a preacher don't steal - 18. bud investigates

by nick nelson

part eighteen of 32

bud took the photos and p-99 code slips of the two women up to the terminal room on the fourteenth floor. he quickly found a match for the woman with the handbag with the initials y c. her name was yolanda carter. she worked as a grade three outside analyst for the 589 corporation, and had apparently held the job for fifteen years without any advancement in the company. the 580 corporation listed her as having an a plus attendance score. just like me, bud thought. good attendance, no promotion. bud began to form a picture of yolanda carter in his mind. if her attendance was that good, like his, she probably did not have many, or even any, friends. he imagined going over to her apartment after she finished work for the day and making her acquaintance. of course, he could not do that now, because she was dead. bud began daydreaming, as he often did, of being a detective like the ones in t v, and singlehandedly tracking down and confronting yolanda carter’s killer. yolanda carter’s record showed that she had one child - a fifteen year old male named yancey clevenger - whom she was receiving revolution payments to support. bud decided he must be an obnoxious little punk, like most of the younger generation, what there was of it. well, that was enough to start on with with y c - yolanda carter. bud scanned the photo and p-99 slip of the second woman into the terminal. he did not have as much luck as he had had with yolanda carter. the p-99 slip came up empty. a bad sign. it meant that the woman was almost certainly a “sewer person” - the term used for people who managed to spend their whole lives under the net of the revolution, and in most cases, of the old regime. it was hard to believe that such people existed, but bud knew from experience that they did. and the photo of her face was not a good one. the small bullet entering the back of her head had not blown her whole face away, but was still not a pretty sight. bud would almost surely not be able to identify her, and would not exactly be blamed for not being to do so, but he would not get any credit either. especially as the woman would be regarded as “probably” a “dangerous counterrevolutionary” and bud’s failure to use “revolutionary insight” to identify her would just be another of the endless proofs of his unpromotability. it was unfair, but what could bud do? except keep showing up every day, one day at a time. bud decided to concentrate on yolanda carter, get her out of the way, and then come back to the sewer woman.

a preacher don't steal - 17. the highway

by nick nelson

part seventeen of 32

“it’s the big guy’s birthday on friday.” “no, my birthday is next month.” “very funny. you know what i mean.” “oh - you mean that big guy.” “yes, that big guy. seriously, you should get him something. i hear he is getting a little soft and sentimental in his old age, he likes presents.” “all right, you’re the shopper, not me. get him something.” “i will get something. should i have maurice bring it to him?” “no, i got something a little more important for maurice. have the old lady take care of it. she always knows where to find him. “ “all right, i will get him something. then i will take it over to the old lady myself.” “that sounds good. did you have anything else on your mind?” “as a matter of fact, i did.” “i thought so.” just then the phone rang in lefty’s pocket. he nodded to lucy and she left the rom, closing the door quietly behind her. lucy knew enough not to try to listen to the door. she moved on down the corridor. * yancey woke up when he heard a phone ring. it took him a couple of seconds to remember where he was , and then he realized the phone was in kingfish’s pocket. kingfish took it out and answered it. “2323, “ kingfish said, and then listened for about a minute. the car kept speeding down the dark deserted highway. kingfish clicked the phone off and put it back in his ppcket. “i am sorry, young man,” he told yancey. “but i have to change my plans, i have to get off this road.” “um - do you think you will get back on it?” yancey asked. “not any time soon, and besides, it would bot be possible for you to accompany me where i am going. sorry.” and with that the car slowed down and pulled over. ”i am sorry about this,” kingfish repeated, “but that was the chance you took.” “i understand. but where are we? i fell asleep, how far are we from nineveh? from the south side?” “about seven kilometers.” seven kilometers! unless he got another ride, yancey would never get to the restaurant by midnight. he got out of the car. the car was out of sight before he got his second foot on the ground. he started walking. there was no sign of any kind of life, or any kind of building. and it was cold.

