All The Bells on Earth (19 page)

“I don’t like them much myself,” Mahoney said.

“I can see that you don’t. And quit looking at me over the top of your spectacles like that. You don’t know the half of it yet. Nelson and Leroy were already involved in spiritualism, dabbling in the occult, some of it pretty nasty. I had known LeRoy for years, and I didn’t like him. His conscience, if he ever had one, had rotted. George Nelson was a complete idiot. The only thing he had going for him twenty years ago was that he knew he was a small-timer. He had a pitiful little divorce practice. He had come to know his own prospects, and he didn’t like them a bit. As for Argyle, heaven knows what he would have come to without stumbling into this pit these other two dug for him. And me too, I guess. That’s what I’m trying to say here. I worked on it myself, like a steamshovel.

“Anyway, the whole thing was simple. This man Obermeyer hinted around that he could set up this contract business for a fee, a commission. None of these men were wealthy at the time, but then the initial fee wasn’t all that high, either. It was later, if they were satisfied, that they would pay me the real money. Of course I never expected to see it. This whole thing was a joke. I was going to pick the Devil’s pocket and make a few dollars for the Church.”

“Well, pardon me if I’m a little skeptical about that last part,” Mahoney said.

“What
should
I have done with the money, bought a Cadillac?”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have taken it at all.”

“Then someone else would have. That’s capitalism, isn’t it? Somebody pays money out, somebody else gathers it in. I did the gathering that day.”

“I think I see. What you’re telling me is that you sold your own soul to gain … what? Not the world. You were above that. What you wanted was to do good works—Christian charity. You saw yourself as a sort of Robin Hood of the Church.”

“Well,” Bentley said. “That gets close to it. I suppose I did. It’s vanity, I know. But if I
did
sell my soul, by God I didn’t sell it for my
own
gain.”

“I believe you. But you don’t sound happy with it anyway.”

“Of
course
I don’t sound happy with it.”

“Then what’s eating you?”

“Well, it didn’t end there. The three of them prospered, and I didn’t, so I squeezed them a little bit, now and then, and kept the con alive. I always meant to quit, but then the lunch van would break down or the plumbing would back up, and I’d have my man call up Argyle or LeRoy and ask for an ‘offering.’ Heaven help me, that’s how I phrased it. Argyle got richest, of course, so I squeezed him the hardest. And it worked, mind you, because they believed in me. And worse than that, they were
afraid
of me. How do you like that? Shameful, isn’t it?”

“I suppose it is,” the priest said.

“Here’s the bad thing: all three of these men got what they wanted. I conned them, you see, and yet it never
looked
like a con. To the contrary, they were satisfied customers. A few years pass, and what happens? George Nelson carves out a legal empire. He goes out to D.C. to lobby senators and does who-knows-what kind of damage. His law firm opens branch offices all across the country. There’s even a law school named after him. After eighteen years he comes back home to take it easy, and he buys a big house in Panorama Heights. And Argyle? He’s got the Midas touch. Whatever he sets his hand to, it returns to him tenfold. Half of it’s fraudulent, outright criminal, but no one pays any attention any more, despite his past. It’s as if he’s got
protection
of some kind. LeRoy? Utterly debased. Real estate millions spent on filthy pursuits, right here in the middle of town. Life going on roundabout him like he’s invisible.”

“Take some comfort in the fact that you
didn’t
know,” Mahoney said. “What did you
think
you were doing? Ask yourself that. I haven’t got any grievance against guilt, but I insist that it be applied accurately.”

“No, there’s no comfort in it, I assure you. You know why? Because I saw the truth. Here’s the clincher:
There hadn’t been any con
. They
intended
to give themselves up to the Devil, and I walked in and paved the way. I pretended to be some kind of satanic … minister, and by heaven I
was that thing
. There is no king’s X when you’re dealing in souls. That’s what I found out. I did the
wrong
thing, and I did it laughing and smiling. I saw something pretty clearly then. I saw that all of us, LeRoy and Nelson and Argyle and me too, all of us had the same ally—the Father of Lies. I cut it off then. I prayed that was the end of it.”

