by David Haynes
“Good evening, Reverend.”
He jumped. He hadn’t heard or seen anyone on the street, but then again he was somewhat preoccupied playing his home movie. The owner of the voice was gone before he had the opportunity to recognize who it was.
“Good evening,” he called, half-turning. Not really caring.
He had a good imagination for these things and he’d learned a lot from Flesh 69. Maybe he should try putting a few of his ideas onto film, or digital, whatever it was called these days. A personal collection, not for release to the general public.
He pushed through the door into the warm diner. “Hey, Courtney!” he called cheerfully, forcing just one more smile to shine through. Did she have any acting aspirations, he wondered? She just stared at him with eyes full of... what was it? Fear? Hate? A mixture of the two. How sweet.
“I know what I want already,” he said, holding his hands up. “I want the steak, cooked rare.”
He took a step nearer the counter. There was a brief flash of alarm in her eyes. It was delicious. “Did you hear that? R...A...R...E.” He winked at her. “None of that silliness we had this morning, eh?”
He walked over to his favorite booth, the one closest to the window, and wriggled out of his coat. “Thick-cut fries, peppercorn sauce and I think I’ll go for a side of corn too, please. I’m starving. Thank you, Courtney.” He paused and just as she started walking away he called, “Oh and I’ll take some of that homemade lemonade too, nice and spiky.”
He didn’t bother turning back around to see if she had heard him or not. It didn’t really matter because whatever she served up to him was going to be wrong. He hummed to himself and looked out. Phil Moody’s Country Squire chugged up Main Street and stopped where it always did. Right outside Sonny’s. One of his tail-lights was out. It had always been out. He’d probably had that car since it was made, back in 1982. Back when he had a family who gave a shit about him.
He watched Moody haul his fat ass out of the car and shuffle toward the bar. He was early, Sonny didn’t usually open up for another hour. Moody banged on the door and then turned around, got back in his car, skidded across Main Street and drove out of town. The guy was probably already halfway there, or halfway back, whichever way you chose to view things. He was lucky he hadn’t killed someone yet, but luck didn’t last forever. It just didn’t. If you understood that then you were more likely to enjoy yourself and do the things you wanted while you had chance.
He heard the sound of his steak sizzling on the hotplate; the smell of burning meat was mouthwatering. The tang of burning terrorist all those years ago hadn’t been quite so appetizing, but it had a certain appeal.
“Smell’s delicious!” he called. He wiped drool away from the corner of his mouth with a napkin. Was it the thought of the food or the game he was about to play that made him salivate? Not that it mattered. If you looked for the reasons behind why things worked the way they did, especially where human nature was concerned, you were apt to spoil everything.
Out on Main Street, puddles formed in regimented rows on the damaged blacktop. Soon they would join together and form one massive lake.
“Your steak,” Courtney said, sliding the plate toward him. “Lemonade.” She put his glass down too. “Anything else?”
She wasn’t exactly being very friendly, now was she? It wasn’t as if she had customers crawling out of the woodwork.
“Thank you, it looks wonderful,” he said. She was already walking away from the table.
He cut into the steak, blood oozed into the peppercorn sauce.
“Err, Courtney?”
She stopped and turned very slowly. “Yes?”
“My steak is bleeding. I asked for it medium. You remember?”
She walked with purpose to the booth then put her hands on the table, palm down. “No, you said rare. You even spelled the word out to me. R...A...R...E.”
He laughed. “We seem to be getting in a real muddle today, don’t we? And by me,” he smiled, “I mean you.” He pushed the plate toward her. “Maybe I’ll just take some of that delicious meatloaf instead. It’ll be easier. On both of us.” He sighed.
She locked eyes with him for a moment, all aggressive defiance. And then it was gone. She recognized who was in charge. It left him with a vague feeling of disappointment. If she had defied him, it would have made the final control that much sweeter. But she picked up his plate and took it back to the kitchen without another word.
