"No; I heard them from other people. Many believe it. It's said that you stole sacred relics from Garth, and have hidden them away."
A new wrinkle. "Sacred relics? What sacred relics?"
"For one, the Great Knife God gave Garth during Garth's Great Quest to battle Satan."
Whisper. Already strange and powerful religious myths were being formed as Garth's stories were absorbed into people's minds, smelted in the fires of imagination, then recast in unrecognizable shapes. I'd assumed that Marl Braxton and Tommy Carling had started the slander campaign against me, but I now realized that this wasn't necessarily the case. People caught up in religious fervor didn't need any prompting to form myths; the thought struck me that perhaps all religions, at least in their formative stages, need a Betrayer. This time around, I had the part.
"Mrs. Daplinger," I said quietly, "doesn't Garth teach that you should always speak the truth?"
"Yes," the woman replied, and her dark brown eyes flashed. "And I won't listen to any of your lies about Garth.
You stole the Great Knife, and God marked you for it."
"I didn't come here to say anything at all about Garth, Mrs. Daplinger. I just want to know more about him. I'd like to hear the complete story of how he restored Harry August's sight-what happened on that day. Since it's the truth, I can't see how any harm can come from repeating your story to me."
"It was a lovely, sunny day," the woman said, smiling at the memory. "I'd gone into Manhattan to shop. I was walking down Eighth Avenue, and I remember how crowded it was-I guess a lot of people had decided to go shopping that day. I stopped walking when I saw a crowd gathered on the sidewalk; they were watching Garth talking to Mr. August. I remember. . Garth was crying; his cheeks were wet with tears, and every once in a while he'd sob. He'd taken out his wallet and was shoving bills into Mr. August's cup. He was talking to Mr. August, begging him to come to a place where he would be taken care of so that he wouldn't have to stand on the street and beg. People were laughing at Garth, shouting insults and asking him to give them money. A couple of men even scooped up bills that had fallen out of Mr. August's cup."
"It's getting chilly out here, Mrs. Daplinger, and I don't want you to catch cold. Don't you think you should get a coat or sweater?"
She shook her head, said distantly, "I'm all right."
"You weren't laughing at Garth, were you?"
"No. I thought it was a sad spectacle. I felt sorry for both men, and a little embarrassed. Mr. August seemed very uncomfortable, and he kept trying to push Garth away from him. Garth just kept shoving money into Mr. August's cup while he tugged at Mr. August's sleeve and begged him to come along with him. Mr. August kept trying to push him away.
"Then I felt somebody grab my purse, and I started screaming for help. I turned around and saw this young man tugging at my purse, and cursing at me. People started crowding around us. The young man kept tugging at my purse, and I tugged back. Then he pulled a knife, and everybody backed away. I let go of the purse. The young man put it under his arm, then went to get the money from Mr. August's cup. By this time, Mr. August had already been healed-but I'm not sure he even realized it. But he must have seen what was happening, because he snatched his cup away and started beating the young man over the head with his cane. The boy must have been startled and hurt, because he suddenly dropped his knife and tried to run away. Some men grabbed him and held him down on the sidewalk until a policeman came.
"By then, a number of people were staring at Mr. August, because they'd seen him strike out at the young man just as if he wasn't blind at all. His dark glasses had fallen off, and he seemed to be in a kind of state of shock. He was staring back at the people around him, and his right eye was in focus and seemed perfectly all right. People were starting to say ugly things, claiming that Mr. August might have terrible scars on his face but that he wasn't blind. They were shouting at Mr. August to give Garth back his money, and urging the policeman to arrest Mr. August along with the purse snatcher. Then, all of a sudden, Mr. August started shouting things I didn't understand-now I know he was speaking in tongues. Then he dropped down on his knees and started kissing Garth's feet. He was shouting that Garth had cured his blindness and made him see again. He begged Garth to take him along to whatever place Garth had been talking about. Garth pulled him to his feet, and they walked off together-with Mr. August shouting all the time that Garth had given him back his sight."
"The policeman wasn't interested in arresting Harry August?"
"I guess not; he was busy handcuffing the purse snatcher. Also, there was a lot of confusion; someone was snapping pictures, and people were just milling around. Some people were following Garth and Mr. August."
"What did you do, Mrs. Daplinger?"
"Then? I was. . upset. I just went home. Then, after the stories started appearing in the newspapers, I began to realize that I had actually been present when a miracle had been performed. I searched for Garth, and I became a member of Garth's People. I guess a lot of people who were there on the sidewalk that day came to feel the same way, because I often see them at the caring houses where I go to help." She paused, cocked her head, and smiled at me. "I feel very blessed, Mr. Frederickson."
"Thank you for the time you've given me, Mrs. Daplinger," I said quietly. "I appreciate it."
The woman looked at my forehead, then into my eyes. "You don't seem like a bad man."
"I try not to be."
"It's strange how God works."
"It certainly is, Mrs. Daplinger."
"God chose Harry August to have his sight restored through the power of the Messiah; yet, I'm sure there are thousands of other blind men, women, and children who are so much more deserving. I know it's uncharitable of me to say this, but Harry August is such an unpleasant man."
Unfortunately, Sergeant Mclntyre's guilt and embarrassment weren't sufficient to impel him to call a number of city, state, and federal agencies on my behalf, under the auspices of the NYPD. I had my own contacts, but milking them-and gaining access to certain confidential information-took time, as did checking out hunches and setting up a vigil outside the bathhouse for a couple of days in order to tail Harry August whenever he came out alone. However, three days before Christmas I felt I had gathered more than enough information to give Harry August an early Christmas present he definitely was not going to like.
Lawrence Harold D'Agostino was more than a little surprised to find me waiting for him outside his small, nondescript house on a nondescript street in Brooklyn, leaning against the Ford station wagon he'd owned-and driven-for eleven years. He spotted me when he was halfway up the block; his face went white, his jaw dropped open, and he turned and started to run away. I caught up with him three blocks later, in a small shopping center, when he tried to duck down a narrow alley between two shops. Gasping for breath, he wheeled around and threw a garbage can lid at me. I sidestepped the flying lid, then hit him in the stomach with sufficient force to knock the rest of the wind out of him and sit him down hard on a stack of old newspapers.
"You and I have a lot to talk about, Mr. D'Agostino," I said as I took a sheaf of papers out of my jacket pocket and waved them in his face. "For a blind man, you've led quite an active life for the past few years."
Harry August was starting to get his breath back-and with it, a semblance of calm and his usual cunning. "Fuck you, dwarf," he said, rising to his feet and brushing off his pants. "I've got nothing to say to you, and nobody's going to believe anything you say about me."
"No? How about the driver's license you've had since you were sixteen years old, and which has been renewed like clockwork every five years? You even got a speeding ticket two years ago-which is understandable, I suppose, since it would be hard for a blind man to see a speed limit sign or know how fast he was driving."