The Whole Truth (16 page)

“We have to bring theology into it?” Steve said.

“Hello. Church.”

“Excuse me. What's the issue?”

“Does the church want to be tied up with the government? In a way, the whole idea of Christianity was against the government. It refused to bow down to Caesar.”

“What about the whole rendering unto Caesar thing?”

“What about it? There's a difference between obeying the law and getting your church tangled up in the government.”

“So what's the alternative?”

“You just declare yourself a church.”

“You know what?”

“What?”

“You're pretty when you get theological.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You're going to have to stop that.”

“Can I help myself?”

“Yes.”

“All right,” Steve said. “Here's what I'm thinking, Sienna. Seriously. I'm having a hard time with this setup.”

She sat back and sipped her Coke, waiting for him to explain.

“It's like this,” Steve said. “I think they want a church so they can launder money.”

“What gave you that idea?”

“It's Eldon LaSalle's background. He got in trouble with the IRS before. And let's face it, my brother is an ex-con.”

“You don't believe people can change in prison?”

“I haven't seen it.”

“You've seen your brother. Don't you believe him?”

“I haven't had enough time to believe him.”

“Are you his lawyer?”

“I'm somebody's lawyer. I just got a big fat retainer.”

“So there you are.”

“Where am I?”

“Hired. Count your blessings.”

“You see?” Steve said. “You had to bring theology into it again.”

She shook her head. “You can be a very annoying person when you put your mind to it.”

“That's what the judges all say.”

When Sienna smiled, Steve counted it as a small but significant victory. Maybe he could wear her down. Like global warming on the ice caps.

“There is another problem,” he said.

“And that is?”

“The old man, Eldon, is a rank racist.”

She cocked her head but didn't say anything.

“Yeah. He wrote this crazy book about John Wilkes Booth and the goodness of slavery and don't mix the races. I guess he's still got a lot of followers. Maybe even my loving brother.”

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“Haven't had a chance. I'm driving out there tomorrow. What do you think I should say?”

Sienna shrugged. “Be honest. Do you think you can't represent them?”

“It's a lot of money.”

“That's not what I asked.”

“You're a clever little vixen. You want to get me to open up.”

“Answer the question.”

“I'm, like, a criminal defense lawyer, okay?”

“And what do the canons of ethics say about representing people you loathe?”

“You just took ethics, didn't you?”

“Answer the question.”

“Okay, professor! Yes, I am obligated to provide representation to people unless I cannot perform my duties due to conscience.”

“Hmm, I don't know.”

“What don't you know?”

“You said you were a criminal defense lawyer. Ergo, no conscience.”

She smiled super sweetly, and Steve wanted to give her a noogie. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to take her home with him. He wanted to run away so he wouldn't ruin her.

He wanted to run to something that would finally pull him up, not down.

Johnny. He was the way. He had to be. The way to get rid of the past forever and the way to secure his professional future. Be a lawyer, for his own flesh and blood.

“Are you okay?” Sienna said.

“What?”

“You drifted for a minute.”

“Drifted,” he said. “That's the right word.”

TWENTY-NINE

Hercules Auto Body was located on the east end of Verner, just before the main road hangs a hard right and heads toward the mountains. Steve arrived a little after eleven on a hot Monday and parked the Ark just inside the chain-link and razor-wire fence.

A Wyoming-sized man in dirty coveralls emerged from the office, turning slightly sideways to get out. He wore aviator shades and his mess of dark — or dirty — hair was pulled back in a ponytail. A beard of like color and equal hygienic chaos covered most of his face.

“Whoa,” the man said, eyeing the Ark. “She's a classic, she is.”

Steve nodded. “She's a gas guzzler, she is, but nice and wide.”

“Like me.” The man smiled. Yellow teeth peeked through the beard. “What's wrong with her?”

“Nothing a little Turtle Wax won't fix. I came to see Johnny.”

The yellow teeth disappeared behind a clamped mouth. “You his PO?”

“No. His brother.”

Wyoming gave Steve a once-over. “You look a little more respectable.”

“Is he around?”

“He's working.”

“Can you tell him I'm here? I'll wait — ”

“I don't run a messenger ser vice.”

“You can't just tell him?”

Wyoming didn't say anything, or move. The smell of grease and hand cleanser wafted off him.

“Look, this isn't a prison,” Steve said. “You're doing him a great favor hiring him on. I want to make sure he keeps the job and does good work. I'm as interested in seeing him return to society as you are.”

“I don't give a rat's patoot about society,” Wyoming said. “I got a business to run and I don't need any distractions. Now if you — ”

“Steve!”

Johnny, smiling broadly and wiping his hands on a red rag, was coming across the yard.

“Problem solved,” Steve said.

Wyoming didn't look convinced. Before he could say a word, Johnny piped, “I'll take my break now, if you don't mind, Russ.”

“I do mind,” Russ said.

“I got it coming. I take it now, we get it out of the way, am I right?”

“You ain't calling any shots.”

“And that's why I'm just asking,” Johnny said. “Your word goes.”

“Ten minutes,” Russ said. “No more.” Then he headed back to his lair.

When the office door closed, Johnny said, “So what do you think? I'm a working stiff again.”

“Great boss.”

“Ah, he needs to get over himself. He didn't want to hire me at first.”

“So why did he?”

“I think he saw it was in his best interest, know what I mean?” Johnny smiled.

“No, I don't know what you mean.”

“I mean, little brother, it's good business to do a little favor for the LaSalle family from time to time.”

“Hey, what a coincidence.”

“Huh?”

“The LaSalle family. That's what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Johnny worked the red bandanna in his hands again, then used it to wipe his forehead. “What about it?”

“You tell me.”

