Shame the Devil

TEN

Lee Toomey lived on eight acres of woodland ten miles south of Edwardtown, on Old Church Road off the interstate. The old church, hugged by a stand of oak, had been gutted and rebuilt and now carried a new facade of white aluminum siding. Farrow passed the New Rock Church and a half mile later made the turnoff onto Toomey’s gravel drive.

Toomey’s utility truck, boldly lettered with the company name of Toomey Electric, was parked before his house alongside Toomey’s black El Camino. Farrow parked the SHO on the other side of the truck, walked around a bicycle carelessly dropped in the yard, and knocked on the front door of Toomey’s brick rambler.

Viola, Toomey’s wife, answered the door. She had mousy brown hair, a nothing chest, a flat ass, and a buckshot of acne on her chin. Farrow didn’t know how Toomey could stand to fuck her. Viola carried Ashley – a white-trash name for a kid if Farrow had ever heard one – their two-year-old daughter, in her arms.

“Hi… Larry.”

“Viola. Lee asked me to come on out.”

“He’s back in the den.”

She stepped aside, bumping her back on the wall. Viola was afraid of Farrow, and that was good.

Farrow went through a hall to an open kitchen, which led to a den with sliding glass doors giving to a view of thick, gnarled woods. Toomey, short gone dumpy with long hair and a full, red-tinged beard, sat in a recliner, staring through the glass. His chubby, featureless son, Martin, sat in front of the television set, his hand furiously manipulating a joystick as two armor-clad men fought onscreen.

Toomey had been a bad motherfucker up at Lewisburg when Farrow first met him, one of the Aryan Brotherhood who took shit from no one. He was the enemy of Roman Otis then, as well as Manuel and Jaime and T. W., but since he had found Jesus, his racial outlook, and general demeanor, had changed. He had not forgotten the con’s code, though, and when Farrow had first called, he reluctantly told him to come down to the Eastern Shore, where he would introduce Farrow to a straight job and, it was implied, put him on the path to righteousness.

Toomey knew Farrow had been coming off some sort of heist. It was only later, when Farrow told him, that he learned about the extreme brand of heat that Farrow and the others had drawn. Farrow wasn’t much worried that Toomey would rat him out; there was the code, and the penalty for breaking it would always be in the back of Toomey’s mind. Toomey had a family now. Surely Toomey understood.

Jesus was the wild card. Religion was an irrational concept and it bred irrational acts. Toomey had been trying to get Farrow to join the New Rock Church for months now, and Farrow suspected that this was the reason Toomey had summoned him, once again, today. Toomey had gone all the way over for that full-of-shit new Reverend Bob, who had taken over the reins of the church one year back.

“Lee,” said Farrow.

Toomey turned his head. “Larry.”

Farrow stood over him, watched Toomey’s fingers drum the arm of the recliner. “You wanted to see me?”

Toomey looked at his son. “Martin, why don’t you go on out and ride your bike some, give Larry and me a little privacy.”

Martin’s eyes did not move from the television screen. “Chain slipped on my bike, Dad. Can’t ride it.”

“Just give us a few minutes here, son.”

“I’m in the middle of my game.”

Farrow went to the electronic box that sat atop the set and ripped the wires out of its back. Martin stood up, his hands wiggling at his side, and looked at his father.

“Go on, Martin,” said Toomey.

Martin left the room. Farrow had a seat on the couch across from Toomey.

Toomey sighed and forced a smile. “Thanks for coming out, Larry.”

“You can quit all that Larry bullshit, Lee. Call me by my given name. It’s just you and me.”

“Okay.”

“What do you want?”

Toomey clapped his hands together. “Well, the Reverend Bob would like to see you. He’s been asking after you for some time.”

Farrow reached inside his jacket for a cigarette, lit it, shook out the match, tossed the spent match on a glass table set before the couch. The match made a yellow-black mark on the glass.

“What’s he want with me?”

“Wants to bring you into the flock, Frank.”

“He’s a man of the cloth. That means he wants something.” Farrow dragged on his cigarette. “What’s he want? ”

Toomey looked away. “He knows.”

Farrow flicked ash to the carpet. “Knows what?”

“He’s a smart man, Frank. Got all sorts of degrees. He worked at Rikers for a while when he was younger, as some sort of counselor. He picked me out of the crowd the first week he came to town.”

