Uttleman advanced slowly, hands up. “You can’t do this, Amos. It might destroy you.”

Schrum nodded toward the crowd. “Look at them, Roland. They believe in me.”

“Because you’ve been a force for good, Amos. All your life.”

Schrum’s knees buckled, but he wrenched himself upright. “You of all people know that’s a lie,” he said.

“You’re drunk, Amos. Think of what you’re doing.”

“I have to unburden, Roland. I have to witness before God.”

Uttleman was frozen into immobility as Schrum turned the knob, the door swinging open. He began to stagger outside.

“Don’t do that, Reverend,” said a quiet voice behind Uttleman. “Stay inside.”

The doctor turned to see Andy Delmont framed in the door, wearing blue pajamas with indigo piping, his feet bare and pale. The singer stepped into the room, his eyes steady on the wavering Schrum.

“Don’t step out there, Reverend,” Delmont said. “It’s the Devil moving your feet.”

Schrum paused, rubbing his eyes as though trying to bring them into focus. “Andy … my heart says I should—”

“Your heart’s in a dark cloud, Reverend, like we’ve talked about before. Come away from the door, sir. It’ll pass.”

“Andy, I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s demons, Reverend. They’ll leave you soon enough. They always do.”

“You know me, Andy,” Schrum nodded. “You’re my best counsel when I’m … like this.”

Schrum pushed the door closed and lurched back across the floor. When his feet tangled and Schrum pitched forward, Delmont was there to catch him, half guiding, half dragging the drunken Schrum to his bed.

“There you go, Reverend,” Delmont said. “You get yourself some sleep.”

Schrum muttered something incomprehensible and rolled his head to the pillow, passing out. Delmont gently pulled the covers over Schrum, tucking them around the man’s shoulders.

“You’ve done this before, Andy,” Uttleman realized.

“The Devil wants Reverend Schrum to confess his sins to the world so his enemies can tear him down. We’re all sinners, Doctor, ain’t none of us perfect ’cept for God and Jesus. Reverend Schrum hisself told me that.”

“Where were you?”

“Sleeping in the back bedroom. Reverend Schrum likes me close in case he needs singing and comfort and other stuff.”

Uttleman said thanks and good night and crossed the yards to his car as his adrenalin subsided and he replayed the incident in his mind. The kid sure seemed to know which words pulled Schrum back from the brink.

“Reverend Schrum likes me close in case he needs singing and comfort and other stuff …”

Stuff meaning protection? Uttleman wondered. Like keeping Schrum from making a fool of himself when drunk?

Had the wily Rev figured that one out as well?

Frisco Dredd sat low in the seat in the parking lot, watching shapes on the bright-lit street a half-block distant, pedestrians, traffic, bustle. But the small lot was tucked between two towering buildings, like in a shadowed valley.

Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow …

Three times Dredd had to duck low, people crossing the lot to enter cars after their meal or picture show.

“Was it this dark when we left the car, Paul?”

“Looks like a light burned out.”

Dredd sipped from his bottle of water. He’d been in the van for hours, almost two in the morning. Waiting was easy because he could sing songs in his head and make the time disappear.

I heard an old, old story, How a Savior came from glory,

How He gave His life on Calvary, To save a wretch like me;

I heard about His groaning, Of His precious blood’s atoning,

Then I repented of my sins … And won the victory.

Then, backlit in the lights of the main street, a woman’s shape, moving swiftly, long legs scissoring toward the lot. Sparks … the whore, leaving some man drained half-dead on a bed and reeking of sin and perfume. She moved closer and Dredd made out the motion of her hips and the backlit silhouettes of her long legs, hair swinging as she walked.

Come on, harlot, come on …

She’d have to pass behind the van to get to her little white car and Dredd was coiled to spring out and slap his hand over the Jezebel’s wet mouth, feel her hot scream beneath his palm, the tender lips opening and closing as her spit soaked his fingers, her mouth like a … He moaned as his animal strained against the wire but the blessed pain kept his mind on his holy task. Dredd put his hand on the door handle and started to push down …

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

A voice from nowhere, like the soft voice of a child. Dredd ducked low and eased his eyes above the dashboard, seeing someone walking to his quarry.

“Jesus, kid,” the Sparks-whore said. “You scared the fuck outta me.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to. I, uh … do you have a little money? Some spare change?”

“Lemme look. You new to town?”

“I, uh … just got to Miami this morning. I hitchhiked.”

Dredd could have grabbed the whore and tossed her in the van, hit her until she was still, but the other one would be screaming her lungs out. The main street was a half-block away, people walking, cops patrolling. Too dangerous.

“Hitchhiked from where?”

“A town in Arkansas – you’d never know the name, nobody does. I got a ride most of the way. But the guy who picked me up, uh …”

“Wanted payment,” the jezebel said. “And it wasn’t money.”

“Yes, ma’am. I jumped out and ran and got another ride here. I’m sorry to have to beg but … I ain’t had nothing to eat since I left.”

“Here’s fifty bucks.”

“WOW, thanks. I really mean it.”

“No prob. So what are you gonna do in Miami? You got somewhere to live?”

A pause. “I never thought about anything more than getting away.”

“So you got nowhere to sleep tonight?”

“There’s bridges.”

“You like being raped?”

“NO!”

“Then don’t sleep under bridges. You got a job?”

“I, uh, not yet.”

“What can you do … you got a diploma?”

“I figured maybe I’d get a job first and then get a GED down here.”

“You got it in reverse, girl. GED gets the job. Hey … you like fucking for money? Sucking the dicks of wrinkly old guys?”

“WHAT! Eeww … no.”

“That’s about the only job left open. Listen, there’s a place you should go see. Butterfly Haven. It’s where you can be safe.”

“That’s a goofy name.”

“It’s because crawly worms change into butterflies, something like that. And so what if it’s stupid if it keeps you safe, right?”

“I don’t know if I …”

“Go to Butterfly Haven, tell them where you came from, why you left. The guy that runs it is a priest or one of them things. But he won’t give you a bunch of bullshit. And you’ll have a roof over your head while you figure out some solid moves.”

A pause. The girl said. “Ma’am … can I ask how you know so many things? Did you, I mean, were you ever …”

“I’m a … an airplane pilot,” the whore told the girl for some reason. “I fly across the ocean and all around the world. Airplane pilots know a lot of things because we see so much stuff. Good stuff and bad stuff, we see it all.”

“A lady airplane pilot,” the girl said, like she was low on breath. “That’s so cool.”

“Get in the car and we’ll go get something to eat, then I’ll drive you over to the Haven. Hurry … this place gives me the fucking creeps.”

42

The next morning took me straight to the DA’s office, a final meeting on the upcoming Shockel indictment. Waylon Jay Shockel was a serial rapist who drove a pilot car for overloaded semis. When overnighting at truck stops, Shockel went on the prowl. The legal proceedings had to be tight and by the book with no chance for a successful appeal. I’d spent two months tracking the rapist and if all went right, he’d spend the rest of his life prowling the confines of a cell.