The Paladin (4 page)

MY OTHER CAR IS A MERCEDES.

Satisfied they were alone, Harold opened the rear door of the Mercedes, extended his hand, and ushered the beautiful woman from the car's cool interior into the bright Tennessee sunshine.

"Thank you, Harold," said Dana as she smoothed her blue business suit and retrieved a black leather attaché from the backseat. Born of Chinese and Hawaiian parents she had an exotic beauty that few men could resist.

"I feel like I need a tetanus shot just from looking at that thing," she said, indicating the rusty Toyota. "Deal with the receptionist, Harold. Mills is all mine."

***

Suzan Taylor sat at her small desk typing on an ancient word processor. The pudgy, forty-five-year-old blonde turned at the sound of the door chime and rose to greet her two well-dressed visitors.

"Welcome to Christ Redeeming Apostolic First Church of Prophecy.  Jesus loves you and so do we," she said cheerily.

"Praise the Lord! I hope you are having a blessed day, my sister," Harold White exclaimed in a terrible Nigerian accent.

"How can I help you?"

"We are to see your wonderful minister, Pastor Mills."

"I am so sorry, Pastor Mills sees no one on Saturday, unless by special appointment. He uses the day to pray for strength and guidance before services tomorrow."

"What is your name, dear woman?"

"Suzan, Suzan Taylor."

"Well Suzan, I am Pastor Barry Bonds and this is my secretary, Kristi Yamaguchi. We represent the Interfaith Coalition out of Nashville. We have heard of your wonderful minister's godly works and we want him to address our conference in Cancun next summer."

"He really hates to be disturbed, especially on a Saturday."

"Please, Suzan, it would be a great service to many people."

Suzan smiled and picked up the phone.

***

The Right Reverend Johnny Mills leaned back in his leather chair and sipped a tall glass of Grey Goose. The small, slightly chubby man smiled as the soothing vodka warmed his throat. Contrary to what Suzan believed, the right reverend's Saturdays were not used for prayer and meditation. Far from it.

What I wouldn't give to be the pizza delivery guy,
Mills thought, as he watched three scantily clad young women barter sex for a large pepperoni with cheese.

In mid-sip, the phone rang and the reverend startled, spilling the vodka down the front of his silk polo shirt. Uttering a phrase that good ministers should never say, he muted the television and snatched up the receiver.

"Suzan, this had better be important. You have interrupted the Holy Spirit, and that can have dire consequences."

"I am so sorry pastor, but you have two visitors."

"They had better be Jesus and God the Father!"

"Pastor Mills, this is Pastor Bonds of the Interfaith Coalition," said Harold White. "If we could have a moment of your time, I can guarantee your ministry will never be the same."

Mills thought a moment. "OK, Pastor Bonds, you have five minutes."

***

After Mills had hung up the phone, Mr. White continued to speak as if carrying on a conversation.

"Pastor, with your permission, I would like to bless your wonderful secretary. May she have the day off? Splendid! I will inform her."

"That is so nice of you," she said, "but I have too much work to do."

"Nonsense, I noticed the picture on your desk of your lovely children. I know how much a child delights in a circus and I happen to know that there is one in Knoxville."

"They have been begging me to go, but we can't afford it."

Sliding his big hand into his pants pocket, he withdrew a money clip. He peeled two bills from the roll, and then replaced the clip.

"Suzan, my dear, let me bless you and your family."

Suzan's eyes went wide at the sight of the twin green portraits of Benjamin Franklin.

"I don't know how to thank you," she said taking the money.

"You can thank me by having a good time."

Suzan wasted no time in gathering her things and heading for the door.

"Now don't eat too much cotton candy!" he said as she opened the door.

"I promise."

"By the way, Suzan, is anyone else in this temple of God?"

"Oh no, you have Pastor Mills all to yourself."

***

Changed into a clean, fresh shirt, Pastor Johnny Mills was prepared to receive his guests. He closed his liquor cabinet, turned off his dirty movie, and switched the TV to the Pentecostal Channel. He checked his look in a mirror and smoothed his salt and pepper hair before slipping on his reading glasses and opening a well-worn black bible.