a preacher don't steal - 16. the package

by nick nelson

part sixteen of 32

“and so, little fellow, “ the recruiting sergeant intoned in his booming voice,” you wish to enlist as a soldier in the king’s army.” “indeed i do, sir.” “we don’t get too many lizards in here. a few bears, a few dragons, a few wolves, mostly just folks - and no very impressive folks at that, just the froth and refuse of the lowest strata of folkkind.” “be as that as it may, sir, i wish to join up.” “well, his embattled majesty can use all the help he can get. if you can make it through the training i am sure we can put you to some service. here then, put your paw to this book and you will be enlisted.” “thank you, sir.” “and stop addressing me as ‘sir’ - the correct address to one in my situation is ‘sergeant’. “yes, sir - i mean sergeant.” “step outside. the recruit wagon will be here in about half an hour.” * kingfish came back outside. he was carrying a small package wrapped in plain brown paper. he headed for his truck without looking at either yancey or the old man. yancey jumped up and followed him. as kingfish was opening the door to the driver’s side of the truck, he glanced back and noticed yancey. after a moment’s hesitation he said, “you wanted a ride to the south side, right?” “yes, sir.” “i can’t guarantee it . i might have to make a detour.” “yes, you already told me that.,” yaney said. “all right, get in then.” yancey hurried around to the passeger side and got in. as he was closing the door, kingfish took off, and they were on the highway and speeding down it heading south. however he had gotten there, yancey had no memory of it, and he was surprised at how how empty the road was. there were no other vehicles on it, and no buildings or trees or lights or anything at all along the side. “pretty bleak,” yancey offered. “yes, it is,” kingfish replied, in a tone that said he was not interested in conversation. yancey noticed the package wrapped in brown paper sitting on the seat between them. he wondered if he should offer to put it in the glove compartment and decided not to. yancey quickly tired of looking at the unchanging dark landscape and started fantasizing about what might be in the package…

a preacher don't steal - 15. the ride

by nick nelson

part fifteen of 32

the old man was still sitting outside, slouched against the wall of the store. “i don’t suppose kingfish came by while i was in the store?” yancey asked him. “no, he did not.” yancey sat back down on the old red couch. a couple of minutes passed with neither yancey nor the old man saying anything. “your name is mose, huh?” yancey finally said, just to be saying something and make the time go a little faster. “i’m an old man, what else would it be?” “um - that makes sense, i guess,” yancey agreed. after another long minute, yancey asked the old man. “how come you don’t sit on this couch? seems more comfortable than sitting on the ground.” “it’s cursed.” “oh. what’s cursed about it?” “it’s. just cursed, that’s all. folks that sit on it come to no good.” “it seems comfortable enough to me.” “how kong you been sitting on it?” the old man laughed in his strange voice. “if it’s so cursed, how come it’s still here? why doesn’t somebody come and take it away?” “ain’t nobody forced to sit on it.” yancey decided to give up on engaging the old man in conversation. he took out his phone and checked the time again. he wondered if he should call xenia and tell her he might be late. he decided not to. a cold wind sprung up. maybe i should start walking, yancey thought. at least it might warm me up. but he remembered how weak he had gotten before, and stayed seated. he started to play a game of bang bang on his phone. just as he was about to lose his first game, the old man spoke. “here’s kingfish now.” yancey looked up. an ordinary looking gray truck pulled up silently in front of the store. an ordinary looking ordinary sized man got out of the cab, and started walking up to the store. he did not greet the old man and the old man seemed to ignore him until he had his hand in the door. “this young man is looking for a ride, kingfish.” kingfish looked over at yancey. his face was completely expressionless. “is that right?” “yes, sir.” “a ride to where?” “into town. all the way to the south side, if you could.” “i might manage that. i can’t guarantee anything.” “i would be much obliged, sir.” “just wait here.” kingfish opened the door and entered the store. that was easy, yancey thought. maybe too easy, a voice in his head said. i should stop thinking negative thoughts, he told himself. he turned his phone off and put it back in his pocket. as he did, he felt something in his pocket. the little lizard looking toy soldier. he had forgotten about it.

