Whistler's Angel

by John R. Maxim

  “No, go on,” said Claudia.”

  “You’re sure? It gets grimmer.”

  “Adam,” she reached to touch his hand. “Are you okay?”

  She asked because she saw that his mind had wandered. He was still seeing Poole…and now Aubrey…in his head. He knew that his mind was searching for a connection just because of that biblical business. It was silly. So unlikely. He’d already decided that Aubrey, at least, would never have allowed this to happen.

  “I guess we’re lucky,” said Leslie, “that they didn’t throw a bomb.”

  Moore explained that they’ve only used pipe bombs and firebombs when their victims were randomly chosen. They seemed to prefer guns when the victim was specific. That lessened the chance that they would miss. A bomb might have missed Philip Ragland entirely. It might also have deafened everyone in the bar. They wouldn’t have heard any parting words that these two had probably prepared.

  “Their spree,” he said, “began two years earlier in their hometown of Springfield, Missouri. Breen’s wife, it seems, had moved out of their trailer and had taken up with another man. Crow pointed out that this made her an adulteress. They found them together, not in bed, but at a Wendy’s. Breen and Crow walked in armed with shotguns.”

  Moore said they ordered the couple to get down on their knees, facing and embracing each other. Breen used a roll of duct tape to wrap them together while Crow kept other patrons and employees at bay. Breen’s wife was screaming, begging for help. The new boyfriend tried denying there was anything between them. Breen stuffed napkins into his mouth.

  Crow herded the dozen or so patrons and employees to rear of the fast food service counter. There were two small children among them. Crow told this group that they were not to be harmed, that instead they’d been honored to witness God’s wrath. Crow then told Breen it was time to pass judgement. Breen went back outside where he gathered up some rocks that had lined a bed of flowers near the entrance.

  On his return, Crow announced to the assemblage that they were in the presence of adulterers. Crow said that they’d been tried before God and convicted. He then quoted a number of scriptural texts that dealt with the penalty phase. He said that adulterers were to be stoned. He asked if any present were doubters, non-believers. If some were, they kept that to themselves. As they looked on in horror, Breen started his work. He began hurling stones at his wife and her companion from a distance of five or six feet. They were frantic, screaming, trying hopelessly to dodge them. Although Breen missed them as often as not, enough stones had hit them, crushed their shoulders, smashed their faces, that soon the floor and walls were splattered with their blood. Crow told Breen to end it. Breen went out for bigger stones. With these, he pounded each of them to death.

  That done, Mr. Crow began handing out pamphlets describing the mission of his church. He gave each of the children a little lapel pin depicting a fiery sword. He had to pin them on himself because the children were in shock. One of them, to this day, was still unable to speak.

  Moore paused. “I did warn you. This is not table talk.”

  He was looking at Claudia. Her expression had gone cold. She said, very softly, “Go on.”

  Moore glanced toward Whistler. Whistler said, “No, that’s enough.”

  “No, I need to hear it,” said Claudia.

  “Well…so far we have adultery, and abortion, being gay. These are the big ones, but they only scratch the surface. Crow will kill you for some twenty different sins against God and the list gets longer all the time.”

  Whistler asked, “What was Ragland’s?”

  “You heard that yourself when Breen walked in shouting ‘God is not mocked’ before he shot him. Ragland, on his program, did a segment on them. From their point of view, he blasphemed.”

  “He did mock them?”

  “Not at all. But he did warn against them. As it happens, I saw that program myself. I remember him that saying every faith, his own included, has its bigots and its lunatic fringe. In that program, he cited a number of groups who are opposed to almost any civil liberty. Kingdom Come was just one of the more extreme groups.”

  “And Kingdom Come is…?”