“You telling me he’s blackmailing you?”

“ No, sir. I donate my labor to the church because I want to. I rewired that entire structure, and I’m proud to say it didn’t cost the church a penny. I’d do more if I could.”

“That’s nice. But how did he connect you to me?”

“He’s seen us together this past year, once or twice in town. Seen you goin’ in and out of the liquor store, too, the one on the interstate stocks those fancy wines?”

“So?”

“Like I say, he picked me out as an ex-con. I figure he picked you out, too.”

“I’m gonna ask you again. What’s he want?”

“I told you already, he wants to bring you in -”

“He wants money.”

“A donation would be a part of you joining the congregation, yes.”

“I’m just a dishwasher in town. Where would he get the idea that I’ve got money, Lee?”

“Now, Frank, you know… you know I haven’t told him a thing.”

Farrow stared at Toomey while he smoked his cigarette down to the filter. Toomey slid a glass of ginger ale across the table, and Farrow dropped the cigarette into the drink.

“I guess I better go see him,” said Farrow. “He in today?”

“He drives a pretty Buick.”

“There was a platinum-colored Park Avenue parked outside the church when I drove in.”

“That would be his.”

“I’ll drop in on him right now, then, since he’s being so persistent. Small town like this, can’t really avoid it any longer, I guess.” Farrow got up from the couch. “Say, Lee, you know that pistol you gave me when I first came down here?”

“Sure… sure, I remember. I was wanting to get rid of it for a long time, ’specially with kids in the house -”

“I took it up to that wildlife refuge they got, fifteen miles north of Edwardtown. You know, in the winter there’s nobody on that land. Never even seen a ranger. Anyway, I tried that little gun out. Shot one of those white birds with the long legs that lives there. One of those birds they claim is protected. Anyway, that’s a real fine weapon you sold me. Yeah, that pistol shoots real straight.”

Toomey picked at his beard and stared at the carpet. “I ain’t proud of the life I had before. And I am not goin’ back to it, I can tell you that. Look, I don’t want to have nothin’ to do with guns anymore, Frank.”

“I know it, Lee. Just wanted to thank you is all.”

Farrow went to the front door; Viola stood in the foyer, holding her little girl. She reached for the knob, turned it, held the door open for Farrow.

“Good bye, Larry.”

“Viola. Ashley.”

Farrow left the house. Martin was standing by the tree line, looking Farrow’s way. Martin grabbed a branch to steady himself when Farrow stared back. Farrow smiled at Martin and walked to the Ford.

Farrow parked next to the platinum Park Avenue outside the church. He went to the church’s varnished front door and knocked, and soon the door swung open. A large thin-lipped man with a gray pompadour stood in the frame.

“Reverend Bob?”

“That would be me.”

“My name is Larry. I’m an acquaintance of Lee Toomey. Lee said you’ve been wanting to see me.”

“Yes, Larry, thanks for stopping by. Please come in.”

Farrow followed the reverend through a kind of lobby into the body of the church, which was done entirely in stained wood: wooden beams, wooden pews, paneled walls, a parquet-floored altar with a slatted wooden podium in its center. A wooden cross hung from the ceiling, suspended over the podium. A bible with an ornate gold-leaf cover lay open on the podium’s face.

“Nothing fancy, as you can see,” said the reverend, turning left at the center aisle, signaling with a wave of his hand for Farrow to keep moving. “I don’t believe in marble and icons. Everything we collect in the form of donations goes back out in some form to the community.”

“Nice carpentry work,” said Farrow.

The reverend pushed on a side door, holding it open for Farrow.

“Local craftsmen did it for us on the weekends. Nearly everything in this building’s been donated by the members of the congregation. Your friend Lee did the electrical work, free of charge.”

“He mentioned it. You got a Buick dealer who’s part of the flock, too?”

The reverend turned his head briefly as he walked down the stark hall. “How’s that?”

“That’s a pretty car you got out front there.”

The reverend chuckled. “My one indulgence. Come along.”

He led Farrow into an office and closed the door behind them. There were framed degrees and awards on the walls, no photographs indicating family. The reverend had a seat behind a cherry-wood desk and laced his fingers together, resting them on a green blotter before him. Farrow sat across from him in a leather chair with nail heads along its scrolled arms.

