Pierced by a Sword (14 page)

"Not at all, Nathan. Any friend of Father Chet is a friend of the Wheats. You can even borrow one of the boys'
pajamas tonight. Then I can give your clothes a wash before you get up tomorrow morning."

Anne Wheat was obviously an experienced mom.

"Thank you. All the same, I'd feel better off in a hotel."

Why don't you want to stay here?
Nathan thought.
Because you don't trust yourself, that's why. You're a fish out of water around here, Fat Boy.

"Whichever you decide is fine with me," Mrs. Wheat said with
a note of finality.

Karl Slinger had been lost in thought during Anne and Nathan's conversation. He spoke up. "You know, I'm new at this Marian stuff. I'm not sure what to do next," he said, almost to himself. "Actually, I
do
know what to do next," he added. Making quick decisions was a part of Karl's nature. "I'll ask you, Tom. And you, Anne. What
do
I do next?"

Wheat looked to his wife, who
nodded, before he answered Slinger. "It's actually pretty simple, Karl," Wheat replied. "First, get ready for one long Lent. The way things are going–and despite the efforts of Joe Jackson and others to let the country know what's going on–many people are going to need your prayers and spiritual sacrifices before they open their hearts to heaven's messages. That's what it means to be a part of the
Mystical Body of Christ.

"Second, concentrate on doing a good job living your state in life as a husband, father, friend, and businessman. In that order. That's where we please God the most–humbly doing the job He gives us when we wake up in the morning. That's your first priority, Karl. It may sound strange, but this battle is not going to be fought on the usual battlegrounds. The first battleground
is in our homes. God has to win the battle in our families first. Then we can move out and seize other territory."

A cloud came over Karl's face before he spoke. "That's what I spent the most time on yesterday in the confessional. I always prided myself on being an honest and fair businessman. I'm tough, but fair. I don't lie. I despise liars.

"But the hell I've put Dottie through over the years!
All those nights she slept alone when I stayed at the office or traveled on business. I never cheated on her with other women, but I let my business be my mistress. And all that time she was so patient, never complaining while I practically ignored my daughters for decades."

Slinger turned toward Nathan before continuing, "I have two daughters, Nathan, and three grandchildren. And except for their
weddings, I never attended one of their graduations, their birthdays, or even their kids' birthdays. Is it any surprise that neither girl lives in Utah anymore? Listen to me! I'm still calling them 'girls' when Marsha and Kathy are both over forty years old!

"They stopped inviting me to family events after a while," the big man said sadly. "I've been a real ass."

There was an awkward silence after
the man confessed his flaws. Tom noticed for the first time that Slinger's face looked old.

"Your wife's prayers helped, Karl," Anne said gently, "and that's why your prayers are so important now. There are other Karl Slingers out there who don't have anyone to pray for them."

For a moment Tom Wheat thought Karl Slinger was going to cry. But the blood rushed back into the big Pole's face and suddenly
the energetic Karl was back.

"My mother! My mother prayed too! She prayed every day of her life for me! One time I asked her why she only ate black bread on Fridays and she wouldn't tell me why. She must have been fasting for me." Karl was now beaming brightly. "I saw her smile before I heard your CD in the limo!"

"You
saw
your mother?" Tom asked. "You told me on the way home from the airport
that she passed away a long time ago–"

"Oh yes! She died over a decade ago. I didn't have a vision or anything. I saw her in my mind's eye. It was quite normal. I thought it was just my imagination at the time, and forgot about it until Anne mentioned Dottie. You don't know how good this makes me feel!"

Nathan looked directly at Slinger and asked a question–or rather, gave Karl a gentle order–without
saying a word:
Tell me why, Karl. I need to know. This is important. I don't know why it's important, and I don't know what you and Tom are talking about, but you have to tell me why you feel so good.

Nathan had been born with a gift. Even though Karl Slinger was decades older, a hardened war veteran, and a tough captain of industry, Nathan had the ability to command him to answer an
unspoken
question with a
look.
Slinger would respond to Nathan's silent command without consciously realizing he had been issued an order.

