Heavenly Hoboes

by Bob Brewer

Reverend Atchinson, Father Coombs and their entourage had wasted no time in getting a round-table discussion going. Since the Free Gospel Church was the closest safe haven, they sped there and charged into the basement meeting room. Their plans to verbally annihilate Abe and his gangster sidekick had taken a terrible twist, but they weren’t even close to giving up.

  As the team of highly trained specialists retreated to revamp their strategies, Roland Thompson secluded himself in the bushes just outside an open basement window of the church. Anxious to get the scoop of a lifetime, he huddled down, got out his pad and pencil and peeked inside. Reverend Atchinson was pouring a round of wine into some rather hefty glasses.

  After a long swallow of Atchinson’s wine, Archdeacon Coleman complained to begin the meeting. “I have never in my life seen such irreverence,” he stated. “And this man has the blatant gall to call himself Abraham?”

  “That’s exactly what we said,” Reverend Meade spoke up. “It’s heresy from the word go. In my estimation the man is damned; he’s causing all kinds of dissension.”

  “Ah, that’s the point of the matter,” Bishop Duncan said. “From what I know, he’s not only damning himself but he’s putting a lot of good people in jeopardy of being damned as well.”

  “And it’s costing us a small fortune,” Atchinson said, picking up the wine bottle and offering another round.

  “That’s true,” Father Coombs said, waving off the refill of his glass. “He’s not doing the city any good either.”

  “Have any of you tried talking to the man?” Bishop Riley asked, adjusting the volume control on his hearing aid. “Just a small amount,” he said to Atchinson.

  “The man’s nuts,” Deacon Collingsworth answered Riley. “And he’s got the Mafia and a vicious dog on his side.”

  “The Mafia!” Riley and Duncan said at the same time.

  “What in heaven’s name do they think they’re doing?” the Archdeacon exclaimed. “This is religion we’re talking about, not politics!”

  “This is money,” Father Coombs supplied. “They take in an unbelievable amount each meeting; perhaps thousands.”

  “Whew!” Bishop Riley whistled. “I see what you guys mean, now.”

  Bishop Duncan straightened his slouched shoulders. “So do I,” he said. “But the Mafia! How are we supposed to fight that?”

  “Don’t ask us,” Pastor Elroy answered him. “That’s what you guys are here for.”

  “Count me out,” Bishop Riley said, holding up his hands. “I got in the middle of a Family quarrel once. Wicked.” He shook his head. “Absolutely wicked. No, I’m not getting into that again. And, actually I’m just sitting in as a visitor. This isn’t my diocese, you know?”

  Archdeacon Coleman finished his second glass of wine. “Well,” he said, and cleared his throat. “It seems that we either talk to him or forget the whole affair and suffer the consequences. Personally, I don’t want to suffer anything. I say we try to gain an audience with this Abraham.”

  “We’re all with you,” Reverend Meade said, and the rest of the Organized Ministry glared at him. “What I mean is, the local clergy agrees as long as you do the talking.”

  The Archdeacon held up his glass and nodded to Atchinson who poured the last of the fourth bottle into his glass. “All right,” Coleman said, followed by an audible sigh of resolve. He looked at Bishop Duncan. “You with me, Bishop?” Duncan answered with a slight nod. “All right,” Coleman repeated himself, “we’ll try to talk to him tomorrow.”

  Deacon Collingsworth stood and slammed a fist on the table. “You’d better do more than try to talk to him.” He made his statement in a raised voice and through contorted lips. “We’re all counting on you guys to save us any further embarrassment.”

  From the moment Collingsworth mentioned the Mafia’s involvement in the Midvale Miracle, Roland Thompson began formulating his story around that premise. And as soon as Collingsworth stood to make his final statement, Roland pushed his camera against the window screen and snapped off three pictures. The bright light of the flashes coming so unexpectedly shook the preachers to the core. They all jumped and shouted their individual sounds of surprise, filling the basement with an ungodly amount of noise. But Roland had what he wanted. He ran to his car and sped back to his hotel to call in the good news. “Hold on to your visor, Uncle Rayford,” he said in a high-pitched voice when Manson answered the call. “This whole thing down here is a Mafia operation!”

  Rayford coughed. “Just a second, let me get you off the speaker. Okay. Now, did I hear you right?”

  “The Mafia,” Roland repeated. “They’re behind the whole thing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Got it straight from one of the preachers down here. Let’s see.” He thumbed his notepad. “Yeah, here it is, a Deacon Collingsworth.”

  “Deacon? That’s not very high up the ladder,” Rayford said.