  “The Reconstructionists’ church. Crow and Breen were both early members. Crow, in fact, was their treasurer. Breen never made it past the sixth grade, but Crow is no trailer park type. He’s a college graduate, majored in accounting, had a nervous breakdown, then he had his epiphany. He’d been hearing demon voices in his head for some time. Jesus showed up one day, drove them out and told Crow that Crow was one of the chosen. He tried street preaching, then he found the Reconstructionists. He turned out to be a whiz at fundraising, but Kingdom Come finally expelled him from the church. They say he was too militant, even for them, and besides, he’d have seizures and froth at the mouth every time they didn’t let him have his way.”

  “Seizures?” Whistler asked. “Epileptic, you think?”

  “Or some other short circuit. Whatever, it scared them. Anyway, he left and took Breen along with him. Crow went out and tried to start his own church. He calls it the Legion of the Flaming Sword. He hands out a lot of those lapel pins.”

  Whistler asked, “And how large is this Legion?”

  “Seems to be just Breen and Crow, but they must have some backing. They’ve left no paper trail because they only use cash. The FBI is sure that their cash has been replenished and yet there’s no indication that they’ve robbed anyone. Somebody has to be funding them.”

  “And the aim of that someone and these two is…what? To kill everyone who sins? They would seem understaffed for such an effort.”

  “Well, I guess they’ve decided to do what they can until some more converts get into the game. In fairness, however, to the other Reconstructionists, killing sinners is not their priority. They’re certainly radical and ultra right wing, but they don’t go around killing people. They prefer to use the political system, backing candidates who share at least some of their views. As I mentioned, they seem very well funded. Most of them are devout; they’re very sincere; but they think that they shouldn’t just sit around waiting for the Second Coming of Christ. They believe in preparing the way.”

  Moore proceeded to brief them on the mind-set of a creed that produced

  men like Joshua Crow. Reconstructionists, he explained, are those who believe that before the second coming of Christ, all civil institutions need to be replaced by a system based on biblical law. Since Jesus, they say, intends to do that when he gets here, they ought to get the ball rolling now.

  That law, as they interpret it, mandates the death penalty for a lengthening number of offenses. These include all the basics: murder, rape, and the like, but also nearly anything under the heading of acts by consenting adults. Homosexuality is at the top of the list, but there’s also incest, adultery, of course, and any unmarried sex. Oral sex and masturbation are out of the question, whether one is married or not. Having an abortion is a capital offense. So are blasphemy, witchcraft and drunkenness. Spreading false religions, meaning any but theirs, will be punishable by death if and when they get their way.

  Add divorce and the reading of prurient materials, and the reading or teaching of evolution, for that matter. Add the sale or use of recreational drugs. Add rebellion by children, disobedience to parents. The kids get two warnings, then a stoning. Some add smoking to the list of forbidden activities. Although the Bible makes no reference to smoking, neither does it say that it’s permissible.

  Claudia had been silent throughout this recitation. Her expressions, however, were easy to read. There was sadness, mostly, and a shaking of her head. There were flashes of anger mixed in. He was glad to see the anger because it probably meant that any guilt she might have felt had been replaced. Whistler was also glad of her silence. It meant, he hoped, that she’d resisted the urge to describe her more benevolent theology.

  They had finished their breakfast. Moore needed to get back. Leslie and Claudia brought the dishes below wh
ile Phil tried to get his motor started.

  Moore gave Whistler his card and offered Whistler his hand. He said, “I’m glad to have met you. The both of you.”

  “Same here.”

  Moore said nothing for a moment. He was looking down at Claudia. He said, “Maybe the two of you can buy me a beer if I ever run into you again.”

  “That sounded like goodbye. Does it mean we can leave?”

  Moore shrugged. “As a cop, the answer is no, but I’m sure you’re thinking about it. If you don’t leave, however, I’d stay out here at anchor on the chance that Crow decides to pay you a call.”

  “He’s no threat to me. He couldn’t even know my name. Anyway, all I did was take a shot at him and miss.”

  “I think we all know that you both did more than that. But that isn’t the point. The point is how this nut sees it. By his lights, you interfered with the will of God. I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

  Whistler thanked Sergeant Moore, shook his hand one more time, and he thought “By midnight, we’re gone.”