“Then now’s the time to face the Devil down.”

“That’s what I’m telling you. That’s why I came here. I’ve botched it. I can’t do it alone. I’m not strong enough. A few days ago Argyle called me on the phone, looking to talk to Flanagan again. He wanted to buy his way free, just like he’d bought his way in all those years ago.”

“And what did you tell him? The truth?”

Bentley shook his head. “It didn’t do any good. He offered me a hundred thousand dollars.”

Mahoney slumped backward in his chair, looked down his spectacles, and whistled softly.

“Just like that. Easy money. I told myself that the bastard was a dead man anyway. The Devil doesn’t care how many checks Argyle writes out, or who he writes them to. Take the money and run before the man goes down the well, I thought—the damage is already done.”

“You didn’t cash the check?”

“No, I didn’t. But I took the money in weakness, and I’m a little afraid that …” He shrugged.

“Well,” Mahoney said, picking up one of the jars. “You’ve got my help. I’m in. And with the help of God we’ll prevail, too.” He picked up one of the jars and peered into it. “You’ve already opened one of these things. Now I will. Excuse me if I’m a little doubtful, but I want to know what we’re up against.”

Before Bentley could protest he twisted the lid off the jar. There was the sound of a human cry, and then a fluttering sound, as if a bird had gotten into the church and lost itself among the rafters. Bentley felt a lightness in his throat that made him want to swallow. And, as if a wind were blowing straight through him, he was suffused with remorse and fear and regret and a dozen unnameable sensations that filled him utterly, then evaporated on the instant. Abruptly the fluttering was gone, the church was quiet, and he could hear the sound of the rain out on the street.

“Sorry,” Mahoney whispered.

“Well, now you know.”

Although what either of them knew, Bentley still couldn’t say.

I
T WAS NEARLY MIDNIGHT
when the phone rang. Walt woke up instantly, lurching across the bed and snatching up the receiver before Ivy could get to it. He was certain it was Argyle, upping the stakes, maybe the enormous postal inspector….

But the voice on the other end didn’t belong to Argyle, or to the inspector either. It was vaguely familiar. “
Who
is this?” Walt asked.

“This is
Jack
, Walt. Your brother-in-law.”

“Jack!” Walt sat up in bed, motioning at Ivy, who was awake now, looking at him curiously. “How the hell are you?”

“What in God’s name is going on with Darla and the kids? She say anything to Ivy about taking off or something? I’ve been trying to get hold of her since this afternoon. The preschool tells me Ivy picked up the kids.”

Walt could hear noises in the background—someone talking, laughter, what sounded like glasses or bottles clinking. Jack was in a bar. He didn’t sound drunk, not toasted anyway. Walt covered the phone and whispered the question to Ivy.

“Tell him the truth about Darla,” she said. “We can’t hide it from him. No use starting out with lies. Tell him to relax about the kids. We’ll think of something.”

“Here’s the deal,” Walt said, into the phone now. “Ivy tells me that Darla flew back east, to Ann Arbor. You know, to stay with the folks for a little while.”

“Why the hell didn’t she tell me?”

“She didn’t
tell
you?”

“Not a goddamned word. When the hell was this?”

“Today, I guess. She called up Ivy to take over the kids for a few days. She didn’t leave you any kind of note, maybe?”

“Not word one. And what are you talking about here? Nora and Eddie didn’t go with her? They’re over at your place?”

“No. Yeah. They’re downstairs, asleep. Hell, I thought you knew all about this. Ivy told Darla that the kids could stay here for a few days, until Darla got herself together—whatever she’s up to. I think she misses her folks, to tell you the truth, what with Christmas coming up and all. They aren’t getting any younger.”

There was a muffled silence, and Walt could hear Jack mumbling to someone. A woman giggled, and then Jack snickered and said something else to her. Walt nearly hung up the phone.

“So what about the kids?” Jack said. “What the hell am I supposed to do with the kids while she’s back east? I’ve got a damned job. She apparently didn’t think about that.”

