Legion (Southern Watch Book 5)

by Robert J. Crane

  “I’d settle for this recall election business to go by the wayside by next week,” Donna said, thinking real hard.

  “Yeah, that’d be mighty nice,” Reeve said, folding his arms. “I’d settle for Pike not cutting the increased funding levels he promised me to staff up. I was all set to start paying these people, too.”

  “Money’s not everything right now,” Donna said gently.

  “Only because Bill Longholt is paying the bills when we need something,” Reeve said, getting a little sour. “I don’t know where we’d be without him. Or Casey, come down to it. That little weasel may be sicker than shit when it comes to the stuff he’s into, but without his bugs I don’t know what we would have done with the pieces of that big demon bastard.”

  “Like I said, it’s a good team.” Donna smiled again and reached out to put her hand on his wrist. He got a little inkling of pity from her, and some of the relief ran out of him as he realized where it was stemming from.

  Goddamn. Of all the things to feel sorry for him about …

  *

  Arch pulled into the parking lot of the Methodist Church of Midian and killed the ignition, looking over at Alison. “You want to wait here or come in?”

  “I’ll wait,” she said, pulling out her phone. “I was going into Rogerson’s later to try and work, and I got a couple emails to catch up on.”

  “Okay,” Arch said, stepping out of the Explorer and shutting the door behind him. He wasn’t too worried about Alison fending for herself at the moment. It was a church parking lot in the middle of the day, the sun was bright overhead, and she not only had a Glock on her hip but she had a holy dagger she’d collected from Duchess Kitty on the other side of her belt. She’d put it to use a couple times that Arch had seen, too, and it gave him some comfort to know she had it.

  He walked across the parking lot, gravel crunching under his feet. The church wasn’t so wealthy that they had gone for a paved lot, not yet anyway. They were growing, albeit slowly. Barney Jones’s preaching style was attracting some folk in, but Arch had heard the church elders do nothing but complain. They were all old, and his exuberance didn’t quite fit with what they were looking for, which Arch presumed was a place to fall asleep on Sunday mornings.

  He opened the enormous white front door of the church. The church was a big brick building, with a towering spire up top. Not a bell tower, because there wasn’t a bell, but it was a lovely building. They’d had one before this that was a historical site with roots dating back to the Civil War. There was actually a bell, just not in the bell tower. The cord to pull it was hanging in the narthex where he stood, just to the right. Arch had pulled that bell a great many times as a child, almost all of them without permission.

  “Arch Stan, as I live and breathe,” Barney Jones said, catching sight of him from up on the pulpit. Jones looked like he was practicing for something, either a sermon a few days hence or a funeral, and it was hard to tell which it might be. Jones descended from the raised platform at the front of the church as Arch kept walking, through the big doors that separated the narthex from the sanctuary with its rows of pews. He and Jones met down the middle of the aisle that ran through the center, where the acolytes carried their brass candle lighters into the church to light the candles at the beginning of service. Arch had done that once upon a time. It had started fun and turned serious as time went on and he got more faithful. “What can I do for you, good sir?” Jones said, shaking his hand in a firm grip.

  “I think you know I’ve been out of town for a bit,” Arch said, looking the church over like it might have changed in the weeks he’d been gone. He had attended services every week he was able, unless he was working. Heck, he’d even gone to Wednesday nights most of the time, so long as he wasn’t working. At least until Lafayette Hendricks had crossed the county line. “Just figured I’d stop in.”

  “Trying to assuage a guilty conscience?” Barney Jones had a twinkle in his eye, like he had a great joke in mind. “Being wrongly pursued by the law while chasing down demons is probably an excuse that the Almighty would accept for missing church for a few weeks, especially from you, Arch.”

  “Mmhmm,” Arch said, not really putting any thought to it. “Well, I have missed this.”

  “I doubt you’ve missed an empty building,” Jones said. “What you’ve missed is the fellowship.”

  Arch stumbled over that one for a second. “Of course.” Jones was a clever man, always knew how to sneak one up on him.

