Ravens (28 page)

“Beats me,” he said. “You think I still could?”

She shrugged. “How would I know?”

Mitch
didn’t speak during the migration to the Rotary Club fairgrounds, but held Tara’s and Clio’s hands the whole time, and kept
his eyes low. He knew what he’d done. He’d almost gotten his daughter’s best friend killed, with his own family thrown into
the bargain. His pride had led him into massive folly, from which others had rescued him, and he felt lower than dirt. He
wished he could be a grub so he could lie in filth and be trodden upon and forgotten.

An honor guard of pilgrims walked with the Boatwrights.

It wasn’t a long walk. They went down Robin Road and crossed Canary Drive and Fourth Street, and then there was a sign: Rotary
Club fairgrounds. The sign had a clown and a Ferris wheel. Mitch remembered the Ferris wheel from the fairs of his youth,
but it was long gone; now there was just a big scrubby lawn with picnic tables to one side. A cattail pond. A few cabins (sometimes
the place was used as a summer camp). Hundreds of the faithful were already here, and they cheered as Mitch arrived. Such
an outpouring of love! He stayed hunched over, looking at his shoes, bewildered. Then he and his family were ushered up to
a place of honor, by the card table that had been turned into an altar.

A chant went up: “Shaw! Shaw! Shaw!”

At last Shaw obliged them with his presence.

Someone handed him a microphone. The crowd kept calling his name, but he held his hand up and begged them: “Don’t.
Don’t
. I’m not important here.” For a while they refused to obey him: their love was irrepressible. But finally the chanting died
away, and silence settled in, and then Shaw said, “What
is
important is that we rescued a soul today. You all hear about that?”

Another upwelling of devotion, mixed with rapturous laughter. Everyone was looking at Clio, who hid herself in Tara’s embrace
like a shy baby animal.

Shaw motioned, to indicate the lofty sweet gums and oaks that surrounded the field. A breeze was passing from tree to tree.
“And do you feel that? Do you feel that wind?”

“Oh yes!” came the response. “Praise the Lord!” “Yes, yes!” “We feel it!” “Praise the Lord!”

“Do you see how the wind is drawing a circle around us?”

“Yes sir!” “Yes, Jesus!” “Yes we do!”

He said, “And I guess we know what’s coming.”

“We know!” “We know what’s coming!”

Shaw said, “Be a change.”

“There’s gonna be a change!” “Big change!” “Praise the Lord!”

Mitch could see the spirit traveling from face to face. Already some were on their knees. He glanced over at Tara and found
that she — even his beloved daughter! — was so absorbed in Shaw’s words that she didn’t notice her father looking at her.
Oh Lord. Just a few hours ago the man was threatening to kill us. He’s a demon, isn’t he? Am I mistaken? Isn’t his heart as
black as death? My Lord, my Father, help me to see!

Shaw held up a loaf of bread. He said, “Well. It does
look
like bread.”

Chuckling from the assembly.

“Except, when you taste it,” he said, “it tastes like
light
. You know the taste of light?”

“Praise the Lord!”

“If you don’t, you’re going to find out,” said Shaw.

“Praise the Lord!”

“Because this bread is the body of our Lord.”

“Yes it is!”

“And the light comes from Heaven.”

“Praise the Lord!”

He made a motion to Patsy: come forward.

She neared the altar. Shaw gave her a nod, and she knelt. He tore off a morsel of the loaf and placed it on her tongue, and
said, “You chew this good, honey.” He didn’t say this into the mike, and only the people in the front rows heard it, but their
laughter rolled through the crowd and the folks in back laughed just for the sake of laughing.

Then Shaw held up a goblet of wine.

Patsy’s lips parted. She gazed up into his eyes and sipped. Mitch knew that she was imagining Shaw McBride’s lips against
her own. She was in love with Shaw McBride, Mitch knew. She worshiped him. It was a knowledge that should have filled Mitch
with anger, but didn’t.

All he felt was shame, and fear, and the looming of some upheaval. Something was about to play out here. He was about to make
some kind of journey, and take leave of these troubles. The wind that was kicking up was going to rip him out by the roots
from the world he’d been living in, and carry him to some new world, and so be it.

