Church Street Blues
Black rolled the cruiser through white ranch gates that hinted at something grander than the beat-down building at the top of the drive. There weren’t no one in sight but the flag flew high in afternoon sun as he parked beside a short line of cars.
The Pinegrove Center relied on state handouts and donations from churches across Briar County. It was the place Peach came sometimes. She flirted with sobriety, let it think she was interested then flipped it off in a haze so thick she lost days.
Black pushed the heavy door and felt stale air rush out. There weren’t no one at the front desk so he strolled the hallway. The doors were closed, signs tacked on each ready for meetings of different kinds. Sometimes Peach asked him to go with her but the thought of strangers baring their souls like that made him want to drink.
He found Greta Gray out back, sitting beneath a tall tree catching a smoke and watching the light clouds.
She stood when he came, smiled the kinda smile that’d floor a man.
They made small talk awhile, she lived in a house off Route 80, had a sick father, and worked two jobs to try and keep up with the bills.
“Tommy fed me lines,” she said, more amused than bitter. “I seen his kind, all that talk so smooth he must’ve reckoned I was dumb.”
Black smiled.
“He’s nice lookin’ and all, but I reckoned I played him right. He took me to dinner, I brought him here. He took me to the movies, I made him come to Green Acres with me. It weren’t a test so much . . . or maybe it was. There’s another side to him, softer and kind, maybe I wanted to see where it’d go.”
She stubbed out her cigarette and licked pillow lips.
“But you tired of him.”
She looked at him with eyes too blue, like they’d been painted on. “Other way round. I reckoned maybe he was tirin’ ’cause I didn’t invite him to my bed or nothin’.”
“He weren’t?”
She shrugged. “He turned up here a couple times after we was done.”
“To see you?”
She shook her head. “Days he knew I weren’t working.”
“Why?”
She smiled a little. “Maybe ’cause he ain’t like you think. He saw the work we was doin’, the people we help. It got to him; he wanted to make a difference too. So it was worth it, our time together. I took that from it and that’s worth somethin’.”
Black reckoned he knew Tommy better but didn’t say nothing ’cause Greta spoke so warm.
“You had trouble here a few years back,” Black said.
“We did. He’s gone now and we’ve moved from it.”
The he she spoke about was Ken Kelly. Ken led the New Christian Governance and Pinegrove became an outlet for some of his miracle men to heal and cleanse in exchange for eye-watering donations. Talk of embezzlement led to an FBI investigation and last Black heard Ken was looking at a long and broken fall from favor.
“ ’Course we struggle for funding, but now I leave work with a clear mind. We look beyond religion, we help anyone who needs us. We have doctors visit every Tuesday, that’s when we’re busiest.”
Black nodded, and then he stood when she did and they began to walk back toward the building.
“Do you have records?” he said.
“Yeah, but you’re wasting your time. Tommy ain’t your Bird, Chief Black.”
He followed her into the hallway, into a room with a desk, a file cabinet, and a jar filled with plastic sunflowers.
She pulled open a drawer and took out a stack of guest books.
“We make people sign in. Most of ’em give fake names but it’s somethin’ over nothin’.”
Black sat at the desk and began flipping pages and checking names. He found Tommy Ryan five times, consecutive weekends.
“Got what you need?” she said.
He sighed like he’d lost something, then he stood, but not before he caught another name, at the bottom of the page, in delicate scrawl. Samson Lumen.
*
Noah and Raine and Purv sat fifty yards from the house, which stood lone on a slip of road that ran from Route 45 through a splinter of trees toward the limit of Briar County.
There was a wire fence that ran far in either direction, the barbs on it rusty and sharp, and a hand-painted sign that read KEEP OUT in blood lettering.
The file listed his name as James Quintell Mayors but he went by “Popp.” Popp had the kinda rap sheet that made Raine wonder why they didn’t just put him down. He’d spent thirty of his sixty-five years in the St. Clair Correctional Facility. Popp liked them young.
“I ain’t sure how to play this one,” Raine said.
“Ain’t no playin’,” Purv said, reading the file in the backseat. “We don’t go in there ’cause there ain’t a way in.”
Raine glanced in the mirror and saw Purv’s hands shaking as he gripped the papers.
“Get closer,” she said, and Purv went to say something but didn’t.
The Buick coasted, the windows down and the heat up. There was a truck and a van parked by the house, both tired with flats and cracked windshields.
She could see television light in the window and liquor bottles lined up on the porch.
“I need to go in,” Raine said. “Same as before, leave the Buick doors open and we run if there’s a hint of trouble.”
“ ’Cause that worked so well last time,” Purv said, climbing out.
Raine brought her bag, which had the gun inside, and she held the hunting knife too ’cause she didn’t know if Purv or Noah would have what was needed. Maybe Noah was brave, but sticking someone, shooting someone, it was something altogether different.
