a preacher don't steal - 24. william

by nick nelson

part twenty-four of 32

william had a way of coming into the store, and launching into a conversation as if he were resuming one that had been interrupted a few minutes before, even though the listener, yancey or anyone else, had no idea what he was talking about. yancey usually found this amusing, or at least not annoying. he had known people in prison with a similar manner. once, around three in the morning, when the store was empty except for yancey behind the counter, william suddenly appeared with a scowl on his face and announced - that guy in toledo, who found that thing in his back yard, he disappeared! hold on, yancey replied tolerantly, what guy in toledo? i never heard about any guy in toledo. what did he do that was so important? he found a space ship in his back yard! how did he know it was a space ship? did it had a label on it marked space ship? there you go again, william said, trying to change the subject. what else would it be but a space ship? william walked over to the aisle containing potato chips and began intently examining the variously colored bags of chips. yancey did not say anything more about the space ship. the subject was apparently dropped. and that football game in russia where that girl got killed, what do you think about that? william asked. i didn’t hear about that, yancey answered. you should have , william said, it shows how messed up everything is. but nobody wants to learn, or take any responsibility. that could be, yancey agreed. the door opened and zorina came in. she did not usually come in at night. yancey nodded at her. you are up late, william said to zorina. did you hear about the guy in toledo. no, and he probably didn’t hear about me. i just came in to get a couple of white pills and a mountain dew. zorina went over to the cold drinks section and grabbed a can of mountain dew. she wished she had not come in, because now she would have to listen to william, and maybe have to chase him away if he followed her out of the store.

a preacher don't steal - 23. the depot

by nick nelson

part twenty-three of 32

mona came back the next night. she told yancey her story. mona was born in the army, during the last great war. this meant that she was a little older than yancey had thought. her father was a recruiting sergeant. he traveled all over the back roads of the empire, cajoling yokels into joining up to save civilization. her mother was a spy for the rebels. she had pulled the wool over the eyes of the innocent recruiting sergeant. when her deception was discovered, by the legendary iuderground operative of the empire known as perry khan, she was shot by a firing squad, and the recruiting sergeant was reduced to the rank of private and banished to a supply depot near the north pole. he took the chlld, mona, with him. mona grew up in the supply depot, buffeted by icy winds. depending on the shifts in the war, the depot was either very busy, or almost lifeless. mona’s father had one assistant, a curious little fellow known as vladmir. vladimir resembled a little dog, and had the face of a lizard. among vladimir’s meager possessions was an old deck of cards. he taught the chlld mona to play many games, including some he had invented himself. mona learned when to hold them, and when to fold them. when the war ended, mona’s father and vladmir were both demobolised. mona never saw vladimir again. mona and her father found themselves on the streets of memphis. one day mona’s father left her in a cafeteria while he went to see about a job in a sandwich packing plant. he never returned. mona stole a deck of cards from a general store that covered a whole city block of memphis, and began doing card tricks, and playing three card monte on the sidewalk with chumps and yokels and disbanded soldiers. eventually she was arrested and spent nine years in a reformatory. when she met yancey, she had been getting along by doing a little bit of this, a little bit of that, and telling sad stories. but she wanted to settle down.

a preacher don't steal - 22. mona

by nick nelson

part twenty-two of 32

oliver was a conscientious parole officer. he had held the job for many years, and had no thought of either leaving it or of advancing in the parole board hierarchy. he got yancey a job as night clerk in a small convenience store on the northern outskirts of memphis. the store was located about three kilometers from the general store where yancey had gotten the ride from kingfish. but yancey had no curiosity about either the store or kingfish, and never went near the store. the store had a number of regular customers who showed up almost every night. one of them was a girl named mona. nobody knew where she came from, but she seemed like a nice enough person. yancey had always kept the little toy lizard-monkey soldier he had purchased on that long ago fateful night. now he put it on the counter of the store during the hours he worked there. one night mona asked him about it. yancey told her the story of purchasing it . this led to hm yelling her the whole story of how he had come to spend eight years in prison. mona heard the story without comment. i have a story too, she told yancey, but it is getting late, the dawn is breaking , and i will tell it to you tomorrow night. after mona left, william came in. william was a somewhat creepy and pathetic person whom yancey was inclined to lend a sympathetic ear to . william had many stories, mostly about how mistreated he was, by his fellow humans, and by life in general. sometimes yancey and william talked about the universe, and about the meaning of life. william had read the books of al-garibldi, a prophet whose works had not been allowed in the prison, as they were considered inflammatory and not conducive to social harmony. william did not describe himself as a follower of al-garibaldi, but found his ideas interesting enough to recount them as a subject of conversation. al-garibaldi’s main teaching was that every wrong, no matter how small, that had ever been done, would have to be righted before the universe, and the creatures in it, could find peace. yancey expressed his approval of this sentiment. but on this particular night william was not disposed to speak of abstract matters, but began a long and involved story about how a woman had stepped on his foot on the trolley car from the south side, and how he, william, had let her know his displeasure and how the other passengers on the trolley had joined in and taken one side or the other. william had a great fund of such stories, which was one reason nobody liked him much.

