyes flitted away from Paget and back. They wouldn't stay focused on
anything for more than a few seconds.
Paget despised the disgusting
little fake who always tried to come off like a tough guy.
How
do you even keep your whores in line? he wondered.
"Police
been all over town looking for you, Bobby Lee?"
"You
worried about me, Peppy?"
"Don't want
nothing to happen to you. Probably be smart if you split," he said, getting only a thin smile and silence from
Paget. "I'm only telling you because we're friends."
Basically
a coward, Peppy would react to the threat of the moment. Right now he'd do whatever Paget wanted, but when the police
showed, he'd do whatever they wanted too. He'd spill his guts and tell them all about what Paget had done, and that
was exactly what he had come to Fayetteville for.
Unnerved
by the silence, Peppy swallowed with difficulty and waited because he couldn't do anything else. A low groan ending
in an alarming gurgle brought his attention to the pitiful sight on the bed. The pimp decided on a minor change in tactics.
"Why did you have to go and do that?" he asked.
Paget had never understood the relationship between Peppy and Mandy. Peppy ran
a cut-rate stable of strung-out teenagers and burned out older whores. He had something personal going with Mandy, though
it didn't keep him from having her continue to do tricks. She even worked out of Peppy's own pad. Paget shuddered
at the thought of sleeping in a bed where another man had taken a woman.
"I
didn't have to do it, Peppy. I just wanted to."
He
didn't like Peppy. The man's dark good looks, his juvenile silky black goatee, and his whiney voice all irritated him,
but he didn't hate him, at least not enough to do what he was going to do. That part was just business.
Mandy groaned again, conscious enough to hurt, but not enough to be aware of what was
happening. Peppy looked at her again. Still trying to find a way out of the situation, he decided that a macho
approach was called for.
"Man, you shouldn't
go damaging my merchandise like that. She won't be able to work for month. You costing me a lot of money, man.
She can't work I'm outa pocket beaucoup bucks."
"So
file a suit. Think a jury would award you a big settlement for me knocking around your---uh, subcontractor?"
asked Paget as he grasped Peppy in a one-armed hug and pulling him close.
"So,
how much to I owe you for that piece of trash?" he asked, nodding toward the beaten woman. "Can't let something
like that come between buddies, can we?"
61.
"Man, she make me a couple of thou a month easy, you don't mess her up."
"Some guys like that look," he said, slapping Peppy on the back as
he released him. "Put her back to work."
Peppy
laughed nervously, trying to feign appreciation for the remark.
"I
guess I'll see how many sick tricks I can line up for her."
Paget's
frowned as if he were trying to understand something.
"You
got her hooking out of your own pad, Peppy. What's with that? Economizing on rent? Market depressed?
Or you got a thing for sloppy seconds?"
Peppy's
jaw tightened. Paget's eyes gleamed as he tried to provoke it.
"Or
do we have a true love story here? The tender story of a pimp and his whore!"
Peppy whirled away, pulled a switchblade from his pocket, and dropped into a crouch.
"Get the hell out, Bobby Lee. I'll slice you!"
He
waved the knife menacingly, but he didn't really want to fight. He just wanted Paget to leave. Paget's fist shot
out, catching him in the left eye and sending him sprawling to the floor as the knife flew from his hand. As he scrambled
to reach it, Paget pinned his wrist with his foot before bending to pick up the switchblade.
"Just leave, Bobby Lee. Sorry I pulled the knife. I wasn't going
to hurt you. Honest. I was just trying to scare you. The police got me spooked, I guess."
Paget nodded reasonably as he took a lamp and jerked its cord from the socket.
Peppy watched wide-eyed as he unscrewed the top nut holding the shade onto the bronze colored base.
"Hey you and me go way back," said Peppy as he scooted away.
Let's just---"
The toe of Paget's boot caught him
under the chin. Dazed, he fell backwards. Before he could recover Paget waded in, swinging the lamp.
