WHEN THE COLLECTION WAS TAKEN and the money stored, and the baskets put away, and the last of the churchgoers had left the church, the deacons went back to their positions along the walls. Only then did Brother Percival raise his face. He seemed to have collected himself during the interlude. He saw Virgil and me standing in the back and opened the altar-rail gate and walked down the center aisle of the church toward us. Up close, he was impressive. Bigger than I was, and muscular. He looked at us calmly for a moment.
Virgil introduced himself and me.
“New deputies,” Percival said.
“We are,” Virgil said.
“Here on the Lord’s business?” Percival said.
“Sort of all the Lord’s business, ain’t it?” Virgil said.
“Suppose it is,” Percival said. “But some of it is Satan’s business, too.”
“Well, we’re all opposed to that,” Virgil said.
“I hope so,” Percival said.
Virgil surveyed the church.
“Heard you had an organ,” he said.
“In the choir loft,” Percival said. “The Lord has yet to send us someone to play it.”
Virgil nodded.
“I’m sure,” Virgil said, “that he’ll send someone soon.”
“As am I,” Percival said.
There was a quality of ironic artificiality in his bearing that was hard to figure. It was like we all knew he was a fraud and it amused him to pretend he wasn’t… Or maybe he wasn’t a fraud.
“Lotta deacons,” Virgil said.
“We are not lambs,” Percival said. “Ours is a leonine Christianity.”
Virgil looked at me.
“Leonine,” he said, as if he were tasting the word.
“Like a lion,” I said.
Virgil nodded.
“Leonine,” he said again. “I like it.”
He looked at the deacons some more, then he walked to the line up along the right-hand wall and stopped in front of the first deacon, and looked at him closely.
“Choctaw,” Virgil said. “Choctaw Brown.”
The deacon looked at him impassively.
“Lemme think,” Virgil said.
Nobody moved. The deacon remained impassive. He was about Virgil’s size, and flat-faced.
“Lambert, New Mexico,” Virgil said. “You was with Char-lie Dyer’s bunch.”
“You must have Deacon Brown confused,” Percival said,
“with someone else.”
“Pretty good gun hand,” Virgil said, “as I recall.”
“As I say, Brother Cole,” Percival said, “you must have Deacon Brown confused with another.”
Virgil nodded and walked back to Percival.
“So,” Virgil said. “Your lee-o-nine business causing any trouble for you with folks in town?”
“None that we cannot handle,” Percival said. “We are doing God’s work.”
Virgil smiled.
“I’m sure He’s pleased about that,” Virgil said.
“God exists in each of us,” Percival said.
“Sure,” Virgil said. “How you get along with the folks at Pike’s Palace.”
“Pike’s is a stew of corruption,” Percival said.
“Got a plan for that?” Virgil said.
“We are guided by the Lord,” Percival said.
“Damn,” Virgil said. “Makes me kind of envious, seeing as how me and Everett are mostly on our own.”
“You are both welcome at services,” Percival said.
“Thank you,” Virgil said.
“Ours is a militant Christianity,” Percival said.
“Me and Everett are kinda militant ourselves,” Virgil said.
“But despite our militancy,” Percival said, “we are brothers to every Christian person.”
Virgil looked at me.
“We like that, Everett?” he said.
“Not always,” I said.
And we left.