  “You didn’t just come to make apologies for missing church while you were fighting demons and running, did you?” Barney asked, surveying him cannily, like he knew. “You got a guilty conscience about something, Archibald Stan?”

  “I got something I’m working through my mind,” Arch said, checking around them to make sure they were alone.

  “Oh, this ought to be good,” Jones said, beckoning him over to sit in one of the pews. “You’ve been out on the front lines of a fight against the devil’s own. I can’t wait to hear what’s going on in your head right now.”

  Arch took a seat in the pew behind Pastor Jones, and the preacher turned around to look back at him. “I don’t know how to say this,” Arch realized after a moment of trying.

  “Just say it.”

  “It ain’t right,” Arch said, looking away from Jones, “but before I found out about demons … there was an empty feeling in me that ought not have been there. Not in relation to—to my daily prayers or anything, I mean I was—I was on—I was all right there, I think.”

  “You getting complacent?” After a pause, Jones brushed it off like he hadn't meant to say that. “Never mind. Keep going.”

  “It was my job,” Arch said, struggling to find the words. “My marriage. We were trying for a baby, and, uh … I mean, I knew, spiritually—or I thought I did—where I was going, what my place was. But as a lawman, I … I felt like I was butting up against a great purposelessness.” He looked the pastor in the eyes. “I was writing tickets and responding to accident scenes and … doing what I thought I was supposed to be doing. But when the demons came to town—and I started to fight them—everything else clicked in place in a way it hadn’t before. My prayers seemed more … full of feeling when I’d thank God for his blessings. My love for my wife felt more real and genuine instead of being forced and stretched to try and fit the … the boredom? I don’t even know? The rut I was in?”

  “You found your calling,” Jones said, nodding. “That’s a powerful thing. It’s not usually a good sign when your life starts to get stale, Arch, not your marriage, not your job, not your prayer life … it’s all a symptom of something real wrong.”

  “I know that, and it bothered me for a long time,” Arch said. “And when I was out there these last few weeks … I didn’t step foot here one time, but I prayed every day, and I felt more alive in my heart and in my faith than I can recall being in, well, a long time. I mean, I’m not saying I’m not coming back, I’m just saying—”

  “I see what you’re saying,” Jones nodded his head, mock concern. “You’re saying my sermons aren’t enough to push your stubborn butt through a whole week. That my one hour a week of trying to get your head right with the Lord isn’t nearly enough to make sure it stays screwed on straight for the seven days before you come back and sit in these pews again. Well, Arch, there’s a hundred and sixty-seven hours a week I don’t have you in front of me, so, no, this isn’t exactly a surprise. You’re a faithful man and all, but if your head wasn’t dwelling regularly in Scripture, then you’re falling away from God.” Jones made a clicking noise. “Far be it from me to lecture you about falling, especially after what you’ve seen lately.”

  “No sermon necessary there,” Arch said. “I guess I just … I don’t know if I realized how hollow I’d gotten. Things on the surface, they were … I was, I was doing all right, I thought—”

  “If the center of the fruit is rotten, Arch, the whole fruit is rotten,” Jones said. “And what you’
re telling me here is—you got rid of the rot. And that’s a good thing. It’s easy for a Christian to pat himself on the back and compare himself to the world, thinking he’s doing all right. And that’s the wrong message. The world is blighted, filled with people who cut themselves off from love. It’s harsh sometimes, and there’s a temptation to bend to that. Comparing yourself to the world is a recipe for heartbreak.” Jones wagged a finger at him. “Don’t you go comparing yourself to other people and thinking you’re ‘doing all right.’ Ain’t no perfect people left in this world, Arch. I guess I don’t have to tell you that … but maybe I do. Maybe we all need a reminder sometimes.” Jones smiled. “So … you going to be at church on Sunday?”

  “So long as there ain’t a demon attack taking place at nine on Sunday morning,” Arch said, taking the cue to stand. He proffered a hand and Barney shook it, smiling at him genuinely all the while.