Perhaps it was Slinger's excitement. Perhaps it was part of Nathan's gift.

It was the same trait that made him the leader everyone looked to for instructions when the going got hairy at VV&B. It was the same trait that had made the other boys follow him during playground
sports in grammar school.

Tom Wheat, who had served far away from the bloody front lines during the Korean War, suddenly realized where he had seen the look on Nathan's face before tonight. Tom Wheat had seen it on the face of the military legend, Douglas MacArthur. Wheat had been inspected by MacArthur once during the war.

My God! I'd follow this young man anywhere. And he's half my age!
he thought
rather disjointedly.
Things are getting curiouser and curiouser. There's more to this boy–this
man
–than meets the eye.

At the same instant Tom Wheat was thinking of General MacArthur, his daughter Joanie was reminded of the first time she saw Nathan standing next to Father Chet in Nathan's apartment.

Before meeting Nathan, Joanie had concluded there was a high probability that she would never
find a husband as strong or as smart as her own father. Somewhere along the line she had resigned herself to remaining single the rest of her life rather than marry a lesser man than her dad. She had not dated much since college. She liked her job, but often felt frustrated because she rarely met new men in her teaching circle, much less solid Catholic men. Joanie had almost skipped going to Chicago
for Nathan's party when an old college girlfriend (who used to work at VV&B) invited her. Now she saw the handwriting of Providence. She had felt the presence of Nathan's almost completely latent leadership ability the first moment she saw him, and had connected to it in her heart. Her thought at the present moment was almost the same as her father's:
I don't care where you're headed, Mister;
I'm going with you.
She felt a flush of heat on her cheeks.

"I'm happy because my mother is in heaven!" Slinger practically shouted it. "My Mama is in heaven, and she's given me another mother–the Mother of God!"

Heaven? The Mother of God?
Nathan wondered.

Only Slinger's strength and sincerity stopped Nathan from writing him off. The man obviously believed. Nathan was disturbed by Slinger's faith.
I'll never get faith like his, even if I try Pascal's Wager for
ten
years! I'll lose Joanie, and I don't even have her now as it is.

"Sir?" Nathan asked.

Slinger nodded.

"Whatever it is you have, I want it. I need it, sir. As long as Mr. Wheat says you should pray, would you mind praying for me?"

"I'd be happy to pray for you. I'd be damned happy. Oops, sorry Anne–about the language I mean. Don't
get discouraged, son."

Slinger, who was not without a gift for adding weight to his own words, paused for effect before adding, "Yesterday, I was just like you, Nathan. Just like you."

Nathan, using his gift again, looked around the table. The glance took only a moment. This unspoken command was given with only a fraction of the intensity he had exercised on Slinger. Nathan didn't realize he was
using his gift. It was a part of Nathan, as automatic as finding the mathematical relationship between numbers.

No one felt manipulated or resented Nathan. It was simply
clear
to everyone around the table that the subject was closed.

Anne broke the awkward silence, "Apple pie, anyone?"

"You bet, Mom." Denny spoke for the first time, relieved that this emotional dinner conversation was over.

+
  +  +

After dinner Joanie and Nathan left to get some air outside, holding hands as they walked out the back door toward Denny's Cessna. Denny helped his mother clean up. Tom and Karl retired to the den for a nightcap of Maker's Mark.

In the den, Tom, who already felt an affinity to Slinger and sensed that he could trust the big man's opinion, asked him what he thought of Nathan Payne.

Slinger,
despite his gregarious and seemingly impetuous nature, impressed Tom with his willingness to mull things over before speaking.

"Tom, you know, when I was a boy, I grew up on my daddy's ranch near Butte, Montana. Daddy spoke crooked English, but he built that little place into the largest ranch in Montana by the time I got it and turned it into SLG.

"One time my papa took me out hunting. He shot
this huge grizzly bear. He thought the bear was dead, but he wasn't sure. Before walking up to the bear to check, he took me aside and told me to be careful, because a bear is one of the most powerful animals in nature, and even more ferocious when wounded.

