by D V Wolfe
“Maybe,” Stacks said. “The passages before it are talking about Satan being a dragon and getting booted out of the penthouse.”
“Do you think that’s what made them all speak out?” Noah asked, looking up from the piece of pizza he was picking at. “‘They triumphed by the word of their testimony’?”
“Could be,” I said. “But does that mean that the three of them decided to speak out against the preacher and what was happening at the church, together?”
Stacks shrugged. “Their Letters to the Editor about the preacher and New Covenant were each posted in the newspaper a couple of weeks apart.”
“How long before each of them died?” I asked. Stacks dug through the newspaper articles on the floor in front of us.
“Uh, looks like Royson’s ran in the paper…a week before he died.” He picked up another newspaper clipping. “Ellie’s ran five days before she died and Barbara’s…three days.”
“So the demons are getting more efficient,” I said.
“It definitely looks that way,” Stacks said.
“So after Barbara,” I said. “Has anyone else spoken out against Simpson or the church in the paper?”
Stacks shook his head. “I think that’s mostly because the editor is now a member of New Covenant.”
“Well that certainly makes things tidy,” I said.
Stacks picked up his phone off the floor and stuck it in his pocket. He headed down the hallway.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“To the boys’ room, nosey,” Stacks muttered back at me.
“Try not to think of the camera that could be zooming in to watch you on the can,” I called after him, turning back to the papers on the floor.
“You’re a jerk, Bane,” Stacks muttered. “I’d just forgotten about that. Thank you.”
“Welcome,” I said, without looking up. I heard the bathroom door close.
“I hope you don’t have to go,” Noah said.
I looked up at him. “What?”
“To the bathroom,” Noah said, nodding at the hallway. “Because Stacks took his phone. He’s probably going to be a while. We should have had him burn that plant crap in there.”
“I could always slip the soul stone under the door. That might persuade him to at least light a candle,” I said.
The boys passed out around midnight. Noah first, and then Stacks. When I heard the low whistle of Stacks’ snoring, I looked up from the picture of Ellie’s boys. Stacks had fallen asleep with a newspaper clipping draped across his eyes, presumably because of the overhead light. I got up and shut it off and then felt my way back to my place on the floor. I laid down in the dark to think.
Demons killing churchgoers for speaking out. That sounded plausible. But, demons posing as one church and killing churchgoers from another church for speaking out against them. What was the end game here? Why were the demons dealing through a church anyway? Just to “compel” and control people? They didn’t need a church building to do that. Something else had to be at the bottom of this.
We ate cold pizza for breakfast and Noah and Stacks started making a list of internet searches and research possibilities to look into. It was a pretty thin list.
“This feels like a waste of time,” Stacks muttered. “We know the demons made them do this to themselves.”
“So stop focusing on them and see if you can find notes of meetings with anyone still alive that might be able to give us some insight. Phone bills with people they called and talked to, newspaper articles mentioning them and family or friends that we could talk to. Neighbors…” Something Nigel had said came back to me. “Hey, give me their addresses.” Stacks shrugged and grabbed a Sharpie and one of the brown napkins from Sylvester’s. He scribbled the addresses down and handed it to me.
“I told you. I’ve already been through their houses,” Stacks said.
“Nigel said that Barbara was his neighbor. Maybe the other two have neighbors they were close to that might have seen or heard something strange days before they died. I doubt the cops questioned neighbors since these all looked like suicides.”
Stacks shrugged. “No stone unturned.”
I nodded. “Who knows, a detail here or there might be able to give us a good idea of how many demons and what flavor of “compelling” they used on them. Who knows. I’m going to go find Nigel.” I grabbed Lucy’s keys off the kitchen counter and headed back down the hallway towards the trapdoor.
“Hey!” Noah called after me. I turned to look at him, trying to look like my decision to not take him with me was final. After a second or two, Noah seemed to get the message and dropped his gaze to his lap. “Be careful.”
“You too,” I said. “See what Rosetta can tell you. Maybe good ole Royson will be in a chatty mood.”
I crawled back along the tunnel and in a few minutes, Lucy and I were cruising through town, headed towards the church. I watched for a tail, but I realized I had no idea what these demons were driving. There weren’t any black SUVs behind me. I hadn’t noticed a car in the parking lot the last time we’d been at the church. I skirted Cypress and made a huge loop, just outside the neighborhood so I could approach the church from the service alley behind it again. I half-hoped Nigel would be out smoking again and I wouldn’t even have to go back inside. I knew this was a pipe dream. The stupid fulcrum thing was in there, somewhere, unless the preacher kept whatever it was in his underwear drawer at home. If that was the case, Stacks was going to run point on that mission.
