Walk In the Fire

by Steph Post

  Sister Tulah crammed the tiny bottles of hotel shampoo and the sliver of papered soap into her toiletries case and zipped it shut. She flung it into her suitcase and glared around the tiny, stupid room. Tulah put her hands on her hips. She’d already packed the plastic packages of single-serving coffee and the stirring sticks from the tray beside the television. Coffee was a filthy, disgusting drink, but she was taking them out of spite. Tulah stomped over to the nightstand and yanked the drawer out. There was a thin pad of hotel stationary next to the Gideon Bible and she snatched it up and hurled it, fluttering, into her suitcase. She eyed the Bible and then took that as well, jamming it down onto the pile of dirty clothes and straining to zip the case shut. She had to brace herself, heave her torso on top of the case and then pull the zippers awkwardly from both sides. When it was finally secure, she shoved it off the edge of the bed. The other members of The Order were downstairs in the hotel restaurant, eating sticky barbecue ribs and swilling sweet tea. Maybe they were still laughing at her. Maybe they had already forgotten her. Either way, at least she wouldn’t have to encounter them as she dragged her suitcase across the parking lot to her Navigator. They’d be too busy stuffing their faces with baked beans and potato salad to notice her departure. Sister Tulah kicked her suitcase in frustration. She pursed her lips and kicked it again. Then again, and was only stopped from continuing her tantrum by the sound of a sharp, precise rap on the door.

  Sister Tulah stood up straight and pressed the back of her fleshy hand to her cheek to pat away the wetness. She couldn’t understand why her eye was watering. Tulah smoothed down the front of her dress, her hands rippling over the puckered bandages underneath, before stepping around the suitcase. It had better not be housekeeping. She slid the deadbolt chain over and wrenched the door open.

  “What?”

  “Sister Tulah, I’m sorry to bother you in your room, but I wonder if I might have a moment of your time.”

  Kingfisher clasped his hands in front of him and tilted his head slightly as he regarded her. Tulah narrowed her eye suspiciously and didn’t move to invite him in.

  “Why?”

  She couldn’t read the expression on Kingfisher’s face. He seemed to be sizing her up, but not in a cruel way. If he asked to come in, Sister Tulah would have to let him, but she made sure to block the doorway with her body and appear as hostile as possible. Dealing with Kingfisher’s smug success was more than she could handle at the moment.

  Kingfisher didn’t take a step closer, however. He straightened his head and looked her directly in the eye.

  “I have a proposition for you. One that I think you will find very, very appealing.”

  There was the slight hint of a smile at the corner of his lips, but she could tell that Kingfisher was serious. Her pulse began to race and she nodded stiffly, trying not to let the excitement and relief show on her face. A proposition from a member of the Inner Council. Sister Tulah opened the door wide and welcomed Kingfisher inside.

  CLIVE HAD not thought it could get any hotter if the gates of hell themselves were flung open, but that was before he had begun his trek across the ashen wasteland of the Kentsville Town Park. His polished wingtips sank into the sandy, gray dirt, radiating the sun back up at him as surely as if it were blacktop asphalt. A dust cloud trailed in his wake as he trudged across the treeless expanse toward the lump of a man sitting at a concrete picnic table. Clive weaved his way through the cluster of playground equipment—a slide, a merry-go-round, a swing set—all made of rusting metal, blazing in the noon sun. He passed a row of tractor tires half buried in the dirt and a splintery balance beam. A blue jay landed on the beam and screamed at him before pecking at the flecks of cigarette butts on the ground. There was no sign of children. It seemed to Clive that there hadn’t been any children in the park for a very long time.

  Clive unbuttoned his suit jacket, wriggled out of it and slung the jacket over his shoulder as he approached Brother Felton. He glanced down at the concrete bench and thought of the backs of his legs searing. He decided to remain standing.

  “You picked one hell of a place to meet up.”

  Clive shook his head as he scanned the playground.

  “I mean, this is like Death Valley or something. Only with swings and a slide. You couldn’t think of any other place?”

  Felton slowly raised his head, as if just then realizing that Clive was standing next to him. There was an odd, placid look on his already dopey face. From their conversation that morning, with Brother Felton breathing heavily into the phone, his voice at a near squeak and his words rushed and cryptic, Clive had been prepared to deal with someone on the edge of hysteria. Instead, Felton appeared languid, almost peaceful, as he sat in his beige, sweat-soaked polo shirt, and gazed out at the deserted park.

  “There is no one here.”

  Clive tugged at his tie.

  “You got that right. You’d have to be crazy to bring the kids out here on a day like this.”

  Felton clasped his hands between his widely spread knees and nodded slowly.

  “Yes. So, this is a good place to talk.”

  Clive was about to argue; his hotel room, with the air conditioner cranked all the way up, was a good place to talk. But he held his tongue. Felton hadn’t said exactly why he wanted to meet with him, and Clive didn’t want to blow it. He carefully laid his jacket on the picnic table and loosened his tie.