He studied Steve. Then he smiled and wiggled a finger in Steve's face. “You've been doing a little digging, haven't you?”

“I guess somebody had to. Why don't you tell me about
Booth
Speaks
?”

Johnny shook his head slowly. “Don't be like all the rest, Steve.”

“Why don't you answer — ”

“You're my lawyer.”

“You don't hold out on your lawyer. That's not a good way to start.”

“How much time have we had? Have you given me a chance?”

That was true. Steve didn't like the slight hurt in Johnny's eyes.

“Okay, Johnny. But I need to know what's up with that stuff. If we're going to set up a church, I have to have all the info.”

“All right,” Johnny said. “But not right out here. Come on.” He turned, and Steve followed him around the side of the garage. There were a couple of big white buckets there, turned over. Johnny sat on one, Steve took the other. The sun beat against the white wall, casting off heat.

Johnny said, “Do we still have a right to free speech in this country?”

“Of course,” Steve said.

“I'm not so sure. Race is one example. You can't talk about race unless it's along politically correct lines. Eldon just wants to be able to say what he thinks.”

“Like he wants to ship blacks back to Africa?”

“First of all, Steve, that's what a lot of the blacks themselves were saying back in the sixties. Eldon just agreed with 'em. They were burning down cities then. Killing cops. Rioting in the streets.”

“
They
?”

“Blacks.”

“That is classic bigotry.”

“You think this country is better off with all the ‘la-la and let's hold hands'? You think we got racial harmony? Go to any college, and what do you see? The blacks with the blacks, Latinos with Latinos. Come on. And in the joint it's a lot worse. It all breaks down that way eventually.”

“But you can't have a country that way.”

“We don't have a country now! And that's all Eldon is saying.”

“What are
you
saying?” Steve asked. “That's the important thing.”

Johnny paused a long moment before answering. “I'm also a work in progress, Steve.”

Steve folded his arms across his chest. “When I came and saw you in prison that first time, you said, ‘I bless the world.' Remember?”

“I bless the entire world,” Johnny said. “That's the last thing John Wilkes Booth wrote.”

“So you're cool with what your father wrote?”

“He read that to me as a kid, like a bedtime story. That stuff stays with you.”

“Is it with you now?”

“Does it matter so much to you?”

Steve thought about it. “It does.”

“Then do me a favor.” Johnny touched Steve's arm. “Walk with me a little. Work with me. And in the process, make some good money. What's wrong with that?”

Nothing he could think of at the moment.

“Make a leap of faith,” Johnny said.

Faith. He thought of Gincy then, and the Zipper. Only this thing Steve was experiencing wasn't faith in God, but in Johnny LaSalle. It had to be faith. What else could it be? Johnny was his brother because Steve wanted to believe it.

In a way, this whole thing would be like the opposite of kicking an addiction — one day at a time.

“I think it's time for you to meet the old man,” Johnny said.

“Eldon?”

“Eldon.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Steve's nerves took a jolt. The prospect of meeting the great patriarch made him feel like the Scarecrow granted audience with the mighty Oz.

“You drive up around three,” Johnny said. “I'll show you around Beth-El.”

“Beth-El?”

“That's what we call our compound in the mountains.”

“Compound? It sounds like Superman should be living there,” Steve said.

Johnny smiled. “What makes you think he doesn't?”

THIRTY

First Johnny had to finish his workday, and Steve had to wonder what sort of world he was getting involved with.
Involved
wasn't the right word. On the one hand he was a lawyer doing a job. He needed the job. He needed the client and the money. By working for Johnny, he wasn't endorsing anything Johnny believed. If Steve were a doctor and Johnny came in for treatment, Steve would have to help him. When he defended a criminal he was bound by the canons of ethics to defend the person with zeal. Doing so wasn't the same as endorsing the crime.

He walked away from the shop, toward town, figuring to get a Subway sandwich or something, when Neal ran up from behind.

“Hey,” Neal said.

Steve turned.

“You're starting to get the picture, right?” Neal said.

“What are you talking about?”

“Johnny. He's a prophet, you know.”

“Prophet?”

“Yes. Someone who gets direct revelation from God. That means you have to listen to him.”

The poor guy. He had that look in his eyes, the gullible-follower look. Steve knew that in prison culture there are two kinds of people, and only two. Those who rule and those who get stomped. The stomped only feel protected when they're hooked up with the strongest ruler. If they find him, they can become loyal to the point of giving up their minds. That's what Neal smelled like to Steve.

They're dangerous, these types, because if you cross the ruler, you cross them.

He was in front of Steve now and didn't move.

“Is that all?” Steve said.

“You don't believe.”

“I'm going to get a sandwich. You want one?”

“You have to listen to me. If you don't, you could miss out.”

Steve slapped Neal's shoulder. “Thanks anyway, man, I — ”

“He had a prophecy about you.”

Dead seriousness in Neal's face. Steve waited.

“Johnny said you would come. He said you would bring deliverance.”

“Johnny said that?”

Neal nodded.

“What did he mean, deliverance? From what?” Steve said.

“I don't know. But you're here, aren't you?”

“I'm here because you gave me ten thousand dollars.”

“No, you're not. You're here because God meant you to be here. He made you to be here.”

“How did you get here, Neal?”

He didn't answer.

“I mean, how did you meet Johnny LaSalle, get hooked up with him?”

Still didn't answer. Which ticked Steve off. “You meet him in prison?”

“It's not important.”

“Let me decide that.”

“I'm not important. The only thing that matters is Johnny. He's got the anointing and you've got to help him. Don't mess up. If you do, it'll be bad.”

“Let me ask you something. I'm sure Johnny won't mind you telling me about your organization.”