Authors: C. K. Chandler
He now thought of Bernard Phillips as
him.
And he waited.
He began grooming himself more carefully. He bathed each day. But not in the community bathroom. Each morning he would fill a basin with warm water and stand naked before the mirror and sponge-bathe. As he dressed, he always wondered if today would be the day.
A bottle of brandy was kept on the dresser, but rarely did he take a drink. That short period when he’d depended on liquor for sleep and peace had passed. Too, he knew he must keep himself alert and ready.
He waited.
His gun, shield, and all identification were kept in the top drawer of the dresser. He went out with only a few dollars in his pockets, believing that if an officer should stop him he might be able to get away with pretending to be a derelict. Once, though, he took the gun with him to hold up a liquor store because he’d run out of cash.
He waited.
Casey sometimes ran through his thoughts. And Martha. He had come to think of the years he’d shared with Martha as not really a sharing. But with Casey—well, maybe when this was all over. He knew he couldn’t risk contacting her at this point.
He waited.
It was a lonely time. But he felt at peace and never questioned his wait.
One evening a woman’s screams and the noises of a struggle caused him to rush into the corridor. The black prostitute with the purple hair and blind eye was being slapped around by her customer. The john was a big, bullish man, his head stuck onto his shoulders like a mushroom cap, and his hands nearly as large as the face he was slapping.
Nicholas reacted more violently than he ever had in his life.
He grabbed the john by the hair and the belt. He pulled the man from the woman as easily as he would have lifted the tab off a can of beer. He smashed the man’s head into the wall. The huge man slumped to the floor like silly putty. Nicholas took another handful of hair and yanked the man up. He hit the man solid and felt the soft cartilage of a nose crush under his fist. He hit again, this time pushing soft lips into teeth. He dropped the man. As the man started crawling away, Nicholas sent him sprawling with a hard kick.
Despite the noise, no other doors opened along the corridor.
Nicholas watched the man crawl around the corner of the L-shaped corridor. Nicholas was only vaguely aware of the hooker thanking him, and praising him with the gushy, saccharine words of her trade. He trembled as he realized the violence he had used on the john.
“Sugar, you are just too much.”
Nicholas mumbled something to her. He started to pass her and return to his room, but she thrust her purse into his hands.
“Be a dear, sugar. Hold a sec.”
She examined herself in the mirror of a small compact, her one good eye squinting at her image, pushing the frazzled purple hair into place and touching up a rouge spot that didn’t match her black skin to the bruises the john had given her. She spoke with forced indignity as if this had been the first time she’d found herself roughed up.
“That bug-headed fruit. Nobody’s gettin’ laid because of this here God scare an’ I gotta get stuck with King Kong. I mean sugar, you are a lifesaver, an absolute lifesaver. Why, honey! You got the shaky-wakey’s. Don’t tell me ole King Kong did that to you?”
“I’ve never beaten anybody that brutally.”
She reached into the purse he still held and pulled out a lipstick.
“Such a dear. Maybe’s I can do a little somethin’ for you.”
The lipstick had a faintly greenish tinge. Nicholas watched her apply it. His legs felt weak, and nausea wormed through his stomach. He looked at her blind eye, at the pale and viscous pupil, with a horrid fascination.
“Now doan be gettin’ all flustered, sugar. What you did oughta entitle you to somethin’.”
“No, I have to . . .”
“Strictly freebie. Shit! I ain’t gonna be able to hustle nobody tonight anyway. You’d think people’d want some pussy with all the God scare shit, but no way. I’ll give you a good time.”
She reached into the purse again, and found a tissue which she used to blot her freshly painted lips. Once more she fluffed her purple hair. She cocked her head in what she must have thought a provocative pose and smiled, showing him the black gums of her bad teeth.
“You’re sooo cute. You used to have all them scars an’ now you’re just so pretty. How comes you sit in that room of yours so all the time? You waitin’ for a man?”
Something slid through him, like a very mild electric shock, no stronger than the effect of rubbing a cat’s fur the wrong way.
He said, “I’m waiting.”
“You got a big connection comin’ in?”
He knew she was talking about drugs, but he nodded in answer.
