The Bastard Hand

by Heath Lowrance

  I took a seat in the farthest back corner of the church, very near the front doors. It was a lesson I’d only needed to learn once.

  Exactly one minute after seven, the serious-looking young man at the organ struck a note. Everyone shifted. Then he started into the first chords of “Jesus Met The Woman At The Well”, and everyone stood up and began to sing. I didn’t know the words, but I got to my feet and faked it. The music swelled over our heads, filling the church with sound. With two or three exceptions the voices were poor, but, melded together and singing in praise, it was a pleasing sound and strangely moving.

  After the song, the Reverend approached the podium and spoke gently, “Please remain standing for a prayer.”

  Heads bowed. In the silence, he said, “Dear Lord, please bless our gathering here tonight and keep us safe in Your love and comfort as we meet to praise Your name. Let us come ever closer to Your glory, Dear Lord, and not stray from the path of righteousness. In the Savior Lord Jesus’s name, amen.”

  The entire congregation said, “Amen” as one, then took their seats.

  When everyone had gotten comfortable and the throat clearing and seat shifting ended, the Reverend said, “Friends, I’d like to thank all of you for coming out here tonight. I know it’s a beautiful evening, and some of you would like to be outdoors right now, maybe grilling on the barbeque or having an iced tea and gazing at the sky, so I’ll try not to keep you here all night. Maybe we can all do a little bit of Wednesday evening loafing before it gets too late.”

  Polite, subdued laughter, more shifting of seats.

  Clearing his throat, he rested his palms on the podium and said, “Regretfully, my first sermon here tonight comes in a time of tragedy for the community. I’m sure you all know by now about Mrs. Kimberly Garrity. I’ve heard fine, fine things about her, and I’d like to just take a moment to express my sincere condolences to everyone who is close to her. The Garrity family has had more than its share of tragedy, and they’ve come through it all with faith in God intact. And from what I know of Reverend Jathed, I’ll be doing a wonderful job if I’m able to achieve even a fraction of what that great man achieved. He was a symbol of honor and piety in this town, a symbol sorely needed. A symbol carried on by his brave and devout mother. I know I could never fill his shoes, but, as God is my witness, I’ll do my very best.”

  There were a few appreciative nods; someone muttered, “Bless you, brother.”

  Allowing a bit more power into his voice, he said, “It’s generally believed now, based on what the proper authorities have told us, that Jathed has passed on. Nobody would believe that this great man would willingly give up his duties here at the Cuba Landing Freewill Baptist Church, and so the speculation, sadly, is that he is gone from this mortal coil. Reverend Garrity fell to a disease, brothers and sisters. He fell to a disease more devastating than cancer. He fell to a disease more horrifying than AIDS. More deadly than any plague ever to ravish the face of the planet. And do you know what the name of that disease is? Do you know what name this scourge upon the earth goes by?”

  A rhetorical question, of course, but he still paused and let his eyes pass searchingly over the congregation. Then he said, “The name of that disease, friends, is violence.”

  “Amen,” someone said sadly.

  “Violence. It’s everywhere you look, ain’t it? It’s all over TV. And not the just the TV shows, all the cops and robbers programs that our young people watch, and all the so-called music videos glorifying violent life-styles, but all over the news! The news, friends! What we turn to when we wanna find out what’s going on in this sorry world we live in!”

  “Amen!”

  “Tell it!”

  “Amen!”

  He was only starting, tugging gently at the congregation, provoking spontaneous responses. Only a matter of time before he had them all whipped into a frenzy.

  He shook his head sadly and said, “It’s everywhere, ain’t it? Tearing our cities apart. Making battlegrounds outta our schools. Our very children, brothers and sisters, our very children, go to school every day, and we don’t even know if they’ll come home in one piece. There’s guns in the classroom. Kids killing kids.” The wildness came into his eyes suddenly, and his voice boomed, “Kids, I’m telling you! Eleven, ten, nine years old! Killing each other! With guns!” He slammed his fist down on the podium when he said guns, and every single person in the church jumped.

