Nadine said, “You know as well as we do.”
I nodded. “God. Help me follow this logic: If God decides who is and isn’t righteous, and if He truly knows all, then why am I writing articles to try to save the town? Why is the town even in danger? Caleb said that there was no sin so great God couldn’t forgive it.”
“Makes sense.” Aida turned on the couch to face me better.
“Does it matter what these people have done? Can’t God forgive them?”
Nadine spoke without changing her position. “He can, but they have to want it. They have to ask.”
“Exactly,” Aida said.
I wasn’t satisfied with that answer. “It doesn’t follow for Him to destroy the town. Why not spare them, give them an opportunity to cry out for forgiveness?”
Aida didn’t hesitate. “They haven’t. I’ve lived here a long time. I know these people. They’ve had the opportunity and have consistently rejected it. They don’t want to be forgiven. It’d mess with their cycle of self-loathing.”
I quieted for a minute, upset with my next thought. “If I can do it, they can do it. I’m proof people can change. Why not be patient with Hailey as He was patient with me?”
Aida and Nadine looked at each other expectantly, as if the other had the answer they lacked.
Finally, Nadine spoke. “I can’t tell you how excited I am to hear about your transformation today, but it wasn’t a one-time thing. It’s been something you’ve been wrestling with for a while. You fought against it so hard, probably because you knew it was true, and you knew it meant that you’d have to accept you were imperfect, vulnerable, and worst of all, subservient to God. You’re too strong willed to be made to rely on someone outside yourself. I’m not sure we can say the same for Hailey.”
“We’ve all seen them resist the things of God. People don’t like God here. How are they different from me? Are they? Did God want to destroy me too?”
“Of course not,” Aida said.
“I’m not angry. I’m trying to figure this out.”
“We all are, Connor.” Nadine sat up slowly, and my breath caught. “I know enough to know I don’t know everything. But when God tells us something, we need to do it. And by all accounts, this task, this mission of yours, is from God. He picked you for a reason. It might have been to bring you to God, or it could be something greater. I can’t answer all your questions. We can only do what God asks, and then trust Him.”
“I’m not great with trust.”
“All in good time,” Nadine said. “You’re getting better.”
“Thanks.” I stood up. “Guess I have some articles to write.”
* * *
Despite my fatigue and exhaustion, the articles came easy, nearly wrote themselves. I wrote with the window open, letting the zephyr refresh the cramped, stale room. In a few hours, I had solid first drafts of both articles. I wouldn’t call them publishable, but they had strong bones, enough to build musculature and skin on in a second draft. Ordinarily, I’d take another pass at them, but was satisfied with what I had. I wouldn’t be turning these articles in to an editor, so I had no reason to sweat final polish now. I needed rest, sleep. But before I slipped into bed, I decided to call Mason.
I’d not gotten an opportunity to see him that day, and wanted to set up the final interviews. I hoped the time at the hospital afforded him an opportunity to think of more leads. With only three left, the end seemed close. If I played my cards right, I’d be able to finish a little early, which would give me time to do a once over of each article, double check facts, maybe confer with Mason, Aida, and Nadine, or better yet, Caleb, to see where we stood.
From the seven articles I’d done, I could find three clear cut examples of righteousness: Mason, Bernard, and Veronica. Both Mason and Veronica had saved someone’s life. In a way, Bernard saved his wife’s life. No telling what would have happened to her if she continued working the streets. There had to be someone else—a teacher, a fireman, a cop, a doctor, someone I could spin as righteous.
What reason did God have for having me write the articles? Nadine would be much better. She had the sense of God, said she heard His will. Not in verbal words, but feelings she gets, a sort of spiritual sixth sense—something I’d never had and doubted I ever would.
In church, she would sing and pray, head bowed, hands stretched roofward, palms up as if offering an invisible sword to a king. She had an attitude of worship, of awe and wonder for God. Had she been born with it, or did she learn it? Would I, someday, adopt the same posture, the same reverence of fear and wonder?
I got up from the desk and stretched; I popped my neck, my back and my knuckles.
Aida shouted from the living room. “You and Mason are both going to get arthritis!”
I walked to the living room and smiled. “Old wives tale. No evidence to back it up. I researched it.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re so smart, maybe you should be the nurse.”
“No chance. The hours are terrible.”
Nadine smiled. “You done for the night?”
Aida stared me down, “Good. Go to bed. You look like death.”
“Thanks, Aida, but I thought I might call Mason before I turn in. May I have the hospital’s number?”
“On the fridge.”
Nadine reclined on the couch, feet up on the armrest. “After you call Mason, can you sit up with me and Aida a few minutes?”
I smiled. “Of course.” She looked so much healthier, so much stronger. Her color returned to normal, and the fact she wanted to stay up gave me hope. Every cell in my body longed for sleep, but I’d not deny my wife.
I grabbed the phone from the kitchen and the number off the fridge and headed back to the guest room. I sat on the corner of the desk, punched in the number, then pressed “0” for the hospital operator. A few minutes later, she connected me to Mason.
He answered and sounded disoriented. “Hello?”