  “Always an excuse,” Jones said, giving him a poke as he headed back to the pulpit. “I’m talking to your sheriff later today, going to see what I can do to help y’all out.” He paused. “He didn’t get a chance to finish in the meeting last night, what with all the shouting … But it’s going to get worse, huh?”

  “Seems that way,” Arch said.

  “How bad? Pretend I ain’t seen Smokey and the Bandit 3, because I haven’t. Sensible folk would have stopped after 2.”

  “Well, we’ve already nearly lost the town a few times,” Arch said, starting to make his way back down the aisle. He glanced at the big cross hanging at the front of the room. “So … pretty bad, I’d say.”

  Jones let out a whistle. “Reckon I ought to be praying harder, then. And working harder, too, if it’s that bad.”

  “We could use both,” Arch said with a nod as he passed back into the narthex on his way out the door. “We sure could use both.”

  *

  Amanda Guthrie cracked the door and went out into the hotel’s hallway, ice bucket in hand. She didn’t really need ice, it not being much of a requirement for her, but she needed an excuse to wander the carpeted halls while she waited for the OOC to come back. And wander she did, up and down the hall, padding along in her bare feet, pressing against the hard floors, barely covered with the thin carpet. She wandered up to the ice machine near the elevator and then back again a few times, listening. Every time she heard the elevator ding she would turn and act like she was heading to the machine once more, waiting to see if the OOC was coming. Every time it had been a disappointment so far.

  Until now.

  She was halfway down the hall when she heard the ding, and she spun, trying to get around before whoever was arriving could get out of the elevator and see her. She’d taken some time on this, straightening her hair, making up her face. She’d fallen a little flat in dressing up, sticking with a tank top and sweatpants, but she figured that was what a person would wear when wandering around a hotel to get ice.

  She saw him coming as soon as he stepped out of the elevator. His head was down; he didn’t appear to be watching. She knew looks were very deceiving in this case, though, because OOCs were demons, and demons didn’t have irises or lenses in their eyes that pointed in one direction. They could see the entirety of their field of vision, all at once, and this OOC was a senser, which meant he could detect things that others couldn’t.

  Of course, he couldn’t detect her, and that was half the fun of doing this.

  The OOC shuffled his way down the hall, wearing a t-shirt that said “Naked Prozac,” whatever the hell that was, looking like he wasn’t paying attention to a damned thing. He was, though, she knew.

  “Morning,” she said in greeting, all smooth and velvety.

  The OOC raised his head to acknowledge her, just barely, with a grunt to go with it. It was the perfect response of someone who was trying not to be rude enough to garner notice but who didn’t want to talk.

  She debated whether or not to stop him now, as they passed. He steered wide around her, and she thought about just darting toward him, starting this thing off, but when the moment came, she let him go on. He didn’t even look back. It wasn’t as though he needed to. She did, but she wasn’t sure if he noticed this time.

  She’d come close to doing it this time. It had been hard not to, but she’d stopped herself at the last minute. This wasn’t the time or the place. But the time and place would come, she thought as she ducked into the little alcove room with the ice machine. She could hear his door open and shut down the hall. Yeah, that time was coming fast.

  *

  If the administrative part of being sheriff of Calhoun County had been hell before demons rolled in, now it was enough to bury a full-sized bureaucracy, which Reeve did not have at hand. What he had was himself and three deputies, his wife, and some new auxiliaries, at least in the main station, which was where all the action seemed to be lately. He ran a hand over his bald head and it came back a little oily. He hadn’t showered this morning, having woken up a little late. He’d shaved, though, as a concession to not looking like hell, for whatever good that would do him. With a mountain of paperwork as his present adversary, he had to concede that it wasn’t going to do much.

  The phone rang out in the bullpen, interrupting an otherwise quiet morning. Sun was shining in from the window behind him, and it had been a nice sort of quiet, the kind not filled with repeated 911 calls. He’d considered having the outsourced call center that was fielding at night right now take up the job all day long, but that was back when Pike was promising additional funds rather than an election to haul his ass out of office.

