"The stiff?"
"Come on, Bruce, this is important."
"Since when did you become a news junkie?"
"I'm not—and never mind that." Jodi shook her head. "I've got the boy's name. It's Todd Rice. He didn't come home last night."
"How can you be sure he's, like, the same guy?"
"His mom gave a description of what Todd was wearing. Remember the Tweety Bird shirt?"
"Sure, but why are you telling me this?"
"Hold on. There's one more thing. You'll never believe who just called me."
"Elvis?"
"No, you dork. Reverend Bud. He's that longhaired guy—"
"I remember. So what's his deal?"
Jodi paused to frame her thoughts. "Um, he admitted he took my photos and he wants to meet me. He said he knows all about the body and a whole bunch more. I . . . well, I thought I'd see if you'd go with me. Will you?"
Bruce didn't hesitate. "Sounds about as attractive as earwax."
"You sure?" Jodi stopped at a red light.
"Without a doubt... 100 percent positively no way. See, in the grand scheme of things, I'm not the one on the mission from God, here."
Jodi stared out the windshield at the cars passing by, uncertain of what to say. The light changed to green.
"I mean," Bruce added, "I think it's great that you—"
"Never mind, Bruce." Jodi closed her eyes as she focused on the fact she was going to face Reverend Bud alone. "Listen, iVe got to go. We'll talk later." She hung up.
At least Jodi hoped there would be a later.
Chapter 23 ^ Saturday, 1:3B p.m.
In the twenty-three minutes it took Jodi to make her way across town, her heart had skipped a beat at least once a minute. Now, within several blocks of Reverend Bud's house, it tapped away with the intensity of a Mexican hat dance.
Jodi made the turn off East Roosevelt Boulevard onto Longshore Avenue. She glanced in her rearview mirror. Was she really being watched? Reverend Bud had said as much. But could he be trusted to tell the truth? She had checked her mirrors a dozen times since leaving Huntingdon Valley. It didn't seem anybody was tailing her. Then again, if she had been shadowed, he'd be a pro. She was just a kid in the minor leagues—and she knew it.
Jodi slowed her car to double-check the address on Reverend Bud's business card: 73 Rawle Street.
She turned right on Sackett and studied the numbers. She was headed in the right direction when suddenly Jodi realized she would much rather have her tonsils removed—or bungee jump off the Betsy Ross Bridge—than face Reverend Bud alone. She didn't have so much as a Bic lighter for the purposes of self-defense. Where was Phil Meyer when she needed him?
It wasn't that she felt Reverend Bud would actually attack her. He might, like Dr. Blackstone, just try to scare her off. If Dr. Blackstone was into spiders, then perhaps Reverend Bud was into snakes. One thing was certain, she wouldn't drink anything offered to her this time.
She made a left onto Rawle.
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As she passed the row homes that lined both sides of the street, she took some comfort knowing there were plenty of neighbors who might come to her rescue—if they could hear her through the thick plaster and lath walls.
Jodi's history teacher, who lived around the corner, had once told her that these row homes had been built in the late 1930s during a time when neighbors actually enjoyed each other's company; when closeness and community were preferred over sprawling lawns and tall fences.
Jodi remembered attending an old-fashioned block party with her teacher and her history classmates. While the disc jockey spun the tunes, the neighbors, mostly Irish Catholics and Italians, consumed plates piled high with kielbasa, bratwurst, sausage, and peppers, and homemade potato salad. Kids danced in the street, at least those who weren't throwing water balloons. Togetherness was part of the fabric of community life.
But today, while she was an invited guest, this was no party.
She checked the house and street number again: 71 Rawle.
The closer she got to her destination, the more she felt as if she were entering a restricted biohazard site where the potential for personal harm ranked up there with the odds of paying taxes. Yet each time she entertained the thought of heading in the opposite direction as fast as possible, she was encouraged by something she had read in the Psalms that morning. She whispered the words aloud, "I will go in the strength of the Lord."
