Read Online The Book of Murdock by Loren D. Estleman - Free Book Online Page A

manhunting parties their charges in town squares from here to California,” I said.
    â€œBawling like a master sergeant and preaching to the faithful do not belong to the same world, particularly in a proper house of worship. You must speak as if you were alone with one parishioner, yet be heard as clearly in the rear pew as in the front. That last is important. People who sit in front are already disposed to pay close attention. It’s the stragglers who perch near the door you must capture. They will fly at the first dry rustle.”
    â€œI’ll try to get in some practice.”
    â€œWhat will you speak about?”
    â€œI don’t figure I can go wrong with ‘Love thy Neighbor’ and ‘Stay Out of Hell.’”
    He pulled his lips away from his teeth. I think they were false—no set ever grew so evenly or stayed so white—but the workmanship was superior to Judge Blackthorne’s, which fit him so uncomfortably he wore them only on public occasions. He must have gone to a Catholic dentist while still a priest. “Why do you suppose most people go to church?”
    The answer was too obvious for it to be anything but a trick question, but I’ve never learned anything by avoiding a trick. “To pray.”
    â€œThey can do that at home. Some attend out of fear of damnation, or love of salvation, or because their friends and
family expect them to, or to win public office, or to drum up business; back East, they would be the majority. Here on the frontier, most people surrender their one day of rest to be entertained. Be truthful. When you went in to hear Lawrence Little, did you expect to enjoy the experience?”
    â€œNo. I expected to be bored to my boots, then get frostbite in a buffalo wallow.”
    â€œI’d suspected there was truth in the compliment you paid him. Preposterous and blatant as it is, his Sunday-school-simpleton picture of hell is what puts them on their feet and brings back return customers who know the text by heart. Some of those who were baptized with you had already been in ponds and springs and swollen streams where the Traveling Tabernacle has stopped in the past. The blessing does not wear out or expire; renewal is not necessary. They wanted to be part of the show. Very few seriously believe they’re in danger of being condemned perpetually. Those who do are not so simple as to accept Little’s parable of the torturous corset as punishment for vanity. It’s theater, and only a fool thinks Ophelia is going barking mad before his eyes. The rest do insist that the performer believes, or produces a reasonably convincing counterfeit, preferably with Roman candles or some substitute. If all they wanted was the Golden Rule, they would stay home and read Matthew.”
    â€œYou’re forgetting I’m going there to make arrests, not fill the collection plate.”
    â€œAnd when half your congregation stays home the second Sunday, who’s to tell you whom to arrest? Barren soil yields dust.”

    I surrendered the point. “I’d planned to read straight from Scripture, but you’ve shot that down.”
    â€œYou’re supposed to interpret it, not parrot it. A casual familiarity with the statutes won’t win a legal case or we’d not need lawyers who are themselves entertainers.” He twisted to face his writing table and ransacked the heap of books and documents on top until he drew out a bundle of papers as thick as a brand book, bound lengthwise and sidewise with dirty cord. The edges were ragged and molting. They appeared to have been chewed by mice: Church mice , I thought, and surprised myself by feeling shame for thinking it. I wondered if piety was contagious.
    I took the bundle, shedding paper flakes all over my lap. It was heavier than my own Bible and smelled like silage.
    â€œMy sermons,” he said. “Call it ‘The Gospel According to Griffin’ if you like.