Split Image

58

WEARING PINK – AND – WHITE sneakers in case she needed to move quickly, and white shorts and a pink tank top to go with the sneakers, Sunny went to visit the Bond of the Renewal. She carried a white shoulder bag in which was lip gloss, a wallet, and a short-barreled revolver.

The Patriarch received her in the Renewal office, with a view of the harbor. He was wearing the same kind of white linen he'd worn when she'd seen him before. Must be his Patriarch uniform. He gestured for her to take a seat. She shook her head.

"I've come to pick up Cheryl DeMarco's stuff," she said.

The Patriarch blinked.

"Cheryl?" he said.

"Cheryl DeMarco," Sunny said.

"Cheryl has run off," the Patriarch said.

"Yes, she has," Sunny said. "And she wants me to pick up her stuff."

The Patriarch leaned back in his chair. It was a good chair, ergonomic in design.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Randall," he said. "But Cheryl DeMarco's stuff belongs to Cheryl DeMarco. It is not mine to give, nor yours to take."

"Wow," Sunny said.

"Excuse me?"

"You're good," she said.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," the Patriarch said.

"You truly sound like a kind man concerned with the individual rights of your people," Sunny said.

"Yes," the Patriarch said.

"But you are actually a man who will prostitute out young girls for money."

Sunny watched as the pinkness faded from the Patriarch's face, and his hair and face became the same color. It didn't improve his appearance.

"What…" He seemed to be trying to catch his breath. "What… are you… saying?"

"I'm saying you're a pimp," Sunny said. "And I want Cheryl's stuff down here in one minute or I'm calling the cops."

"No," the Patriarch said. "No. Wait."

His voice had grown hoarse. Sunny held her arm out and looked at her wristwatch.

"No, we'll get them right away. Just wait a minute. I'll have someone get them right now."

Sunny nodded and continued to look at her watch. The Patriarch picked up the phone and punched a button.

"Darlene," he said. "This is an emergency. Get a couple of the girls to go to Cheryl DeMarco's room and pack everything up and bring it to my office."

He paused, listening.

"Use whatever is necessary," he said. "Suitcase, plastic bag, whatever, just hurry up."

He hung up the phone.

"It will be here very soon," he said.

Sunny stopped looking at her watch and stood where she had stood since she came in, at an angle to the desk so that she could see the Patriarch but also see the door to the office.

"But we have to talk. We have to make some arrangement," he said. "First of all, no such thing has ever happened. In fact, I categorically deny everything."

"Categorically," Sunny said.

He shook his head as if there was something in his ear. "Who on earth," he said, "has told you such a terrible thing?"

Sunny shook her head sadly.

"Jarrod," she said. "Jarrod. Don't any of you jerks ever learn? What gets you in trouble, remember, is not so much the crime, it's the damn cover-up."

"You called me Jarrod," he said.

"I feel that I know you," Sunny said.

"I prefer to be called Patriarch," he said.

"Frankly, Jarrod," Sunny said, "I don't give a rat's ass." The Patriarch blinked again.

"What are you going to do?" he said.

"When your minions bring it to me," Sunny said, "I'm going to take Cheryl's stuff and leave."

Blink.

"Are you…" he said. "What are you… Are you going to cause trouble?"

"Oh, absolutely," Sunny said.

Two blinks.

"Surely," he said, "we can work something out."

The door opened and a short woman in jeans and a T-shirt came in carrying a black plastic trash bag. She looked at the Patriarch. He nodded, and the woman put the bag in front of the desk and backed out of the room.

"It would be good if you gave me a list of your principal donors," Sunny said.

"Oh my God," he said, "no. That's privileged information."

" 'Privileged,' " Sunny said, and shook her head. "It should be available in your annual report. Have a copy of that handy?"

"We, ah, don't do an annual report," he said.

"I think you're supposed to," Sunny said. "I'll check with the IRS."

"IRS?"

"You do annual taxes?" Sunny said.

"We're simply a small, private spiritual organization," the Patriarch said.

Sunny picked up the trash bag. It was light. Cheryl didn't seem to have much stuff.

"And whorehouse," Sunny said, and carried the bag out of the office.