"Come in," he said to the strong knock on his door.

The door opened and Dana Kirby entered followed closely by Harold White.

Dana felt the weight of his lecherous stare and this pleased her. It made what she was about to do all the more pleasurable.

"Pastor Mills, I presume. I have looked forward to meeting you," she said, taking a seat before the pastor's big oak desk.

Harold stationed himself behind her and gave the pastor a hard, unyielding stare.

I would love to have this meeting with the hottie without her black bodygoon,
Mills thought.
In a more intimate setting.

"Pastor Bonds, I am John Mills," Mills said introducing himself, "What can I do for you and your organization?"

"Pastor Mills, I am afraid that we are here under false pretense," said Harold.

"You mean you aren't with the Interfaith Coalition?"

"No," said Harold with a chuckle. "In fact, I made up the name. It was just a ruse to get by your overworked, and no doubt, underpaid receptionist."

"Well, you must excuse me. I am a busy man and I don't have time for games," Mills said as he picked up his phone and pushed a button.

"If you are trying to reach your secretary, I am afraid you gave her the day off," said Dana.

"You have two seconds to get out of here, or I'm calling the police." Mills flushed red as he angrily stabbed the telephone buttons.

Dana pulled out a large photo and tossed it on the pastor's desk. "Yes, please, do call the police. I think they would be very interested in your taste for underage sex."

The phone fell from his hand and rattled to the floor. "What do you want?" he said softly.

Dana smiled as she slipped out a silver case and extracted a cigarette.

"You…you can't smoke in here," Mills said.

Dana laughed at his protest as she held the unlit cigarette near her lips. On cue, Harold opened his jacket, produced a slim lighter, and gave her a light. Mills caught sight of the large semi-automatic pistol holstered at Harold's waist.

"If it's money you want, I don't have any. I am just the minister of a small, poor church, trying to do the work of the Lord. As terrible as it seems, my people will forgive me one indiscretion with a very young-looking, twenty-two-year-old woman. I am, after all, a flawed, all-too-human man. Jesus will forgive me. Now, take your photo and get out. I will pray that God forgives your sins."

"Please spare us your ecclesiastical bullshit," Dana said as she blew a long cloud of smoke."You believe in Jesus about as much as I believe in the tooth fairy. You are a thief, a liar, and a sexual pervert."

"You can't come in here and talk to me like that!" Mills shouted.

"Pastor Mills," she said, thumbing through the thick folder. "I can talk to
you
any way I want." Dana tossed another photo on his desk.

"Oh, God…no."

"This was taken on your so-called mission trip to Thailand. If I am not mistaken, you were very naughty with an underage boy."

Mills blanched.

"Pardon me," she said. "You were naughty with
three
underage boys."

"Just shocking!" Harold gasped emphasizing his sarcasm by covering his open mouth with his hand. "Jesus may forgive you, but the State is a bit more hard-nosed about child molesting."

The wily right reverend's calm front crumbled. Mills began to sweat profusely and shake, as he saw not only his dreams of a big time, lucrative, ministry shatter, but now a lengthy prison sentence was rushing at him.

"Are you all right, pastor? You look a bit ill. Can I pour you a drink? Water, or perhaps something stronger from your private stock? I believe you are a Grey Goose man, correct?"

"How did you…why are you doing this to me?"

"Excuse me, pastor?" asked Dana. "I did not do anything to you. I have merely documented what you, on your own, did."

Mills turned and threw up noisily in his wastebasket, much to Dana and Harold's amusement. After a few moments, he regained his composure, wiped his mouth on a handful of tissues, and turned to face his gorgeous tormenter.

"You could have just given your evidence to the police," said Mills, "but you want something. Like I said before, I don't have any money and this damn warehouse is mortgaged to the rafters. So what do you want?"

Dana placed yet another photo before the broken man.

Mills took the black and white photograph in his shaking hands. It was of a smiling man standing before a fireplace. Mills knew the man, as did everyone in Bryson City. It was the infamous Butcher of Bryson City himself, Silas Cole.

"You want me to hunt down Silas Cole?"

