332,388¥ (Chapter 18 of 38)

Rescuing Magas on the open ocean is a harrowing task. And you never know who or what you might get. Some Americans might be more easy to get along with than others, but that's not important. What's important is that Melvin, Gil, and Reverend Tom are doing the Lord's work. One of them might even understand his pain.    

Transcript

So every day at dinner time, for two weeks straight, Melvin and I would drive by Pigeon Pond to see if Reverend Tom was feeding the pigeons. To make things more complicated, he was always there, because he went for a walk every day at that time. And every day the pigeons were there all around him in droves, waiting to be fed. It’s just that we had to see if he was actually feeding them. I don’t why he didn’t just walk somewhere else. It would have made been awfully less complicated. We would slow down and watch him carefully, and eventually we got so sick of it that we would just send the car out, and watch on the carcam. Sometimes I’d even tell it to go through the You Too Drive Thru and pick up some assorted youtiao and two medium teas. 

Finally, on a Friday, we caught Reverend Tom feeding the pigeons. We were actually aboard the car that day. I honked the horn to show that I saw him, but he just stared ahead and shook his head. Melvin said I was as dumb as a bag of laundry, but I didn’t see what the big deal was. It was only a friendly honk. I could have been honking at anything. So what if I waved and nodded my head too? Everyone knew that we were friends.

So when we got back to the house Melvin took the TerraCrawler and went for a ride to Pigeon Pond. He came back with the paper, full of excitement. We went for a walktalk.

“This one is even more money!” 

“How much?” 

“Fifty thousand yuan per person.” 

“How many people?” 

“Three.”

“Two hundred thousand yuan? Sure I’ll have enough in no time if this keeps up.”

“They’ve got weird names though,” he said, staring at the paper. “Spud, Rod, and Toonsy. What the fuck kind of names is that? Must be nicknames. Don’t even show their last names.”

“Let me see,” I said, reaching for the paper, but he snatched it away. 

“Woah! Top secret. For my eyes only, old timer.” 

“For my eyes too if they’re staying at my place,” I said, reaching again. He snatched it back again.  

“That’s not how it works.”

“Judas! Will you let me see the paper, Melvin?” 

“No can do.” 

“Boy you are one pain in the arse.”

He folded it up neatly and stuck it in his pocket. 

“So it’s tomorrow night?” I asked. 

“That’s what he said the other day. It’s always the day before.” 

“What’s the weather supposed to be like?” 

“Don’t have a clue. That’s the dangerous part I guess. Once they’re on the boat, they’re on the boat. If the weather turns bad…not their problem.” 

“What happens if you can’t make it I wonder?” 

“Maybe they throws them overboard.” 

“Judas! They wouldn’t do that would they?”

“Well, those other two magas already told us they threw someone over.” 

“Yeah, but he was already dead.”

“Now you’re just splitting hairs.” 

“We should ask Reverend Tom. I’d like to know.”

“Maybe it’s better if we don’t know.”

“By the way, how did your baptism go?” 

“I’m officially a Holy Coyote.” 

I laughed. 

“I’m not kidding. That’s what he actually called me. Him and the other person.” 

“What other person?” 

“Can’t say. It’s a secret ceremony.

“Oh, I see…” 

“There was a lady there helping with the ceremony. She was over Tom.” 

“Did you see her before?” 

“Not in my life. She must be one of the Elders. No one said her name, and she was wearing some kind of ceremonial robe. It was all a bit weird to be honest. Like I was joining the Illuminati or something. And I like I said, I was sworn to absolute secrecy.” 

“Where did you go? Did they dunk you in a pond, or the salt water?”

“No. A hot tub.” 

“A hot tub? Where?”

“The Holiday Inn.” 

“The Holiday Inn? Sure they got cameras everywhere.” 

“Not according to the Elder. She said it was a virgin-room.”

“A room for virgins?”

“No, a virgin-room.”

“So she’s a virgin?”

“Well she could be, but no Dad, it’s a room that has no electronic recording devices or connection to the internet. This is not a new word.”

“So no one can know a virgin is in there.” 

Melvin sighed. 

                                                       _____________________

The next day the three of us were on the wharf again. I was almost as nervous as before, even though I wouldn’t be in the boat. It was calling for twenty-knot winds with gusts up to thirty. A breeze but nothing serious. Melvin was excited, but I didn’t see much fear in him. That was no surprise. He didn’t have sense enough to be afraid of anything. The person I was surprised in, was Reverend Tom. I figured he was going to be calmer than any of us, but he didn’t look much less afraid than when he went with me the first time. 

