“Yes, we have a jail,” I said. “Look, Brother Jobe, I’m not against you or your organization, and I appreciate what you’ve done for the town since you arrived. But you can’t snatch people off the street and have your way with them—”
“Have my way with ’em! Hooo-weee."”
“You know what I mean.”
“Looks to me like you all can’t take a joke,” he said, but he kept grinning as though his amusement knew no bounds.
“The people in town are pretty ticked off,” Loren said.
“Maybe so,” Brother Jobe said, “but at least now they look good being that way.”
“If we don’t make a public show of bringing you in,” I said, “I’m afraid things could get ugly around here.”
“Bottom line: you want me to work with you?”
“Yes. That’s pretty much it.”
“Heck, I’ll work with you.”
“Okay,” I said. “What do you say we come get you around seven o’clock this evening? You meet us at the front door. We walk you through town so everybody can see, and lock you up.”
“Fair enough. Then what happens.”
“Somehow we get Wayne Karp down there with you.”
“In the jail?”
“Yes.”
“That trailer trash? I hope you’ve got two separate cells.”
“We do,” Loren said.
“Well then, I’ll look forward to making his acquaintance. How do you propose to bring him in?”
“I don’t know,” Loren said.
“You can probably use these here,” Brother Jobe said. He stepped across the room, fetched a wad of papers on top a bookshelf, and handed them to me. “Writs and such,” he said. “Signed by Mr. Bullock, all properlike. I sent young Brother Minor over to fetch them. He helped remind Mr. Bullock of the service we rendered him. They come in late last night.”
The wad included a warrant to search Karptown for stolen goods, a warrant for the arrest of Wayne Karp, a summons for Bunny Willman and Wayne Karp to appear before a grand jury two weeks hence, two blank arrest warrants to be used as we saw fit to bring in whoever had been with Wayne burgling houses the night of the levee.
“That’s pretty comprehensive,” I said. “How’d you get Mr. Bullock off square one, finally.”
“We had a… a meeting of the minds, so to speak.”
I handed the papers to Loren.
“We’ll go up to Karptown later today,” he said.
“You’re a couple of brave boys.”
“The object is to inform them that the law is back in business here,” Loren said. “They got a lot to answer for.”
“You know, I’ve offered my men to the mayor here.”
“I’m aware of that,” Loren said. “Thanks. If necessary, we’ll take you up on that.”
“Some of’em have been to places and dealt with folks that even Mr. Wayne Karp wouldn’t want to know about. You don’t have to explain none of this to Mr. Karp, but we got your back. The welfare of this town is our business too. Maybe he’ll understand that he can come in now walking upright or come in later by some other means of locomotion.”
“We’ve got modest expectations,” Loren said.
“Reach for the stars, I always say.”
“We’ve got to start reaching for the lower branches before we get to the stars,” I said.
“Some day I’m going to teach you to think big, old son,” Brother Jobe said. “Tell you what, though: you bring the sumbitch in tonight, I’ll have him converted into a Jesus-loving lamb of God quicker’n you can say Deuteronomy 32:35.”
Fifty-four
Loren left directly to prepare the jail. Brother Jobe said he was welcome to “borrow” Brother Judah from down at the barbershop if he needed any help with the task. He asked me to “stick around.” There was something he wanted to show me, he said. He put his sermon aside and I followed him in his brisk, waddling walk deeper into the interior of the old school. The classrooms had been converted into workshops, several with walls knocked down between them to make larger spaces. There was a woodworking shop where a half-dozen brothers were using hand tools to fabricate what looked like window and door sashes. There was an equally large sewing shop where five sisters cut patterns on big tables and worked at ancient footpowered sewing machines. There was a harness shop and a metal shop attached to a new forge built out from the exterior wall as an addition, but with a dirt floor. Two brothers were smithing horseshoes while a boy about fourteen worked a six-foot bellows by the hearth. The heat was unbearable.
At the end of the long hall was the old gymnasium. I was not quite prepared for what he was about to show me. Brother Jobe held the door open. Within, they had begun a colossal construction operation, framing the hundred-foot by seventy-five-foot room, with its fifty-foot-high ceiling, into a matrix of tiny rooms, deployed in three decks, with stairways zigzagging at diagonal corners.
“What do you think?” Brother Jobe said.
“What is this? A giant three-D tic-tac-toe stadium?”
“Naw. Heart of the hive, so to speak.”
“Heart of the hive?”
I counted seven brothers working in there. The interior rang with their hammer blows and the chuffing of handsaws as they completed what was in effect a gigantic balloon frame. They were hanging joists way up on the top deck that day. Hundreds of board feet of scavenged lumber stood neatly stacked in piles on the old hardwood gym floor: two-by-fours, two-by-sixes, one-by in various widths.
“She look safe to you?” Brother Jobe said.
“I suppose.”
“We don’t have no master builder type among us.”
“It looks like they’ve got it pinned into the walls and ceiling trusses pretty well.”
“Is that your seal of approval?”
“I don’t know as it would pass code,” I said, “but the good news is there isn’t anymore code enforcement.”
That seemed to please him.
“Come here,” he said. “Lookit: what I want to show you.”
We went up one of the corner stairways. It felt solid enough. At the absolute center of the whole structure, on the middle deck, was a framed cube of a room that would have corridors on two sides but apparently no windows opening to light. Nothing was up yet but stud wall and a floor.
“This here’s the royal chamber,” Brother Jobe said.
“Is this where the queen bee lives?”
“She passes a great deal of time here, yes. In what will be her winter quarters.”
“Then you have a queen bee?”
“We got something like that,” he said. “You want to meet her?”
I hesitated. It was hard with Brother Jobe to tell where metaphor left off and something uncomfortably like hyperreality began.
“She won’t sting you to death,” he said. “Don’t worry.”
“This is an actual person you’re talking about?”
“Hell yes. Mary Beth Ivanhoe of Lynchburg, Virginia. That actual enough for you?”
“I guess.”
“Anyways, I was kind of hoping you’d help us out with this here room. It’s a very special room. Mary Beth will be spending most of her time here, and she is not always feeling tip-top. She ain’t sick, but she gets… indisposed. It has to be a very beautiful room, like a jewel box. I got in mind wood paneling, inlay and such. Nice woods, finished finely. It requires first-class workmanship, and I know you can do it. Course, I was thinking you could educate some of our brothers in the process. You’d have to work up a ventilation scheme because she generates a lot of heat. What do you say?”
“I may have to work it in around other commitments.”
“Then you’ll do it?”
“I can probably do it.”
“That’s good. Very good,” he said fervidly. “However you can make it happen, you won’t be sorry. I promise. Now let’s go drop in on the old girl.”