For Jodi, to repeat the words of the psalmist wasn't like rubbing a good luck charm, or an exercise in positive thinking, or repeating a mantra to invoke a magic spell. Jodi viewed her "mission from God," as Bruce had said, as exactly that. Since God had placed on her heart a burden for justice, she'd fulfill the mission in his strength.
Jodi slowed the Mazda to a crawl. She spotted the correct address and parked across the street behind a yellow Ryder truck. A tall, street-level tree partially obscured her view of Reverend Bud's row
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home. From what she could see, it appeared to be a clone of all the others on the block.
His was a flat-roofed, two-story brick home sandwiched between similar-looking units. Red and green curved Italian lap tiles covered the eaves. The grass in his front yard, which, she guessed, would barely have enough room to hold a picnic table and grill, was uncut. She eyed a rusted air-conditioning unit that dangled from a window on the second floor. The window blinds were closed.
She took a deep breath, placed her purse under the front seat, grabbed her phone and keys, and got out of the car. She locked the doors and crossed the street. As she approached Reverend Bud's house, a dog began to bark in the house next door. This is really stupid. What am I doing here?
At the top of the four concrete steps leading to the front door, she stood and reached over to ring the doorbell. She quickly discovered it was missing. The hole it had once occupied was as empty as the feeling in her stomach. She knocked on the door instead. The door drifted inward as she tapped on its faded white surface.
"Hello? Anybody home?" As she stood on the threshold, a stale, thick odor, resembling burnt oregano mixed with fried plastic, was the only greeting she received. She clutched her phone against her chest.
When Reverend Bud didn't answer, she gently pushed open the door and stepped inside. The bare floorboards, which covered a landing about three feet square, creaked in protest. Her eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the darkness inside. This is crazy, she thought as her heart, like a Geiger counter, pegged the meter. All she wanted were those photos. She'd grab them and get going.
"Hello? Reverend Bud? It'sjodi."
Still no answer. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the room for any signs of life. A tired-looking sofa sat under the front windows. The curtains were drawn shut behind it. The coffee table was littered with old pizza boxes and beer cans.
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She noticed that the television set, perched on a board suspended between two upside-down milk crates, was off. To the right of the TV was a garbage can overflowing with discarded beer cans. It looked as if someone had been playing basketball with the empties but missed the trash half the time.
Jodi took several more steps into the den. She called, "Hello? Hello?" as she moved to the center of the room. The pale blue, threadbare carpet did little to cushion her steps. The room wasn't really threatening, she decided; it just needed a woman's touch. That didn't prevent her heart from leaping each time her foot stepped on a noisy section of flooring.
On the other side of the den, thanks to what little light snuck around the edges of the curtains, she noticed a sparsely furnished dining room with a staircase leading up to the second floor. She walked over to and then stood at the bottom of the stairs. Looking up, she called out, "Reverend Bud . . . hello . . . it's Jodi." Her hand rested on the railing as she decided whether or not to climb the steps. Without air conditioning, the house was warm and she began to perspire.
From th
is vantage point, she could see through a doorway into the kitchen. Her eyes zeroed in on a crack of light beneath a door at the far end. Since it was the only light on in the whole place, she figured it was worth exploring.
Jodi left the steps and walked into the kitchen, across the badly stained linoleum floor to the door. She reached for the handle, her heart on full alert, ready to jump out of her chest, and then opened the door. A narrow wooden staircase led to the basement below. The odor she'd first smelled was definitely more intense here at the top of the steps.
"Reverend Bud? You home?"
Jodi took a tentative step down. And then another. And another. She reached the bottom of the stairs and stood on the black-and-red-tiled floor. The air was cooler than upstairs, but it had a damp.
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musty edge to it. She saw a giant cockroach scamper across the floor. She clutched the railing and called again. "Listen, I... I came just as you asked."
Still no response. Maybe she had missed him. Maybe he'd ducked out for a pizza. Maybe he was sleeping. Or maybe this was his idea of a game. Whatever the reason, her nervous system was about to short-circuit. She was grateful that the naked light bulb, suspended from the low ceiling by an extension cord, was on.