She led them; she kept low and ran the line of the tangled weeds and the long grass. The wire was trodden down to knee height in a couple spots and she climbed over then turned back and helped Noah and Purv.
They were used to the dark now, to moving under moonlight and treading cautious. They stayed with the trees till there weren’t nothing but open space between them and the house. Raine could see it better now, the porch and the bottles and garbage. She could smell something bad, like rotting meat.
They ran across open land and passed a dug trench filled with trash bags. When they got to the house they stuck close to the wall.
Raine could hear music, and Purv breathing close behind her. She was sweating, her hair streaked dark. She moved slow and pressed her face to the glass but couldn’t see shit ’cause it was thick with a haze of dirt.
Raine glanced back at Purv and mouthed at him to keep watch as she handed him the hunting knife.
She walked up the steps to the rear porch, Noah beside, and as he reached for the screen door she pulled the gun from her bag and flipped the safety off.
The house was dark and the smell was bad. Raine looked around for signs of her sister but couldn’t see nothing beyond the mess. They moved along the hallway, ducked their heads into both bedrooms and saw they were mostly empty ’cept for stained mattresses on the floor.
The music was loud, Church Street Blues, so loud she felt every note rattle her. They saw a shadow moving and she pulled Noah quick into the bathroom, the window was boarded and the smell so thick they couldn’t barely breathe.
She reached into her bag and pulled out the flashlight and when she switched it on she couldn’t do nothing but scream.
The sink was blocked and filled with blood and meat. Noah stared at her wild-eyed as they listened. Her chest rose and fell. She gripped the gun so tight.
Noah flicked his head in the direction of the bathtub and she saw a buck, slit open and laying there. She breathed hard and felt the sweat rolling from her.
She didn’t know how loud she’d screamed, if it’d made it above the music, so they moved fast into the living room but there weren’t no one there.
And then the song died and they heard it. Yelling.
“Purv,” Noah said, grabbing her arm.
“We ain’t checked the last room,” Raine said, shrugging him off.
Noah grabbed her hard and pushed her out the front door. And then Purv was hollering at them to run, and he was beside them still clutching the hunting knife. They made for the trees, their legs blurring and chests burning. Purv stumbled when the first shot rang out and Noah pulled him to his feet. Noah caught his arm on the wire then wrenched his shirt free.
Raine turned and fired once into the black and she hoped she’d hit Popp right between the eyes ’cause all that shit she’d seen in the file kept the rage hot in her mind.
When they got to the Buick, Noah fumbled for the keys. Raine watched the house and yelled when she saw the truck lights as it pulled outta the woodland beside. She rolled the window and kept the gun trained out.
Purv ducked low on the backseat, the rear door wide open behind him.
“He’s comin’,” she said. “Close the fuckin’ door, Purv.”
Purv was lost, fingers in his ears and eyes shut tight.
The truck barrelled down and she squeezed the trigger again and again. Maybe she heard Purv crying out, and maybe she saw him shaking, but then Noah fired the engine and he crunched the Buick into gear and turned the wheel just as the truck veered into them. The Buick door came clean off and they watched it spark and drag along the road beneath the fender of the truck.
“Go,” Raine yelled. She released the clip and fumbled in her bag for more bullets.
Noah hit the gas and they heard the tires scream for grip.
He turned down tight lanes and wove a path through the wilds he reckoned nobody could follow.
*
Black watched Samson as he shifted in his seat. He weren’t eating, no matter what they brought back from Mae’s.
Milk stuck his head in. “You need me?”
“No, we’re just talking.”
“I’ll head home, get some sleep.”
Black nodded.
Everyone was pulling long shifts; it was taking its toll. They talked at length about what could be done, maybe posting men at Samson’s place or keeping a tail on Joe, but neither gave surety like holding on to him. He was free to leave, but Black couldn’t protect him if he did.
“I ain’t been sleepin’,” Samson said.
“You’ll get home soon enough. It’s just till things cool and Summer Ryan shows up again.”
“I know.”
Black wondered how much he understood.
“I was lyin’ awake last night, and I was thinkin’ about Summer.”
“What about her?” Black said.
“I was thinkin’ of all those people out lookin’. That means they care, right? She’s got people who love her. And I was thinkin’ maybe they shouldn’t be worried ’cause we ain’t never really lost, not if you believe. God has a plan, you believe that, Black?”
“Sure, Samson.”
“You remember being a teenager, Black?”
“Yeah.”
“What was it like for you?”
“I was a quiet kid, weren’t smart enough or dumb enough to be anything but.”
“Did you always want to be a policeman?”
“I grew up with Mitch Wild, you remember him?”
Samson nodded.
“We were close like brothers . . . and he wanted to be a cop ’cause his daddy was a cop. So I went with him, we trained together and worked Briar. He got married and I got married and we settled in Grace and that was life and it was all right.”
“Sounds nice,” Samson said.
Black nodded. “He would’ve been Chief, no doubt. He was a tough cop.”