His daughter Tara led him to the altar. He knelt. Shaw touched his forehead, and the touch was scorching. When bread was set
upon his tongue, the hollowness inside of him, the hunger, was quelled. His thirst was quenched by the blood of the Lord.
He sobbed. He rose and stumbled from the altar. The cry went up, “Praise Jesus! Praise the Lord!” His daughter led him back
to his seat. He sat there holding her hand, still with the taste of Jesus in his mouth, and he knew he had journeyed a great
long way to this salvation. But all that mattered was, he was here. He’d made it. He’d found the green pastures and the still
waters, and he could lay his head down now in his daughter’s lap and be all right.

Romeo
patrolling on Rt. 17, saw Old Pork in his cruiser, lurking behind bushes. Romeo slowed the Tercel. Slowed
way
down, till he was just creeping along, 10 mph or so, and gawking as he went by.

Still Old Pork didn’t notice him. He was looking at nothing, lost in thought, and only by chance did he happen to shift his
eyes and spot the Tercel. Then instantly his overhead came on. He burped out a little pig-squeal and in five seconds was perched
on Romeo’s ass.

Romeo pulled into the parking lot of Tawney’s Transmissions. Old Pork right behind. Getting out of his cruiser and waddling
up to Romeo’s window. “How are you today, sir?”

“Good, thank you. How about you?”

“I’m good. You’re still in Brunswick.”

“Yes.”

“Get that animal disposed of?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Still on vacation?”

“Yes.”

“Folks don’t usually vacation in Brunswick.”

“They don’t?”

“No, they go over to the island, or Savannah or something.”

“Oh.”

“There’s not much to do here.”

“You’re right about that.” Romeo shrugged. “I guess I just like how it’s falling apart and nobody’s trying to fix it.”

Old Pork studied him intently. Trying to get a read, decide what his angle was. Romeo didn’t mind the attention.

Then the cop said quietly, “OK. Could I see your license and proof of insurance, please?”

Romeo handed them over. The cop took them back to his car, and did his little incantations over them or whatever cops did.

Then he came back and returned the documents and said, “Mr. — I’m sorry. I forgot how you say your name?”

“Zuh-DER-ko.”

“I got a question for you.”

Romeo waited.

“Your license says you’re from Piqua, Ohio.”

“Yes.”

“Would that be anywhere around Dayton?”

Oh! It was coming then. The Truth. It was coming in the guise of a shabby old traffic pig. He wondered what he should do.
Should he keep prevaricating under the very shadow of Truth?

“I’m sorry, Officer. Would you repeat the question?”

“What I’m really asking is, you wouldn’t happen to be friends with Shaw McBride, would you?”

“Well. Oh. I guess yes. I mean I used to be.”

“Used to be? You have a falling out?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Give me the gist.”

“The gist is, he got struck by lightning.”

“Sir?”

“I mean he won that jackpot. And became the apostle of all those freaks. And me, I guess I’m becoming something else.”

“What are you becoming, sir?”

“Nothing.”

“All right.”

“Officer, do you sometimes get the feeling we’re on the same ride? You and me? The way we both keep driving around and around
this city like we’re on some carousel together? Me on this ugly old shit-colored pony, you on your porkmobile pony? Jesus.
Like we’re waving at each other as we go around. You know?”

“Sir, I’m not sure what you’re saying.”

“I’m not either. It just feels like everything’s spinning faster and faster, and we know this ride is gonna crash but we gotta
keep pretending it’s not.”

“Crash?”

“I’m just thinking, why don’t we jump off?”

“Sir?”

“I mean I wouldn’t mind going home for a while. You wanna come with me? I could use another driver for the trip. You could
get a break from this heat. See Ohio. Ohio’s nice.”

Old Pork looked at him.

Romeo smiled. “I’m
kidding
. I know, we’re stuck. We’re not going anywhere.”

“Sir, do you have any weapons in this car?”

“I have a Phoenix .22 plinker in the trunk. That legal?”

“So long as you keep it in the trunk.”

“OK. Could I ask why you pulled me over?”

Old Pork thought a while. “Well sir,” he said, “you’ve got no illumination on your tag. That’s a requirement in the State
of Georgia.”

Stood there just looking at him, with no expression Romeo could read. But finally he added gently, “So you get that fixed,
all right now, sir?”

Clio
figured, so long as she was with Tara, she’d be OK. The memory of what had happened at the creekside, though already faint,
was still present, and she needed to keep clear of it. So she stayed close to Tara’s side; she stayed busy. They worked with
the pilgrim ladies on the supper line at the fairgrounds, Clio ladling out barbecued shrimp, Tara dealing the garlic mashed.