“You alright, Tom?” Melvin asked. “You don’t need to put on that show now. The jig is up on all that.” 

“I’m a method actor. I’ll need to be in character once we get out there. An artist doesn’t just turn his role on and off like a switch.”

That was what I thought they did, but what do I know?  

“But ain't the captain in on it too?” I said. 

“The passengers aren’t.” 

“I’m starting to think you really are afraid of the water,” Melvin said. 

“I am. I’m terrified.” 

“Aha, see, I knew —wait…are you still in character? You know what, I don’t give a fuck, sorry Reverend, shit…I mean, oh whatever, just get in the boat. No, wait, stop. I don’t want a repeat of the last time. I’ll get in the boat first. Dad, help me down.”

The wind was knocking the boat against the side of the wharf – thump, thump, thump – so Melvin had to time his descent. I held his good arm while he carefully climbed down into her. 

“Where you guys going?” spoke a voice from the dark behind us.

“Judas!” I shouted in fright and let go of Melvin, who crashed into the bottom of the boat. I heard a wet snap like before, so I figured he had his other arm broken. He was cursing on the way down, but I don’t know if it was from the fright of the voice in the darkness, fear that he was going to break his other arm, or me for letting him go. 

“Oh my jezus,” Melvin gasped at the bottom of the boat. “Oh my jezus, you got me killed. I’ll never get over it.”

“Did you break your other arm?” I said. 

“No. Don’t matter. You got me killed.” 

The voice from the darkness was Park’s. “Where you guys going this hour in the night?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” the Reverend said, and the threat in his voice made me afraid.

“Why?” Park asked. 

“You need to get off this wharf!” Reverend Tom said, with a tone in his voice I had never heard before.

“Okay, okay,” Park said and turned around for the path again.  

“Don’t worry about me,” Melvin croaked, still lying in the bottom of the boat. “I just have my fuckin ribs broke.” 

“Do you really?” I asked. 

“No,” he said, “I’ll be alright.” He struggled to his feet. “Come on, Tom. We need to get going.”

“What about his arm?” Park asked, still somewhere in the darkness where we couldn’t see him. “If he has his ribs broke, should he be on the water? I still don’t understand what’s going on here. Well, maybe I do, but either way…” He hadn’t gone anywhere, and I had to laugh to myself. Truth be told, I didn’t like the way Reverend Tom spoke to him, even if it was for his own good.

“Park! Go up to the goddamn houaaaaaah!” Melvin shouted from the boat, and then grunted in agony, holding his ribs, “house. I’ll explain it to you after.” This time Park listened. He usually acted like he wasn’t afraid of his father, but when Melvin really got mad, Park didn’t take any chances.

“Are we leaving or what?” Melvin said to the Reverend. 

The Reverend got into the boat carefully, and lid across the bottom like he did the last time. 

“Oh my God. Are you really going to do all that again?” 

“I told you, I’m afraid of the water.”

“So this is not character Tom telling me this now. This is real Tom?” 

“They’re one and the same.” 

Melvin sighed, winced in pain, shook his head, and slowly untied the boat with his one good arm – this time with the anchor already aboard. 

“It's supposed to be a breeze on. You sure you’re going to be able to handle this, with that boat thumping off the waves? You won’t have a rib left on you. Let me go again instead.” 

“No!” both of them shouted. I didn’t argue, because I didn’t really mean it. And my stomach was rolling anyway. 

Melvin told the boat the coordinates and it headed off. It wasn’t a cloudy night like when I went out. It was clear and starlit with a little breeze. But that wasn’t a good thing either. It just meant they were easier to spot from a distance. 

When they got out of sight, the rolling in my stomach turned into a cramp, and I just made it to the house. Park was in the living room. 

“So where are they going?” he said, as I rushed into the washroom.

“Never you mind,” I gasped as I slammed the door behind me and barely got my clothes down in time. That’s the weird thing about diarrhea. You’ll hold it in for miles, but in those last few seconds when you’re standing over the toilet, undoing your pants, your body officially gives up. So you better be on that toilet in a jiffy. And it’s a fifty-fifty chance from flop to drop.  

I don’t mean to keep talking about bowel movements, but talking about my life without talking about the toilet, would be like talking about ACDC and not saying two words about music. 

