Revenge at the Rodeo

by Gilbert, Morris

  She rolled over, reached out and grabbed his coarse black hair, turning his face toward her. “Maybe I’ve gotten hard, Ben,” she confided. His hazel eyes were watchful, filled with some sort of emotion she could not understand. “I’ve heard that can happen to people.” She released his hair, and rolled back to stare at the sky, saying, “I tried to kill Clyde Lockyear.”

  “No, you tried to save yourself and Luke,” Ben contradicted her instantly. “If there’d been any way to stop Clyde besides shooting at him, you’d have taken it. That’s when a guy needs to worry, when he begins to look for a way to hurt somebody. And you’re not in much danger of that, Boss. Too bad we live in a world where there have to be soldiers and policemen—but David killed his ten thousands, didn’t he?”

  Dani sat up, surprised as always when Savage quoted the Bible. For some reason he seemed slightly ashamed of the knowledge. “Come on,” she said, getting to her feet. “Let’s go to the house. You’re supposed to help Allison with her acrobatics.”

  They left the lake, and when they got out of the car, Daniel Ross came to report, “Got something in the paper you’ll get a kick out of.”

  Dani took the Times Picayune he held out, and Ben came to stand beside her.

  “‘Homicide Cop Hits the Glory Trail,’” Dani read the headline aloud, then laughed with delight. “Oh, Ben, it’s Luke!”

  Savage stared at the picture of Sixkiller. Luke was behind a pulpit, holding up a Bible in one hand and pointing a stern forefinger. “Oh, boy!” Ben chuckled. “The boys down at the station are going to love this!” He found the picture extremely funny, and even Dani had to laugh.

  “It says in the story,” Dani’s father continued, “that he’s preaching his first sermon tonight. Think we all ought to go?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for anything.” Savage nodded. Running his eyes down the page, he read, “Says here he’s going to attend New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary. Going to be an evangelist.”

  “There was a Methodist preacher back in the late eighteen hundred’s named Peter Cartwright,” Dani’s father replied thoughtfully. “He ran into some pretty raunchy folks. More than once he had to stop preaching and warn a man to behave, or he’d have to leave. Then if the troublemaker didn’t stop, Cartwright would march down, grab the man up, and toss him out bodily. “A smile crossed his lips. “Guess Luke’s got the physical qualifications for that sort of thing. May need it, too, if he goes on the streets of New Orleans, preaching. Well, we’ll all go give him our moral support. He’s preaching at Victory Tabernacle over on the east side of town. Pretty rough section, so don’t wear anything formal. As Mark Twain put it, the trouble starts at seven.”

  Victory Tabernacle was a large, white frame building set in the middle of a section of New Orleans that had once been predominantly white middle class, but now was changing to a mixed lower-class population. The houses were trying to stay middle class, but many of them had given up and were simply running down.

  But if the houses and the streets themselves were going downhill, Victory Tabernacle was not. The paint was fresh, the green carpet of grass in front clipped, the shrubs in front of the building sculptured, and the parking lot free of papers and broken glass.

  As he parked the van between a Ford pickup pulling a blue bass boat and a ‘57 Chevrolet, Daniel observed, “Looks like a good crowd.” They moved across the lot, joining several latecomers, mostly locals wearing the standard uniform of jeans, T-shirts and Nike running shoes. When they stepped inside, a young black man wearing about the same uniform came to say, “Got some seats ‘bout halfway down.” They followed him and squeezed into two of the dark oak pews—Dani and Ben on one, Daniel, Ellen, Rob, and Allison in front of them. Rob, at seventeen, had had to be threatened with the loss of the use of his father’s car before he’d agreed to come, but now that he was settled, he seemed interested in the phenomenon.

  They were just in time, for as they settled themselves, Luke came out from a door to one side of the front of the auditorium, accompanied by a tall young man wearing a pair of slacks and a tan sports shirt. Luke looked about as uncomfortable as a man could possibly look, and Dani whispered, “Ben, Luke would rather be going up a dark alley against a homicidal maniac than be here!”