Tara had filled a Snapple bottle with Cuervo. Now and then she or Clio would duck down and take a surreptitious pull. That’s
what Clio was doing when Tara announced, “Oh my God. The Turkeys are here.”

The Turkeys were a family of pilgrims from Delaware. The father had this jutting thing he’d do with his chin, and his wife
and kids all had identical birdlike stares. And just now the whole family was coming through the chow line, and Clio and Tara
had to fight to suppress their laughter.

Soon after them came the Enormous Pious Lady. Tara gave her an extra scoop of potatoes, and the EPL actually said, “Bless
you, my child.”

Then some guy came through the line and Tara whispered, “Doesn’t he look like that guy on
The Hills
? The poser-ass dickwad?”

Clio groaned. “Oh my God. Spencer! He does!”

They were still laughing over that when the EPL came back for seconds. Tara gave her another big dollop of potatoes and the
woman said, “Well, the Lord provides, don’t he?”

And Tara said, “Yes ma’am. Provides and
provides
.” As soon as the woman was gone Clio let loose with howls. She had to apologize to Mrs. Riley, the old lady who was running
this show. “Sorry, Miz Riley. Getting it together now. Going back to work now.”

The woman gave her an indulgent smile. Everyone was so good to Clio. Everyone knew how lucky she was to even be alive.

The last ones to come for lunch were Shaw and Trevor. They crossed from the picnic tables, talking quietly, easy in their
skins, glowing with confidence. Clio worshiped Shaw and thought Trevor was sort of cute as well, and she was glad to see them.
But Tara turned the color of ashes, and put down her big ladle and said, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“Wait. Why?”

“Or stay,” Tara snapped. “Stay if you want.” She walked away. Heading for the big cabin.

Clio hurried after her. “Why? You don’t like him? But he saved my life. Didn’t he? It wasn’t true what Romeo said! I mean
it was you and Shaw who saved me, right?”

Tara kept walking. “I think he’s great, Clio. I’m just tired. I gotta lie down. You wanna come with me?”

Clio gave up trying to understand. Nothing clear or honest will show its face to me now, she thought. Which really was OK.
She felt helpless, lost; she seemed to see everything through a keyhole; she couldn’t tell which of these shadows were angels
and which demons and the best thing was to go wherever Tara led her.

Burris
drove around Brunswick, considering Zderko.

Had he ever in his career encountered anyone more troubled? No. Back in ’87 he’d worked on the security detail that had transferred
Leroy Massequa to Reidsville. Leroy had just killed his whole family, believing (correctly) that his girlfriend was cheating
on him with his own father. Yet even he had seemed tranquil compared to Romeo Zderko.

And why was Romeo Zderko in such turmoil?

Because, Burris believed, he was under the thumb of Shaw McBride. Because he was the cudgel that Shaw McBride was using to
terrorize the Boatwrights.

Though Burris had no evidence for this. He had nothing but conjecture. And since he’d never even met McBride, and had seen
him in the flesh but once — in church yesterday — he thought he ought to be careful before laying any judgment on him.

I ought to at least
meet
the lying extortionate snake.

He turned the cruiser around and headed for the fairgrounds.

Romeo
drove past Shelby’s house and saw, through the great-room window, that the Braves were on. Somebody in that house liked the
Braves. But he had no idea who. The boy? Uncle Shelby? MacKenzie? Or maybe they just left the TV on when they went out; maybe
the house was empty?

As he drove away he thought, what a useful visit. I’m learning so much on these patrols.

He went over to Vanessa and Henry’s house on Poinsettia Circle. Just as he passed, Vanessa came out to her mailbox, and when
she went back in, she opened the kitchen door without using a key. Good, he thought. She leaves the door unlocked. Whenever
he needed to, he could just walk in. That was important to know.

Why the hell was he still making these rounds?

He drove past Enoch Emery’s office. Then past Alfred’s house, then past Nell’s. And so around. In the center of his circuit
was the Rotary Club fairgrounds. If he were a moth, that’s where his flame would be. Shaw had said, don’t get too close. But
couldn’t he just stop by
for a minute
? For the sake of his sanity? Just take a little break from these orbits and go check out the crowd at the fairgrounds, see
the heart of things, the pulse? Just for a minute. What could be the harm in that?