Park knocked on the door. “If you’re in there I know it must be dangerous. Fear is like Ex-lax to you. What’s going on, Pop? Is Dad in trouble?”

“I can’t tell you!” I said.

A piece of paper with a pen was pushed under the door. 

If you don’t tell me I’ll call the police, it said. 

If you calls the police we will all be in jail before tomorrow morning, I wrote back and pushed it back under.  It’s a small washroom. 

Hes a coyote?

I never said that! 

You didnt have to. What else could it be? 

I sighed and hung my head. And another wave hit me. It was going to be a long night.

When I came out of the washroom I told Park everything. He wasn’t surprised. He knew his father. 

Hes going to be in for a lot of suffering

If you cant suffer discomfert, you wont be called for importan things

beating off waves with an arm and ribs broke is more than a little discomfort

I didn’t want to worry him, but he was right. People who have never been in hard weather in a boat, don’t realize that it feels more like the hull is hitting concrete than water.

He wasn’t completely surprised that his father had decided to get in the coyote business, but like us all, he was shocked that Reverend Tom was involved. 

am I in danger from the church for finding this out? he wrote. 

I hope not, I wrote and had to take another trip to the toilet. When I got out I laid on the couch.

Is this what the trip to Ontario was all about, Dad becoming a coyote?

I guess there was going be no way to hide it anyway seeing as their going to be staying hear

Staying here? So youre both becoming coyotes? He gets them, and you harbour them? 

Thats right 

Pop, do you realize the trouble you’ll get in if you get caught? You’ll go to jail

He looked at me with fear in his eyes.

“If I do, it won’t be forever,” I said. 

It’ll feel like forever in a jail cell, he wrote.

We already did this once so its not like we dont no what to expect

Seriously?

I nodded. And I drove. I had to drive because he broke his arm on the wharf as we were getting ready to leave. Thats how he broke it.

I tried to go to sleep but I wasn’t having much luck. Three magas were going to be living in my basement for a week, and I didn’t know how I was going to handle it. How did I know what kind of people they were going to be? All I could do was pray to the good Lord and hope that everything worked out. God got me through it the last time, so he would get me through it again. As bad as it was, nothing was worse than my beloved wife dying, so I could take it, no matter what. And speaking of Amy, I decided I needed to visit her grave again. I would do that soon.

 I woke up to Dan barking at about 3 am. Meanwhile I didn’t get to sleep until 2. I knew what it meant. Even though I couldn’t hear them, ol’ Dan could. They were probably at the wharf. I tried to shush him, but he ignored me of course. The only way I could shut him up was baloney. I broke out the LowCust Baloney, chopped it into a dozen pieces, and threw them all about the house so he would have to find them and forget about barking at my new temporary tenants. Dan woke Park too of course. He stumbled out in his underwear with one eye open, and I told him to keep the dog occupied with the rest of the baloney if he had to.

As I walked down the path to the wharf I heard nothing. When I got near the wharf and saw that Melvin and Reverend Tom were there, and the Reverend was holding three leashes in his hands, and they were all wrapped up around Melvin’s legs, and at the end of those leashes were three dogs. Melvin was trying to get his legs untangled, but they didn’t seem to be cooperating. His legs I mean, not the dogs. And something else. He was shit-faced drunk.

“Why is he drunk?” were the first words out of my mouth. In a whisper of course. We didn’t want to take any chances. The second words were, “Where did the dogs come from?”  

“You’d be drunk too if it felt like you had a knife in your ribs,” Melvin whispered, but it didn’t sound right like that. It sounded more like, “Yout be druk too if hit felt like you hat a knife in yer rips.” 

Melvin had no trouble pounding back a few beer or drinks or anything else with alcohol in it, so if he was slurring his words, I could only imagine how much he had in his system. 

“It only hit him about halfway back,” Reverend Tom said. “He had a twenty-six-ounce bottle, and I don’t know how much he actually drank, but he was chugging it back like it was a can of Future Cola.”

“Why did you let him do that?” I said. “And again, what in God’s name is with the dogs? Where’s the magas?” 

“Right here,” Melvin said, making a grand sweep with his unbroken arm to the dogs. “They’re smarter than most magas, so don’t look down on them.” 

“Keep your voice down,” I said. 

“Will you two please stop using the m-word?” 