  Savage nodded, but then the song service started. On one side of the stage was a group of musicians, playing guitars, piano, drums, and keyboard, and the young man with Luke stood up and said, “Let’s just praise the Lord.”

  There were no songbooks, but a young woman threw the lyrics on the white wall behind the pulpit by means of an overhead projector. The first songs were peppy, almost what one might hear at a high-school pep rally. Some of them had a steady beat that caused one to unconsciously sway from side to side. Then the pace slowed, and all over the auditorium, people were lifting their hands and with closed eyes were singing quietly but fervently.

  Savage studied the congregation with a practiced eye, but most of all he watched Dani, cutting his eyes toward her. He himself felt terribly out of place, with his hands held at his sides, not knowing any of the songs. But Dani, he saw, was relaxed. From time to time she would lift her hands in a simple gesture of praise, but more often she would simply fold her hands, lift her face upward, and with her eyes closed sing the simple choruses in a clear contralto voice.

  Savage felt relieved when the singing died down and the pastor came to introduce the speaker. He spoke only briefly, stating that he had known Luke Sixkiller only a few days, “But I have come to respect him and to love him as a brother in the Lord.”

  After mentioning Luke’s career as a policeman and his fine record in the army, the pastor summoned him, “Luke, come and tell us what the Lord has done for you. And let’s give the Lord a hand for giving us a new volunteer in His army!”

  Sixkiller came to the platform and stood waiting until the applause died down. As he began to speak, Dani found that her hands were clenched together so tightly that they ached, for she feared that Luke would freeze up. Leaning forward, she noted his dark blue suit and maroon tie, the same sort of outfit he wore when on duty with the homicide squad. He said with a small grin, “Well, I may as well make one correction in that introduction. I’m not officially a member of the New Orleans Police Department. I was suspended a few weeks ago—for police brutality.”

  A tall black man two rows in front of Dani suddenly stood up and yelled, “Yeah, Sixkiller! And I hope they bust you for good!”

  Sixkiller stared at the heckler, then smiled and nodded. “Hello, Ace. Still shooting up?” A laugh followed his words, and another very muscular black man stood up and cried, “Sit down, Ace, before I give you some brutality!” He waited until the heckler sat down, muttering, then invited, “Now you git right on with yoah preaching, Mr. Sixkiller!”

  “Thank you, Eddie,” Luke responded. “But I don’t guess you’re going to get much preaching tonight. I heard my grandfather tell about an Indian preacher once who only got two dollars in the collection plate after he preached. When someone complained, ‘Not much collection, Chief!’ he only said, ‘Not much preach!’”

  A light wave of laughter went over the congregation, and when it passed, Luke told them, “I read in the paper that I’m going to be an evangelist. Some newspaperman has a good imagination, or else he’s the son of a prophet, because I never said that. Right now I’m just waiting to go back to work with the NOPD, but something happened to me three weeks ago, and tonight I just want to tell you about it. . . .”

  Luke began in a conversational tone, telling how he’d grown up on the reservation in Oklahoma. He told of his early school years, then of his stint in the army, and finally of the years in homicide. It was all done in an easy, relaxed manner, and he was careful to include several incidents from each period, some very humorous, using himself as the butt of the stories, and some sad, as when he lost his partner of six years in a shoot-out in the ghetto.

  Then he spoke of recent days with the rodeo, but made no mention o
f Dani by name. He spoke of how he’d run from God, and suddenly he began quoting from Francis Thompson’s poem “The Hound of Heaven.” A silence fell over the room as he recited:

  I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;

  I fled Him, down the arches of the years;

  I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways

  Of my own mind; and in the midst of tears

  I hid from Him, and under running laughter.

  Up vistaed hopes I sped;

  And shot, precipitated,

  Adown Titanic glooms of chasmed fears,

  From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.

  But with unhurrying chase,

  And unperturbed pace,

  Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,

  They beat—and a Voice beat

  More instant than the Feet—

  “All things betray thee, who betrayest Me.”