  “I know, Uncle Rayford, but that’s what he told a couple of bishops and an archdeacon. I don’t think he’d do that unless he was awfully sure of himself. And from what I’ve gathered from the people on the street, it seems to ring true. They’re making a fortune on this. Can you imagine what a story this will make?”

  “Roland, are there any television guys there?”

  “Nobody. We’ve got it all to ourselves. The only other reporter I saw was good old Harley, and his weekly doesn’t come out ‘til Thursday, I think.”

  “Did you think to get a shot of the miracle?”

  “Huh-uh. I mean I don’t think they had one tonight. I looked around for Douglas, he’s the head honcho, but I think he flaked out because of all the high-ranking church officials here. Probably regrouping, maybe thinking about moving on to another town.”

  “That doesn’t sound too good,” Rayford said like he was thinking aloud. “You think it’s possible that it’s all over? A one shot thing?”

  “Not for a minute, Uncle Rayford. There’s too much money involved. According to the ministers here, they take in thousands every night. They’re not going to let that go.”

  “I’d guess not,” said Rayford. “So. You got enough information to write a piece on it yet.”

  “Oh yeah,” said Roland.

  “Well, get on back here pronto. The news agencies are waiting on us. Roland, my boy, you’ve got about two hours to write it, and it’ll be the headlines in every major paper in the country in the morning. Good work, Roland. This is going to blow their bloomers off.”

  “I’m on my way. And, Uncle Rayford?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for giving this one to me.”

  “Just think Pulitzer, boy, just think Pulitzer,” Rayford said with a chuckle in his voice. “Now, get off the phone.”

  Captain Hedges was waiting up for Abe and Shorty when they got back to the Center two hours after going to Munroe’s trailer to get their beards removed. Big red splotches covered their cheeks and chins where Jesse’s solvent had soaked a little too long. “My God! What happened to your faces?” the captain gasped when he saw them. “Did those women find you? I’ve been worried sick about you both all day…”

  He would have gone on but Shorty held up a hand. “We’re just fine, Cap’n,” he said. “And, no, it wasn’t the doin’s of those women ya warned us about, as awful as they were.” He ran a hand over his face. “It’s nothin’ to be alarmed about, just a little rash, don’t ya see?”

  “Thank goodness,” Hedges said with a sigh of relief. “That bunch of women were members of various churches, you know. I’m not too sure what you fellows have gotten yourselves into, but I certainly hope you know what you’re doing. Those women are going to tar and feather you if they ever find you.”

  “They found us, Captain,” Abe told him. “But nothing bad came of it. I was hoping to see you at the park tonight.”

  Hedges nodded. “I was going to be there, but I didn’t want to leav
e for fear I’d miss a call about you guys. I’ve been checking all day between the police station and the hospitals. I had the feeling you were in dire straits. I’m glad I was wrong.”

  Abe took his hat off and said, “Thanks for worrying about us, Captain. I’m sorry we caused you so much grief, but really everything’s okay. We’ll have another meeting tomorrow night, maybe you can come then.”

  “I’ll certainly try,” said Hedges. “Well, now that I know you’re safe I think I’ll be heading off to bed.”

  “Captain?” Abe stopped his turn. “Do you think we could take tomorrow off? I know we’ve been missing a lot of work but we’ll make it up to you.”

  Hedges nodded. “I can’t think of any reason you couldn’t. The store’s been pretty dead of late, and Leroy seems to like being over there for a change. Sure, go ahead.”

  “Ah,” Abe hesitated. “I was wondering if maybe we could borrow your car, too.” The captain’s eyebrows raised, and Abe quickly added an explanation. “We’ve got kind of an important errand to run, Captain, and it would sure be nice if we had a car.”

  “Do you have an operator’s license?” asked Hedges, his face twisting a bit when he said it.

  “Mr. Douglas does,” Shorty said quickly, and prodded Abe with a winging elbow. “Show it to him, Mr. Douglas.”

  “I believe you,” Hedges said when Abe started to reach for his wallet. “You know she’s sort of temperamental at times? Just take it easy and she’ll get you where you’re going. Where are you going, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “It’d probably be best if ya didn’t know that, Cap’n,” Shorty said. “That way ya wouldn’t have to be tellin’ a fib if someone were to ask ya.”

  “Like those women,” Abe added.

  “I see what you mean,” Hedges agreed. “Okay, wait here and I’ll get you the key.”

  Before sunrise the next morning Abe and Shorty and Horace loaded into the old yellow station wagon and steered it towards Windsor to do their shopping for the kids at the Waverly Home. Most of Midvale was still asleep, but not for long.