Walt took a deep breath. Starting something now was the worst thing he could do. He’d have Jack over here in a drunken rage, pounding on the door. “That’s just it,” Walt said to him cheerfully. “That’s what I’m saying. We invited the kids for a visit. It’s fine by us, Jack. We’ve been talking about having the kids over for what?—a year? Now’s just about perfect. I’m working out of the house. Jinx and Henry are here for the winter. And you know Jinx, she’s crazy about both of them.”

“I don’t know,” Jack said. “What did … ? Shit. Darla told me
nothing
about this.”

“Well … heck. I don’t know what to tell you about that. But we were looking forward to having the kids around for a week or so. Two weeks if we can talk you out of them. Just between you and me, man, I think Ivy’s got some kind of female thing about this, you know what I mean? She’s been riding the kid bandwagon these days. It’s some kind of maternal thing—like a nesting instinct.” He grinned at Ivy, who scowled at him and narrowed her eyes. “Anyway, she had this all worked out with Darla.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jack said. “Everybody had the whole thing worked out except their damned father.”

Stepfather, Walt thought. The man who’s down at the Dewdrop Inn with his part-time squeeze. “Well, just don’t worry about the kids, Jack. Jinx has got them both doing the damned dishes. And she’s got some idea of taking them out to Prentice Park tomorrow, to the zoo, if this rain lets up.”

“Well, hell,” Jack said. “I guess there’s no harm. You sure you
want
the two of them?”

“
Hell
, yes. Like I said, Ivy’s made all kinds of plans.”

“Okay, then. I guess so. Sounds like everything’s copacetic. Tell the kids I’ll give them a call tomorrow—tomorrow night, I guess. Busy day tomorrow.”

“I’ll tell them,” Walt said. “You want me to wake ’em up right now and …”

“No,” Jack said hastily. “No need for that. I’ll get back with you after I talk to Darla.”

“Good. You take it easy.”

“I will,” Jack said. “You too.”

He hung up then, and Walt did too, breathing a heavy sigh of relief.

“Drunk?” Ivy asked.

“Not stinking. He’s ticked off about Darla going back east without his permission, but I don’t think he gives a damn about the kids being over here. It gives him a clear week or two.”

“That won’t last. Once he talks to Darla, he’ll be calling back.”

A
T THREE IN THE
morning, Center Street was nearly dark. The streetlamps were off for some reason, and only a couple of houses had front porch lights on. Argyle nearly turned up the alley toward Grand, but then he noticed that Christmas lights were shining on a house near the end of the block, and instead of turning he killed the headlights, eased the car into the curb, and put the shift lever in park, letting the motor idle. He was tired, worn out, and he sat there for a moment undecided. He shivered in the dark. There was a hint of sulphur on the air, and his head was full of insects. He saw his own face reflected in the glass circle over the speedometer along with the foggy colors of the Christmas lights. It was the face of a corpse, milky-white, the eyes dead and staring. He licked his lips and looked away, hearing something now, above the droning noise that rose in his ears—a sound like iron doors slamming shut and distant human voices.

Fear prodded him into movement, and he turned and reached behind the seat. From the floor he picked up a broomstick with a coat hanger hook on the end, then took a quick look up and down the street before he opened the door and stepped out onto the curb. He trotted silently across the lawn, stopping beneath the lowest point of the eaves. Swiftly he slipped the hook over the string of lights and yanked on it, pulling the entire length down onto the bushes without a sound. The falling lights filled him with a sudden glee, and he grasped the cord between the hot bulbs and yanked on it. There was a snapping sound and the pop of a bulb breaking, and then the lights went dark. He dropped the cord, stomped on three or four bulbs, turned around, and trotted back to the car, climbing in and pulling away.

Thirty seconds! For a moment he felt invigorated, drunk with success as he turned the corner and gunned away up Palm Avenue. Then, as if a switch had been thrown, his stomach abruptly churned with fear again, and he looked into the rearview mirror half expecting to see an outraged homeowner running after him down the street, shaking his fist.