Gun Church

Forty-Five

It had been a long time getting to Coney Island-a long time and a lot of beers. Jim had it in his head to do the stations of the Kipster’s cross. After buying two six-packs of Bud at a deli, we criss-crossed Manhattan, paying homage at sites Jim Trimble had determined were significant in my life or the lives of my characters. The drunker he got, the greater his reverence, the blurrier the lines between the Kipster and his characters, and the longer he prayed at my various altars. The only person for whom these places held any meaning was him. When we stopped at the building Kant Huxley had lived in, Jim nearly wept. Flashing Pandora was his favorite book ever, a point he repeated so many times during the course of our pilgrimage I wanted to scratch my own eyes out. He said he had a particular affinity for Kant Huxley. Did I know why? Did I care?

As the night wore on, it got more difficult for me to keep a lid on my emotions. Clearly, something was going on with Jim that was straying pretty far from the center line. I kept cycling through a spectrum of feelings, from anger to worry, from disappointment to fear, from boredom to disdain. At points, I even felt pity for Jim that he was so heavily invested in a writer whose time had come and gone. Still, there had to be more to it than this magical and miserable tour. Renee’s warning was never far from my thoughts, but by about one in the morning, I’d pretty much had it. I was so drained and so tired of indulging his fanboy adventures that I exploded.

“That’s it, Jim!” I yelled, slamming my hand down on the dashboard. “I want some fucking answers and I want them now. If you don’t start explaining what you’re playing at, I’m getting the fuck out of this truck.”

But if I thought my outburst would push him to melt down or to give me the answers I wanted, I was wrong. He just floored the truck, flew through a red light, and turned down Chambers Street.

“Amy’s loft is beautiful. I really like the portraits she’s done of the two of you.”

Words formed themselves in my head to say, but they caught in my throat like shards of bone. Fuck, he’d broken into the loft.

“You don’t want to yell at me,” he said, his voice feral and menacing. “The last person to do that to me was the Colonel. No one’s gonna do that to me again. Stay or go, it’s up to you, but all sorts of bad things happen when pets go off leash.”

Fuck! Now he was quoting Satan to me, literally. Although what I’d said to Jim earlier in the evening was true, that I’d forgotten my books once they’d been written, I hadn’t forgotten everything of my old work and I certainly remembered that line. In a chapter in The Devil’s Understudy, Satan discusses the dangers of free will with his future replacement, a young investment banker. I never thought I’d have it thrown back in my face. Where only seconds ago I’d been nearly paralyzed with fear, I was now furious. If Amy weren’t part of the equation, I might have smacked Jim across the jaw for using my own words to compare me to a dog on his tether, but Amy was involved and getting in one good shot wouldn’t have been worth it.

“Staying?” It wasn’t a question, not really, and ten minutes later we were across the Brooklyn Bridge, heading to Coney Island.

Jim was insistent. “Which bench was it that Romeo used? I want to sit on that bench.”

We’d come to the end of the line, the terminal station of the Kipster’s cross. In Romeo vs. Juliet-as Jim kept reminding me on our way here-Romeo bones his divorce lawyer on a bench in Coney Island. For reasons known only to Jim, he’d chosen this as our last stop.

“It was that bench,” I said, picking one out at random.

He didn’t question it and sat down on the cold moist slats, a beatific smile on his sloppy, drunken face. For all his bluster and menace, he’d believed me like a lost little boy believes the nearest grownup. I didn’t join him on the bench. It was damp and raw by the ocean, a cold fog hanging over the boardwalk like a gray veil. The wind blowing in off the Atlantic had jagged edges, the salt air cutting right through my sports jacket and sweater. I turned my collar up against the cold and damp to no avail.

“So this was the bench Romeo fucked his lawyer on, huh? I loved Romeovs. Juliet too. I used to jerk off imagining what it would be like having a hot girl like Romeo’s lawyer straddling me, her panties torn and her skirt flared over my lap. I asked Renee to fuck me like that once, just like in the book, but she wouldn’t. She thought it was weird. Did she ever fuck you like that, Kip?”

“I can’t remember.”

“I bet you can’t.”

“You in the mood to talk now?” I asked. “I’m freezing to death out here.”

“I don’t … feel so … good. I got … to … puke.”