He drummed his fingers on the table and drank some lemonade. The noises coming from the kitchen suggested she was angry. Was she throwing cutlery at the walls in there? It certainly sounded like it.
He slid out of the booth. Hundreds of butterflies flapped their wings in his gut, making him shiver and grunt involuntarily.
“Courtney, are you okay in there?” he shouted. He stood in front of the counter and watched her move from the oven to the refrigerator. At least she wasn’t singing.
He walked around the counter and stepped into the kitchen. “I asked if you were okay and when you didn’t answer I thought I should come and check on you.”
“You shouldn’t be back here,” she said, spinning quickly to face him.
He took another step forward. “I can go anywhere I like,” he said, smiling. “Anywhere I am needed and I believe I am needed right here.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” she smiled right back at him. “You’re not needed here or anywhere else in this town.”
He laughed then, genuinely amused. “Watch that steak,” he pointed at the griddle, “don’t want to overcook it.”
She looked at it, giving him the opportunity to take a couple of steps farther inside.
“Not needed? Well that’s a hurtful thing to say, Courtney. I doubt the folks up at the hospice would agree with you about that.”
He watched her lift and turn the steak with an enormous fork. She was trying hard to carry on as normal, to pretend he wasn’t there, but he could see she was anxious.
“Go back to your seat, I’ll bring you the steak.” She stared at him. “Just the way you like it.” A bit of venom there.
He waited until she had put the fork down and then took a few more steps forward. She walked around one of the counters to the sink, pretending there were pots to wash. The sink was empty, there were no pots, they both knew that.
“This was your grandmother’s place, wasn’t it? Diana? That was her name, right?”
“Dianne,” she replied.
He knew what her name was, it was on the sign out front.
“Sorry, yes. Dianne. Then it was your mom’s, poor woman, so sad.” In his first weeks in town, he had made it his business to know all there was to know about everyone. Knowledge, as they say, was power.
“You don’t speak about my family,” she said.
He was amused to hear the faintest quiver in her voice. Good, he was reducing her down like a good pan of gravy.
“But you should be proud of what they achieved. How they built up such a fine business, a flourishing center of meatloaf excellence.” He edged forward, tracing his fingers over the stainless-steel worktop, not a trace of grease to be found.
She edged away too, but there was nowhere else to run to now. She had put herself in the corner.
“You better leave right now, before I call the cops.”
“You’re not going to do that, Courtney.” He was around the counter, just a few steps away from her.
Her cheeks were flushed now. She really was very pretty, in a soiled kind of way.
“You fucking...”
He wagged his finger. “Now, now. No bad language please. It’s not becoming of a lady.” He looked her up and down, the sensation passing through his stomach and groin was wonderful. “Although I’m not sure anyone could actually call you a lady, Courtney, could they?”
“Another step and you’ll be missing an eye, you, cocksucker.” She held a knife in her hand. A nasty looking thing with a long serrated edge. She wav
ed it in the air in case he had missed it.
His cock hardened. This... this resistance was just stretching things out. She was teasing him, little cock-tease bitch.
“Oh put that down, you silly girl.” The steak spat and sizzled on the griddle. Forget rare, it was going to be charcoal by the time he’d finished with her.
“Touch me and I’ll make sure Sheriff Taylor throws you in...”
“You won’t do that either, Courtney.”
She reached beneath her smock and pulled out a cell. Her fingers poised to hit the numbers. “You think I won’t?”
He laughed again. “No, Courtney. You won’t. Because if you do, all this is gone. All of your grandmother’s work, your mom’s work and even your own. Just think what Dianna will say from high up there.” He pointed a finger vertically. “She’ll say, ‘How could Courtney let the diner go down the pan like that? How could she let it just slip away?’ Without me, without the church and the hospice, this place will just be an empty box. Gone and forgotten.”
She dropped her eyes.