a preacher don't steal - 21. oliver

by nick nelson

part twenty-one of 32

the blue car pulled up on yancey’s right. a harmless looking little man with a round head and face looked out at yancey from the front seat. “yancey clevenger?” “yes, sir.” “i’m oliver rogers, your parole officer.” “yes, sir.” “well, get in. i didn’t drive out here to look at the scenery.” yancey got in the car. what f he isn't really the parole officer, he thought. but what could he do, ask for i d? even if the man had some, it could be fake. the car started up, headed for the city. “i bet you are wondering if i really am your parole officer.” “um - no, sir. who else would you be?” “i could be anybody.” “would anybody want to rob me for my eight hundred dollars?” “ha, ha! of course they would. and for a lot less than that. come on, i know how you fellows think, after a long stretch in the ditch. “ “maybe eight hundred is more than i thought,” yancey said. “everybody told me it did not go far out in the world right now.” “ha, ha! and they told you right. look, i know you are yancey clevenger, you served eight years of a twenty year sentence for killing your mother. you took up with the teachings of reverend jake when you were inside. how would i know all that if i wasn’t who i say?” “i didn’t do it.” “you didn’t read the books of reverend jake?” “i didn’t kill my mother.” “you do not say so. i could not care less if you did or not, so we will drop the subject.” “all right.” “look at that scenery. pretty nice, eh?” the scenery was an endless gray tunnel wall, interspersed every hundred meters by scrawny, mostly leafless trees. “it is very nice, sir.” “i see you are easy to get along with. a lot of fellows say it is not that much different from the scenery on the inside.” “i’ll take it.” “a lot of fellows think the world outside these days is not that different from the inside.” “i am sure i will prefer it,” yancey said. they rode a few kilometers in silence. “what did you say your name was?” yancey asked. “oliver. oliver rogers.” “i thought oliver was your last name.” “everybody just calls me oliver. you can call me that, unless you insist on being super polite and you can call me mr rogers.” rogers! the detective who had handled yancey’s case and worked so hard to convict him, had been named bud rogers.

a preacher don't steal - 20. eight years later

by nick nelson

part twenty of 32

yancey was released from prison after serving eight years for the murder of yolanda carter. he knew what to expect. he received eight hundred dollars and a new suit of clothes and new shoes. the prison was thirty-seven kilometers from civilization. a bus ran to the city twice a day, with a one way fare of forty dollars. as he had no one to meet him at the gate, yancey could either pay the forty dollars or walk the thirty seven kilometers. during his eight years he had heard many stories about the bad things that could happen on the thirty seven kilometer walk, especially from desperadoes and con men and evil women who cruised the highway to pounce on the newly released convicts and divest them of their little bonuses by various brutal or smooth means. but he had also heard assurances that these tales were urban myths, that a) there were not enough convicts being released every day to make it worth anybody’s while to constantly roam the highway, and b) that the highway police did regularly cruise the road, making it one of the safest places in the empire, especially during daylight hours. yancey decided to walk. he had hoped that his assigned parole officer, mr oliver, would pick him up and introduce himself, but this did not work out. yancey had kept in shape during his incarceration, and was still young. he felt he night actually enjoy the long walk in the cool morning air. so he set out. yancey, like 28 percent of the inmates, had decided to become a preacher when he got out. he had read the books of the reverend jake and fund them instructive. the reverend jake had a fairly large following in the prison, though not as large as the reverend selim’s. the followers of jake and the followers of selim did not mix much. actually, none of the inmates had much contact with each other at all. there was not much conflict, or opportunity for conflict. only the works of preachers like jake and selim, who preached the ways of peace, were made available on the prison library shelves. yancey had not made up his mind as to whether to preached the gospel of jake, or to develop his own gospel. he was inclined to preach jake’s at first, then perhaps to strike out on his own if and when he got a handle on preaching at all. and of course, he needed a job. when yancey had been young and innocent and free, he had thought he wanted three things - a job, a girl, and a dog. now he would gladly settle for a job, and worry about the girl and the dog later. all these thoughts had, of course, occupied much of his waking hours in the prison. i am out now, he thought as he walked along, i should get some new thoughts. how he wished mr oliver, the parole officer, had picked him up! just as he thought this, he saw a car approaching. an ordinary looking car, it was painted a dull blue, and looked like a four seater. it slowed down, and the driver, who seemed to be alone in the car, looked at yancey as it passed him. yancey looked back after it had gone by. the blue car was making a u turn on the highway, and started back toward him. uh-oh!