She quickly scanned her surroundings. If Reverend Bud's place was anything like her history teacher's row home, to her left would be the door to the garage and beyond that the alley. To her right would be a space for a small storage area or home office. Straight ahead she could see the washer and dryer.
She walked to the right and stood in the doorway. She leaned her head into the room and saw Reverend Bud. She stifled a gasp, covering her mouth with her hand.
Reverend Bud was lying on a sofa. One arm rested across his chest, the other dangled over the edge of the sofa. His fingers held something loosely by the floor. An ashtray filled with cigarette butts rested near his hand. Smoke spiraled upward from the end of a smoldering butt.
She cleared her throat. "Hello?" Jodi tapped lightly on the doorframe. She couldn't tell if he was sleeping, or, more likely, from what she knew of him, tripping. His long brown hair covered his face like a sheepdog. His chest rose and fell with each breath. He was still wearing the Got E? T-shirt from last night. "Um, Reverend Bud, I . . ."
This wasn't part of the plan. She thought she was going to be handed the pictures, hear what he had to say, then leave. When he didn't respond, Jodi decided to scope out the room for herself She hoped to find the photos and then get out as fast as possible.
The cramped space resembled an office. A nondescript-looking lamp stood in the corner, casting its meager light about the room.
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The walls, covered with a cheap brown paneling, appeared buckled in places. A calendar was pinned directly to the paneling. His desk, a smallish, almost kid-size piece, was covered with papers stacked in no apparent order.
Jodi moved toward the desk, an eye still focused in his direction. She bit the inside of her lip as she reached out and gently lifted a few papers. To free up both hands, she tucked her cell phone into the front pocket of her blue jeans. As she worked, she started to feel lightheaded from the stench in the room. She looked around for a window to open for some fresh air, but there were none.
After what felt like an eternity, Jodi spotted the edge of the familiar yellow-and-red InstyFoto envelope. Could they be her pictures? She reached for the packet, opened it, careful not to draw attention to her activity, and then thumbed through the contents.
Excitement, like a flood, rushed through her veins. They were indeed her pictures—including several of Todd Rice. This was exactly what she needed. What more could she want? She tucked the envelope in her rear pocket and then turned to leave.
Behind her, Jodi heard a groan. Her heart jumped into her throat. She jerked her head around and saw Reverend Bud, still in the prone position, running his fingers through his hair. His head rolled slowly in her direction. His matted beard was damp with the saliva that dripped from the edge of his mouth. Their eyes met, although his eyes appeared to be unfocused and red around the edges.
"Jodi? Don't leave," Reverend Bud said, his voice groggy. He attempted to sit up, but settled for leaning on one arm. "Not yet. . . not before you know everything ..."
Chapter 24 ^ Saturday, 1:5B p.m.
Jodi couldn't think of one good reason to hang around, but plenty of reasons to get out of that basement cave pronto. She had the pictures, and if she had an ounce of good sense, she'd hoof it up the steps before something did happen. Jodi twirled a few strands of hair around her fingers.
"I really don't know what to say." Jodi took another step toward the door.
"I can see you're outta here," Reverend Bud said, now sitting fully upright on the sofa, although hunched over. "I dig it. But listen." He coughed, followed by a heavy dry heave. "See, it won't be long before I . . . um, assume room temperature." He held up the item in his hand for her to see.
Jodi placed a hand on the doorjamb to help steady her emotions. He was holding a hypodermic needle. She had an idea of what he might mean, but she didn't want to believe it.
"1 . . . I'm not sure I follow," Jodi said.
He sighed and then started to rock in place. "I just took . . . my last trip this side of glory—"
"An overdose? You took an overdose on purpose?"
Reverend Bud waved her off. "Yeah, I'm glorybound," he said. "Got the whole LSD-heroin-ecstasy combo pack starting to flow through my veins. But let's not waste time with that, man. Do you know if ... if you were followed?"
Jodi hesitated, partly out of concern over the fact that a man might actually be dying in front of her, and partly out of a fresh concern for her own safety.
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"By whom?"