a preacher don't steal - 14. the soldier

by nick nelson

part fourteen of 32

“you can thank her by buying something. business ain’t been too good lately.” yancey entered the store. it was smaller than it looked from outside. it did not look like quite what he had expected. it had some of he usual things found in a general store or convenience store - canned and bottled drinks, chips, snacks, beef jerky, packaged sandwiches, dog biscuits - but there was something missing… the lottery. there were no signs advertising any lottery or big games. and there was a table in the center of the store filled with what looked like little knick knacks and toys. they dd not seem to have any prices marked on them. magical charms, maybe? there was a counter with a heavy looking old fashioned cash register. but nobody behind the counter. or anybody in the store at all, that yancey could see. he had assumed from what the old man had said that the “mrs gilgamesh”. who had dragged him out of the road would be present. in front of the counter was a big wooden barrel. yancey had never seen one like it before, except in stories on television about the “old west”. was it a “cracker barrel”? “is anybody here?” yancey asked. “i am here, young man,” a voice answered. a little old woman with her white hair in a bun stepped out from behind the big black cash register, which had hidden her small self from view. yancey thought she looked familiar… a little old woman had walked out of the rain into the convenience store just before he had blacked out, or before whatever had happened to him had happened… could it be her…? “may i assist you?” the little woman interrupted yancey’s thoughts. “um - was it you who… who dragged me out of the street? the gentleman outside…” “yes, it was indeed i. and mose is no gentleman.” yancey was a little perplexed by this last statement. he had been brought up to be polite, and call men gentlemen and women ladies. but he just said, “thank you, i hope i was not too heavy.” “heavy enough, but i know the proper techniques. i have been dragging drunks out of the street all my life.” yancey smiled. “well, i don’t think i was drunk, exactly. be that as it may, i thank you.” he looked around the little store. “and i would like to buy something.” “suit yourself.” yancey was standing beside the table filled with knick knacks. he looked down at it. “how much are these things?” “whatever you would like to pay.” “oh. are they magic?” “magic? not so far as i know. magic that anybody buys them, maybe.” yancey picked a little object up at random and looked at it.. it was about two inches high, a creature halfway between a lizard and a monkey, dressed like a toy soldier with a high plumed helmet and brandishing s bayonet. the creature was green, its uniform red, and its rifle and bayonet a dull gold. “how much is this?” “like i said, whatever you care to pay.” “i will give you two dollars for it.” “thank you. that’s very generous.” yancey went over to the counter to pay. he noticed that the old woman was even smaller than he thought, and was standing on a box to reach the counter. he had no cash, so despite the presence of the massive old fashioned cash register, he paid with his card in the usual way. he hoped the difference of two dollars would leave him enough for a cab if he needed one. yancey thanked the woman again, and went outside to wait for “kingfish”, whoever or whatever he might be.

a preacher don't steal - 13. bud

by nick nelson

part thirteen of 32

detective technician bud rogers had been late for work, by about ten or fifteen minutes, almost every day for thirty years. a succession of supervisors had attempted to reprimand him for this, to no purpose. a few had attempted to have him removed from his post, but he appeared to have the proverbial friends in high places, and they quickly abandoned their attempts. bud had never actually missed a day in the thirty years. on the evening of the day young yancey clevenger took his ill-fated walk towards the north side of town, bud reported for work at his usual hour, only seven minutes late. bud’s first stop on reporting was always the morgue, to see if anything new requiring his attention had arrived. bud never bothered to check his phone until he got to work. if there had been a priority call his phone would have beeped, and it had been years since bud had been given a high priority assignment. he had two customers this afternoon, waiting in drawers c-9 and c-10 in room a. each drawer contained the body of the customer, the clothing they had been wearing when found, some photos of them taken by the responders, and most important, a slip of paper with their p-99 code. neither had been identified from items found on their persons. if they had been, there would be nothing for bud to do. it was bud’s humble job to identify customers who either had no i d at all , or no numerical i d and very common names. this day’s two customers were both women in their thirties. one had been strangled, the other killed with a single small shot to the back of the head. one had a handbag with the initials y c. the other had no id at all. they looked enough like that they could have been sisters, even twins. bud decided to take just one picture of each, and the slips with their p-99 codes, up to the semi-max terminal on the fourteenth floor. he could come back for more, but this was unlikely. it was all routine. bud often daydreamed of someday actually “cracking a case” like the detectives on t v. but on this particular evening his thoughts were on the previous night’s game between the tigers and the wildcats, where the tigers had won but had, to bud’s discomfiture, not covered the spread. as usual in these situations, the fault was with the referees, and the people who programmed the referees. but life was unfair. bud accepted that. he had been born knowing that life was unfair, and he had never found reason to change his mind.