“Listen Tom,” Melvin said, clumsily stroking the head of one of the dogs who didn’t seem to like it or pull away. “You’re a good man, but you know what? You’re a bit fuckin weird. Now I mean that in the best way. You’re a good man, but you know what? You’re fuckin weird. A bit. No offense. No offense, right? No offense. Everyone calls them magas. I calls them magas. Dad calls them magas. Even Dan calls them magas. Magas calls them magas. I works with a maga at work.” He laughed in that weird giggle people get when they’re drunk, and then winced because laughing is painful when you’ve got broken ribs. 

“What’s we supposed to do with them?” I said. 

“Give them a safe house like we’re supposed to do, I assume,” the Reverend said. 

“But they’re not people. I still have to keep them in my basement?” 

“Yes sir.” 

“For how long?” 

“Two weeks, as always.” 

“Hows I supposed to keep three dogs in my basement? They’ll be shittin and pissin everywhere.” 

“Better than shree people,” Melvin said. “At leas’ you cin take the dogs vor walks.”

“I can’t get Dan to listen to me let alone —why is you drunk anyway? I thought you had all kinds of guts for this stuff?” 

“It’s not his fault, Gil,” the Reverend said. “He was in agony. At one point he literally passed out with pain. He must really have broken a rib.” 

“Yeah, but where did he get the booze?” 

“Off the boat.” 

“Traded it for my rubbers,” Melvin said, pointing down to his soaked socks.

“Judas!” I said. “You got nothing on your feet?”

“I tried to give him mine,” the Reverend said.

“When?” Melvin said. 

“When we started to head back,” he said. “I asked you if you wanted mine.” 

“All I can remember you asking me is if my feet were cold, and I said no.” 

“I offered. The dogs must have been barking too loud for you to hear me.” 

“You needs to get up to the house,” I said. “You’ll catch a cold to kill you walking around like that.” 

“Cold? Father, I’m feeling no pain now. I could dance a jig right up to the house.” And he started dancing right there on the wharf. 

“He’s not lying,” the Reverend said, laughing at Melvin’s dancing. “He was singing at the top of his lungs the whole way back. And I have to admit, he does have a nice voice. Does he get it from you? I don’t remember hearing you sing in church.” 

“Probably not,” I said. 

“Oh I gets it from my father alright,” Melvin said, but he said it in a way I didn’t like. I wondered if he knew about what happened in the Lion’s Club years ago. Maybe Amy told him. She was there after all. 

“I still don’t understand,” I said. “Why did anyone on that boat need a pair of rubbers that bad? I figured they were making better money from this than we are.” 

“Money is no good if the goods aren’t there to buy,” the Reverend said. “Do you realize the state they’re in down there now? Common items go out of supply for weeks or months.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. I tuned out of the war years ago, so I haven’t got a clue what’s going on down there anymore. Too depressing.” 

“You needs to tune back in if you’re at this racket. Needs to stay on top of your game. At least we’re going to get rich. Silver linings, right Tom? The Lord works in mysterious ways.” 

The Reverend didn’t respond. I don’t think he knew what to say. Unless it was youngsters Melvin didn’t give a fiddler’s fart about helping American refugees. He was in it for one reason: money. I was in it to help those poor magas. And if I got a few dollars for it? Well, so be it. 

But Melvin wasn’t finished there. “See them dogs?” he said. “I don’t see dogs. All I sees is bags of money on four legs.” He laughed and started dancing again, came over, and grabbed me by the arm to do a twirl, which I went along with, but then he screamed and one of his feet looked like it was glued to the wharf. 

“What’s wrong?” I said, but I could see he was reaching down through his screams, and even though it was dark, there was enough moonlight to see the four-inch rusty nail sticking up through his black sock.

“My foot! Goddamn it, my foot!” he said. “I can’t even fucking move it! It’s stuck. Jesus Fucking Christ, I can’t move it! It’s stuck to the goddamn board! I told you about that goddamn nail! I told you!” 

“I got busy and forgot about it,” I said. “Stop cursing in front of the Reverend.”

“What?” he said. “Are you serious? Are you actually fucking serious right now? I got a rusty nail sticking up through my foot, and you’re worried about me taking the Lord’s name in vain?”

The Reverend rushed over with dogs, but three leashes came with those dogs, and all three of us got tangled up in them. And well, this might sound strange, but I’m not fond of dogs. I mean, I love Dan, but that didn’t come overnight. Amy wanted the dog, and when she brought him home as a puppy, he did look pretty darn cute, even if I was sure he was going to be nothing but a nuisance. Which he is. 