  “All right, I’m here. And like I said before, I appreciate you calling. I was worried about not having heard from you yet. I like you, Felton, and I really, really didn’t want to have to open up an investigation on you.”

  Felton shook his head.

  “There would be nothing to investigate.”

  Clive put his hands in his pockets and jangled some spare change leftover from a drive-thru breakfast. He couldn’t let Brother Felton know he was bluffing. He didn’t necessarily want to bully him, but he couldn’t let Felton get the upper hand either. Clive opened his mouth, ready to spill some bullshit about statute of limitations or something along those lines, but Felton held up a soft, pale hand to silence him.

  “And there would be no need. I’d like to tell you of the illegal activities of my aunt, Sister Tulah.”

  Clive clamped his mouth shut and swallowed. Was Felton serious? He said the words without a hint of hesitation, without even an indication of conflict in his decision. Clive wanted to believe him, but the change of heart just didn’t make sense. He cast his eyes warily at Felton.

  “Really? That’s certainly a change from the last time we spoke. You do some soul searching or something?”

  Felton looked down at his clasped hands and smiled like a child who has a secret.

  “Something like that.”

  Clive frowned.

  “Did you decide that it wasn’t worth it to be dragged down into the gutter with your aunt when we prosecute her? You’re doing the smart thing, you know, looking out for yourself. That’s all we can do in this world, take care of ourselves.”

  Felton shook his head, still with that blissful smile on his face.

  “No. I’m not sure it’s the smart thing. In fact, it’s definitely not the smart thing. But it is the right thing.”

  Felton suddenly raised his head and Clive was startled to see the intensity in his eyes. The passion.

  “God told me what I must do. And God is mightier than even Sister Tulah. I am only following the directive of the Lord. That is why I am here. That is why I will tell you whatever you want to know.”

  Clive tried to control his gloating smile. Now it made sense. These dumb-fool religious types. He should have used the God card from the beginning. Said that he saw a talking shrub burning up somewhere, telling him what Brother Felton needed to do. Clive reached for his jacket and took out his notebook and pen.

  “Well, I’m not going to argue with God. Let’s get started.”

  Felton suddenly looked concerned.

  “You want to do it here?”

 
Clive clicked his pen a few times and scribbled on the corner of the notebook to get the ink flowing.

  “No, no, of course not. I just want to confirm a few things with you first. Then we’ll drive back to my hotel room, so I can type up the agreement and get an official statement of cooperation from you. It’s just paperwork, a formality really. We’ll do the initial interview there as well. In the AC.”

  Clive grinned.

  “And then, depending on what you can give me, we’ll go from there. It’s going to be a process. But don’t worry, we’ll protect you from your aunt.”

  Clive wasn’t sure Felton could be protected at all, but he’d deal with that concern later. Once the affidavit was signed and sent. Once he got word from the special agent in charge that the case was a go. Clive clicked his pen again.

  “So, just a few quick things. Has Sister Tulah spent the last few years trying to bring a phosphate mine to Bradford County?”

  Felton tilted his head, confused about the question, but then nodded.

  “Yes.”

  Clive checked off the first bullet point on his list.

  “And did Sister Tulah use coercion, intimidation, threats or bribery to obtain the land for the phosphate mine?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she use the same methods to get the mine approved in Bradford County?”

  Felton nodded again.

  “Yes.”

  With each affirmation, Clive could feel the anticipation building up inside of him. It was going to happen. The case was really going to happen. He flipped the notebook over to the next page.

  “And did Sister Tulah employ these means in other instances? To persuade lawmakers on other issues or to gain favors illegally?”

  Felton hesitated, but then Clive realized that he was just working his way through the language. Felton slowly nodded again.

  “I think so, yes.”

  “Okay, and just one more. Did Sister Tulah bribe, or attempt to bribe, state senators into voting for an approval of environmental permits for the phosphate mine coming to Bradford County?”

  “Yes. Definitely.”

  Clive made one last check on the paper and then flipped the notebook closed. He slapped it against his palm.

  “And you can give us detailed information, correct? Names? Dates? Transaction amounts? Particularly with regards to the bribery of state senators?”

  “Yes. Josten and Gripes. Kirkland. I think there was another. I won’t be able to tell you everything. My aunt is very secretive and very cautious. But I’ve been listening from the shadows for a long time. I don’t think she believes I know anything.”

  Clive reached for his jacket. He shoved the notebook and pen back into the inside pocket before draping the jacket over his arm. He nodded enthusiastically.

  “Good. That’s really good. You’re going to be essential to this case, Felton. All right, now we head back to the hotel so you can sign those papers.”

  Felton stood up.

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now. We need to get the ball rolling on this.”

  “I can’t.”

  Clive was already a few steps ahead. He slowly turned back to Felton. The idiot had better not be getting cold feet. He expected to see apprehension, maybe dread, in the man’s eyes, but they were clear and untroubled. Clive frowned.

  “What do you mean, you can’t?”

  Felton shrugged.

  “I can’t right now. Brother Lester and Brother Charles are on their way over to the church. We’re working on the roof today. I have to be there.”