He ran unsteadily across the boardwalk and down onto the sand, fell on his haunches and emptied his guts. I stood at the rail on the boardwalk above him, facing the last vestiges of the amusement park. Those rides that remained were ancient beasts, hibernating through another brutal winter. Coney Island was a hopeless place, a place for dying. Jim trudged back up onto the boardwalk, a sheen of sweat covering his ashen face.

“Let’s walk,” I said. “It’s too cold to stand still.”

Jim didn’t argue and followed me as I turned away from Coney Island and toward Brighton Beach.

“What was that crack before, Jim, quoting Satan back to me about pets off the leash?”

“I’m sorry I said that. I really am, I swear.” I thought I saw tears welling up in his eyes.

What, I thought, did a few tears matter at the edge of the ocean? His tears worried me, though. Jim was mercurial. Sure, he was sad now, but manic and belligerent too. He was the kind of drunk who beats the shit out of his wife, then tearfully swears his undying devotion to her as she spits out broken teeth. Those kinds of drunks are sorry only for themselves and that makes them dangerous.

“We’re way past sorry. What did you mean by it?”

“Did you know I got accepted into the best state university, but I stayed home in Brixton just so I could take your classes?” he said, as if he hadn’t heard the question.

“I’m honored.”

“You got me through high school. You did, you really did. I used to wish you were my dad. You would have been the coolest dad, not like the Colonel.”

“I’ve always been barely able to be responsible for myself. I would have been a nightmare as a father, Jim, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Still choked up, he gathered himself before answering. “I wanted to give something back to you for what your books had given me, for what you meant to me. I could swear that sometimes you were writing the words in your characters’ mouths just for me.”

“Why not just come by and introduce yourself? I would have liked that.”

“Because that’s what anyone else could’ve done, but me and you, our connection is different. I knew that when I repaid my debt to you, it had to be something more than adoration. It had to be worthy of what you’d given me. When the chapter from FlashingPandora fell into my hands, it was a sign. I didn’t understand it at first, what it meant, but God is like that sometimes. He gives us the tools and signs, only we have to figure out how to use them. It was just like with the Colonel’s handgun collection; I had it, but I needed to figure out what to do with it to give it meaning.”

“God, Jim? I guess he’s moved on from burning bushes to eBay.”

“It doesn’t matter if you don’t understand,” he said, wiping tears and sweat off his cheeks. “As long as I did, that’s what mattered.”

“Understand what?”

“I kept reading the chapter over and over again until I knew what I was supposed to do, how I could use it to give as much back to you as you had given to me. You’d saved me and now I would save you.”

“Save me? Save me from what?”

“From your fate.”

“My fate?”

“Are you kidding? Look at where you were, Kip. You were once one of the most famous and admired writers in America and you ended up teaching writing to kids who didn’t give a shit and who had no idea of who you were. You didn’t give a shit either. It was like you weren’t alive anymore. Now look where you are and what you’re doing. Did you think that all just happened? Brixton was no place for someone like you. Brixton is for people like me.”

“But, Jim, by definition, you can’t save someone from his fate.”

The tears vanished as quickly as they’d come, replaced by that smug smile. “But I did save you from your fate and from Brixton, didn’t I? That’s why the chapter I found was so important. I used your own ideas to save you, to put you on a different path. Of course Frank going crazy helped too.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Kip, did you really think it was just coincidence that Frank Vuchovich used a Colt Python with a six-inch barrel and a royal blue finish? I knew Frank his whole life. He was one of the original members of the chapel. I showed him the chapter from Flashing Pandora last spring. He wasn’t the smartest person and he didn’t read much, but I knew he would love the gun stuff. I couldn’t believe it when he showed up in class that day in September with the Python. That’s when I knew.”

“Knew what, Jim?”

“Knew it was the final sign that I could save you. Don’t you see? Frank was never the shiniest lump of coal in the bin, always moody and a little nuts, but I didn’t think he would ever just snap like that. I knew it had to be a sign. After that, I used the chapter like a script. You were Kant Huxley and Renee was Pandora.”

“And Renee just happily went along with this?”

“Renee was the easy part to begin with. She was always hot for you and she never loved me like I loved her. I broke up with her and told her to go for it, to invite you to the chapel. She didn’t have to think twice about it. Later when she caught on, I had to persuade her to help me to help you.”

“You’re not serious.”