“It’s Connor. How you feeling?”
He groaned.
“That good?”
He spoke with a clawed voice. “Ask Aida what it is they’re giving me down here. Then make sure you never take it.” “Not working?”
“Dulls most of the pain, but makes me crazy sick. They give me red pills to help with the pain, then blue pills to keep me from throwing up. Catches me in this purple-pilled, stomach-fire, acid-breathing pain. My mouth tastes like I’ve been sucking on aluminum cans.”
My lack of sleep seemed less significant. “Sounds miserable.”
“If you get the chance, you should never try it.”
“Aida says they expect a full recovery?”
“So says the doc.”
“That’s good news at least. I was going to stop by today, but had a few interviews.”
He swallowed hard and said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re the one person I don’t want to see. You’ve got a job to do.”
I stood up and paced. “So you don’t want the town to be destroyed after all?”
“I wasn’t thinking straight when I said that.”
“I know, just double checking.” I paced the perimeter of the room, past the peninsula of the bed and desk. “I wanted to talk shop for a bit. You up for it?”
“Go ahead.”
“I put together two articles today. Veronica Spencer and Nick Ulin. Know them?”
“Veronica and Nick. Of course. Should have remembered them. How’d that go?”
“Surprisingly well. So I’ve got three articles left. I’m doing one with a guy named Tyler tomorrow.”
“Tyler Morrison?”
“I think that’s what Aida said.”
“Have fun with that.” His voice indicated that he expected the opposite.
“I’m sure I wil
l. Anyway, that leaves me two more articles to write. I was wondering if you had time to think about possible leads.”
“Ugh. Thought you might ask that.”
“I’ll take that as a no.”
“I met a guy here today, lying next to me as we speak. He moved to Hailey years ago. Not many people moving in these days. Anyway, you can give him a shot. But I’m stumped as to the other.”
I sighed. “No one else? No firemen, cops, teachers, doctors? Nothing?”
I heard beeping in the background; a nurse suggested Mason get off the phone and rest. He assured her he would as soon as we’d finished speaking.
“Let’s see,” he said. “Firemen in Hailey are generally arsonists. The two cops living in Hailey are both crooked. Four teachers live in Hailey, as far as I know. They’re all,” he paused, “unethical. Can’t think of a single doctor living in town. They’ve got too much money to live out there.” He paused again. “No, wait, there is one. Doctor Slate. Ran a free clinic off some government grants and subsidies for a bit. He might be a good candidate.”
“Great. The guy next to you, how long’s he going to be there?”
“Quite a while, by the looks of him. A very long while.”
* * *
I got up early again, dressed quickly and quietly, and headed down to Sue’s. Tyler would meet me there at six, according to Aida. I wondered how anyone could consistently get up before the sun. It couldn’t be healthy.
I slipped on my jacket and shivered while the car warmed up. For old time’s sake, I flipped through the radio station in hopes of finding a good news station. Nothing. I shut the radio off, rubbed my hands together to get the feeling back in my fingers and pulled onto 29.
Yesterday, there’d been half a dozen workers taking breakfast with the sunrise. Today, only two cars took spaces in Sue’s parking lot, and only one patron sat at the bar. I didn’t recognize him from yesterday. He nursed a coffee and smiled. Behind him, Ronnie didn’t look happy.
The man set his coffee down. “You must be the reporter?”
Ronnie shook her head, her face grim.
This man wasn’t a fan. “Just passing through. Thought I’d grab some coffee. Hear good things about this place in the travel mags.”
Could he hear my heart rattling in my chest? I sat on the stool on the opposite side of the counter and hoped Veronica would forgive me for making her hobble back and forth. “I take it you’re a local?” I asked.
Even sitting, I could tell the man had at least four inches and fifty pounds on me. He could have been a linebacker. Still smiling, he said, “What gave me away?”
I pointed to his blue windbreaker. “Logo on your jacket matches the logo on the cement plant down the way.”
He put his coffee down, and his smile disappeared. “Cement plant’s to the north, which means you must’ve passed it coming south. Where you coming from, and where you headed to?” His pleasant pretense disappeared.
“Coming from Vegas. Visiting family in San Diego.”
I tried to keep my answers quick and vague. I hoped Aida wouldn’t mind me borrowing her cover story.
“Settle down, Ryan. He’s not the one you’re looking for,” Veronica said.
Ryan? Where had I heard that name? Bernard’s eldest son. Bad news. As the eldest, he must have set the precedent of evil for his younger brothers and sisters to follow.
I didn’t like lying to one of Bernard’s kids, but Veronica started me down the road, so I’d have to follow through with it. Besides, I couldn’t think of any other way out. If I wanted him to believe I wasn’t Connor, I’d have to show him I wasn’t afraid.
“You’re looking for a reporter?”
He nodded. He had a sickly green tattoo of a teardrop on his cheek and a shamrock on his wrist with the number twelve. I recognized them immediately—prison tattoos. He’d killed someone and belonged to the Aryan Brotherhood. “Yup.”
“Mind if I ask why?”