  And then he started easing into it, coming around in front of the podium and stalking back and forth like a caged cat. He held his Bible in his hand, like it was a brick and he was ready to throw it through a window. His energy vibrated through the church, infecting everyone, and I could practically feel the pew buzzing under me.

  “I tell you, friends, the Devil has got a grip on this world, and he ain’t letting go. It’s a disease, and it’s reached epic proportions. When a man, a good, God-fearing man like Jathed Garrity, can fall to it, you can bet your bottom dollar it’s out of control. And what does it tell us? What does Jathed’s violent death tell us? It tells us that violence ain’t just something on TV. It ain’t just something that happens over there—” He made a gesture taking in the outside world, “—in the big city or in Iran or some such place. It happens everywhere! And it affects you, my kind friends, it affects you every single time. Not just when someone you know and love, like the Right Reverend Garrity, falls victim. But every single time a man or woman or child is killed. Every single time, people, because all of us are God’s children! For the Good Book tells us, whosoever slayeth a man slayeth me! Whosoever kills a man, kills me!”

  A voice I recognized said, “Amen!” Oldfield, getting some of that old time religion. About twenty other voices chorused, “Amen! Amen!”

  “But I know what some of you are prob’ly thinking,” the Reverend said. “You’re thinking, well, that’s all well and good, Mr. Preacher-Man, but what can I do about it? I ain’t got no control over the world, do I? Folks are just evil in their hearts, the Bible tells us so, and they’ve been killing each other since Cain and Abel. They most likely will just go on killing each other ’til Kingdom Come.”

  He paused, nodding his head, a thoughtful look on his face. Then he said, “Well, you’re most likely right about that. Evil folks are gonna just go right on murdering and stealing and breaking every law society sees fit to make, because they got the Devil in their hearts. And eventually, we’re all just gonna have to bite the bullet and fix up our laws so that the evil folks can go on ahead and do their thing without nobody bothering ’em.”

  He looked questioningly around the church, as if seeing what everyone thought of that plan. No one liked it. He said, “Seem crazy, friends? You think that might be a bad way to go, letting the killers and robbers and rapists run around doing what they please? Well, it can’t be too crazy. After all, that’s what we’re doing now, ain’t it? Every time you ignore a law-breaker, every time you go easy on someone committing a crime, why you’re giving him permission to do it! And the Devil is just laughing and laughing and laughing!”

  Oldfield said, “Amen!” again.

  “Are we gonna let that happen in this town, kind friends? Or are we gonna stand together, strong with the strength of God, and fight back evil and corruption and violence wherever it rears its head?”

  “Hallelujah!”

  “Testify, Brother Childe!”

  “Because that’s all it takes, brothers and sisters! That’s all it takes! You just say, Not in my town, not now, not ever! And you set the Devil to running, praise God!”

  He did a sort of odd little victory dance right there in front of the podium, and the whole damn place exploded with religious fervor. People were yelling and shouting and carrying on as if Judgment Day itself had arrived.

  “Violence is everywhere!” he screamed.

  Oldfield’s shout could be heard above the din, “Amen!”

  “In every city!”

  “Amen!”

  “In every tow
n!”

  “Amen!”

  “Why,” the Reverend said, “it’s even right here in Cuba Landing.”

  “Ame—” Oldfield started. But his voice choked, and the word came out sounding like “Ameugghh . . .”

  I smiled, shook my head. So that was his game.

  “Yes, even here in Cuba Landing, kind friends. Why, even as we speak, a couple of moonshiners are operating openly over on Moker’s Hill, operating with the full knowledge of every authority in town! That’s just the first step, people. Turn a blind eye to these men making their illegal liquor, and the Devil has the first little foothold that he needs! Next thing you know, that blind eye is gonna close on muggings in the street! And then on homes being robbed! And then rapes and murders in our beautiful park! Are we gonna let that happen here in Cuba Landing?”

  The congregation was clearly not going to let that happen, and they let him know it loudly.

  As everyone in the church listened, electrified with his intensity, and Oldfield and Forrey and Mayor Ishy sat gape-mouthed, the Reverend proceeded to roast Cuba Landing’s government and law enforcement over an open flame. The Aarons brothers were the kindling wood.