The reverend’s hands were pink and soft. He wore a fine cotton, starched white shirt, onyx cuff links, and a black-faced watch with a small diamond set in the face. When Farrow was a young man, his father had worn a Movado watch just like it. The sight of it on the reverend’s wrist tightened Farrow’s stomach.

Farrow kept his eyes lowered in the hat-in-hands position. “What can I do for you, Reverend Bob?”

“I’ve seen you around town, Larry. With Lee and at other times, too. I’m curious – are you a practicing member of any particular denomination?”

“You’re gonna have to cut down on the size of those words.”

“I apologize. Do you belong to any church?”

Farrow shifted in his seat, trying to appear uncomfortable. “I did once. I’m afraid I’ve lapsed.”

“It’s never too late to come back to the fold.”

“With all due respect, Reverend Bob, I’m not interested.” Farrow tried a sheepish, down-home smile. “Besides, I make it a practice to have a few beers on Saturday nights. Sometimes I have more than a few, and on Sundays I sleep in.”

“We have drinkers in our congregation, Larry. Drinkers and womanizers and tax cheaters, and maybe worse. The service works for those folks, too. Especially for those folks. Our church is about atonement and forgiveness.”

Farrow looked directly into the reverend’s brown olive-pit eyes.

“I’m not interested,” said Farrow.

The reverend looked away for a moment, then returned his gaze to Farrow and leaned forward over the desk.

“This isn’t about just going to church, Larry. It’s about how this church reaches out to greater Edwardtown. Why, just this morning I was making my rounds out at the retirement community on the edge of town, speaking to some of our senior citizens who are in the nursing ward. I sometimes bring them candy, cards, flowers… all of that costs money.”

“Tell me, reverend. What do you tell those people, exactly? The ones who are going to die.”

“Why, I tell them to have no fear. That the journey is just beginning. That they’re going to a better place.”

“And you believe that.”

“Yes.”

“I envy you, then. A man who doesn’t fear death.”

The reverend leaned back in his chair. “How do you know Lee Toomey, Larry?”

Farrow shrugged, pausing to re-create the story he had told others in the kitchen many times before. “I got family up in Wilmington. I was heading up to Delaware to see them a couple of years back, working my way north from Richmond, where I was living at the time. I took a ride into Edwardtown on a chicken truck, decided to spend the night.

“Well, I had a beer that night at this bar in town, and the bar owner had put this bulletin board up in the head. Lee had posted a card that said he was looking for help on this one job. It was straight labor, really. I didn’t want to go home and see my people with empty pockets, so I called him up and we met and he took me on.

“Anyway, I got to liking the town in those two weeks I worked for him. When the job was done, Lee, being the kind of man he is, got me an interview with the Royal Hotel’s restaurant. Lee’s in with those people; he’s got their account. I took a dishwasher’s job in their kitchen, and I been with them ever since.”

“That’s a nice operation they got there.”

“They do real well.”

“I had an outstanding dinner there one night, not too long ago: twin fillets with a peppercorn sauce, and some very good red wine. Their house red was outstanding. You know something about wines, don’t you, Larry?”

Farrow said, “Why do you ask how I know Lee?”

“I was wondering if you knew him before he came to Edwardtown. From his past.”

“I don’t know anything about Lee Toomey’s past, Reverend.”

The Reverend’s thin lips turned up in a gaseous grin. “So you like Edwardtown.”

“Yes. How about you?”

“Well, I’ll tell you. I’ve lived in New York and some other glamorous places, too. But it was always my dream to come to a small town like Edwardtown to build a congregation from the ground up.”

And to fleece the local hayseeds for everything they have.

“I moved around a lot,” said the reverend, “searching for I didn’t know what until I came here.”

Failure.

“And because I never had a wife or children of my own -”

Faggot.

“ – this congregation has become my family. I’d like very much for you to become a part of that family.”

Salesman.

“You mentioned donations,” said Farrow. “What could I contribute? I’m unskilled labor. I don’t see a kitchen here, so you surely don’t need me to wash dishes. As far as dollars go, I have next to zero.”

“We don’t ask for much. Whatever you could afford would be appreciated. Most people think they have nothing, but if they cut here and there… Take you, for instance. You must have a little extra something, Larry. Maybe something tucked away beyond your dishwasher’s salary?”