She took back her purse, grabbed his arm, gave him another smile.
“Ooooh, honey, you got a muscle on you. I just bet you could make so many girls happy. Why I bet you could handle the meanest dude in town.”
And he grinned. He knew she was going to tell him something he needed to know.
“Who is the meanest dude in town?”
“Zero.”
“Has a chauffeur-driven Continental?”
“Tha’s him. A pimp pusher Mafia creep. He ’n Hitler be brothers if Zero weren’t black. Controls all uptown and this here part o’ West Side. He ain’t my pimp. ’Cept he makes me an’ all the single girls pay out pertection. You maybe noticed, sugar, I only got one eye left. I wants to keep it.”
“How do I find him?”
“You just ask around the street. He’ll find you. Only he ain’t around these days. Trouble is, when he gets back he is goin’ to be wantin’ bread for all the time he was away.”
“Where did he go?”
She giggled. “Now, sugar! You think he tells me?”
“Why did he split?”
“Now jus’ why should I be givin’ you all this inside dish?”
“Because I can help you.”
“I never could resist a pretty man. Well, now, you know all this God scare bit? Zero’s responsible for the whole scene. The other guy. That cop Nicholas whose name is always in the paper. I got a friend who knows for a stone fact Nicholas is locked up in the nut ward. He’s just a nutty cop. Zero, so’s I hear it, was lookin’ to off some other fat cop an’ he used the God bit as a means.”
“Thanks for the information.”
“What say we get down to topics an’ trade some of this sweet pussy of mine for some of your good strong pertection?”
Nicholas shook his head no.
“I’ll take care of this Zero for you. But, sweetheart, a lady like you is always going to have a Zero.”
“Ain’t it the fuckin’ truth.”
In the conference room of the third largest bank in the country, twelve wealthy and influential men had come together. The one who chaired the meeting—he was also chairman of the board of directors of the bank—was named Kirkland. He led them in prayer before opening their discussion.
“Gentlemen, it has always been speculated what would happen if Jesus Christ ever returned to earth.”
A man named Richards spoke: “I am firmly convinced that the person we have each been in touch with is all
he
claims to be.”
Kirkland stated, “I’m inclined to agree. But what does
he
want from us?”
The one named Hastings said, “For the moment, only our faith.”
Hirsch, the only man who seemed to have any doubts, said, “But why does
he
have to precipitate such a bloodbath?”
Logan answered, “The Lord has always disciplined his people through fear and destruction. Take for instance, the flood and Noah and the Ark. Or Sodom and Gomorrah. Or the Egyptians. He had to rain fire and pestilence on the Egyptians before the Jews were allowed to leave their bondage.”
Hirsch remained doubtful. “I wonder if the cost isn’t too high. I don’t know whether I’m a man who should be a part of this.”
Kirkland frowned. “If you try to betray
him,
Hirsch, none of us will be able to answer for your safety.”
For a moment there was much tension in the room. Then Logan spoke: “Gentlemen, we must be reasonable. Certainly a little time will give us the answers we don’t yet have. As for now,
he’s
made only one request of us. That policeman. Nicholas. He seems to threaten
him. He
wishes us to convince this man to join us.”
Not long after his conversation with the purple-haired hooker, there was a midnight knock at Nicholas’s door.
Nicholas went to the dresser. The cracked mirror warped his tense features as he reached into the drawer where he’d been keeping his gun. He put the gun where it was out of sight but easily reachable. He snapped off the lights. He placed his chair so that it was in darkness, away from the neon which spilled through the window.
He felt the same little electric charge he had experienced with the hooker.
He waited for a second knock.
“It’s open.”
The yellow hall lights back-lit the black shape of a man framed in the rectangle of the open door. The shape stood motionless and quiet, and Nicholas knew the shape was trying to see through the darkness of the room. Then the shape raised an arm. The arm pushed hesitantly forward. It moved back and forth, as if the shape were a blind man feeling his way.
A voice, plaintive and quivering, almost a whisper, said, “Why don’t you leave
him
alone?”
“Come in. Shut the door.”
The shape jerked back with a nervous start at the sound of Nicholas.