Sure enough, when I rolled down the service alley, I saw Nigel sitting on the cinder block again, smoking. No mop bucket this time. Maybe Tuesday was “mop day”. I pulled to a stop and slipped the .45 into the back of my jeans along with a hex bag in the front pocket, just in case. I really didn’t want to run into another customer like the one from yesterday. I kicked Lucy’s door open and smiled at Nigel who was chuckling to himself as he slid a new cigarette out of the pack.
“Hiya Nigel,” I started. He gave me a half-assed wave and moved to put the pack away, still chuckling. “What’s got you tickled?” I asked.
“You,” he said. “That must be some sin you’re trying to pray off. What kind of animal did you fornicate with down south to need church two afternoons in a row?”
I grinned at him. “Luckily nothing like that,” I said. “Say, do the church leaders hang out here during the day?”
Nigel shrugged. “Not usually, but I heard they found Deacon Everett in his office when they came in for services. He was dead. I heard it was a heart attack.” Well, the “attack” part was right.
“Oh,” I said, trying to sound shocked, again. “Did they call for an ambulance?”
Nigel shook his head. “Don’t know. I live just over there,” Nigel said, motioning to a row of houses across the street. “And I didn’t hear any sirens. I suppose the other Elders just took care of getting him to the funeral home.”
“That’s too bad,” I said. What was too bad was the fact that we hadn’t thought to disappear the body ourselves. Now, there was a healthy chance that the other “church leadership” knew that something was in town and itching for a fight. We may have already blown any element of surprise. “Are they...the church leadership..here?” I asked, trying to keep an expression of minimal interest on my face.
Nigel shook his head. “Nah, right now it’s just me.” He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, motioning me to come closer. I took a few steps in his direction and he pulled the cigarette out of the corner of his mouth. “‘Tween you and me, I never really liked Everett anyway. He was way too pushy with the churchgoers, telling them to go here or do this as if they didn’t have a choice at all.” Nigel leaned back and studied me. “Is that the only pair of clothes you own?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer him. Except for our stint, posing as FBI agents, I never gave my appearance much thought. The only people I interacted with for any amount of time didn’t give a crap about my appearance either because th
ey were other hunters.
“I don’t mean to embarrass you,” Nigel said. “It was just something I noticed. Are you running from something?”
I needed Nigel’s help and I thought there was one way I could maybe get it without revealing why I was actually there. I blew out a big sigh, pretending to throw caution to the wind. “I’m undercover,” I said to Nigel. Rather than looking impressed, Nigel raised one eyebrow and took a long drag on his cigarette.
“Really?” He asked. I could tell he didn’t believe me.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve been hired to investigate New Covenant. There were some,” I tried to think of the word I’d heard on so many of Rosetta’s crime shows. “Allegations,” I said, “that New Covenant was actually a bunch of con artists trying to get people to give money to their ‘church’ but the whole thing is actually a scam. I dressed like this,” I said, looking down at myself. “Because I thought it would be less conspicuous than showing up in a suit with a briefcase. I don’t want to tip them off to my investigation.”
Nigel studied my face for a moment, his expression unreadable. I felt my heartbeat picking up speed. What if Nigel was one of them? I was such an idiot. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that Nigel was being worn by a demon. Sure, he said he’d been there before the new church moved in, but the demon could have grilled him for his life story before putting on the puppet show for me. I really hoped I wasn’t going to have to shoot Nigel in the face. I kind of liked the old geezer. As his long studying gaze lingered on, I shifted slightly, pretending to scratch my lower back. I could feel the outline of the .45 under my fingers. He would be dead before he could call out for help.
Nigel slapped his knee and leaned back. “I knew it! I knew there was something fishy about these Bible-thumpers. I thought they were just cracked pots. You know they did away with all the condiments in the kitchen? And they don’t let them have potluck dinners anymore. They cater in all the church meals and I’ll bet that’s some front. The company they use, I’ve never heard of before. You think they’re laundering the church collection through the catering company? Or wait, the other way around, maybe they’re ‘donating’ catering money to the church and using it to launder the money. I mean churches can be mostly cash businesses.”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to keep up with Nigel’s theory. “Fraud and laundering.”
“So what agency are you with?” Nigel asked. “The FTC? FBI? Secret Service?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. He glanced back at Lucy. “They weren’t kidding around when they put you undercover. Hell, you look like a drifter, especially in that piece of junk truck.”