  Claudia watched Phil’s boat leave. She gave Leslie a wave. She said to Whistler, “This might be it.”

  He asked her, absently, “This might be what?” His thoughts were on getting the fuel tank topped off.

  “Do you remember when I said it was time to move on? That I needed to find out what else I should be doing?”

  “I remember. So let’s go. We’ll move on to Bermuda.”

  “It’s not finished, Adam. I think I need to meet them.”

  “Meet who? Wait a minute. You mean Ragland and his wife?”

  “I think so, Adam. I think I’m supposed to. I think I might have been sent to Jump & Phil’s last night.”

  Uh-oh, thought Whistler. He could see where this was going. A thing like this happens, people get killed, and the people who’ve survived it start to look for a meaning. There wasn’t any meaning. A plane crash has no meaning. It’s just a random tragedy. They happen.

  Most people, however, don’t think that they’re angels.

  He said, “Claudia, trust me. You were not there on a mission. We’ve been to that restaurant a dozen times. We went there to eat, nothing more.”

  “But you said that the white light might have guided my hand. I know you don’t believe it, but you said it.”

  “To save Ragland’s life? Okay, say it did. Good job. You did it. It’s over.”

  “Except…look at all the ways in which our lives and his have crossed.

  Don’t you start to feel a bond? A connection?”

  “None whatever.”

  “But the things he’s against are the things you’re against. What if somebody else tries to stop him?”

  Oh damn, thought Whistler. Now where was she going? And wherever it was, do we try to be rational? No, we don’t. That never works. Not with Claudia.

  He said, “I think we need to get this angel thing straight. I am not anyone’s guardian angel. The only angel around here is you, and you’re assigned to me, not to Ragland.”

  A patient sigh. “We’re pretending now, right? We’re pretending that you believe it?”

  Okay, so we’re maybe semi-rational, thought Whistler.

  “Say, I do,” he answered. “You’re mine, no one else’s. This should be an exclusive arrangement. So, the next time you get tapped to do a job on the side…”

  “Tapped by…?”

  “The white light. It didn’t want Ragland killed. Thanks to you, but mostly it, he’ll have many more years to tilt at every windmill in sight. You’re out of that now; you’re back with me and your pitching days are over, by the way. You’re no longer available to come in as a reliever just because you happen to be handy.”

  She lowered her eyes. “Don’t make fun of me, Adam.”

  “Oh, no,” he answered quickly. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

  “Then you’re humoring me. Don’t do that either.”

  “Humoring you would imply disrespect. There is no one I respect more than you.”

  “Then oblige me with the truth. Say what’s really on your mind.”

  “Okay, my truth.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “I think that us being in that bar was pure chance. I think your throw was partly a good arm, but mostly luck. No one guided your hand; that was you being you. And you, by yourself, without any white light, are as good a person as I’ve ever known. I’m as proud as I can be of how you’ve dealt with this, Claudia, but I’m asking you…please let’s just go.”

  She looked into his eyes. She seemed surprised by what she saw in them. She said. “You’re afraid. I’ve never seen you afraid.”

  He nodded. “Absolutely. This scares me.”

  “And it’s me you’re afraid for?”

  “I can’t lose you, Claudia.”

  “And you think that you might because…I live in a dream world. The white light isn’t real. There’s just me being me. You’re afraid that I’ll try something like that again, believing that I can do it again. You think I really can’t and I’ll get killed.”

  He nodded again. “That would sum it up. Yes.”

  “You’re afraid of that man who is still on the loose?”

  “I’ll feel better when he’s caught. Or when we’re gone.”

  “Do you think he’ll be caught?”

  “He won’t get away. Not if he’s still on this island.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t care about getting away. Maybe he’ll try again at the hospital.”

  “If he does, he’s dead meat. Ragland’s bound to be guarded. Ragland doesn’t need us to protect him.”