  “I don’t know much about poetry,” he said, looking directly at Dani, “but I know about running from God! And Jesus Christ caught up with me just three weeks ago, in a little church in Arkansas. I friend of mine lured me into the place, and I found that morning what I’d been looking for all my life. . . .”

  He spoke simply of his experience, and when he was through, he paused. The silence was palpably thick, and his voice was a little choked, as though he were keeping it under careful control. “I’m no preacher, but I know something came into my life that morning, and I know it was Jesus Christ, the Son of God. I know what it means to have peace.”

  He closed the service simply, by presenting Jesus Christ as the answer for anyone who felt that the Hound of Heaven was after him. As soon as the music started softly, from all over the auditorium, people got up out of their seats and filled the altar.

  It was a moving moment for Dani, and she stood clinging to the back of the seat in front of her. She watched as Luke spoke with a young woman, obviously a woman of the streets. She was weeping, and finally the two of them bowed their heads and prayed. Slowly Luke moved from one to another, some of them obviously hardened by the life of the ghetto.

  Dani’s parents left before the altar service was over, but she told them, “I want to speak to Luke.”

  “I’ll bring her home,” Ben offered, and the two of them waited for over an hour as the pastor and the people of the church dealt with those who had come forward. Finally they saw Luke shake the pastor’s hand, and then he came toward them.

  “Saw you earlier,” he noted, his face suddenly showing strain. “I’m about as tired as I ever was.”

  “Let’s go get something to eat,” Dani suggested quickly. The three of them left and crowded into Sixkiller’s Porsche. They found a restaurant and ordered cheeseburgers. Dani discovered that she had to do most of the talking at first. Ben was quiet, and Luke seemed exhausted. But as he ate, he brightened up.

  “I didn’t expect to see you guys tonight,” he said with a grin. “Probably wouldn’t have showed up if I’d known it.”

  “You had some distinguished folks in your congregation, Luke,” Ben remarked. “I saw Two-edge Frank, Poppa Van Dyne, Boudreau Topps, and quite a few of your old customers.”

  “I saw them.” Luke nodded. “None of them came to the altar. I thought they might be waiting for me outside.”

  “It was marvelous, your testimony, Luke!” Dani blurted out. Her eyes were bright, and she spoke glowingly of how he could reach people whom no other preacher could touch. Sixkiller shook his head, smiling doubtfully, but soon the two of them were talking of the invitations to speak he’d already gotten. Dani had her own ideas, and they were so caught up in the plans for the future, neither of them noticed that Ben Savage was not saying a word.

  After a while, Ben got up, announcing, “I’ve got some stuff to do. See Dani home, will you, Luke?”

  “Hey, we’re ready, Ben,” Luke said. “We’ll dump this chick, then you and I can talk.”

  “No. I’ve got an errand. See you both later.”

  Sixkiller watched him go with surprise. “What’s with Ben? He acts like a cat with a sore tail.”

  Dani suddenly understood. We left him out, she thought. We made ourselves into a little holy club and left Ben on the outside. The thought saddened her, but she didn’t explain it to Luke. Instead she pointed out, “I’ve got to go home.”

  “Sure.”

  Luke took the long way to Dani’s parents’ home. He drove across the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway, a long sliver of concrete that dissects the lake. He drove slowly, and when they exited, he laughed. “Remember how I had you and Ben staked out down there, waiting for that serial killer?” He gave her a sly look. “I’ll bet Savage really got into that, pretending that the two of you were lovers parked beside the lake.”

  Dani sniffed. “It was all in the line of duty.”

  Luke scoffed, and then Dani giggled so hard that when he pulled up in front of the house and they started for the front door, Dani teased, “Don’t make so much racket! They’re all asleep!”

  When they reached the door, she turned and held her hand out. As his own closed on it, she said simply, “Luke, I’m so very proud of you!”