  “You’re kidding, right? You can’t just tell them that you’re busy this afternoon?”

  “Doing what?”

  Clive dabbed at the sweat beading on his forehead. It was frustrating, but he realized that Felton was right. What else would he be doing? Making paper airplanes out of Bible pages? Brother Felton didn’t live in a world of business meetings or coffee dates or things popping up out of nowhere. Clive understood how the town worked now. If Felton acted in any way suspicious, someone would report it back to Tulah. Clive groaned.

  “All right. Good point. Can you meet tonight?”

  “We’ll be working into the late hours, I’m sure.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  Lopez was going to be irritated that he couldn’t send her the statement today, but she’d just have to deal with it. Plus, Clive had initial confirmation from Felton. That had to count for something. Brother Felton spoke slowly.

  “Tomorrow. You know where the Hardee’s is? The one across from the Dollar Tree?”

  Clive nodded. How could he not? It was one of only two fast food joints in the whole town.

  “Sure, I know it.”

  “I like the curly fries. I can meet you there in the evening. Around six. If you go in the back door by the bathrooms, maybe nobody will notice you. Bring your papers and whatever you need me to sign.”

  It wasn’t ideal, but Clive figured it would work. Brother Felton had better be a goldmine of information for all the trouble he was going to for him. But then Clive checked himself. Without Felton, there was no case. He would have to keep reminding himself of that.

  “Okay. I’ll see you then.”

  Felton raised his hand like a man about to take an oath.

  “See you then.”

  Through the glass, Ramey watched the little blonde girl cruise a Hot Wheels car through an obstacle course of salt shakers, ketchup bottles and syrup pitchers. The girl flew the car over a pyramid of stacked creamers, her mouth opening and closing as she undoubtedly made whooshing and whirring noises. Stella. She had just turned six in July. Judah had casually, and then anxiously, mentioned this to Ramey when he had been trying to decide if he should send the girl a birthday present. They had been pushing a cart through the Wal-Mart up in Starke and Judah had vacillated back and forth as he absently picked up plastic water guns and Barbie dolls, trying to make up his mind. He was still pretty sure that Stella wasn’t his. But maybe she’d like something from him anyway. Or maybe Cassie would just chuck the present before the kid could even unwrap it. He had picked up a stuffed alligator and squeezed it in both hands like he was going to strangle it. Judah had asked Ramey what she had liked when she was six. Had she liked stuffed animals? Ramey had patiently assented that she had. Judah had liked toy cars, of course. Did little girls play with cars? Ramey had smiled and nodded. Yes, they did. Yes, she had. Judah had finally said to forget it; he wasn’t going to send anything. It would be too confusing for the damn kid, anyway.

  Ramey leaned back against the driver’s seat of the Cutlass and peered through the windshield. She was parked directly across the road from Gunner’s Diner with a clear view of the restaurant. The front of the diner was all glass windows, and in addition to Stella playing with her cars in the back booth, Ramey could see Cassie behind the counter in a greasy, white apron with a spatula in her hand. She was waving it over her head and laughing with the two men sitting at the counter. Ramey watched Cassie and tried to take the measure of her: this woman who had stolen Judah away from Silas years before. Who had lived with him, raised a kid with him, cheated on him, kicked him out, taken him back. Cassie had barely written to Judah when he was in prison. It was hard to imagine how different things had once been. Judah had once played the role of a family man, cooking hot dogs on the grill, watching Care Bears on the living room floor with a two-year-old, far away from the clutches of Sherwood Cannon. And Ramey had once been a new graduate from nursing school, engaged, with a child growing inside of her. A girl. Her girl. Who would never be born. Who had never even had a chance.

  Ramey shook her head and lit a cigarette. There was no point in dwelling on the past. Not two years ago. Not two days ago. The hardest thing Ramey had ever done was wake up in that hospital bed after the car accident and still want to live. Lying to Judah, telling him that she was leaving him, watching his face in the rearview mirror as she drove away, might have been the second. There had been no other way, thoug
h. She knew Judah wasn’t going to change his mind about believing Shelia and she also knew that he would stop her if she said she was going on her own. Ramey and Judah hadn’t spent a full night apart since he had walked away free from the state prison. Convincing Judah that they were breaking up had seemed the only way she could disappear for a few days with no questions asked. And she had known that Judah would either be too angry or too heartsick to go after her.

  But she kept second guessing herself. It was a dangerous ruse, and that was without even taking Weaver into consideration. If all went well, if everything was charmed and went perfectly and she and Shelia did manage to kill Weaver and make it back to Silas alive and breathing, there was still no telling how Judah would react when he found out what she had done. Would he forgive her? Maybe in their time apart he would realize that it was easier without her. Maybe he would like feel like he could no longer trust her. Maybe he wouldn’t even want her back. Ramey rested her elbow on the lip of the open window and ran her hand over her face and then through her hair. It was a risk. A gamble. But if she could stop Weaver from going after Judah, then, of course, it would be worth it to lose him. It would be worth her own life. It would be worth it all.