Samson sipped water.
“How about you?” Black said.
“I was quiet too. I mean, I still am.”
Black waited for him to go on.
“I used to reckon maybe I was blessed . . . the way I look. I know people call me the Angel ’cause my momma said that, but she only said it so they wouldn’t get on me. But I’m scared, Black. The Lord won’t fight for me. I’m not like them, my daddy, the others.”
“I went to Pinegrove, Samson.”
Black saw his hands tremble. He couldn’t figure what Samson had been doing there ’cause Greta Gray wouldn’t say shit and he respected that. He was fishing now.
Samson brought a hand up and held it flat against his forehead, then he started shaking real bad.
“I thought they could help me.”
Samson cried. Black watched him.
“They couldn’t help, not really. Don’t matter what they say, those things they did, hands and cleansin’.”
Samson cried and cried, and he bent forward and he coughed and retched. Black hadn’t ever seen fear so pure and so consuming.
“It’s all right, Samson –”
“It ain’t. What I did, Black, it ain’t never gonna be right again. There ain’t a way back, I’m so scared.”
“What, Samson? What did you do?”
They heard a noise. They saw the door open and then Deely White standing there, and Trix beside, cheeks hot like she was mad.
An hour later Samson retained Milt Kroll and Black’s hopes of finding the truth died a quick and painful death. Milt called them and agreed it was safest for Samson to stay put, but in the meantime his office would ramp the pressure on Black and Ernie Redell to bring this mess to a close.
*
Noah pulled the Buick over ’cause he couldn’t slow his breath and was still seeing spots.
They got out and the three stood and looked at the damage to the car.
“Shit,” Raine said. Then she turned to Noah. “What the fuck were you doin’ back there? There was another room.”
“He was on us. He had a gun,” Noah said, still struggling for breath. He was pale and dizzy so Purv came over and put a hand on his shoulder. He got like this sometimes, his blood pressure dipping too low.
“You okay?” Purv said.
“Just need a minute,” Noah said.
Raine stared at him and shook her head. “You shouldn’t have pulled me outta there. I can take care of myself. Summer could’ve been in there, we don’t know. She could’ve been hurt. I got the gun, I ain’t scared to shoot.”
“There weren’t nothin’ in that room. I saw through the window,” Purv said.
Noah straightened up and wobbled once but Purv kept a hand on him.
“I didn’t want nothin’ to happen to you,” Noah said quiet.
“Why the fuck do you even care, Noah? Is it ’cause of the way I look? You wanna fuck me? Is that it?” She walked toward him till she stood so close she could smell that cheap cologne he wore.
He looked down and shook his head. “I just like you . . . and I wanna be a cop . . . I’m helpin’ Black.”
She laughed. “You’re a fuckin’ joke, carryin’ that badge. I don’t get it with you, why you’re so fuckin’ weird like that. Maybe you reckon it’s real or somethin’. I see you sittin’ in the station, not doin’ nothin’, just watchin’ the cops.” She wiped sweat from her head and spit in the dirt. “I gotta go to Black now, give him somethin’, sell my sister out. I thought you could help me, ’cause you got the file for me, but that’s it now. You hold me up. I could walk the trails fast but you hold me back ’cause you’re slow. And look at you now, bit of trouble and you go to pieces. Too fuckin’ scared.”
“He ain’t scared,” Purv said. “He’s –”
“Shut up, Purv,” Noah said.
She might’ve pressed him but they heard the noise start up sudden and loud. A voice that soared.
They climbed the bank and stared out across the fields. Noah and Purv fell in behind her as she walked toward the lights.
They reckoned they were someplace east of Haskell, maybe ten miles from White Mountain. The group was fifty deep but they stayed far enough back’cause they weren’t exactly sure what was going on.
There was a wood stage, just ply strips and paint cans propping them. The pastor was hard faced but showy. Raine could tell by his voice and the way he swept it high with the cries that he knew how to work them.
“It’s the Mission,” Noah said.
Raine nodded. The West End Mission, they were hard-liners; a whisker short of fanatical, they set up where they could after their church burned, just after Della Palmer got taken.
There were others like them, by White Mountain, folk that preached to their own God in their own way. The kids at school used to talk about a lot near Cold Leaf Creek where they had a healer, the proper kind that’d spit and froth and shake before he brought out the snakes.
“He’s talking about Grace,” Purv said.
They heard mention of the cloud and dissension and idolatry, and the folk nodded and hollered.
“If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away. For it is better that you lose one of your members than that your whole body be thrown into hell.”
“I could see these folk tearing out their eyes,” Purv said.
Noah nodded.
They were about to turn when Raine saw her. She moved nearer and heard Noah calling but she had to see.
“Who is it?” Purv said.
Raine lost sight of her before the group cleared. And then there she was, fire-red hair and hands clasped and eyes clenched tight in prayer.
“The lady from the Dayette Women’s Clinic.”