  The moonlight fell on her face, turning it to old silver, and her eyes were almost luminous. Sixkiller fell silent, then shared, “I found a verse this morning that I didn’t know was in the Bible.”

  She stared at him, for the comment seemed irrelevant. “What was it?”

  He didn’t answer, but stood there, his tough face made gentle by the softness of the moonlight. His lips, long and mobile, suddenly smiled. He said, “It’s in First Thessalonians five, verse twenty-six.”

  Dani frowned, her lips pursing delightfully. “I don’t know that offhand.”

  “It says, ‘Greet all the brethren with a holy kiss.’”

  Dani tried not to smile as she replied, “Oh? Well, when you find one of the ‘brethren’ you can give him a holy kiss.”

  Sixkiller moved his head forward, so close that he could smell her perfume. “I found another verse. It’s in First Peter, chapter five, the fourteenth verse. Do you know that one?”

  “No,” Dani said, looking into Sixkiller’s dark eyes.

  “It says, ‘Greet ye one another with a kiss of charity. . . .”’

  Dani was suddenly very much aware of the fact that her heart seemed to be beating faster. To cover her sudden nervousness, she noted, “You’re becoming quite a Bible scholar.”

  Sixkiller moved yet closer, and now she could smell his shaving lotion and was aware of the warmth of his hand over hers. “Then there’s Second Corinthians, the twelfth verse of the thirteenth chapter.”

  “What—does it say?” Dani whispered.

  “Greet one another—” Gently Luke put his arms around her and pulled her close. Her hands fluttered at his arms, and she tried to speak, but his firm lips fell on hers. She felt very small and helpless, for his arms were powerful, but at the same time she knew she was safe and secure. She found herself lifting her hands and placing them on his neck, and for one long moment she lay against him. It was not a demanding kiss, and she sensed the gentleness that lay deep inside Luke. It was there, as she had always guessed, covered by a hard manner, but there all the same.

  Then he drew his lips back and finished the quotation, “. . . with a holy kiss.”

  Dani started to speak, then found she had to clear her throat. The kiss had somehow disturbed her, and with a light-hearted comment she tried to cover up the emotion that was still with her.

  “I think you’d better save your ‘holy’ kisses for the ‘brethren,’” she said.

  Sixkiller shook his head. “That would be too complicated.” His arms did not relax as they held her firmly. “I’ve been listening to all this stuff about the feminist movement. Gets harder and harder to tell the men from the women, you know?”

  “You know I’m a woman, Luke Sixkiller!” Dani laughed softly. “You don’t go around holding any of your buddies like this!”

 
; Sixkiller answered in a shocked voice, “Heaven forbid!” But then he shook his head. “I’m not really a Bible scholar, Dani. So for right now, I’m just going to take the verses I like. I’ll work on the one that says ‘brethren’ after I get to seminary.”

  He pulled her closer, saying in a dangerously casual tone, “Right now, I’m staying with the simple verse. Remember it? Second Corinthians thirteen, twelve?”

  Dani nodded, “I remember—and I’m afraid I’m going to hear it a lot in the future.”

  “Say it for me, Dani,” Luke commanded.

  She looked at him with her eyes enormous in the moonlight—then she said softly, in the most gentle of all tones, “Greet one another with—a holy kiss!”

  The moonlight fell in long silver bars on the white house, softening its outlines and making it look like a house found in an old, old story. After a while, the single shadow became two; then the car started up with a hoarse cough and roared away.

  Dani stepped inside the door just as her father came out of the study. He blinked at her over his glasses, asking, “What have you been up to, Daughter?”

  Dani went to him, put her arms around him, and kissed his cheek. Then she turned and walked to the stairs. She was halfway up when she seemed to realize she hadn’t answered his question. She turned, and a smile came to her mouth, making her eyes bright as she answered, “Doing? Why, I’ve been studying theology, Dad,” she replied. Then she turned and disappeared as she moved to the upper landing.

  Books by Gilbert Morris

  * * *

  One Shining Moment

  The Quality of Mercy