This is the part where I should tell you what kind of dogs they were. If only I knew. Each one was about 80 pounds of solid muscle. They had the head of a pitbull, with the snubbed tail, but the body and colour of a large black lab, with the same short fur, but it was kind of silky, and the water just beaded right off it. They didn’t bark, and they didn’t move until the Reverend moved. All in all they were the most well-behaved dogs I ever saw in my life. I guess you could say the polar opposite of Dan.  

So the leashes were all tangled around us, which I was trying to untangle from because I was afraid I was going to get bit -just as much by Melvin as either of the dogs. Speaking of Melvin, he was too drunk to help anyway, but he was also too drunk to feel the pain as much as he would have if he was sober. The Reverend was trying to untangle the dogs too. 

“What’s their names?” I said when I finally managed to get clear of the tangle. “If we knew their names we might be able to handle them better. Was it…Spot? Tickle…”

“Isn’t it Spud?” Reverend Tom said. 

“No, it’s definitely Spot. Spot…Terry…”

“Terry don’t sound like a dog name,” he said. 

“Neither does Dan.” 

“Oh I remember,” I said. “Spud, Roger, and Tiddly Winks.”

“I really don’t think that’s it,” the Reverend said. 

“Will someone please help me get this goddamn NAIL OUT OF MY FOOT!” Melvin screamed. “Ohhh fuck, my ribs. Jesus, I’m going to pass out. Catch me, I’m actually going to pass out.” 

“Lower your voice!” I whispered.

“The whispering is over,” Melvin said. “The whispering is officially over. I don’t care if there’s ten border patrol hiding under this motherfucking wharf.”  

Reverend Tom and I decided to each grab a part of his leg each, and in one, two, three, we yanked his foot off the nail. 

Melvin sobbed quietly to himself as he stumbled up the path with us. I had not heard him cry since he was a little boy, but I didn’t know if it was the booze, the pain, or if maybe the whole night had been a bit too much. Either way, I patted him on the back and told him that we would get him straight to the doctor. 

“Doctor? I’m not going to no doctor,” he said, as he limped up the path. “What if they starts asking questions?”  

“Questions about what?” I said. “Just because you drove a nail in your foot don’t mean anything. How could they figure out you’re a coyote from driving a nail in your foot?” 

“It’s a doctor, Melvin,” Reverend Tom said, “Not Sherlock Holmes.”

“Nope, not happening,” Melvin said. “They can figure out anything these days.” 

“You’re drunk,” I said. “You’re not thinking straight. That nail was rusty. If it gets infected you could lose your foot.” 

“Well I’ll get another one. One of those mechanical ones. They’re better anyway.” 

“Those things cost a fortune.”  

“Well, I’ll have a fortune by the time I’m done with this. No doctors. We’ll go up to the house, throw a bit of peroxide and rubbing alcohol in it — Yechen’s your uncle. Lots and lots of people drives nails in their foots. What kind of dogs is that?”   

When we were near the house Reverend Tom said, “Just look at it this way. At least now you have some idea what it must have felt like when Jesus had a spike driven into his feet. You’ve experienced something that most people will never experience. You and our savior have that in common now.”  

“No offense, Tom, no offense, but what me and Jesus have in common is the last thing on my mind right now. You’re a weird guy, Tom. No offense.”

I have to say the dogs were well-behaved. Their leashes got tangled but I think that might have been more Reverend Tom’s fault than the dog’s. I still had not heard them make any sound. Truth be told though, they were kind of too well-behaved. It was creepy. The same way that a seeing-eye dog or a police dog is creepy. I know I already said that I was nervous around dogs, but I really didn’t like those dogs. 

“Put the dogs in the shed,” I said when we got close to the house. “There’s no reason they can’t stay in the shed. They don’t have to stay in the basement.” 

Then Dan started barking in the house. I don’t know if he sensed the dogs or if he heard me talking, but then I heard the door open and knew that Park was letting him out. The cat ran out first, hissed at the new dogs, and took off for the woods. I always let Dan out without a leash because I was half a mile or so from Frank’s place, and he was the closest neighbor. I tried to sing out to Park to keep him in, but it was too late. Dan clamored down off the veranda faster than usual and came straight to the dogs. The three of them turned their heads to him at the exact same time and froze. They didn’t have their tales tucked between their legs so it wasn’t fear. They were just sizing up old Dan in a way I didn’t like. I know dogs are intelligent, but I never saw dogs look at another dog that way before. Dan started barking, but he was wagging his tail so I knew he didn’t mean anything by it. The dogs didn’t move anyway. Only their big brown eyes moved, followed him as he circled around them, and took turns smelling each of their rear ends. Then he started doing that bow that dogs do when they want another dog to play, but the three dogs had no interest. They only relaxed their posture, and sat down again. Dan couldn’t figure it out. He kept barking but they ignored him like he wasn’t there. It was like when they realized he was harmless they didn’t care anymore.