"Of course not, silly," she said. "Look at the mantle. See the large white jar? That is what we want."

"Now how the hell am I supposed to find that? This picture is over sixty years old, for God's sake!"

"Now, now, watch your language, pastor; you are in a church after all. Besides, we don't expect you to find it."

"Damn it, quit playing games with me!"

Nonchalantly, Dana blew a smoke ring at him.

"This is the deal, pastor. You are to instruct your daughter, Brenda, to seduce Zack Cole and have him locate the vessel. You remember Zack, don't you? Silas's great grandson."

"My daughter isn't your whore!"

"No, she's yours. You have manipulated her for your own gain, even arranging her engagement to get a new church built. It's a shame her fiancé died at the rehearsal reception. Choked to death on a pig in a blanket, as I recall?"

Mills groaned at the thought. His glorious church sat empty, mocking him and his lack of funds.

"You will continue your manipulations, but on our behalf."

Mill's fertile mind kicked into high gear looking for a way out of the death trap he was in, but after a few minutes it was clear he was sunk.

"It looks like I have no choice."

"Don't look so glum. We will provide the funds to complete your church. You will begin the final phase of construction this afternoon. In a few days, you will open your new sanctuary with a lavish memorial service to another of your daughter's suitors."

"Who?"

"Will Carlson."

"Why would I want to do that?" Mills asked. "Don't tell me you are friends with that loser."

"We couldn't care less about Mr. Carlson; however, his memorial service will draw Mr. Cole to town. After all, they were best friends."

Harold leaned down and whispered into Dana's ear.

"Excellent suggestion," she said.

"Thank you," said Harold. "I thought so."

"Pastor, you will name your new sanctuary, the Willard B. Carlson Memorial Church."

"Out of the question!" Mills snapped. "That's preposterous!"

"It’s the least you could do after forcing your daughter to dump him when his inheritance failed to materialize."

"God in Heaven, what don't you know?" Mills said softly as he sank back in his chair.

"Why your congregation doesn't see you for the lying, hypocritical piece of shit you really are."

Dana stood up, dropped her cigarette, and with her handmade Italian shoe, ground it out on his carpeted floor.

"Here's a check that will get the ball rolling with your building project, along with my private number.

"When pretty Brenda has Zack eating out of her hand, you will call me for further instructions."

Mills took the check and gasped at the amount.

"You have a time limit of one week, or my information will be delivered to the local newspaper and the Knoxville TV stations. I will have one gift-wrapped and hand-delivered to the district attorney. I don't think a child molesting ex-minister would last long in the general population at Brushy Mountain."

"Very well," said Mills as he rose from his seat and moved around the front of his desk. "I have a plan, but I need your assistance,
Pastor
Bonds."

"Assistance?" asked Harold.

***

Leaving the pastor to ponder his future, Dana and Harold walked back to the Mercedes. Harold rubbed his sore knuckles.

"What's the matter, Harold, Mill's face too hard, or are you getting soft in your old age?"

"I wasn't prepared for his plan is all. Something like this I usually wear gloves."

"For a disgusting perv," said Dana, "the right reverend does think fast on his feet."

Harold gathered Dana in his arms.

"You know, Dana, you're damn sexy when you are being a heinous bitch."

"Why, Mr. White, you do have a way of sweet talking a girl."

Dana smiled and took out her cell phone.

"Mr. Beck, you have just bought yourself a preacher."

3

Harry awoke lying on her back in cool darkness. She tried to move, but found her arms wrapped snugly at her sides. Testing her bonds, she found her legs were similarly restrained. Her skin, from her neck to her ankles, tingled oddly. It wasn't painful, just odd.

Assholes have wrapped me up in some kind of plastic wrap from the sound.
Blindfolded me with something cold, wet, and slimy.

Harry shook her head violently and the cucumber slices covering her eyes fell off.

"What the hell," she exclaimed, as she saw her reflection in a large mirror to her left. Her red hair was wrapped in a black towel and a thick, green paste covered her face. Raising her head, she saw that some kind of clear plastic wrap, indeed, covered her nude body from neck to ankles.