Plain Heathen Mischief

by Martin Clark

  Joel took the phone with his good hand. “Hello?”

  “How you doin’, Preacher?”

  “Edmund?” He sat in the chair.

  “The one and only,” he said cheerfully.

  “What . . . well, I . . . uh . . . I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

  “You sound strange. Did I call at a bad time? If you’re eatin’ or sleepin’ or runnin’ late, I can call back.”

  Joel shook the dishrag off his burn and inspected the crevice the hot handle had made. “Oh Lord,” he said when he saw the blisters and deep red gouge.

  “Pardon?”

  Joel couldn’t stop looking at the center of his hand. “Edmund?”

  “What? What’s wrong, Joel? You don’t seem to be hittin’ on all cylinders.”

  “Cylinders?” He finally closed his fist around the injury. A long wooden splinter was dangling from the break in the counter, barely hanging on.

  “You okay there, partner? Somethin’ wrong?” Edmund hesitated. “Oh, wow, I hadn’t even—you’re not still cross with me about the wreck and so forth, are you?”

  Joel was enthralled by the splinter, thinking it might fall at any moment. “Edmund?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you recall our trip, driving across the country?”

  “Of course I do. I truly enjoyed it.”

  “You were kind enough to offer me a job.” Joel wasn’t blinking; his eyes were starched, fixed and dry.

  “I did. I remember.”

  “Is that still a possibility?” His voice had the same tame stupor as his inert eyes. “Something in the meat business?”

  “I’m always lookin’ for good help. But now, you know, Joel, you said my work wasn’t exactly suited for you.”

  “What do I need to do, Edmund? Just tell me.”

  “Let’s not discuss it on the phone. I don’t want to give away any trade secrets. Never know who might be listenin’. I’ve got competitors, you understand. How about we meet and talk things over?”

  “Tell me where, Edmund.”

  “Would Sa’ad’s be okay? Has he been in touch with you and takin’ care of your legal problems like I told him to?”

  “I’ve talked to him,” Joel answered.

  “Then we’ll meet at his office and go over the whole ball of wax.”

  “I can’t get there. I don’t have a car or any money for a ticket. Not even a bus ticket. So tell me what you want me to do.”

  “Hey, listen, here’s what—”

  “You tell me, and I’ll do it.” Joel talked right over him in the same weak monotone.

  “Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll overnight you some information. I might not be able to have it there tomorrow, but it’ll be there the next day for sure. You left your address with Sa’ad, didn’t you?”

  “He has it.”

  “Good.”

  “Thank you, Edmund.”

  “Least I can do for a friend. That’s why I called, to check in and see how you were. You sound terrible. Things a little tough so far?”

  “You could say that.”

  “So what’ve you been up to?” Edmund inquired.

  “Sorry, but I’m real busy right now. Can’t talk. I’ll see you soon, I guess.”

  “Sure. I didn’t mean to catch you at a bad time. At least maybe I can hook you up with a job.”

  “Just let me know.” Joel pushed the talk button and disconnected Edmund. He crouched and dropped onto his knees, then his hands. He crawled toward the stove, moving in a slow, addled drag like an old dog. The potato pieces were still on the floor, cold and raw and filthy. He and his sister had stepped on several chunks and mashed them into flat, mushy patches. Joel stretched his neck and started to eat the food on the ground. He had to lick and bite the crushed lumps to get them off the linoleum, but he never used anything other than his teeth and tongue, lapped up the white splotches and swallowed them with whatever else came along.

  five

  The next morning, Joel stayed in the basement until he was positive his sister and Baker were gone. He’d slept miserably, his hand ached and a summer cold seemed to be seeping into his throat and chest. Shortly after Sophie drove away, he heard a clunking, mechanical sound above him when the dishwasher changed cycles and began to drain, and in no time at all the discharge was flooding a noisy pipe beside his head. Even though he’d been residing in the cellar almost a month, he’d still not gotten used to the swooshes and vibrations, the sounds of sinks and toilets and the old avocado green dishwasher pouring out through his dank quarters.