“You picked up dogs?” Park said. “I thought you were picking up people. What kind of dogs are that anyway?” He came down off the veranda and went straight to the dogs to pet them. They didn’t show aggression, but they didn’t wag their tales either. They sniffed his hand and tolerated him. Just like with Dan, all they moved was their eyes to follow him around. 

“These dogs are weird,” Park said, stepping back. “Are they nervous or something? They’re beautiful though. Their coats are so shiny.” 

“They’re more than weird,” I said. “Just put them in the shed, Reverend. I’ll bring out some food and water later. I bought some dog food yesterday.”  

Melvin mumbled something, but I couldn’t understand it. His words were getting so garbled that it was hard to pick out. I was just as worried that he would get alcohol poisoning as he would die of infection from the rusty nail.

“Why is Dad drunk?” Park asked. 

Melvin mumbled something about boots. 

“Because he was in a lot of pain,” Reverend Tom said. “And to top it all off he drove a nail in his foot. There’s a nail sticking up on the wharf. Be careful if you go down there.”

“That nail will be gone tomorrow,” I said. 

We got Melvin in the house, sat him down, and soaked the hole in his foot in peroxide. Let me tell you, that brought him to his taps. Park and Reverend Tom had to hold him down while I struggled to pour more in the wound. Then we brought him to the washroom and forced him to throw up. Within an hour he was drunk to the point where he could barely function, and when he spoke it sounded like a different language.

When he eventually passed out, which didn’t take long, I explained everything to Park, and we both made sure that his father didn’t lie on his back. I heard too many horror stories of people passing out on their backs and waking up dead. It was no trouble to choke on your own vomit when you were that far gone. I worried about his foot too, but it turned out alright. He had a damn fine hangover the next day, along with his fractured rib, and the hole in his foot, but that was the worst of it. I have to say, my son might be clueless sometimes, but he is tough. 

I almost forgot. Before the Reverend left that night I held up a piece of paper with three words, Did he pass?

The Reverend nodded. 

“Even though he got drunk?” I said. 

“He was fine. He had to get drunk. I might have found it hard to resist a drink too, if I was in that much pain.” Then he looked at Park. “Me and you need to go for a walk.” 

“Why?” Park asked. 

“Yeah, why?” I repeated.

“I need to discuss some things with you. Things that are very important. About you, your father, and your grandfather.” 

  Park agreed to go with him, but I didn’t like it. I didn’t think my grandson was in danger, but I didn’t like it. Reverend Tom wasn’t completely the man I thought he was so it made me nervous, but I figured it wasn’t much chance of anything happening, and I didn’t want to make a scene. He was just going to remind Park of how important it was for him to keep all this secret. Right? 

Right? 

An hour later, almost in daylight, I heard footsteps on the veranda and sighed with relief. But when the door opened it was not my grandson, it was my clergy. 

“Where’s Park?” I asked. 

“You probably should sit down.”  

“Oh God, why?” I said. “Why do I have to sit down?” My legs started to weaken, and grabbed the side of the counter. 

“Park is in the shed. He’s getting more water for the dogs. You have lots of food out there, but you didn’t put nearly enough water out for them. I guess they were thirsty.” 

“Judas,” I said, and then I did sit down. More like flopped, down in one of my kitchen chairs. “Why did you tell me to sit down?” 

“No reason in particular. You looked tired. A bit pale too.” 

“Anyone would look pale after that. Why did you need to go for a walk with him?” 

“I think you already know that. And I can’t say it in here anyway.”

“You got nothing to worry about when it comes to Park,” I said. 

“There’s more work this weekend.”

“Really? That soon?” 

“As things get worse it’s only going to get busier. But I didn’t tell you that.” 

“It’s the Lord’s work,” I said. “Praise Jesus.”

“Speaking of Jesus, keep an eye on Melvin. We don’t want him at the pearly gates yet.” 

I nodded and headed in to check on him, but Reverend Tom was back at the door. “I forgot Melvin picked me up. Can you get your car to bring me back home?”

The car was going senile so I had to talk it into it.