His smile disappeared. He grabbed my arm and yanked me around to face him. “Serious? Why else would the chapter have fallen into my hands?”

“What if Frank hadn’t snapped or if he had used a different gun or-”

“But he did snap and he did use that gun and he did get killed. What more proof do you need, Kip?”

“Get out of here.” I pulled free of his grasp, rubbing my arm where his fingers had held me. “This isn’t funny anymore. You’re really scaring me.”

“Did you know that when Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, Lazarus smelled pretty bad because he’d been in the ground for a while?”

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he said, “but before you laugh at what I’m saying, you should think about it.”

“I don’t have to think about it. This is crazy.”

“Crazy? I guess that Haskell Brown guy who wouldn’t touch your book just conveniently got himself murdered to suit your career.”

“What are you telling me?”

“Just that you must be the king of coincidences, Kip. Bad things happen to other people so good things happen to you. Is that the way the universe works?”

“Jim, come on, you’re a sharp guy. Now you’re stringing together unconnected incidents into a wishful narrative.”

“And you’re whistling through the graveyard.”

“Very cute.”

“It’s not meant to be.”

“What do you think you’re going to get out of this, Jim? You don’t need to build yourself up in my eyes. You taught me how to shoot, how to handle my fears. All that, your friendship, getting me back in shape, helping me write again, isn’t that enough for you?”

“That’s like me asking you if you’d mind someone else putting their name on your book. Without me, there’d be no you, no Gun Church.”

“When you say those kinds of things, it worries me. I’m worried about you.”

“I don’t need your worry.” He shoved me down and stamped his feet on the boardwalk. “This wasn’t how things were supposed to turn out.”

“How were they supposed to be?” I asked, pushing myself up onto my knees.

“Not like this. You’re supposed to understand about how smart I’ve been and be happy and thank me for everything I’ve done for you.” More tears, but this time he was sobbing, loudly. “You’re … disappointing me … Kip.”

I almost told him to go fuck himself, but Renee’s warning about the danger to Amy, of disappointing Jim, was never far from my mind. “But I do see, I swear,” I said, if not very convincingly.

“Don’t lie to me. Don’t fucking lie! I couldn’t take that. I’ve killed for you. I can kill to hurt you too.”

“Stop it!”

His chest was heaving and he was raging. He was on me before I could move, threading his hands around my jacket lapels and pulling me to my feet.

“Stop it? I’m just getting started. Think about the weekend Haskell Brown died. Remember, I borrowed your car to see-”

“-a girl who went away to college.”

“That’s right, Kip. Too bad that wasn’t the truth, but I couldn’t tell you what I was doing because you would probably have stopped me.”

“Stopped you. Stopped you from what?” I asked although in my belly I knew what he was going to say.

“I wasn’t visiting any girl. I was up here doing what had to be done, getting rid of the one thing standing in our way: Haskell Brown. I enjoyed beating the shit out of that guy. He kept asking me why I was doing it. He kept asking until I broke his jaw. You should have seen what he looked like before I put a hole in him.”

“Bullshit!”

“The truth. Did you ever bother checking what kind of gun it was that killed him? You didn’t check because you didn’t want to know, did you? You still don’t want to know, but I’m going to tell you. It was a.25 Beretta and your fingerprints are all over it. Don’t worry. I got it tucked away in a nice plastic bag for safekeeping. No one will ever have to see it unless you get some stupid ideas about going to the police. And there’s a record of your car’s trip from Brixton to New York and back. I bet you didn’t know all the states along the East Coast accept our state’s electronic toll pass. So it would be real stupid for you to go to the police. I used all this to get Renee to let me read your book, to help me. She really loves you and would do just about anything not to have me turn the evidence over. I mean anything.”

“Let go of me,” I screamed, trying to break his grasp. “Let me go!”

“Not until I’m done.”

I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Fuck you!”

“Fuck me? No, Kip, you’re the one who’s fucked. You’re the one with all the blood on his hands. You grabbed Frank’s gun. Haskell Brown, he’d still be alive if you didn’t want to publish again so bad. And poor Lance Vaughn Mabry … I forget now, did you plant that idea in my head or did I plant it in yours?” Jim was no longer crying and the rage had calmed to an unsettling whisper. “I guess that was your idea. You’re full of good ideas.”

“You’re telling me you killed that kid?”

