Desperate Measures

by M. Glenn Graves

  “Funny.”

  I started to knock on the door in front of us when Walters pointed to the sign which said for us to come inside. We entered and found ourselves standing in a foyer the size of a small island in the South Pacific. Several open hallways lead off from this open space. Each hallway had a sign above it with listings for what or who might be found along that particular route. I was busy reading the various names, classes, and functions when Walters tapped my shoulder and pointed to the hallway on the far right. The office of His Holiness, The Reverend Reginald Fletcher, was listed as the singular entry for that passageway. We moved to our right since his holiness was the reason we had come to the Church of the Real End.

  “Play nice,” Walters said to me.

  “Don’t I always play nice?”

  Walters smiled but didn’t look at me nor answer.

  The passageway led us to another small-island foyer with more door options. This foyer was identical to the previous foyer except the presumed hallways that led off from this foyer actually had doors. They were all closed. I guessed that there were rooms or offices on the other side of the doors.

  The other difference from this foyer and the one we passed through after entering the building was that there was a desk in the center of this foyer. More like a hospital station than a desk, but I’m a simple person and used to simple terms. A tall, almost handsome young man was sitting on a high stool behind this station-desk. He smiled as we approached.

  “Welcome to the Church of the Real End,” he said.

  “Thank you,” Uncle Walters said, returning his smile with a pleasant tone. “We would like to speak with Reverend Fletcher.”

  “Do you have an appointment?” the young man said. He was wearing a name tag that read Gerald in large, black, block letters. Gerald with no last name.

  “We do not,” Walters answered rather encouragingly.

  “Would you like to make an appointment?”

  “We would,” I answered. “Do you have anything available for, say, now?”

  The young man stared at me as if I grown wings and was about to spread them before take off. He looked down at what I presumed to be an appointment book.

  “I am sorry. His Holiness is currently with someone. Perhaps later this afternoon.”

  I retrieved my cell phone, looked at the time on the face of it, and put it back in my pocket.

  “It’s already close to five o’clock,” I said. “Does His Holiness have appointments beyond five?”

  The young, almost handsome man offered me a quick smile of some two to three seconds’ duration before answering. “I am not at liberty to divulge the schedule of our priest, but I would be happy to make an appointment for you later today.”

  I looked at Walters who was expressionless while staring at the young man whose name tag informed us that his name was Gerald.

  “Tell me, Gerald … Is that your name?”

  The young man looked down at his name tag as he turned it upward towards his face to view it. I couldn’t tell if he was reading it or verifying my question.

  “Yes, ma’am. That’s my name,” he said with some pride.

  “Gerald, what slot would be available?” I said.

  “His Holiness would be available at eight o’clock this evening,” he said.

  “Fine, we’ll take the eight o’clock opening,” I said.

  “What name please?”

  “Clancy Evans.”

  “And what is your business with His Holiness, The Reverend Fletcher?” Gerald said.

  “I am not at liberty to divulge the details of my business with Reverend Fletcher,” I said.

  The young man tried to offer a smile. He failed.

  “I need to put a reason for the visit,” he insisted.

  “Why is that?” I said.

  “There’s a blank here on the appointment calendar that must be filled in.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” I said.

  “I am not. Each blank must be filled in correctly or I could lose my job,” he said as he turned the ledger over and slid it to me so I could actually see the blank on the appointment calendar. To make sure, he pointed to it with his right index finger. Efficient.

  “Tight ship,” I said.

  Walters gently nudged me with his right elbow, almost without notice. I noticed, but the young man was absorbed in our conversation about blanks so I doubt if he caught the slight movement of Walters’ elbow bumping me.

  “I don’t know about ships, Miss Evans, but I have to fill in every line.”

  “Put down suicide,” I said.

  “Beg your pardon?” Gerald said with an apparent dearth of aplomb.

  “Suicide,” I repeated.

  “Are you contemplating suicide?” he said.

  I sighed heavily and stared off towards one of the doors.

  “Actually, I am pondering murder at the moment, but suicide would be the reason that we want to speak with Reverend Fletcher.”

  “Oh, this appointment is for both of you?” he said.

  “Is that permissible?”

  “Generally, His Holiness, the Reverend Fletcher, sees only individuals. It is rare that two people enter his sanctum together unless they are considering marriage.”

  “I am speechless,” I said.

  “Are you two considering marriage?” he said. He was serious. Walters, despite his growing years, was in excellent shape. He was distinguished looking and fit. If I had carried a compact, I would have whipped it out and looked into the tiny mirror to see just how old I looked at the moment. There was at least thirty years between us. The world is changing. Me, not so much.

  “Is that the only way we can both speak to the reverend together?”

  “Wait just a moment,” Gerald said. He opened a drawer and pulled out a thick book. At first I thought it was a phone book, considering the size. But being an astute private eye, I was able to read some of it upside down and decided that it was not a phone book. It was a manual. Wonders of the world.

  “I see nothing here that allows for two people to enter the sanctum except for marriage counseling,” he said.

