I once had a girlfriend who worked for a TV station and recalled the various unions attendant in the operation of the station. “They don’t have to pay union scale,” I said.

“Because COG is not a television network, it’s a church. And a foundation. And various subsets. It’s actually a very ingenious set-up.”

“So if a cameraperson or a singer or a stage electrician complains about the shit salary …”

“An administrator steps in and says, ‘Look, buddy, Reverend Schrum himself only makes fifty G’s. He’s grateful for the chance to serve God and all his angels.’”

I nodded. “And, of course, when you’re always asking for donations …”

“It looks great on the books. The folks at COG work there because they’re called to service. Plus the park, Hallelujah Jubilee, is run as a non-profit educational entity. It barely breaks even.”

“Breaks even?” I said, perplexed. “Harry tells me the park is a money machine … forty-buck admissions, four-hundred-dollar bibles, fifty-buck Ark posters. Unless they have heavy debt, it’s like owning a casino.”

Monroe shook his head. “No debt load there. The Hallelujah Jubilee Foundation didn’t pay for the land. It was bought for the sum of sixty-seven million dollars and donated. The benefactor was an Eliot Winkler. Anyone heard of Winkler besides me?”

“A crabby old fart in a wheelchair, according to Harry,” I said. “Seems to have some intense religious feelings.”

“Winkler’s worth about four billion dollars. His high-level managers are required to attend prayer meetings.”

“I’m more interested in Hayes Johnson. He’s rolling in the dough, right?”

“Johnson makes the princely sum of two hundred and twenty thousand dollars a year.”

“To run a whole network?”

Belafonte tapped at her laptop and turned the screen to me. I saw a palatial three-story pink-brick home on a waterway, a fancy motor yacht moored in the background. “I do love Google Earth,” Belafonte said. “Johnson’s domicile. Does that look like two-twenty a year to you?”

“I checked real estate records,” Monroe said. “Johnson bought the place for two-point-seven million four years ago.”

I turned to Belafonte. “Didn’t you tell me Johnson built a shaky company and sold it for eleven mil? That explains the Taj.”

“There’s a fly in the ointment.” Monroe grinned. “It seems three million dollars went to an ex-wife who divorced Johnson eight years back, a problem Mr Johnson has with women not his wife. Several million more went to settle suits with franchise owners who felt Johnson’s sales pitch had been deceptive. The amount is hush-hush, but a Wall Street Journal article speculates it was around seven million. Between the wife and the legal problems, Mr Johnson is no longer a wealthy man.”

“So where’s the money coming from?” I mused.

53

Greta was kept in the broken-down motel Nautilus had seen while driving, and wanted to meet behind the unused wing, in an acre of cane and scrub brush. He brought Rebecca – Greta’s condition for appearing – and they parked a block distant and walked to a thicket of vegetation less than two hundred feet from the motel. The pair sweated in the hot sun for ten minutes until hearing a rustling through leaves and feet over sand, Greta.

The girl looked beaten down and frightened, eyes darting every way but at Nautilus.

“How did you end up at Hallelujah Jubilee,” Nautilus asked. “Can we start there?”

Hands with chewed-to-the-quick nails pulled a rumpled pack of Marlboros from her jeans, lit one. It took three deep sucks of smoke before she could talk.

“My step-dad, in Bratton, West Virginia. We … didn’t get along. He was …” her eyes closed and Nautilus thought she was fighting back tears. “I hated him. So I run off for Florida. I saw an ad in the paper that they had jobs here. I didn’t have but one set of clothes and when I came in to apply I smelled like it. I figured they’d spray me down with bleach and throw me out, but it was Tawnya I talked to and she was real nice. I didn’t know that she was on their side, and after a month got some of us to start doing things. I mean more than working at the park.”

“Like what, Greta?” Nautilus prodded gently.

A long hit on the cig. “They make us give shows. Dance and things like that.”

“Who makes you do this?”

“Two men, sometimes three. It’s like a party.”

“Are there drugs there? Drinking.”

Greta looked away.

“If it’s just a party, Greta,” Nautilus said, trying to pry loose more information, “and if you’re happy with it, then I made a mistake. You and Tawnya were just having a spat.”

The girl hit the cig, finger nervously tapping the filter. “They make us do more than dance, mister. We … have to touch one another.”

“Do you have your clothes on, Greta? When you’re touching?”

Greta swallowed hard, like fighting nausea. Rebecca stepped in and took the girl’s hand, pulling her over to a far section of the clearing. “Come with me, Greta,” Rebecca said. “Harry … why don’t you take a walk for a few minutes. I’ll meet you back at the car.”

No way was Nautilus leaving the girls alone behind the Florida version of the Bates Motel. He shook his head. “I’ll be on the other side of the cane. But out of earshot, so you ladies can talk.”

Ten minutes later Rebecca pushed through the green stalks. “Greta got scared she was gone too long and they’d come looking for her. She’s back inside.”

They walked to the Jetta in silence. Nautilus turned on the AC, but stayed parked. “The men make the girls kiss and make out, Harry,” Rebecca said. “It’s gross. The men do it to the girls. They put their things in them and other stuff. Don’t give me that look, I’m sixteen.”

“Why doesn’t Greta leave?”

“This is where she can have a place to live and eat. But if she ever tells, the men will have their lawyers attack the girls.”

“The lawyers?”

“Greta says the lawyers can make it look like the girls are lying. The girls will get put in jail.”

Nautilus suddenly understood. The legal realm was a complete mystery to most poor folks, a realm of absolute power and privilege. To folks from the underclass, lawyers seemed to know everything, control everything – and he expected the girls had been screened for just such a distinction. Naive, poorly educated, prone to shame about their situations …

“Why did Greta get hired?”

“It’s like there are two kinds of workers. Most are real churchy and love the place. The others are Greta girls … they’re in trouble, or don’t have anywhere to go. If they leave, they can’t ever come back. Or tell about what happened.”

“If they tell,” he said, “the lawyers will get them.”

Rebecca nodded. “They’re super mean, the lawyers. No one will believe the Greta girls.”

“Tawnya. She’s in charge, right? In control?”

“She comes to the parties, too. But more to make sure the girls do like they’ve been told.”

“Did Greta talk about drugs?”

“Tawnya gives the Greta girls pills and stuff to drink. Greta says it makes her feel all floaty and she hardly knows she’s at a party.”

Drugs for compliance, Nautilus thought. Plus they blunted memory, the girls barely able to recall what happened. Nautilus heard a lawyer bloviating in his head: “The women making these scurrilous allegations, Your Honor? They’re drug users, outcasts from their own families. The park gave them jobs and a fine place to live and these tragic women repay kindness with lies and ridiculous allegations. I demand this senseless case be thrown out of court, a slander on the reputations of fine men …”

“Has Tawnya been here long?” Nautilus said.

“For about a year. One of the Greta girls is named Deely … she’s been here the longest. Greta says Deely remembers another boss girl before Tawnya. I think her name was Sissy.”