a preacher don't steal - 19. the detective

by nick nelson

part nineteen of 32

detective third grade lila livingston, armed with bud rogers’ s report on yolanda carter and yancey clevenger, presented herself at the just a restaurant as dawn was breaking. xenia was not there, but daisy the midnight shift waitress told her that she was expected soon. “do you know a young man named yancey clevenger?” the detective asked daisy. “uh - yes, he works here. at least, he did. i don’t know if he still does, you would have to ask xenia.” “do you know him very well pesonally? “no, i wouldn’t say so. he worked mostly different shifts. he did, until last night anyway. “ “so you don’t know him that well?” “i don’t hang out with him, if that is what you mean. he is just a kid, i think he is still in school.” “what did you say your name was again?” “daisy. daisy derringer.” “why do i get the impression, miss daisy, that you are holding something out on me?” “um - i answered your questions.” “right. but is there something i didn’t ask about that you could tell me?” daisy hesitated. “the kid was supposed to show up last night at midnight. xenia just put him on full time, and this was supposed to be his first time on his new shift. xenia wasn’t too happy about it . and when she is not happy she lets you know it. i wouldn’t want to be the kid when she catches up with him.” “and he never showed up, or called in?” “he did call, real late. way after xenia went home. “ “how late?” “real late, like i said.” “i mean, what time exactly? three o’clock, five o’clock? it’s about seven now.” “maybe around three. i didn’t talk to him, he called george.” “and george is what or who?” “he is the dishwasher. the kid called him on his own phone.” “and is george still here?” “yes, he is, do you want to talk to him?” “please.” george the dishwasher was an old timer, and he knew enough not to try to hold out on the police. he told detective livingston everything he remembered about yancey’s call, “so what time did he call?” “i just checked my phone, he called about three. you want to see the phone?” “yes.” george handed the phone over and livingston glanced at it. it showed a call at 2:58, nothing afterwards or for the day previous . “did you record the call?” “naw, i never bother with that.” “so, what did he have to say?” “he said he was still trying to get here and to tell xenia he was sorry if she showed up.” “did he try to call this xenia?” “he might have. he didn’t say.” “hm.” livingston balanced the phone in her hand. “i will keep this. we might be able to retrieve something on it. you can get along without it for a couple of days.” “of course, officer. “ “anything else you can tell me?” “he’s a good kid. a good worker. not like most of these young punks today.” “that’s good to know. anything else?” “yes. the reason he was going to start full time - his mother disappeared a few days ago. that’s why he was going to quit school and work full time - so he could keep supporting himself.” “not like most of the young punks these days?” “exactly.” livingston of course knew all about yolanda’s disappearance. “thank you,” she told george. “that is very interesting. very interesting. you see how helpful you can be when you cooperate with the police.” “do you want to wait for xenia?” daisy asked . “she should be here any minute. she is usually here by now.” “yes, i think i will.” “do you want anything while you wait?” daisy asked. “coffee?” “coffee woufd be nice. and i will pay for it?” “anything else? we got a great breakfast special.” “just coffee for now, thank you.”

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.