  He sat on the edge of his bed and watched ten minutes’ worth of digital red numbers rise and fall, then went outside in his boxer shorts and T-shirt and flopped into a lawn chair. It wasn’t quite warm yet, and the air retained enough of the night’s chill to raise goose bumps. A huge black bug had landed in the wading pool and was buzzing frantically on the surface, struggling to pull free. Joel could hear its wings humming as it corkscrewed along the top of the water and bounced against the pool’s sides, getting nowhere.

  Tut, Baker’s bantam rooster, was in the yard pecking and scratching and clucking. The bird paraded about on thin, scaly yellow legs and was topped off by a floppy red comb. The banty seemed suspicious of Joel, occasionally staring up and freezing a lone, skewed eye on him. A tan hen followed behind the rooster, attacking the ground with her beak and the sharp points of her feet. Joel looked away and gazed at the mountains, massive greenish brown climbs that remained burly and broad until the earth finally deferred to the sky. The heat soon drove Tut and his hen into the shade, and the bug quit its battle, just floated helplessly with its feet anchored in the water, waiting to become saturated and sink to the bottom. For hours, Joel sat there undressed, peering at the horizon, contemplating the doomed insect, trading glances with the chickens, wasting time.

  He managed to skulk back to his underground room before Sophie returned home, and he lay in the dark listening to the evening unfold above him, heard Baker’s backpack slap the floor, footsteps next to the supper table and snatches of sitcom voices when the TV turned on.

  Around nine, Sophie opened the basement door and called down to him. “Are you still alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think you could find time in your busy schedule to clean up the kitchen tomorrow?”

  “Yes, I will. I realize I should’ve done it today.”

  “Thank you,” she said, a trace of compassion leavening her tone.

  “I’ll tend to it first thing. I’m sorry.”

  “Good night.”

  He coughed, tried to loosen the weight in his lungs. Despite the sickness and his day at loose ends, he was beginning to recover, to quell the tremors and black shame that had afflicted him as he’d emptied his spleen in front of the stove. There was still a feeling of embarrassment, and he dreaded the painful discussion he’d need to have with his sister, but at least he’d driven out a bellyful of demons and could claim a fresh start.

  Three days later, he was once again in Sa’ad’s office, surrounded by stuffed beasts and big mounted birds with their wings outstretched, ready to clamp their talons around a field mouse or newborn rabbit. Edmund’s FedEx package had contained a driver’s license, a voter identification card and an e-ticket confirmation in the name of Henry Louis Williams, along with two hundred dollars in twenties and the street address for Sa’ad X. Sa’ad’s law practice. Joel had left Missoula on a 6:00 a.m. flight, changed planes in Salt Lake City and been delivered to Sa’ad’s office by a bossy, snaggletoothed cabdriver.

  When Joel walked into the reception area at Sa’ad’s, he saw only one other client, a seedy man in a leg cast reading a back issue of Popular Mechanics. Well before he got near the lady at the front desk, the hallway door cracked and Edmund beckoned him inside. He strode past the receptionist, and she made it a point not to acknowledge him—she never turned away from her computer screen—although she had to realize he was in the room.

  Edmun
d was dressed in casual pants and suede shoes, and he gave Joel’s hand a vigorous pump before jerking him into a two-armed embrace. “Great to see you, Joel. The ID and travel arrangements go okay? Airports are awfully strict after those jihad bastards hit us. I ain’t complainin’, mind you—they can frisk and x-ray to their heart’s content if it’ll help.”

  “Yeah. No complications. Thank you.” Joel noticed how healthy his friend looked—his skin was snug around his chin and eyes, his teeth were flawless and his hair was thick and shiny and perfectly barbered in half circles above his ears. Joel was dressed in his Kmart khakis, a pack of airplane nuts poking out of his shirt pocket.

  “Excellent. Sorry for all the cloak-and-dagger shenanigans, but if we’re goin’ into business together, we need to be very, very cautious.”