“With my continued presence, the continuing support of the Church of Broken Pieces, the diner will continue to thrive.” He reached forward, lifting her chin. “You want that, don’t you, Courtney?”
She bit her bottom lip. Another flash of anger threatened to spill over, but didn’t.
He took the knife from her fingers. “Was that what your mommy used on your daddy, when she killed him?”
He watched tears pool in the corners of her eyes. He felt his cock pushing against his pants. It felt like he was about to explode.
“He used to hurt you, didn’t he? He used to hurt both of you.” He was fishing now, he had no idea what her daddy was like, he just knew her mom had killed him and then drove her car off a bridge into the Kennebec three miles upriver. Putting two and two together wasn’t so very hard though.
“Did he put his cigarettes out on you? Is that why you still do it?” He turned her forearm, revealing the burns. Interestingly there were no new ones today. He could help her with that.
“You like it don’t you, Courtney? You like how it feels. It gives you power. Control. And we all like those two little cherubs, don’t we?”
She shook her head and then spat in his face. “You fucker,” she hissed, trying to wrestle her arm free. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, you’ve got no idea about me, or my family. None.”
He retained his grip. She was strong, the rage and frustration boiling in her guts gave her a little extra juice. She wasn’t strong enough though and he twisted her wrist until she gave a yelp. The sound made him shiver.
“I think you should pray, Courtney. Pray that the Lord helps you feel the pleasure spikes you get from each burning ember you press to your skin. Pray, now.”
He tilted his head and twisted her arm against the joint. It forced her down to her knees. Down there, her head in line with his crotch.
“Ah, what’s this?” he said. Level with his eyeline was a packet of Marlboro. They had been placed carefully out of sight but easy to find in times of need. He grabbed them down from the shelf. A cheap disposable lighter came with them.
“Is it a good brand?” he asked. “I really have no idea, never smoked in my life.”
He slid one out, pushed it into her mouth and then lit it. “Good?” he asked.
Courtney’s eyes were in line with his thighs. They never moved.
“Take a deep pull,” he said. “There, isn’t that better?”
She was silent.
“Now, I’m going to pray while you push the end of that smoke onto your wrist. It looks awfully hot, I must say. It’s no wonder it makes such awful scars. Now, every time I say the word ‘amen’, I want you to do as I’ve said.”
This was her control mechanism, the only source of control she had in her miserable life and he was taking it away from her. Not only taking it away but using it against her. He took a deep breath. If he wasn’t careful he would get overexcited and he didn’t want this to end yet.
“Remember,” he said, “I can take all this away tomorrow. If I want. Shall we begin?”
He didn’t wait for a reply.
“Lord, we give thanks for allowing Courtney the opportunity to keep her grandmother’s and mother’s dreams alive. We give praise to the Church of Broken Pieces and pray you grant me the time and wisdom to help this poor girl. Amen.”
He looked down and winked. Courtney looked at the tip of the cigarette, all resistance gone. She turned it and lowered it toward the inside of her forearm. Cavendish could feel his breath coming in rapid succession as his excitement grew, as her terror flourished under his guidance. He swallowed.
“Amen,” he repeated, his voice almost a whisper.
“Ah-fucking-men,” she said and then stuck the tip of the cigarette on his thigh.
He shrieked and jumped back, swatting at the smoking fabric. The cigarette hadn’t been there long enough to burn through the silk but it had left an ugly black mark.
“You little bitch!” He picked up the knife he’d taken off her.
“Anyone back there?” A voice called from the front of the diner.
He looked at her, she looked back and smiled. “I better answer or they might come looking.”
He took a step toward her, the knife between them. “This isn’t finished yet, Courtney. You still need my prayers to help you along the way.”
She sidled past him, keeping her eyes on him all the time. He took her arm. “Remember how important this place was to your dear, dead mom? Keep that in mind when you go out there.”