“What makes you think that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I just happened to be talking to my friend Harry, the gentleman who owns the Wine Shoppe out on the interstate. He tells me you come by a couple of times a week to buy, what did he tell me it was, some reserve California cabernet he stocks. What does that go for, Larry, thirty dollars a bottle? Now just think if you cut out one bottle a week, what it could mean to the people we reach out to in this town.”

“That’s not very Christian, is it?” Farrow said genially. “I mean, asking around about my private life like that?”

“I didn’t have to ask,” said Reverend Bob, his tone thoughtful and sincere. “Tell me, Larry. Where were you incarcerated, exactly?”

Lewisburg. San Quentin. Whittier and Preston reformatories before that…

“You’re wrong about me, Reverend. I’ve never been incarcerated in my life.”

Reverend Bob’s voice went velvet. “I have no interest in your private affairs, Larry. If you have money, where you got it… I don’t care. What you’re doing here in Edwardtown is no business of mine. Neither is your past. Remember what I said: atonement and forgiveness. Now, I admit I tend to be overzealous at times. It’s just that I’m so committed to building this church. I could use your help.”

“I understand.” Farrow forced a smile. “Give me a few days to think things over. We’ll talk about this again, though. That’s a promise.”

“Take as long as you wish.”

Farrow stood. “Take care, Reverend.”

The reverend spread his hands and said, “Praise the Lord.”

Farrow opened the door, closed it softly behind him, and walked from the church.

Farrow sat at the bar of Linda’s, a long, deep tavern on High Street that catered primarily to tourists and the town’s lesbian population, sipping a Snow Goose Winter Ale. Farrow liked to come here early in the evening, before the live folk and jazz bands took the stage, when there were very few patrons. In this hour he could drink quietly and without conversation. He was careful not to overtip the bartender, a prematurely bald graduate student, as this would only encourage the young man to talk.

Farrow took his beer and walked past the billiards tables and shuffleboards to the rest-room enclave in the back of the house, where a pay phone was mounted on the wall. He dialed a two-one-three exchange and got Roman Otis on the line.

“How we doin’, man?” said Otis.

“A situation came up here that I have to take care of. After that I’m ready to roll.”

“Then I’m ready, too.”

“You flush?”

“I’m about busted flat in Baton Rouge and waitin’ on a train. Supposed to see a man about that this afternoon. Man owes me some money. Gonna do that thing and then I’m clear. Could use a temporary change of scenery and some new prospects. How about you?”

“I’ve been living like a monk,” said Farrow. “I’m doing all right, but it’s time to leave.”

“Where you want to meet, man?”

“You still got that cousin of yours likes to talk too much, did that Lorton jolt?”

“Yeah, Booker’s out and livin’ up there in southern Maryland, outside D.C.”

“We’ll meet at his place.”

“Ain’t we still hot up that way?”

“No. I read the D.C. paper every day. They’ve never had a thing. We’ve got unfinished business there, Roman.”

“If you say we do, Frank, then we do.”

“You mail off that photograph I sent you?”

“Did it. Listen, Frank…”

“What?”

“Remember my sister’s husband, Gus? Tall guy on the white side?”

“Tall, hell. He’s a giant. Polish guy, right?”

“Some shit like that. He played professional, Frank, long time ago. ABA ball. Was the backup center for the Spirits of St. Louis.”

“What about him?”

“When I came out here, I was lookin’ to invest some of my hard-earned cash. Gus had the idea we should loan out some of my money to those unfortunate citizens got themselves burdened with bad credit ratings.”

“You got in the vig business. What did I tell you about that?”

“You were right. Didn’t work out the way Gus planned. Gus feels real bad about it, Frank. Plus he and my sister Cissy need to put a little country between ’em for a while. So Gus is riding with me right now.”

“He’s all right?”

“Gus is solid. See, he couldn’t play ball for shit, Frank. Oh, he could grab a rebound or two if the ball bounced right into his hands. But they used him for something else. The coach would tell him that a certain player had been ridiculing him before the game. Basically, they’d put him in the game just to fuck motherfuckers up. This is the man who made Artis Gilmore have bad dreams. Gus sent some starters to the hospital for real, ended a couple of careers. He’s tough.”

“Bring him along.”

“Right.”

“When can you be at your cousin’s?”

“Gonna take me about a week to make it across country in my short.”