“Yeah,” I said, trying not to let my annoyance show over his crack about Lucy. “So, you think you could help me find what I’m looking for?”
Nigel shrugged. “I can tell you what I know, but like I said yesterday, they’re real secretive and they keep everything locked up.”
I nodded. “Well, what I’m looking for is a ful-, full dossier of their activities. So, is there a room in particular or an item you see them guarding more than the rest? You know, anything that sticks out in your mind?”
Nigel thought a minute. “I mean, there are the three locked offices that they won’t let anyone but the Deacons, Elders, and preacher into. God knows what’s in there.” He thought some more. “You know when they first moved in, they told me I should come to a service and because I like my job and wanted to make a good impression, I came to one.” I really hoped that Nigel wasn’t about to describe the service in full detail. I didn’t think I had that much time to waste. “That sermon gave me the willies.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Nigel shook his head. “I’ve been here through five different preachers and two different churches now. Usually, the sermons are all either doom and gloom, get right or go to Hell, or kindness and love and all that.”
“And this service?” I asked.
“It was weird. Kind of made you feel...comfortable. Like everything was good and fine and everyone should keep doing what they’re doing. Nothing like the ones I’d seen before. I almost put a couple of bucks in the collection plate too. Caught myself just in time. I thought it would be a strange thing to do. Like I was giving myself money since I work here and all.” Nigel lowered his voice. “And at the end of the sermon, they brought out this book. This membership book. And all the new people in the church were invited to come up and sign their names, to show they were serious about being members at New Covenant. Man, there must have been thirty or so just that night. I was surprised.”
“Did you sign it?” I asked.
Nigel shook his head. “Nah, I’m not what you’d call religious.”
“That’s ironic considering your profession,” I said.
Nigel grinned. “What’s life without whimsy? I like to keep ‘em guessing.” He flicked his cigarette butt to the ground and stood, grinding it under his heel. “But I’ve known that something is off about these guys. Guess it must be the fact that they’re all frauds.”
“What did they do with the book after folks had signed it?” I asked, trying to steer him back to the conversation at hand.
Nigel leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “I’m not sure. As soon as the service was over, the two goons that stand on either side of the preacher while he talks, moved in and took the collection plate and the book. I’ll bet they sell the names from the book to magazines or telemarketer lists or something. Probably make a pretty tidy sum just from that. I’ll bet the preacher takes it home with him. I’ve never seen it just laying around here when I clean.”
“How long are you here today?” I asked, without thinking.
Nigel gave me a funny look. “Another hour or two. Why?”
“Oh,” I had to think of something fast. “They’ve been accused of labor violations at previous...sites. I just wanted to know how many hours they were asking you to work on average.” I slowly exhaled when I saw Nigel’s expression turn from suspicion to mild annoyance.
“Normally, it’s just the afternoons for me, but today I have to set up for some big church leadership meeting they’re having. It’s a big to-do. They even canceled service tonight.” Nigel glanced at his watch. “And I better get back at it. Two of the Elders are coming in to supervise me as if I’ve never set up folding tables and chairs before. In fact, they should be here already.” He glanced at the back door and I decided to wrap this up.
“Well, if you don’t mind,” I said, trying to sound official. “Keep this to yourself until I’ve been able to...complete my investigation.”
Nigel nodded. “I’m in favor of whatever you can do to get them out of Messina. They’re sucking the fun out of everything around here and if they’re dirty too, all the better reason to 86 them.”
I nodded and got back into Lucy. Nigel waved and headed inside. I turned Lucy’s engine over and glanced back at the church. My heart stopped in my chest. Nigel was gone and a man in a suit was standing next to the back door. His face twisted into a grin and he raised one hand and wagged his finger at me, his lips forming the words, “ah, ah, ah.”
I restrained myself from giving him my own version of a wagging finger and let off the brake, rumbling down the alley as quickly as I could without making him a hundred percent certain of the fact that I was about to pee my pants.
I drove back through Messina on autopilot, trying to formulate something resembling a plan. The book was eating at me. It might not be the fulcrum that Stacks had talked about. A book seemed a little mundane to be their power-tower to Hell. But something Nigel had said to me was echoing in my head every time I thought of the book: all the new people in the church were invited to come up and sign their names, to show they were serious about being members. I tried to ignore the weight in my gut and the nagging thought that was swirling around in my head, trying to get a toe hold. The book sounded a hell of a lot like a contract. And if that was the case, there was no helping these folks. I knew better than anyone
, that you can’t break a contract. They signed up, now they have to see the show.