"Dr. B. . . . I heard him ... he asked the Russians to keep an eye on you."
Jodi blinked wide eyes. "Dr. B.? You mean Dr. Blackstone?"
He nodded. "Julius—his bad, beastly self."
"What Russians?"
He answered softly "You don't know . . . about all that, then, do you?" He brushed the hair away from his face with a slow, unsteady movement of his hand.
She wasn't sure how much to say she knew or didn't know. She folded her arms. "Maybe. What if I do?"
He laughed. A tired, sad laugh. "Oh, like if you did, you'd only find a cave in the jungle to hide out. They're animals, man, that's all." He reached down to the ashtray on the floor to retrieve the smoldering cigarette stub. He brought it to his dry lips for a drag, like a condemned man savoring his final cigarette.
Although Jodi stood just ten feet away, she was having a difficult time hearing Reverend Bud. His words slurred and ran into each other like a multicar accident. She crossed the room and stood near him at the end of the sofa, now that he seemed about as threatening as a houseplant.
"Listen, Reverend," Jodi said. She felt like a kid in the zoo standing next to the lions' cage. She forced herself to remain calm. "I'm really, like, confused here. Do you work for Dr. Blackstone?"
"We're parmers, sort of Man, things were so ... groovy for a while. I thought I was hooked up with the cosmological program, you dig?"
"Um, no." Jodi was about to sit down, but one look at the condition of the sofa changed her mind.
"See, I was doing the raves ... I picked the locations . . . booked the bands ... did all that jive on my own." Reverend Bud's hand trembled as he held the cigarette. "The peeps came to expand their minds . . . um, through the healing powers of music and ecstasy . . . I got to spread PLUR my way, you dig?"
ALL THE RAVE ^ 1 27
Jodi nodded. She didn't want to interrupt his flow, especially since she wasn't sure how long he'd remain coherent.
"'Cause I'm the Evangelist of Ecstasy," Reverend Bud said. "Then Dr. B. came along and things got crazy," he continued, stroking his beard. "The guy's a freakin' genius. Bam-o! Just like that . . . the crowds got huge. See,
he had the cash and . . . um, ideas to help me promote."
"So, what's in it for him?" Jodi said, her eyebrow in a knot. "I mean, he owns a vet clinic."
Reverend Bud heaved out a cough and laughed at the same time. "Plenty, man. Dig this. The guy's like a mad scientist . . . got more brews and magical potions than a witch doctor on acid." Reverend Bud flashed a toothy grin.
Jodi had had a firsthand experience with one of Dr. Blackstone's brews but decided not to bring it up.
"And that clinic," Reverend Bud said, "it's just a cover. He mixes up Special K . . . and we sell it to the peeps and split the bread. I figure anything to help them party ... to expand their minds to higher levels of consciousness ... to be one with the greater cosmos . . . Man, I really believed we had a good thing going."
"So last night, did the police know all this?" Jodi folded her arms. She pushed the embarrassing memory out of her mind.
"Some things . . . like, the drug part. Man, we've been paying them to chill out for a year. You know, to look the other way—"
"So why'd you steal my pictures?"
He closed his eyes. His face scrunched in pain. "Had to get them before Dr. B.... he was gonna destroy them ... he hated loose ends . . . sent his, um, his secretary to get 'em."
"I don't get it." Jodi shook her head, confused. The fumes from his cigarette weren't helping, either. "The cops were on your payroll, so, like, how would pictures of the needle matter?"
"Listen, babe." He looked up at her, his eyelids drooping halfway across his eyes. "Everything was cool until you zapped a picture of
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that kid. See, there was no way to trace anything to the upstanding, honorable Dr. B. Then you came along. Instant bad karma for the doctor. Plus"—he took a deep breath as he scratched the side of his head—"um, get my cell phone."
Jodi tossed him a puzzled look.
"Babe, in my top desk drawer ... go snag my phone, dig?"
Jodi stepped lightly across the room, hooked her hair around her ears, and then opened the center desk drawer. She held it up. "Got it." She drifted back to his side, closer this time.
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