The current generation of Burnwhistles had all moved away, as had most of the young folks. Scurgeton had nothing to offer them. Family farms had been bought out by corporations that bulldozed barns and filled in ponds in order to construct endless acres of chicken houses. Fewer children were joining 4-F and aspiring to win blue ribbons at the county fair for little heifers with shy brown eyes.
Hitebred took his overnight bag and walked back to the church. If the satanists were still bent on their wicked ways, they would hold their ritual on Saturday night in order to defile the holiness of the Sunday morning service. Never would they suspect he would be waiting for them in his office, erect in his chair, his ears tuned to the slightest sound, his hand poised to call the sheriff's department and summon a heavily armed squadron of men to burst into the church and cart them off to jail.
Although he knew that pride was a sin, Hitebred saw himself on the witness stand, his eyes blazing with righteousness and his words inspired by no less than the Holy Ghost. The jury would be spellbound, the judge and bailiff leaning forward, their mouths agape with awe. The miscreants, a sorry collection of slovenly, long-haired boys and girls-why, they'd fall down on their knees and whimper for forgiveness when they heard themselves condemned to eternal suffering. Whether or not he saw fit to forgive them would depend on the sincerity of their apologies. There was no room for ambiguity.
The church was dark. Hitebred let himself inside, locked the door, and groped his way through the folding chairs to the office door. He found the chair behind the desk, sat down, and set his Bible and a thermos of coffee within reach. Thus armed, he leaned back and awaited the arrival of Satan's onslaught.
Brother Verber was surprised when it began to sink in that he had been given the opportunity to do something that would expand his ministry. When he'd first climbed onto the table and exhorted the sinners to quit their drinking and gambling and spend the morning in church, he'd sensed that the message was not well received. However, once he'd pulled out the piece of paper with his lyrics and suggested that everyone present learn how to go about avoiding sin, his audience had turned oddly attentive.
"The thing is," he said, praying that the wobbly table would hold him, "you can't linger on the syllables. You have to keep moving along like draftees in boot camp. Now the first line goes like this: 'Atheism, bestiality, cunnilingus, drive-in movies… evolution and excessive body hair.' You want to try it, just to make sure we've got the pace?"
Those in the bar seemed willing to do their best. After a couple of false starts, it came together and Brother Verber beamed down at them as they applauded their group effort.
"Very good," he said, accepting a libation from a waitress who looked just like a miniskirted angel. "This is real kind of you."
"It's from an admirer," she said with a wink.
He thought about this for a second, then got back to the serious business of saving souls. "This next part is even trickier, but I'm beginning to feel the spirit and I know you are, too. Before the night is over, we're gonna wash away all our sins and go forth like Christian warriors. Pay attention, 'cause here we go: 'Fornication, gluttony, heathenism, immodesty… jealousy and killin' with a pear.' Think you can do it?"
"A pear?" echoed a woman with white hair.
Brother Verber frowned. "Are you quibbling with the voice of the Almighty God? In Second Colossians, we are told: 'The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, and temperance.' A pear's a fruit, isn't it?"
"Well, yes," she admitted. "But I don't quite see how you'd go about killing somebody with one."
"You know the story of David and Goliath?" said Brother Verber. "Now I'm not saying this is the true story, but you remember how David put a stone in his slingshot, doncha? Only last week I was thinking of buying myself a ripe, juicy pear at the supermarket as a special treat. I could almost smell the sweet nectar dribbling down my chin. My mouth was watering with anticipation." He paused to allow his audience to share his anticipation. "But I groaned with despair when I discovered that the speckled yellow pear was as hard as a chunk of granite. I was so disappointed that I could have slung it across the aisle in frustration, just like David did."
The woman narrowed her eyes. "Are you saying that David slew Goliath with a pear?"
"We can't know for sure. It's an issue that's plagued biblical scholars for centuries. I think we need to move on to the second verse. We're not even halfway done." He paused, a little bewildered by the enthusiastic response he was receiving. This was a song about sin, after all, and those present were engaging in it in various degrees. "Okay, this second verse requires you to take off like you stuck a fork in an outlet. Ready?"
They all seemed more than just interested.
15
"What's wrong?" I asked Cherri Lucinda.
"I ain't sure. Well, I have my suspicions, but I hate to say outright 'cause I'm most likely wrong. Did you hear about Estelle winning all that money playing the slots?"
"I was told she won a thousand dollars."
"They gave it to her in chips. She stuffed them in her purse, then sailed right out of the casino like one of those ships on TV on the Fourth of July. You know what I'm talking about?" I nodded, unable to keep myself from picturing Estelle as a figurehead on a Viking ship, her jaw thrust forward and her wooden eyes focused on a yet unconquered continent.
Cherri Lucinda shivered as a gust of wind whipped around us. "I went to catch up with her so I could offer my congratulations, but I saw this man standing real close to her in front of the elevators, holding onto her arm. They got in one and the doors closed before I could get there. The thing is, she looked real perturbed. I don't think she wanted to go with him."
"And?" I said.
"That's about it. It was more than half an hour ago. I was trying to think what to do when I noticed you poking around the casino. I followed you out here, but, well, I got slowed down. You didn't see anything odd, did you-like a person or something?"
"No," I said curtly, not willing to pursue the topic. "Describe this man who was with Estelle."
She tugged on her lip with fingernails long enough to do damage in a crowded room. "Hefty. Brown hair, ordinary features. He was smiling, but the way he was doing it wouldn't have made me invite him into my apartment for a beer. He reminded me of my mama's third husband-and he ain't coming up for parole till the year two thousand and eight."
I was fairly confident I knew the subject under discussion. "He wasn't threatening her in any way?"
Cherri Lucinda gave me a look that implied she put my IQ somewhat lower than that of a slice of cheese. "Not that I could tell."
"Have you seen Baggins?" I asked.
"Since when? I saw him yesterday afternoon, when he gave us our keys. I saw him last night at the roulette table. I saw him this morning, tearing into eggs and ham. I saw him a while back, lined up at the cashier's desk."
"Cashing in his winnings?"
"Not hardly. He was using his credit card to get money. The professor was doing the same, although he was squabbling with them. I guess knowing everything there is to know about Elvis doesn't always cut the mustard. There were several casino guys arguing with him."
"I'd better go make sure Estelle is okay. Thanks for tracking me down."
"You sure you didn't see anybody wandering around out here? A fellow dressed kinda funny, acting like he wanted to have a nice talk?"
I shook my head and went into the lobby. Everybody who was going to check in or out had done so, leaving the bellmen to share a tabloid (EXTRATERRESTRIALS IN CONGRESS!) and the desk clerks to stare at me with far more curiosity than I warranted. I took the elevator to the eighth floor and was digging through my purse for the room key as I stepped into the foyer.