  She said, “I’m sure you’re right. But this just doesn’t feel finished.”

  “It isn’t. It’s ongoing. But we’ve done our part. Unless you feel a need to be thanked, there’s nothing to be gained by seeing Ragland or his wife.”

  “I’m not looking to be thanked. It’s more like…I don’t know. I feel that there’s much more to this than we know. Do you remember the time that other boat needed ice?”

  “You, um…think that’s tied in with this?”

  “Well…not really.”

  “See that? Yes, you do. And that’s way from left field.”

  “Okay then, maybe not. But I remember what you said. You said it’s never a mistake to go with my instincts. The mistake would have been to ignore them.”

  “All the same…”

  “Adam, this all ties together somehow. Don’t ask why I think so. I just do.”

  “Sweetheart, six degrees of separation, remember? We’ve met hundreds of people who know hundreds more and that goes on ad infinitum. Everyone connects if you look long enough. I don’t want to look. I want to quit while we’re ahead.”

  “I know, but what’s the harm in dropping by for a minute? Leslie and Phil said they’re going to.”

  “When was this?”

  “They said so in the galley. They thought that they should. After all, he was shot in their restaurant.”

  “Good, then. They can convey our best wishes. We’re not going. I’m putting my foot down.”

  “If we don’t, his wife will only come here. You heard Sergeant Moore. She was asking about you. She’ll probably show up on the dock.”

  “If she does, she won’t find us. I intend to be at sea.”

  “But in the time it would take to get everything organized…”

  “Claudia…listen to me. Sit.”

  He told her that he really did understand why what happened here didn’t feel finished. He said, even if we put this whole angel thing aside, the encounter with the Ragland’s did almost seem fated. The drug law connection, the seizure connection, seeing Aubrey and Poole behind Ragland at that hearing. This is where human nature kicks in. We think, if it’s fated, then this ought to lead somewhere. And it would, more than likely. But we can’t let that happen.

  He asked her to focus on their primary goal. Stay away from the cameras, stay out of the papers, and leave the way they came in. He reminde
d her of how lucky they’d been in that Ragland was the much bigger story.

  “I understand, Adam. But we’ve done that, I think. The media would have been out here by now if they had any interest in us.”

  “Claudia…Ragland. Ragland is media. The Ragland Report is a network TV show and his wife was a journalist herself. People like the Raglands tend to ask questions and they tend to have cameras around.”

  “We could ask them not to.”

  “Not what? Ask questions? How could either of them resist? Mrs. Ragland already thinks you’re a…”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. And by the way, did you do something to Moore? Did you somehow get into his head?”

  “Like how?”

  “Never mind. Forget I asked. And we’re not going.”

  Whistler turned away from her. He would hear no more of it. This time, for once, he was going to have his way. They would not go near the hospital. They would not go ashore. That was it. No more discussion. It was over.

  TWENTY ONE

  Joshua Crow, as Sergeant Moore had predicted, had found an unoccupied house in which to rest until he could gather his thoughts. He had made his selection within an hour of the shooting. It was in an older section called North Forest Beach, a non-gated, non-guarded community. Quite a few of the houses there were dark.

  The one he had chosen seemed ordinary enough. Not likely to attract any notice. The street that led to it was rutted, unpaved, and this house in particular seemed weathered, neglected. This was all to the good, Crow decided.

  There were other small houses on either side, but a fence blocked the view of the neighbor to the right and a wall of bamboo shielded this one from the other. Best of all, this house had a two-car garage. Its neighbors only had carports.

  Perhaps he would find another vehicle inside, but at least there should be room for the van. He broke into the garage through a window at its side, and disabled the electric door opener. He raised the door by hand and brought the van inside. He closed the door behind it, then allowed himself a scream. He screamed, then held his breath until he thought his lungs would burst. He bit into the pad of his thumb. He started humming. The humming always calmed him. It brought him good thoughts. It helped him to remember that the Lord’s work had been done. Philip Ragland was in hell where he belonged.