  “I understand.” Joel was almost back to normal, composed and grounded, the kitchen fire several paces behind him, the floor at his sister’s cleaned and scrubbed, the counter patched together with a jackleg board and four mismatched nails. Before flying to Vegas, he’d left a letter for Sophie, a long, sincere apology that covered the front and rear of a piece of notebook paper. He’d take care of the rest when he returned, and soon, he hoped, he’d have a dollar or two in his wallet.

  Joel entered Sa’ad’s office ahead of Edmund, through a door that was already open. Sa’ad was standing in the raised center of the room, talking on the phone. He was imposing and striking, positioned so the snarling mouth of a bobcat appeared over his shoulder. A large man anyway, he was elevated three feet above everything around him by the buildup for his desk. He picked at some papers in a file, said a few words into the receiver and finished his call with a laugh and a promise to do the best he could, whatever that implied. “Reverend King,” he said, spreading his arms wide in welcome. “Good to have you with us.”

  “Nice to see you again, Mr. Sa’ad. Thanks for agreeing to meet on such short notice.”

  “My pleasure.” He dropped his arms and sat behind his desk. “I trust your trip was pleasant.”

  “It was fine,” Joel said.

  He and Edmund took the seats beneath the platform, had to scoot their chairs backward to get all of Sa’ad in the frame.

  “So where should we begin?” Sa’ad asked.

  “I don’t care. You decide.”

  “Would you prefer to have Edmund leave the room? Your suit with Christy and your domestic matters are protected and confidential.”

  “I’d be happy to excuse myself, Joel,” Edmund volunteered. “I understand if you want some privacy.”

  “There’s no reason to,” Joel answered. “You’re welcome to listen. You know everything there is to know, so I don’t see what difference it makes.”

  “All right, then,” Sa’ad said. “Now, your divorce. As I mentioned on the phone, your wife is requesting alimony. If we continue to ignore the court proceedings in Virginia, she’ll probably get it. Also, as you know, she’s seeking a divorce based on a claim of adultery. I’m highlighting that only because you’re a minister—a misconduct finding could obviously handicap you if you attempt to rebuild your career.”

  “I’ve really been burning up the job market so far,” Joel said. “I can’t imagine it having any impact. And I don’t think I’ll be returning to the ministry.”

  Sa’ad took off his glasses and held them by the earpiece. “So you’re not working?”

  “I can’t get hired, and I’ve applied everywhere. As soon as they hear about my record, I’m booted to the curb.”

  “You’ve visited the unemployment office?” Sa’ad inquired. “Completed an application?”

  “Sure, I go virtually every day. But these two little misdemeanors blow me right out of the water.”

  Edmund touched Joel on the knee. “Could I make a suggestion?”

  “I’m open to almost anything.”

  Edmund took out his silver lighter. “Don’t tell them.”

  “Don’t tell them what?” Joel asked.

  “Don’t tell them about the convictions,” Sa’ad chimed in. “Don’t mention it.”

  “Exactly,” Edmund said.

  “But they always ask, everywhere I go. And the form at the unemployment office specifically has a section on criminal history.”

  “Leave it blank,” Sa’ad said.

  “You mean lie about my situation?”

  “If that’s how you want to look at it.” Edmund had a cigarette in his hand, preparing to light it. “But what’s the difference? Who gets hurt? You’ll be an excellent employee, give your boss his money’s worth and keep your nose clean, right? So who cares about the past?” He put the cigarette in his mouth.

  “Don’t you dare light that in here, Edmund,” Sa’ad commanded from several feet above them.

  “Why? It’s not goin’ to hurt a thing, Sa’ad. When’d you get so damn prissy about your office?”

  “Put it up, Edmund. You can wait until you’re outside.”

  Edmund slipped the lighter and cigarette into his pocket. “For heaven’s sake,” he grumbled.

  “Thank you, Edmund.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he said sarcastically.

  “Excuse me, guys,” Joel interrupted. “You’re both suggesting I mislead people about my background?”

  “Only if you want a job,” Edmund answered. “Otherwise, just keep doin’ what you’re doin’ and starve to death.”