She looked away and scurried out of the kitchen. He let the air out of his lungs slowly. My, that had been intense. Beautifully intense and so what if he had to wait a while until the finale? So what? He had plenty of time and Courtney wasn’t going anywhere.
He smiled to himself and followed her out into the diner. His smile slipped when he saw who it was. It was only a brief slip, and to anyone else it might have looked like a twitch, but to him it felt like a colossal shifting in his spirits.
“Mr Wilson, Mr Donovan!” he announced. “How wonderful to see you both. And looking a lot better than last I saw you. Back for more of Courtney’s meatloaf?” He smiled at her as he walked through her line of sight. She wouldn’t say anything, and certainly not to them.
It would have to be those two who disturbed him, wouldn’t it? They were beginning to really irritate him.
19
“Everything okay?” Wilson asked, looking at them both. This was the second time the Reverend had come from the kitchen with Courtney. It went through his mind that Cavendish might be more than just a lover of Courtney’s meatloaf.
Evidently the same thought went through Donovan’s mind. “Have we disturbed anything?”
“Just prayers,” Cavendish replied.
“Smells like something’s burning,” Wilson said to Courtney. Her hand crept under the counter and for a split-second he saw the unmistakable butt of a handgun. An old-style revolver. Something more than prayers had been going on here.
“Oh, crap!” She removed her hand and ran back into the kitchen.
“Sometimes she gets distracted,” Cavendish said, leaning toward them as if he were conspiring against her. “I don’t think I want to eat that now,” he added.
“By your prayers?” Donovan said. “I find that hard to believe.”
Wilson bit his lip to stop a smile forming.
“Ah, the power of prayer cannot be underestimated,” Cavendish replied.
Donovan shrugged. “Something to behold, I have no doubt.” The sarcasm was barely concealed.
“Come to think of it, I believe my prayers knocked you two gentlemen off your feet earlier.” He raised his eyebrows.
“Fever,” Donovan turned to face him. “We were running temperatures. It wasn’t prayer that dropped us, it was bacteria.”
“Maybe,” Cavendish replied. He leaned closer to Donovan. “Or maybe God was telling you
boys something? Something about your lifestyle choice. Ever think of that? ”
“You ever think I could put my hand down your throat and rip your fucking tongue out?” Donovan said. It was his turn to smile.
Maybe it was the smile, maybe it was the words, but whichever one it was, Cavendish stepped back. He swallowed several times in quick succession and then coughed nervously. His eyes were wide.
He pointed at Donovan. “You... you ought to watch your mouth, young man. That kind of talk won’t be tolerated around here.”
Donovan took a step forward but Wilson grabbed his arm. “That’s enough,” he said. He liked Cavendish about as much as Donovan did, but he didn’t want to see his friend get in trouble over him. He wasn’t worth it.
Cavendish adjusted his jacket. There was a black smudge on his shiny gray trousers. It was the first time Wilson had seen the man look anything but immaculate.
He puffed his chest out. “Enjoy your meal, gentlemen. Maybe Courtney could pack some up for your drive home tomorrow.” He turned and strutted out of the diner. “Good evening,” he said and then as the door closed behind him, he said something else. Something Wilson was glad Donovan hadn’t heard. He had already turned away and was leaning on the counter, looking into the kitchen.
“Need some help?” Donovan called.
A black smog drifted out of the kitchen. It smelled pretty good, like barbecue, but it was a real eye-stinger.
“No, no. I’m okay, just give me a moment and I’ll be right out to take your order.” Maybe it was the smoke, maybe it was the power of the Reverend’s prayer but Courtney didn’t sound okay. There was a definite tremble to her voice.
The two men looked at each other. They didn’t know her well enough to go barging into the kitchen asking what was wrong. Nevertheless he could see Donovan wanted to, especially since whatever was wrong with her seemed to involve Cavendish.
They hovered by the counter for a minute before walking to their table. Just as they slid into the booth, Donovan said, “That guy’s Baphomet could be...”