Read Online Lone Wolf #10: Harlem Showdown by Mike Barry - Free Book Online
Authors: Mike Barry
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proper place for concourse or devotions of any sort,” and stepped aside. Wulff saw looming blackness. He walked into it, a light flicked, and he found himself in a surprisingly large room, benches front to back, seating capacity of fifty penitents at least, religious ornaments dangling from the walls. One of them, a huge, golden crucifix seemingly suspended by invisible threads from the ceiling, particularly fascinated Wulff. As he looked at it, it seemed to glint, glow, change colors. He began to feel very much out of his own area of specialization, which was a peculiar way indeed to feel.
Father Justice noted Wulff staring at the crucifix and said, “His mercy and his love is everlasting and evermore and this, as you see, is a concrete symbol of that everlasting mercy and love. Some of our congregation need concrete symbols to reinforce their feelings, but those of us truly in the church know that he is within, rather than without us.” He brought his hands together, looked at Wulff in a peculiar and intense way and said, “There have been difficulties with this Williams you claim to know. He has betrayed the Church of the Brotherhood.”
“Everything was hijacked out West. He was kidnapped.”
“I am afraid that kidnapping is a personal problem. I am concerned with the, ah, materials that you say have been lost.”
“As I understood it, he paid for those materials in full.”
“The Church of Brotherhood is never paid in full,” the reverend said. “Any recompense that we may take for our materials is far, far less than their actual value. In truth, we lend our materials, we do not sell them, much as the trinity lends or leases out the soul to us, to reclaim it at the moment of death. You understand that it is impossible to pay in kind for the receipt of materials.” His hands came apart. “I was expecting, in short, their return.”
“I’m sorry,” Wulff said, “I’m sure that Williams is sorry too. But we can’t be accountable—”
“Everybody is accountable!” Father Justice said loudly. He seemed to expand, rise six inches or more, his robes, falling to the floor gave a further illusion of ascension as if he were floating, suspended, within his ecclesiastic garb, moving, drifting now at off-angles to the crucifix. He looked at it with reverence. “In this world or out of it, all of us are truly accountable for our deeds and our acts. Nothing is lost, nothing is forgotten, nothing is misplaced in the giant eye of the Creator who gave breath to us all. I do not think that there is any comfort or mission I can offer you.”
“I’m quite willing to—”
Father Justice made a dismissive gesture. “We do not deal in earthly goods here; we do not accept the symbols or tokens of mammon but seek a higher, a finer, a truer and if I may say a somewhat denser truth. One load of ordnance has already been lost. I cannot risk the loss of another. Also,” he said, giving Wulff a look of loathing, “we are a ministry of the community and for the African, that is to say, pan-African peoples. I would not care to deal with a member of your race, a member of that sect of devils who through time immemorial, through all of known and unknown history have turned their hands against my brothers.”
“I need a machine gun,” Wulff said, “I need a good machine gun with full clip, an extra set of clips, and an M-15 rifle with silencer. I’m willing to pay two thousand.”
Father Justice stepped back, looked at Wulff in an even way again, that cool, contained gaze flickering between crucifix and Wulff. Then he brought his hands together in that gesture again, touching the fingertips delicately against one another as if preparing to incline for prayer. “I am afraid you do not understand,” he said. “We are not dealing with earthly considerations here; we are dealing with a finer, higher, darker creed, one which unites all of my brothers—”
“Twenty-five hundred dollars,” Wulff said, “and not a
Father Justice noted Wulff staring at the crucifix and said, “His mercy and his love is everlasting and evermore and this, as you see, is a concrete symbol of that everlasting mercy and love. Some of our congregation need concrete symbols to reinforce their feelings, but those of us truly in the church know that he is within, rather than without us.” He brought his hands together, looked at Wulff in a peculiar and intense way and said, “There have been difficulties with this Williams you claim to know. He has betrayed the Church of the Brotherhood.”
“Everything was hijacked out West. He was kidnapped.”
“I am afraid that kidnapping is a personal problem. I am concerned with the, ah, materials that you say have been lost.”
“As I understood it, he paid for those materials in full.”
“The Church of Brotherhood is never paid in full,” the reverend said. “Any recompense that we may take for our materials is far, far less than their actual value. In truth, we lend our materials, we do not sell them, much as the trinity lends or leases out the soul to us, to reclaim it at the moment of death. You understand that it is impossible to pay in kind for the receipt of materials.” His hands came apart. “I was expecting, in short, their return.”
“I’m sorry,” Wulff said, “I’m sure that Williams is sorry too. But we can’t be accountable—”
“Everybody is accountable!” Father Justice said loudly. He seemed to expand, rise six inches or more, his robes, falling to the floor gave a further illusion of ascension as if he were floating, suspended, within his ecclesiastic garb, moving, drifting now at off-angles to the crucifix. He looked at it with reverence. “In this world or out of it, all of us are truly accountable for our deeds and our acts. Nothing is lost, nothing is forgotten, nothing is misplaced in the giant eye of the Creator who gave breath to us all. I do not think that there is any comfort or mission I can offer you.”
“I’m quite willing to—”
Father Justice made a dismissive gesture. “We do not deal in earthly goods here; we do not accept the symbols or tokens of mammon but seek a higher, a finer, a truer and if I may say a somewhat denser truth. One load of ordnance has already been lost. I cannot risk the loss of another. Also,” he said, giving Wulff a look of loathing, “we are a ministry of the community and for the African, that is to say, pan-African peoples. I would not care to deal with a member of your race, a member of that sect of devils who through time immemorial, through all of known and unknown history have turned their hands against my brothers.”
“I need a machine gun,” Wulff said, “I need a good machine gun with full clip, an extra set of clips, and an M-15 rifle with silencer. I’m willing to pay two thousand.”
Father Justice stepped back, looked at Wulff in an even way again, that cool, contained gaze flickering between crucifix and Wulff. Then he brought his hands together in that gesture again, touching the fingertips delicately against one another as if preparing to incline for prayer. “I am afraid you do not understand,” he said. “We are not dealing with earthly considerations here; we are dealing with a finer, higher, darker creed, one which unites all of my brothers—”
“Twenty-five hundred dollars,” Wulff said, “and not a
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