  “I hate not telling the truth. It’s wrong. And what if someone hires me and then discovers my problems?”

  Sa’ad still had the glasses in his hand. “First, no one’s going to find out. Do you really think a restaurant owner can investigate every single waiter and busboy he hires? Second, if you’re discovered, what’s the worst that can happen? You get fired, and you start at square one again—who cares?”

  “You’ll need to tone down your resume, too,” Edmund added. “Maybe say you’ve only got a year or so of college. It’s a big red flag when a man with two degrees comes lookin’ to mop floors for six bucks an hour.”

  “I think I’ll stick to the truth,” Joel said, “and see what happens.”

  “Your choice,” Sa’ad replied. “I certainly admire your honesty.”

  “So what about this divorce nonsense?” Edmund blurted.

  “Well, Reverend King will be subject to a monthly alimony payment if he doesn’t contest this request by his wife.”

  “How can they make me pay when I don’t have any income?” Joel asked.

  “The court will impute income to you based on your last job,” Sa’ad explained. “If you were dismissed and it’s your fault, the court will use your most recent salary as earnings even if you’re unemployed.”

  “And that’s fair?” Joel groused.

  “Actually it is, if you think about it. Keeps people from quitting work or getting terminated on purpose.” Sa’ad paused, twirled his glasses in a slow loop. “So how do you want me to handle this?”

  “You’re the expert.”

  “I’ll pick up the tab, Sa’ad,” Edmund vowed. “You just look after Joel.”

  “Well, as I mentioned before, I’m not completely familiar with Virginia divorce law. I might have to associate someone there.”

  “I thought you already had,” Joel said. “Because of your not being eligible to practice in other states.”

  “Correct. I’ve still been able to do most of the preliminaries, though. I might have to relinquish the case entirely—that’s what I’m saying. I misspoke to some extent.”

  “So tell me again why I’m payin’ you?” Edmund wanted to know. “Capes-and-hats. What a great gig you guys got goin’.”

  “You’re welcome to manage the case yourself, Edmund.” Sa’ad’s voice was calm and firm.

  “Maybe I will,” Edmund said.

  “Be that as it may,” Sa’ad continued, “I’ll try to negotiate a compromise with her attorney. If we can’t agree, we end up in court, so I’ll do my best to find something we can all live with.”

/>   “Okay. Thanks. I don’t mind paying—it’s simply that I’m broke. It’s my fault the marriage ended and my fault Martha’s having money problems, so I’d like to help. I still need to find work, though. You can tell her lawyer I’m willing to send a check as soon as I’m able.”

  “I’ll probably hold off on that for the time being, Joel. I’m reluctant to start negotiations with my hat in hand.” Sa’ad smiled. “I have good news on the Christy front, however. The church has four million in liability coverage, and we’ve talked to Brian Roland, the lawyer who’ll be representing the insurance company. Parenthetically, Joel, when I say ‘we,’ I’m referring to my staff or my associates. I’ve never personally spoken with Mr. Roland, nor do I plan to. The name Sa’ad X. Sa’ad would mean nothing to him. He’s on top of things, seems first-rate. I feel you’re in good shape there. Now, since the suit’s for five million, theoretically you and your church have a million dollars’ worth of exposure not covered by insurance. I will continue to monitor things and do all I can to make sure the case settles within the policy limits.”

  “What does that mean, ‘within the policy limits’?” Joel asked.

  “I mean we want to make sure you’re not personally responsible for anything. The suit’s for five million, there’s four in coverage. We don’t care if they wind up with three or four million bucks, but everything over four comes from your pocket. Obviously, we want the case to settle at four or under.” Sa’ad finally rested his glasses. “Of course, it could go to trial, but I don’t see that as too likely.”

  “I understand,” Joel said.

  “The other news is that I’ve scheduled it so you can meet Mr. Roland in Roanoke. He wants to spend some time with you, then the other side will depose you. You know what that entails, don’t you?”

  “I think so.” Joel glanced at Edmund, who’d rediscovered his lighter and was polishing it on his pant leg.