  The sermon went on a while longer, with the Reverend quoting scripture, mostly from the New Testament. He said, “Cuba Landing can be an example to the rest of the world! ’cause God’s Word travels through one person at a time, brothers and sisters! One person at a time, one town at a time. Why, even Paul, sweet, patient, wise, Paul, brought the teachings of Jesus to the world one person at a time! One town at a time!”

  But I didn’t have any time to ponder over his agenda at the moment. It was just after seven-thirty. Time for me to leave, while the congregation was still worked up and I could slip out unnoticed.

  Time to take part in some of that violence the Reverend had been talking about.

  “I don’t like this,” Stoker said. “I don’t like it one goddamn bit.”

  Talking about me, of course. Pretty much all he’d done since I arrived was make his displeasure known, at first by glaring at me darkly, and then by cutting me off every time I opened my mouth. Now, he was finally addressing it directly.

  I’d been there at the house on Stonewall Street for less than forty-five minutes, and I already knew the problem with Stoker would lead to trouble. It was unavoidable. The others, Vinnie and Bone, were friendly, even though they looked like they could use some rest. The back of Vinnie’s head was bandaged from when I smashed it into the floor, and his voice was still slightly hoarse from the effects of my boot toe in his throat. Bone had a bandage over the bridge of his nose and wouldn’t be snorting any coke for a while.

  But despite their injuries, they were in high spirits and had nothing but praise for me. “Damn, man,” Vinnie said. “You were like a hurricane in here. I can’t wait to see what you do to these motherfuckers when we get there.”

  And Bone, his broken cartilage making him sound nasal, “It’s gonna be a show. Them fuckers gonna get a stompin’!” and raised his hand to slap palms with me.

  Tassie sat on the sofa, listening to the macho boy talk with a vague smile on her face, and Stoker sat beside her not speaking, only glaring at me.

  We’d been over the plan—if it could be called a plan—several times, and I was beginning to have serious misgivings about it. Apparently, the strategy consisted of busting into the place with guns drawn, demanding all the money in the joint, and making a hasty exit. That was it. No paramilitary-type sieges or guerrilla-style invasions. Just a bust-in, a robbery, and an escape.

  The doubt must’ve shown on my face, because Tassie said, “Nothing to worry about, Charlie. We’ve done this a few times, and it always works out. The crack dealers are usually so confident no one would try anything, it always takes them by surprise when someone does.”

  I said, “What do we know about this particular house?”

  “We know that the front and back doors are guarded, and that everyone comes in through the front. You have to know exactly what to say to get in, but that doesn’t concern us. We’re going in the back door, which should lead right into the kitchen, and that’s where everything goes down. Stoker and Vinnie will go in first, and Vinnie will keep the guys in the kitchen covered while Stoker moves immediately to the front of the house and secures it for us. You, me, and Bone come in right behind Vinnie, Bone last, then you disarm the bad guys and I grab up the money while Bone covers the back door. Then, when I give the word, Stoker bolts out the front, the rest of us scramble out the back, and we book like hell back to the car—which will be parked on the next block. And voila. That’s all there is to it.”

  Bone said, “Nothin’ to be worried about, Charlie. We’re professionals, dig?”

  As if reading my mind, Vinnie said, “If you’re worried about us dissin’ you, Charlie, you can relax. What’s past is past. We liked the way you handled yourself, even if you did bust the shit outta us, and we’re gonna be right at your back. Every single one of us has an important role to play tonight, and we can’t spare no one.”

  Tassie looked at me reassuringly, still smiling. I said, “Do you know who owns this crack house?”

  All of them furrowed their brows at me, perplexed by the question.

  Tassie said, “What difference does that make?”

  “Well, isn’t there a possibility that the place is owned by big-time gangsters? I mean, I don’t know much about it, but from what I know the gangs that run the crack houses are only the bottom rung of the ladder. They report right to big Mob types, the ones that really control the drug trade.”

  “You’re thinking they may come after us for revenge?” Tassie said. I nodded, and she addressed herself to the others, “Boys, you have to remember he comes from up north. He doesn’t understand the way things are done down here.”