“Your books are the blueprints. Don’t you see, we’re only the instruments in a bigger plan. It took me some time to understand it.”

“You killed Mabry?”

“Just like in Gun Church. Renee dressed in a black wig, short skirt, and real high heels. I waited outside the bar in a stolen van. When they came out, I followed them to where I told Renee to take him. I shot him right through the windshield.”

“Renee wouldn’t do that,” I said, struggling to breathe against Jim’s fists tightening around my collar.

“You’re not listening to me, Kip. I told you, she had to do it to save you. She knew I had the Beretta with your prints on it. I made her choose between you or some kid she didn’t even know. ”

“Fuck you!”

That didn’t go over well. He let go of my lapel with one hand and buried his fist in my gut. Gasping for breath, I collapsed. I hugged my belly, my cheek flush against the wet boardwalk planks.

“Look what you made me do! Look what you made me do! Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I don’t want to hurt you, Kip.” He sat down next to me, arms around his knees, rocking. “I saved your life. Don’t make me take it away.”

I ignored that and the pain. “You’re lying. Renee was visiting her family upstate the weekend that kid was murdered.” My voice was strained and cracking. “She was visiting her brother Jake back from Afghanistan.”

“She doesn’t have a brother Jake or any kind of brother, and she’s not from upstate.”

I struggled to my knees for a second time. “I suppose you’re going to tell me that Stan Petrovic isn’t dead and buried.”

There was that smile again. “No, he’s dead all right. I made sure of that. I guess I sort of neglected to put live rounds in his gun. I set most of it up, but you played your part without even realizing it. Man, Kip, when you threatened to kill Stan in front of folks at the hardware store, you made things that much easier for me. Be tough for you to explain away him turning up dead, shot by your gun after threatening him. Like I said, Stan’s dead. On the other hand, he’s not exactly buried.”

The world wobbled beneath me as I willed myself to my feet. My ability to function since killing Stan had been based on the belief that Jim, Renee, and the rest of the people in the chapel had acted honorably, that they had done as promised, burying Stan’s body in a place in the woods somewhere he would never be found. Now I couldn’t be sure of anything.

“You better start treating me with the respect I deserve,” Jim said, getting right up in my face, his breath stinking of vomit and beer. “And you better not think about going to the police.”

I walked over to the beachside railing to help keep me upright. He followed close behind.

“Go to the police! With what, some cockamamie story you dreamed up? They would think I was the crazy one.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Jim, I don’t know what you’re getting out of this or what you want. Is it money, do you want some money?”

He was horrified, hurt. “Money? You think I want your money?”

“Then what?”

“I told you.”

“What, my love and respect? You think stalking me, lying to me, hitting me, and threatening me is the way to go about earning it? You got some funny ideas about love and respect.”

“Don’t say that! Don’t say that!”

“Or what, you’re going stomp your feet some more? Grow up, kid, and stay the hell away from me.” My head spinning, I pushed off the rail and made for the staircase to the street.

“Don’t call me kid.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

“I wasn’t lying,” he called after me. “Don’t make me prove it to you.”

“Grow up, kid,” I repeated, not looking back.

“I’ll prove it to you.”

Now I turned and shouted at him across what was almost the entire width of the boardwalk. “Whatever game you’re playing at, you leave Amy and Renee out of it. This is about you and me.”

“My game,” he said. “My rules.”

“They’ve always been just your rules, haven’t they, Jim? All that stuff about how things were supposed to go in the chapel, that was a load of crap. I know a narcissist when I see one and I’m looking at one right now. This isn’t about me. It’s about you.”

“I didn’t wound Ralph for me, Kip.”

“Ralph? Who’s Ralph?”

“The guy from the grounds crew at school. I clipped him in the arm to get a rise out of you. I wanted to see how you would react to blood, to see what you’d do with McGuinn in Gun Church after that. Ralph was pretty mad at me for that. I had to kill him too, you know, before he could talk to you.”

“Stop it, Jim. Just stop this, whatever this is, now.”

“Too late for that. Too much blood spilled already to stop. Watch for signs, Kip, and you’ll see clear enough what this is. Then we’ll talk.”

And with that, he turned his back on me. He walked down the boardwalk toward Coney Island until his figure was swallowed by the fog. I stood there, frozen. My hands were shaking, but not from the cold.