Veronica handed me a cup of coffee and I drank it, doing my best to look unafraid and ignorant.
“He hurt my sister, and now I’m going to hurt him.”
I sipped my coffee, curled my lip. “Got anything fresher, sweetheart?”
“Please,” Veronica said. “Be happy it’s coffee at all.”
I turned back to Ryan. “So, what, was this like a relationship gone bad or something?”
If I wanted to sound like I didn’t know what he meant, like I didn’t know he intended to maim or kill me, I’d need to poke while continuing the guise of ignorance. It didn’t make sense, but if I could prod him enough, he might just buy my story. He’d expect the reporter to tuck tail and run. By doing the opposite, I might convince him I wasn’t the man he wanted. I’d have to balance my brashness. Too much might make him want to kill me regardless. “He cheat on her, was that it?”
“Listen here. My sister’s in a hospital with two broken arms, double compound fractures on ‘em both. She near bled to death on the way to the hospital as I hear it. And it was this reporter who did it. He’s supposed to be coming in here this morning, and I’ll be here waiting for him.”
I swallowed some more coffee and grimaced. “What kind of a reporter beats a woman like that? I can’t even imagine a situation like that.”
“He was trespassing with a friend of his. Another guy I’m going to kill. He’s in the hospital now, too, so I figure I’ll wait until he’s all better before I come after him.”
“Why’s that?”
“I want to make it last.”
Despite my chilling fear, I smiled.
“Something funny?”
“No offense, but you sound like a bad movie script.”
I’d gone too far, pushed too much, but couldn’t back down now. I played a bold, unafraid, abrasive character, one who’d fit right in here in Hailey. On some level I wondered if I could out-bully the bully. It worked in many situations, but might not when faced with a man this cold.
Ryan swiveled in his seat to better face me. “Two options, big mouth. You shut your face or I kill you where you sit. None of this is your business anyhow.”
I put my hands up in the air. “You win. I’ll shut up.” I swallowed the last bit of my coffee, dropped a couple bucks on the counter, and got up. “I’ll let you eat in peace. Good luck with the reporter.”
Ryan stood up. “I don’t trust you. You look an awful lot like Gloria says.”
I shrugged. “I get that a lot, but I swear, I’m not Matthew Perry.”
In a single swift motion, he yanked a switchblade from his back pocket. He flicked it open with a jerk of his wrist and had it at my throat before I could blink. His fist had the front of my shirt and he pushed me backward until I was lying on the bar.
“Truth time. Tell me who you are, for real, and maybe you die quick. Lie to me again, and I’ll gut you like a fish and make you watch.”
I’d expected a gun, not a knife. On my way in, I’d seen a slight bulge in the back of his shirt. I’d guessed the lump to be a firearm tucked into the waist of his jeans, but Ryan’s words proved him to be the kind of guy who liked to watch people struggle and plead for their lives before he killed them.
“Put it down, Ryan.” Fear shook Veronica’s voice. “I’ll call the cops, I swear.”
“Call ‘em. Time they get here, won’t be nothing but three bleeding bodies.”
The fear I felt in Africa gripped me again, seized my heart and strangled my blood flow. What would Nadine do without me? “Easy. I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
He pressed the knife harder against my neck. My pulse pressed against the blade with each fear-driven pump of my heart. A flick of his wrist and he’d sever my jugular. Men like him don’t miss.
How much would I bleed? Would it cover the floor? What wo
uld it feel like, the cold steel slicing skin, the searing heat of lacerated skin, the hot blood rushing out?
Ryan had the look of a Janjaweed in his eye, a vacant stare deprived of all empathy, as if some invisible entity reached into his soul and extracted whatever humanity and conscience he’d had as a child.
Greg saw this look when he confronted Nathan.
What blackness lived within Ryan? “Are you the reporter or aren’t you?”
A straight, honest answer would earn a knife in my neck, as would a hesitant answer. I prayed for the answer, for the words to speak. I took a breath. “Did Gloria tell you everything?”
He lowered his eyebrows, but not the knife.
I asked again. “Everything?”
“What’s there to tell? Man busted her up with a baseball bat.”
“She shot a man. My friend. Did she say why she shot him? Did she tell you who drove her to the hospital?”
The pressure of the knife lessened on my neck. He pulled me up by the shirt. “Talk, Reporter Man.”
“Your father is ill. He wanted to tell me a few things before he passed on. I showed up with my friend. We knew Gloria wouldn’t like it, so when she showed up, we ran out the back. She shot at us. We ducked into the wash, but not before she hit my friend. Next thing I know, she’s standing over me with the gun. I panicked. I grabbed the bat, the only thing around, and protected us.
“I could have left her. She’d have bled out and died on the spot if I did. But I didn’t. I put her in the truck and rushed down to the hospital. Trust me, I never intended to hurt her. I only wanted to protect myself and my friend.”
I spoke slowly and confidently, though fear tickled my esophagus.
“What business do you and Mason have with Bernard?” He moved the knife closer to my throat, pressed the tip just under my chin. “Life insurance business?”
The Bargain - One man stands between a destitute town and total destruction. Page 22