"'Don't mess with bear ven hurt, Karl,' Papa said. 'Hurt bear ist trouble. Hurt bear ist like ten not-hurt bear.' Then Papa walked up to the
bear slowly, and carefully shot it again with his Springfield.

"That young man your daughter is so taken with may be young, and he may be inexperienced, but he
is
a bear. A powerful bear. He's soft-spoken and quiet, almost like a kid, but he's a bear all right."

"When he gave you that look at the table," Wheat added sagely, "he reminded me of Doug MacArthur."

"I personally know lesser men who
run Fortune 500 companies," Karl nodded. "Good men, tough men–I'd bet none of them would last five minutes with Nathan Payne in any kind of contest you could name.

"Nathan's wounded, too, Tom. He's got old bear-wounds he doesn't want to face. If you love your daughter, and I know you do, I suggest you and I
both
start praying for Mr. Nathan Payne."

Both men exchanged looks.

"Another thing my papa
told me when I was a kid," Slinger added after a moment's reflection.

Tom squinted his eyes and asked gravely, "And what is that, Karl?"

"Papa used to say the best way to heal an old wound that still hurts is to open it up again and bleed out the pain. I don't know how Nathan's going to face whatever it is he's wrestling with, but it's going to be one hell of a scene when that wound opens."

There
was nothing more to say. Tom pulled his rosary out of his pocket and held it toward Karl.

Smiling, Karl pulled out his own rosary, which was given to him by the priest who heard his recent confession in the Cathedral of the Madeleine in Salt Lake City.

Let's get down to work, Karl,
Tom thought.

Both men, accustomed to work, got down to it.

2

Saturday Afternoon
7 October
The Motorman Motel
Santa
Paula, California

Everything was gone. All his money. His properties. His mother. Raja X. Gone.

Everything was gone except his heartbeat.

His mother was the real problem, Lee thought. She had lowered him to this state, or so Lee's darkened mind told him. It was her fault.

Lee tried to get up from the dirty bed in the cheap motel located near the Ventura Highway, the highway made famous by a song
in the seventies. Unable to balance, he collapsed to the floor. His needle-specked arm came into focus. He was too high and too depressed to cry. Then he began having trouble focusing on the needle marks on his arm. One was bleeding–but the blood didn't look red. It looked ghoulish, bluish, almost white, like milk mixed with food coloring.

So much stuff in me that it's blue.

It was a statement.
He was too strung out to be shocked. He was afraid of something else, something much worse.

"What are you going to do when it wears off?" he asked himself. The words came out, "Wha...gonna do...wears off."

The addict doesn't fear death. He fears being
clean.
The agony is excruciating, physically and mentally.

"DTs coming, Lee."
Was that his voice? He didn't know anymore.

"DTs,"
the voice insisted.

Delirium Tremens.

The voice was lying, and enjoying the irony of the lie; DTs come to alcoholics, not cokeheads. Lee, who knew this sober, was too wacked out to tell the difference right now.

For the demon, it was the fear that mattered. Lying was just a habit.

Lee began to turn his head toward the ceiling. It seemed to take an hour to do so and the effort drained almost all of his remaining energy.
He looked at a black spot on the uneven ceiling. It seemed to grow larger before his eyes. He fell into the hole and his drug-induced state called forth the events of the last month. They flashed by in eerie succession, as if the chronology were the only order in his universe.

The look of horror on the investors' faces when the Santa Monica Hospital deal fell through, taking most of their money
and much of Lee's money with it.

Fabian slamming the door in his face at Fabian's apartment. "Get out of here, Junkie!"

Raja X slapping him across the face, shutting Lee up. "We had something special, Lee, and
you
threw it all away," Raja had added wearily, dry-eyed. He saw Raja walking away, quietly closing the door behind her.

The banker telling him there was no money in his account. "Your mother
withdrew a cashier's check on your behalf this morning. She had a signed document with your signature on your office letterhead. You weren't in, so we checked the signature against the one on file. Mr. Washington? Are you feeling all right, Mr. Washington? Mr. Washington?"

Frantically calling all over the Woodland Section. To no avail. His mother was a cokehead, and she was gone. Gone.