  “Okay, we’re considering marriage,” I said.

  Walters looked at me and raised his eyebrows.

  “Then what is your name, sir?”

  “Walters Clancy,” he said.

  Gerald wrote it down, but paused as soon as he noticed the two Clancy names.

  “You both have the same name. What a coincidence,” he said.

  “Odd, isn’t it. Life is full of such anomalies,” I said. “But please notice that one’s a given and the other is a surname.”

  The young man wanted to ask something, but he was not quite sure what it was he wanted to ask.

  “I have you both down for eight o’clock this evening. See you then,” he said and smiled. This time his smile was a tad more genuine. He had succeeded in scheduling both of us and had properly filled in the blank for the set time of the appointment. Goals in life are important.

  “Work the late shift as well?” I said.

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “You’ll be here when we return?” I rephrased.

  “Of course. I will be here all night long.”

  “Makes my day,” I said as we turned to go.

  We crossed Glen Road and headed towards Walters’ vehicle.

  “And when are our looming nuptials?” he said.

  “Just after hell freezes over.”

  “I take it then that our engagement is off,” he said and actually laughed at me. “It’s fun to do this work with you, you know.”

  15

  Walters stopped at the first sit-down restaurant we came to.

  “We have a few hours. We might as well eat and talk some,” he said.

  “Might as well.”

  A feisty hostess showed us to our booth. The fifty-plus waitress who eventually meandered to our table was less so.

  “Drinks?” she said.

  “I’ll have
water,” I said.

  “Coffee for me,” Walters said.

  “You want to order now or look at some menus?” Miss Personality said.

  “Menus would be nice,” Walters said.

  “I’ll bring them with your drinks,” she said and walked off.

  “Something must be in the water in Middlesex County,” I said.

  “We are no longer in Middlesex,” he said. “This is Norfolk County. And you might want to investigate that water theory.”

  “Yikes, I’d better change my order.”

  “Miss Personality will not be pleased,” he said.

  “It’s a risk I’ll take.”

  “It’s your skin.”

  When our waitress returned with the coffee, water, and menus, I noticed that her name plate read Joy. Obviously her parents had a sense of humor. Either that or life had been a tad rough to Joy and she no longer identified with her designated name.

  “Joy,” I said, “could I also have a cup of coffee?”

  “You want I should take the water back?”

  “No, I’ll drink the water as well.”

  “Suit yourself, lady,” she said and left us to read our oversized, multifold, colorful menus.

  “Maybe it rains on her parade a lot,” Walters said.

  “A veritable downpour, I would imagine.”

  We studied the menus for a few minutes and then I ordered a club sandwich when Joy returned with my coffee. Walters decided on the seafood special. As Joy turned to go, she retrieved a handful of small, plastic creamers from her apron pocket and dumped them on the table between us. She also tossed us two straws and then disappeared.

  “She’s been doing this a long time,” I said.

  “Should I try the coffee with a straw?” Walters said.

  “It’s your throat.”

  Walters used one of the creamers and a yellow packet of sugar substitute. I drank mine black. It was slightly bitter.

  “Why are folks around here so pleasant?” I said.

  “Winters are hard.”

  “It’s not winter now.”

  “Lasting effects,” he said.

  “Truly.”

  My club came before Walters’ seafood special. She offered no explanation as she placed my ticket firmly down near my knife and spoon.

  “Holler if you need something,” Joy said as she sauntered off in search of other clients in need of her services.

  “My seafood,” Walters said in a low voice so Joy could not hear.

  “My club and I will wait for your seafood,” I said.

  “Manners and kindness merged nicely,” he said.

  “From your sister, of all people.”

  “Rachel has lots of learned and utilized etiquette, chiefly Southern.”

  “It works anywhere for the most part.”

  “It does,” he said.

  Joy returned with his platter of seafood delights. She placed it on the table and then slid it so that it stopped perfectly in front of my uncle. She then slapped his ticket near the edge of the table and turned to go without another word.

  “I hope she’s not married,” I said as we exchanged stares.

  “Pity the poor bastard, unless he’s related to Attila the Hun,” Walters said. “Would you consider swapping your pickle for my fries?”

  “Deal,” I said and we made the exchange.

  “Do you have specific questions for His Holiness?” Walters said after he had finished consuming the first of two stuffed crabs.

  A fourth of my sandwich was gone and I was feeling better. I wiped my mouth, caught Joy’s eye in the distance as she shrugged her shoulders at us, asking her nonverbal question. I shook my head. She turned and went after other prey.

  “Probably,” I said.

  “Nothing prearranged,” Walters said.

  “Not my style. I sort of go with the flow.”

  “You shoot from the hip,” he said.

  “But my aim is deadly.”

  “May I assume that your questions will have to do with Melody Legrand and not his particular brand of religion?” Walters said.

  “You may not.”

  He took a couple of bites of his pickle and then went after his shrimp like a man possessed.

  “Wow,” he said, using a word alien to his vocabulary. “This was a real dill. Perhaps you should take a couple of chunks before we return to question the good reverend.”

