Her voice wavered up from her private hell again. “Bradley? If you don’t ask him to partner, he cannot destroy you. By the laws of God and the world He created, Mike Finnegan cannot destroy you. He can’t even damage you in any significant way. He can only cajole you into damaging yourself and those around you. Whenever a devil comes to you he wants much more than just you. He is after your family, your descendants, your entire narrative upon the earth. Resist him. Refuse him. Any place of worship can help you. Any priest or pastor or rabbi or imam. Any spiritually cognizant person. Stay away from him. Read your Bible. Keep it near you. Strike him with it, or even wave it at him and it will make Mike nauseous.”
Mike shook his head and smiled at Bradley, then called down. “Bea, you really are such a prude! But enjoy the treats and I’ll be back someday soon. Are you still sleeping almost every night now?”
“Yes. Sometimes for over an hour. There’s just literally nothing to do down here but pray. So after you get used to it, sleep begins to seem interesting. Dreams are revealing. You learn so much about yourself. Especially what you cannot do. Your weaknesses. You learn what you are not. I feel more like a human every day.”
“Still dreaming that you can fly, little angel?”
“Every night I dream that I can fly.”
“Can you still recite the complete Psalms?” He looked at Bradley and smiled wickedly.
“One through one hundred fifty. That’s nothing, Mike. You know the hours I put in on them.”
“Yes, I do. Well, until next time, Beatrice Ann, my ancient and eternally dried-up virgin angel, you take care and try to behave yourself down there. If God had made you with the wings that human beings give you in art and literature, you could flutter out of there like a big bat.”
“I’m not so big anymore, Mike. Pretty much just skin and bones. There are so many things I wish I could do. Thanks for the gifts. Somewhere in the center of your hideous soul there is a flicker of goodness and light.”
“Don’t be saying things like that about me, Bea. They have a new word for that kind of thing now: dissing. Well, new to you, anyway. It means disrespecting.”
“My nature won’t allow me to respect you, Mike. But the apples and meat sticks really do go well together. And I’m happy that, in some strange way, you like pleasing me.”
“Until we meet again.”
“Pray to God, Bradley! Pray to Him!”
A moment of quiet fell upon them. Bradley watched three vultures wheeling in the sky high above and felt a net of crazy fear settling over him, as if dropped by the big black birds. Then the entombed Beatrice Ann let out a wail that made the hair on his neck rise, and his heart flutter. It was not a scream or a moan but a high-pitched keen, corporeal yet disembodied, both flesh and spirit. It cut the clear, dry air for many long seconds. Bradley heard the animal in it, the fear and mourning, the abandon and fury. Very gradually it faded, as if she had fallen deeper into the abyss but never stopped crying out.
The fresh silence was long and brittle. Mike sighed and stepped away from the mine shaft and looked at Bradley. “Stand up straight. Don’t ever again take a knee for anyone, especially not her ilk. Not even for me. You have between here and my truck to organize your thoughts and beliefs, and then tell me what you want to do.”
Bradley rose and stepped forward to the shaft and looked down into it. Then he turned to Mike and the small man did not appear ridiculous at all in spite of his bright clothing; he looked condensed and capable and he had an expression that Bradley had never seen on him, something dark and cruel and controlled. Bradley started down the mountain. His legs were uncertain and his feet were cold. The sun was bright and low in the west and with every step Bradley told himself he had not seen what he had seen, nor heard what he had heard. But for the first time in his life he could not believe himself, could not override his senses with his will. All truth seemed new now and all warranties expired. He veered off behind a bush to pee and check his cell phone. As the equal of God I renounce him, he thought. What a thing to believe and to say.
“Speak to me,” called Mike from behind. “Speak to me, my fine, wayward son of Murrieta.”
“As the equal of God, I renounce him,” he muttered without looking back, his words buried in the sharp tumble and clatter of the rocks as he sidestepped down the mountain. But he felt a sudden power of heart, coupled with a confidence that he hadn’t felt since the bloody shootout in Yucatan four months ago. It was like the sun breaking through dark clouds. His body and muscles and blood felt strong and young again. His eyes saw very clearly. He took a deep breath and felt his lungs expanding with the cool clean desert air. “I am the judge of right and wrong and of beauty.”
“Louder, Bradley! And with conviction. I can hardly hear you!”
Bradley shouted out the words and Mike caught up with him and they headed down the mountain.
12
The next afternoon Mary Kate Boyle waited at the bus stop across the street from the Buenavista ATF field office. It struck her as funny that the big bad ATF had a little cluster of offices inside the Imperial Bank building. It was a reflective glass building, two stories high, with an investment company and an accounting firm and law offices and who knew what else. Downstairs there was also a cafe that had good muffins and expensive coffee.
The day was sunny and cool, not sticky humid like back home. A very old Native American man sat unmoving at the other end of the bench, arms crossed and head lolled forward far enough for his chin to touch his chest. His eyes were closed and he had neither moved nor apparently breathed since she had come off the eastbound bus and sat down two minutes ago. Her phone rang again, and again it was Skull.
“I told you not to call, Skull. I wasn’t kidding when I said I was done with you. I am done with you. It’s over. You can’t treat a girl like that. You just can’t.” She clicked off and glanced at the old man as if for approval. “Right?” He didn’t move.
Near the end of her first week here in Southern California, Mary Kate was beginning to feel invisible but at least she wouldn’t go hungry. For a skinny girl, she loved to eat, especially spicy food, and the zesty fast-food options here whipped her stomach into forest fires of appetite. Just seeing the graphic posters and signs made her want to order: the Angry Whopper, the Flame-Thrower Encharito, the XXL Chalupa, Spicy Chicken Crispers. The establishments: Del Taco, Pollo Loco, BK, and more, everywhere she looked. They put the bland Russell County DQs and Hardee’s to shame.
Just two days ago she’d been down to her last two hundred bucks and change, and maybe one more week on Amy and Victor’s couch if she was lucky. So she’d borrowed Amy’s car and applied at temp agencies from L.A. down to San Diego, but she couldn’t type except to text, wasn’t handy with computers, and she had no high school diploma on account of chronic truancy while trying to keep up with Lyle and his bad-boy ways.
But yesterday a dapper young Latino had hired her on the spot at a KFC in downtown San Diego where she’d gone in for a snack, and after the three-hour lunch shift, she’d found a by-the-week hotel room not far away. By late afternoon she’d returned Amy’s car, then come all the way back to San Diego on the bus. Trailways again. Her room at the Winston Arms was a dive but most of the dives wouldn’t take women at all so she felt lucky. And she could pretty much eat all she wanted at KFC, which made her feel good about both her present and her future. Mary Kate had gone hungry as a little girl and it was a feeling she never wanted to have again. Ever. It made you feel weak and worthless and it took away your fight.