  They all laughed at my expense, except Stoker, who only stared. Then Vinnie said, “Street gangs control drugs ’round these parts, Charlie. Just street gangs. They’re pretty good at killin’ each other, but once we get away, we don’t have nothin’ to worry about.”

  Stoker looked at his watch, said, “It’s almost eleven now. Are we gonna get moving, or just sit around and coddle this guy all fuckin’ night?”

  Tassie squeezed his hand. “We’re gonna get moving. Everyone ready?”

  I nodded. Vinnie said, “Damn straight,” and Bone said, “Let’s fuckin’ do it!”

  That’s when Stoker made his comment: “I don’t like this. I don’t like it one goddamn bit.”

  The others looked at him blankly. Bone said, “Chill, my man. Whassup with you, anyway? You the only one who came away from Hurricane Charlie unscathed, and you the only one wants to cause trouble.”

  “I just can’t believe,” Stoker said, “that this cracker fuck comes in here—”

  “Hey,” Vinnie said, hurt by the derogatory reference to whites.

  “—and you assholes are just waiting to jack him off after what he did to us.”

  Tassie said, “Charlie proved himself, Stoker. He proved he could rumble with the best of them. If you’d been him, you would’ve done the same thing.”

  “Fuck,” Stoker said.

  “C’mon,” Vinnie said. “Chill out, Stoker. We got shit to do. Are you gonna be together?”

  He sneered. “Hell, yes, I’m gonna be together. You ever seen me not together, Red? I’m just saying, don’t even think about leaving me alone in the same room with Mr. Boy Fuckin’ Wonder here.”

  Tassie’s smile disappeared. Her mouth tight, she said, “Stoker. Goddamnit, you listen to me. If you fuck this up, there’ll be hell to pay, you understand? You’re gonna get over this shit, and you’re gonna get over it now.”

  “But—”

  “Now!”

  Stoker fell silent. The others shifted uncomfortably.

  After a moment, Tassie took a deep breath and the smile returned to her face. “Okay,” she said. “Any last comments or questions, anyone?”

  No one had any.
Tassie nodded, said, “Everyone got their pieces?”

  Everyone did. Vinnie and Bone both showed their loaded Uzis, hidden beneath their shirts. Tassie brandished a nine-millimeter Smith & Wesson, and Stoker raised his Colt .45 casually over his head. I showed them the .38 I’d brought with me.

  Stoker said, “Hmm. You know, I used to have a gun just like that.”

  “Stoker,” Tassie said.

  He smiled at me, a tight, dangerous smile, and I wondered which one of us would be dead before the night was over.

  The strange thing, I wasn’t even scared or nervous. When we pulled off on the side street in the city’s north side and Bone turned off the engine and clipped, “Ready to jam?” I could only nod and smile at him. I felt right in my element. The .38 felt warm and comforting in my waistband, and I knew that I was invincible.

  We all stepped out of the car. Tassie said, “It’s this way,” and led us up the street. All of us wore dark clothing and hung close together on the sidewalk. The houses around us were empty and quiet and dark, some of them boarded up and falling to pieces, lawns brown and bare. The wind touched at my face with invisible hands, sometimes cool and gentle, then suddenly growing forceful and hot like a quick furnace blast.

  We cut through a weed-choked yard and between two desolate houses, climbed over a rotting wood fence, and wound up in the back yard of our destination. We’d been very quiet up until that point, hardly making a sound, but now we were like ghosts, deathly silent.

  From the back, the house didn’t look any more occupied than any of the others we’d passed. Two-stories, dingy gray, probably not a bad looking house seventy years ago. But now it had fallen into the sinkhole of squalor that the neighborhood had become, and the only beauty left to it was the lost notion of whatever beautiful things might have happened within its walls, all those years ago. Light showed dimly through a small window next to the back door, and a steady bass line, barely audible from outside, throbbed like a heartbeat.

  The faces of my companions were drawn and grim. The only one who looked totally at ease was Tassie—she glanced at me, saw me looking at her, and smiled that inscrutable smile of hers.