“I told you to come in.”
The door closed as the man stepped timidly into the room.
“I asked you . . .”
Nicholas snapped, “I know what you asked.”
Over the weeks Nicholas’s eyes had become accustomed to the neon dimness. He could clearly see the man.
The man wore one of those dull no-style suits of the wealthy. There were muted stripes on his tie. Draped around his neck was a dark scarf. The weather was still warm for a scarf, but Nicholas saw that the man shivered as if from fever. He also saw shiny beads of perspiration on the man’s forehead and totally bald head.
“Welcome, Mr. Hirsch. I don’t often get visits from chairmen of the boards of brokerage houses.”
The man stepped away from the sound of Nicholas’s voice and bumped into the dresser.
“How . . . ? How do you know who I am?”
“How did you find me?”
“I was sent.”
“I’ve been reading the financial pages. Your picture appears there nearly as often as mine has on the front pages recently. Does
he
give you tips on the market?”
“You must leave . . . must leave
him
alone.”
“You look chilled, Mr. Hirsch. There’s brandy behind you. You’ll also find a glass. Not long ago someone left their toothbrush and tumbler in that elegant bathroom down the hall. I threw away the toothbrush. My search for
him
has led me to these roach-ridden quarters.”
“You’ve taken
his
name.”
“Temporarily, Mr. Hirsch. In my line, it’s what is called a cover. But you had no trouble finding me.”
Hirsch’s mouth opened and closed but no words came out.
“Relax, Mr. Hirsch. I won’t hurt you.”
“This is, this is partially a test for me.”
“Of loyalty?”
“How can you treat—treat this so lightly. You are one of the privileged even to be aware of the greatest man ever born. One of the few privileged.”
“I’ve noticed that
he
reveals
himself
to only a select few.”
“You came upon
his
existence accidentally. We were chosen.”
“Disciples?”
Hirsch raised a trembling fist. “Don’t . . . do not mock.”
Nicholas waited for Hirsch to continue. Nearly two minutes passed.
“Could we have more light, please?”
“You look good with those red and blue reflections bouncing off you. Brightens up your Wall Street attire.”
“I can barely see you. I’m . . . I’m . . . I . . .”
Nicholas left his place in the darkness. He took the unresisting Hirsch by the arm and sat him down on the bed. He splashed a couple fingers of brandy into the tumbler and ordered Hirsch to drink it.
Hirsch pleaded, “I can’t. My heart.”
“I can smell the sweat and fear coming out of you. I don’t know if you’re in a fever or just scared. But you drink that and maybe you’ll relax enough for me to make some sense of you.”
“My heart’s too weak.”
“Then get out. Go report to
him
your mission was a failure.”
Hirsch took the brandy and gasped it down. Nicholas placed the empty tumbler on the dresser. When he turned back to Hirsch, the man had his head in his hands and was rocking himself.
“Please. You must leave
him
alone.”
“Not until I know who or what
he
is. And why
he
is.”
The man looked up, his eyes wet and begging. “You must realize.
He
could have disposed of you simply by willing it to be.”
The electricity ran through Nicholas in a steady current. He laughed and challenged, “So why hasn’t
he
disposed of me?”
Hirsch stuttered and couldn’t find an answer.
“Think maybe
he
has a reason for keeping me around?”
“Perhaps
he
believes that if
he
can convince a man such as yourself . . .”
“If
he
can convince me,
he
can convince the world. Right? Am I
his
testing ground?
His
trial run?”
Hirsch began to sob. In the neon glow his tears looked like blue rain streaking his cheeks.
Nicholas continued his challenge. “I thought
he
convinced people by forcing them to commit atrocities. Senseless acts of murder and mutilation. If
he’s
who
he’s
supposed to be, why doesn’t
he
come forward? Why doesn’t
he
pull a few triggers
himself?
Or strike down Boulder Dam with a lightning bolt?
He
could knock off a million or so with a single stroke. That would impress me a hell of a lot more than a crybaby disciple.”
“The last time God put His son on this earth . . .”
“Don’t start telling me about God’s revenge. When this first began I thought that way myself.”