a preacher don't steal - 12. kingfish

by nick nelson

part twelve of 32

an old woman came into the store and yancey stepped aside to let her pass. the next thing he knew he was sitting on an old red couch outside a general store and filling station in the desert somewhere. the great mountain looked a little closer than yancey had ever seen it. the sun was starting to go down behind it, an old man with a big hat was sitting on the ground beside the couch, with his back against the wall of the general store, looking up at yancey with little eyes under heavy lids. “where am i ?” yancey asked the old man. “last chance store and station,” the old man replied, pointing over yancey’s head. yancey guessed he was pointing to a sign, but did not bother twisting his neck to try to look at it. “last chance for what?” yancey asked. he was still not completely awake. “it’s just a name,” the old man said. “it don’t mean nothing.” he had an accent yancey did not recognize. yancey’s head was clearing, and he looked more closely at the old man. the old man’s face ‘was brown and leathery, and under his gray whiskers he had curiously small features. there was something else… something yancey could not quite place… the old man turned and looked directly at yancey. he had blue eyes! was he a white man? only that morning yancey had told the lady at the police station he had never seen a white person in his life. and now… here might be one! yancey was too well brought up, and too naturally polite to ask the old man if he was white, so he asked him, “how far from nineveh are we?” “nineveh? nineveh? that a town on the south side?” “yes, that’s right, it’s just south of the city limits.” “well this here is the north side, young fellow. so i guess you are a way off.” the more the old man talked, the stranger his voice and manner of speaking seemed to yancey. “i have to be in nineveh by midnight,” yancey said. “what time is it, anyway?” the old man pointed to the setting sun. “you can see what time it is.” “no, i can not,” yancey told him. “i am not very good at that sort of thing.” the old man made a sound yancey took to be a laugh. “no? well, it’s just abut eight o’clock.” “i have to be in nineveh by imidnight,,” yancey repeated. “is there a bus or something i can catch into the city?” “bus?” the old man made his laughing sound . “ain’t no buses out here. taxi maybe, if you can afford one.” taxi? yancey checked his pocket. his phone was in it. “i don’t know if i want to do that,” he told the old man. “maybe i better start walking.” “suit yourself. tell you what, though, kingfish will probably be by in a while. maybe you can catch a ride in to the city with him.” “that would be great. how long is ‘in a while’?” “hard to say. he might not come by at all, though he probably will. on the other hand, his vehicle might be all filled up, you never know. but if he comes by and he has room , he will probably give you a ride, because that’s the kind of guy he is.” yancey considered this. “maybe i better start walking.” “it’s up to you.” yancey started to get up. his legs went out from underneath him , and he collapsed back on the couch. he had not realized how weak he was. “maybe i better wait for this kingfish person,” he said. “that might be best,” the old man said. if this kingfish doesn’t show by ten thirty, yancey thought, i wiil call a cab, and wipe out my money account. he asked the old man. “how long have i been here anyway?” the old man shrugged. “couple of hours/,” “how did i get here, do you know?” the old man made his laugh sound again. “no, i do not. don’t you know?” “um - no.” the old man did not seem surprised by this. “mrs gilgamesh saw you lying in the road. she gave you some water and dragged you over here. that’s all i know.” “who’s mrs gilgamesh?” “she owns the store.” yancey twisted his head and looked at the store behind him. the wall was covered mostly by a big window, but the window was made of thick greenish glass and was hard to see through. “maybe i should go in and thank her,” yancey said. “you can thank her by buying something. business ain’t been too good lately.”