  “You think my sweetheart personality is too sanguine for engaging a man of the cloth?”

  “Wasn’t even a considering. I was thinking you got the raw end of the deal with those fries,” he said and took another bite of his pickle.

  16

  I was sitting in the car waiting on Uncle Walters to emerge from the restaurant. I called Rogers. I needed her to do some digging.

  “What’s up, love?” Rogers said.

  “I need some background on The Reverend Reginald Fletcher.”

  “Why do you always seem to run into those preacher-types in your investigations?”

  “Is that a rhetorical question?”

  “I don’t ask rhetorical questions as a rule. I simply calculate the odds of specific details happening over and again when you go out on a job. You seem to find the good minister types lurking in the dark shadows more often than not. And since you do not hold to coincidences, I suspect that karma might be playing a role in your life.”

  “You mean good euphemistically, correct?”

  “Cultural adjective, often reflects society’s sentiments rather than the reality of true personalities. In your case, with the kinds of preachers you have known, I would say good is more irony than euphemism.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been scanning some databases of late.”

  “Impressive. But for the record, I have met some actually good ministers in my line of work.”

  “Exceptions to the rule,” Rogers said.

  “I’d say that the profession is like most professions. Some good, some not-so-good.”

  “Doesn’t speak well of the profession as a whole, now does it?”

  “We’re all tainted, Rogers.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You lack that human quality capable of taint.”

  “Not sure I follow you.”

  “It’s theological and I don’t know that I’m the one to explain to you.”

  “Your uncle could,” Rogers said.

  “I’ll pass it along. In the meantime, I need all that you can find on Reginald Fletcher. We’re meeting with him in an hour or so.”

  “Nothing like giving a girl time to do her work.”

  “But you work so well under such pressure,” I said.

  “I feel no pressure,” she said.

  “Yeah, that’s the other reason I have no qualms about last minute requests.”

  “I’ll get back to you as soon as I have something of substance.”

  Walters finally emerged from the restaurant and we headed back towards the Church of the Real End.

  “This is all sort of novel for me, but I suspect that we are being followed,” Walters said.

  “What makes you suspect that?”

  “Well, that same truck has been on our tail since we left the restaurant. Is that the way you clandestine professionals say it?”

  I glanced in my rear view mirror, then shifted my eyes to my side mirror before finally looking in Walters’ side mirror. A silver truck was immediately behind us.

  “I’d say you are getting the lingo down pat. Let’s make sure he’s following us,” I said. “Turn right here and then turn right again on the first street that permits it.”

  Walters turned abruptly, drove another block and turned right again. I turned to see if the truck was following. Sure enough, the silver vehicle was still behind us.

  The stop sign forced us to stop. We were facing a street full of heavy traffic. The silver shadow was directly behind us but the windows were tinted and I couldn’t see inside the cab.

&n
bsp; “Pull out in front of a car without getting us hit,” I said. “Just don’t leave the truck room to do the same if you can help it. We need to manufacture some space here to lose our tail.”

  Walters waited patiently then floored the gas peddle as we pulled in front of a white SUV. Despite the horn blowing and the near collision, Walters succeeded in the maneuver and obtained some distance between us and our tracker.

  “See him?” I said.

  “Not yet,” Walters said as he sped up some and moved into the left hand lane.

  I used my side mirror to look for the truck. He was not there.

  “Get into the center lane and turn left into one of these businesses when you can,” I said. “We’re going to head back and see if we can spot our tail. He won’t be expecting us to double back and face him.”

  “I would not have expected that either,” Walters said.

  We headed back and spotted a fender bender on the left side of the thoroughfare involving a silver truck and a red Beamer convertible. Walters pulled into a quick stop store across from the accident and parked by the outside phone booth.

  “I’ll stay here and keep an eye on the events across the way while you go inside and see if anyone saw what happened,” I said.

  Walters returned after several minutes to report his findings.

  “Lady customer said she was waiting on her son to finish a video game and saw the whole thing. She said that the silver truck pulled out in front of the convertible and wham, the red car hit the truck. Anything happening at the scene of the accident?” Walters said.

  “Police arrived and seem to be talking to both parties. Taking names, getting stories. The usual stuff.”

  “You recognize anyone?”

  “I do,” I said.

  “Really?” Walters was surprised.

  “You remember Raney Goforth, the helpful young man at Regis?” I said.

  “He was driving the red car?” Walters said.

  “No. He was driving the silver truck, our tail.”

  “This private eye stuff is truly interesting,” Walters said.

  “And you’ll probably be ready for another pickle after our sit down with the preacher.”

  17

  We were sitting in the so-called inner sanctum of His Holiness, the Reverend Reginald Fletcher. The room was a combination office, shrine, and library. The books surprised me at first. Fletcher had escorted us inside the room and then left us to speak with his receptionist while we perused our environs. Walters sat down in a chair in front of Fletcher’s oak desk. I turned my head sideways and read some of the titles of his shelved books. I removed a book on the Greek myths and opened it. The spine crackled. I closed it and put it back in its place.