Farrow said, “I’ll see you then.”

Farrow walked back into the bar. Grace, the waitress from the Royal Hotel, was sitting on the stool beside his and working on a vodka tonic. He slid onto his seat and lit a cigarette.

Grace smiled. “Thought I’d find you here.”

“How’d you know it was me?”

“You left your Kools on the bar. Not many white men I know smoke Kools, and in the five years I’ve lived in this town I have never seen a black in this place.”

“They’ve got their own bars on the north side of town.”

“Yeah, it’s great, isn’t it? That’s why I moved to the Eastern Shore from Baltimore. People stay with their own down here in Edwardtown. It’s the way things ought to be.”

“Your idea of paradise, right?”

“Well, it’s not perfect.” She lowered her voice. “A perfect world would be no niggers at all.”

Grace laughed shortly while Farrow finished his beer and thought of his friend Roman. He noticed Grace studying her thumbnail. He said, “You all right?”

“I did this today at the restaurant. Sliced the nail halfway down to the cuticle. I haven’t had a chance to cut it down or put a Band-Aid on it.”

“You oughtta take care of that.”

“I will.”

“So, you about ready?”

“Where we going?”

“My place.”

Grace swallowed the rest of her vodka, placed the glass down on the bar. “I was watching you this afternoon, Larry, standing over that hot sink. I like to see a man sweat. I like the way it smells.”

“That a fact.”

She leaned in to him so that her cheek touched his. She had a cheap permanent with damaged ends, and her hair smelled of chemicals.

Grace whispered, “Looking at you made me all wet.”

Farrow stabbed out his cigarette. He signaled the bartender and said, “Let’s go.”

Farrow lived in a stone house fronting the Edward River. His efficiency was on the third floor at the rear of the house and held a double bed, bathroom, and porcelain kitchenette. The room’s one window gave to a view of a cobblestone alley.

Grace sat naked on Farrow’s bed, drinking red wine from a goblet. Her breasts were huge and heavy, with pink nipples as large as English muffins. She sucked in her stomach, watching him walk toward her in his underwear.

“You stay in shape,” she said.

“Sit-ups and push-ups,” said Farrow. “Every day.”

“How long you been doin’ that?”

“Long time.”

“I gotta start doing something to break a sweat.”

“Start right now.”

She giggled and licked her lips clumsily. “This wine is yummy.”

“You like it, huh?”

“I don’t know good from bad, to tell you the truth.”

He stood before her and said, “Really.”

“I hope it’s not expensive wine,” she said. “ ’Cause I’m gettin’ ready to waste a little. Hope you don’t mind.”

Grace got up off the bed. She took a long sip of wine and spit it out onto Farrow’s chest. She put the goblet on the nightstand. She got down and licked the dripping wine from his stomach up to his chest. She licked his nipples and pulled down his underwear and played with his balls. He had an erection now, and he pushed her down on the bed.

Grace’s head bounced on the mattress one time, and her eyes grew wide. “You like to play rough? I like it rough, too, Larry.”

He pulled her to the edge of the bed so that her legs hung off the side. He fucked her like that, watching himself slide in and out of her, keeping his eyes there, imagining he was banging one of the many trophy wives he had seen walking through the lobby of the hotel. Thinking of doing those rich women the way he was doing Grace made him go even harder. He flashed on the reverend’s pale face and got short of breath. He took Grace’s hand in his own and worked his thumbnail under hers. His thrusts lifted her back off the bed.

“ Shit, yeah,” she said, spittle forming around the edges of her mouth.

When she came she sounded like a woman giving birth, and in the middle of her spasms Farrow ripped her thumbnail clean off. As she screamed, Farrow shot off inside her with a violent shudder.

He withdrew and stood over the bed. Grace was crying, thrashing her head from side to side. Blood snaked down her meaty forearm.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Grace, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize what I was doing, I was so excited…”

“Aaaah, God,” said Grace. “God, God, God…”

“I’ve got some medical tape and disinfectant in the bathroom,” said Farrow. “I’ll be right back, and we’ll fix you up.”

In the bathroom, Farrow could hear Grace muttering the word “fuck” over and over again. He looked in the vanity mirror. Tears had formed in his eyes. His lips were twitching, and he put his hand over his mouth.

Farrow turned the bath spigot on full so that Grace could not hear him laugh.