  The ring that echoed in the bullpen was distinctive, and it told him that it was, in fact, a 911 call. Donna picked it up and he could hear her say, “911, what is your emergency?”

  He waited, listening through the pause, hoping that when she replied, her voice wouldn’t be absolute panic, the kind that denoted something really terrible. If he had his druthers, it’d be a heart attack or a crash on some winding road with no fatalities. Those he could deal with, and fairly easily. They sure beat the hell out of someone calling to say they found an entire family massacred in their own house or a hooker burnt up from the inside or one of his deputies dead on the side of the road with his neck stretched out like taffy.

  “Uh huh,” Donna said, and he could hear the frown in her voice without being able to see her face. She was outside and around the corner, with her back turned so that even if he’d had x-ray vision, he wouldn’t have been able to see her face right now. “Well, we should be able to send someone out to check here in the next few minutes, Lyle. Thanks for calling.” She hung up the phone with a click of the plastic receiver against the base.

  “What was that?” He didn’t wait for her to shout it out. He figured it was minor, but he was dying of curiosity.

  “Lyle Schmidt,” Donna said. “He said there’s some kind of argument going on out on Fleer Street, a bunch of strangers he’s never seen before, bickering around a brown panel van. Sounded like it was turning ugly.”

  Reeve got to his feet. Strangers in town? Now? Probably not tourists. “Start making some calls,” he said, grabbing his coat off the back of his chair. “Might as well start getting everyone moving, because odds are this ain’t going to be some innocuous thing, not with strangers involved.”

  “You are turning into quite the xenophobe,” Donna said as he went past her, headed for the gap in the counter.

  “You been calling me that ever since I told you I wasn’t going to eat that raw fish you wanted me to try.”

  “It’s called sushi, Nick, and it’s really good.”

  “I prefer my fish cooked,” Reeve said, pushing against the Plexiglas door. “Maybe some men don’t, and that’s their business, but I know what I like.”

  “I’d like you to be careful,” Donna called after him, sounding awfully hopeful.

  “I’d like that, too,” Reeve said as he headed across the parking lot to Reyes’s old car. “I’d like that real well.”

&n
bsp; *

  Chester had finally roused William into some form of speaking and action after about nine. It hadn’t been easy, and he recognized the surliness present in William as a sort of long-held resentment that bubbled to the surface every now and again. Chester knew that its source was in William’s constituency, though; those voices were as loud as his own, perhaps louder even, but William was more passionate, more given to going in the direction his people suggested. Chester considered himself a bulwark; his role was careful action and diligence even when a course appeared clear. Long experience had taught him that seldom were things as simple as they seemed.

  “I need fresh air,” William had insisted as soon as they’d gotten up, and Chester had gone because it was necessary. He felt in a mood to appease his counterpart, to give him a breath of morning. The mornings in Queens of late had lacked the peaceful tranquility he expected they would find here in Tennessee. Too many noises, too many cars, too many people. That city had become a cacophony of its own, less a suburb than it used to be.

  They slid open the panel van’s side door, and together drew a deep breath of the quiet air. Here there were fewer noises. The sound of cars in the distance was still present, of course, but not nearly as loud as where they had lived in Queens.

  “Nothing like a change of scenery,” William said into the morning quiet. It was hardly early; the sun was already high in the sky. In truth, Chester could have remained in quiet in the van for considerably longer, but not with William ignoring him. That was a sort of pox of its own, and one he did not care for. Silence of mutual, respectful accord was one thing. The silence resulting from a bitter argument was quite another, and one Chester was eager to put behind them. All of them, he hoped.

  “It is an altogether pleasant experience for the constitution,” Chester agreed.

  A squeal of tires on pavement halted their conversation. They turned their head and looked down the street; an SUV was stopped in the middle of the main road just down the way. When they had parked, they had searched for a side street, and had pulled off it only a hundred yards or so. Back on that main road, the SUV reversed, then went into gear again and headed toward them, speeding up as it came their way.