Long Lost - James Scott Bell Page 0,45

there wasn’t some basis?”

Neal said, “Look, man, there’s been people trying to peg us for something ever since the Master put stakes down here.”

“Master?”

“Enlightened Masters are rare, and Eldon LaSalle is one of them.”

“What’s an Enlightened Master do, Neal?”

“Enlightens, fool. He has been given the true word.”

“Who gave him the true word?”

“God. Who do you think?”

“How do you know it was God who gave him the true word?”

“You have to be around him to find out. Once you meet him, you’ll know. You won’t even question it. And once you know, man, you’ll never be the same.”

That’s what I’m afraid of.

“And Johnny,” Steve said. “You say he has some appointment?”

“Anointing. He’s going to carry on after the Master is gone. It’s like Jesus and his apostles.”

“But there were twelve of them.”

“Johnny don’t need nobody else.” Neal put his finger on Steve’s chest. “You best remember that. You can’t stay the same. You stay the same and you die. You got to get in the fight. There’s good and evil and light and darkness, and if you don’t line up on the right side . . .” He didn’t finish the sentence, but made a fist.

Then he turned and walked back toward the shop. Steve wondered if he’d just been threatened. Or merely confronted by a guy who had pretty much given up his own personhood to a “prophet.”

It was now two-thirty in the afternoon. Soon it would be time for a friendly visit with Eldon LaSalle.

Steve’s stomach did a few half gainers thinking about it.

Steve munched a six-inch turkey breast sub in the corner of a small Subway shop on Main Street. It didn’t go down without a fight. He didn’t feel much like eating, tried not to think about the weirdness of it all, but there wasn’t any way to avoid it. Prophecies about Steve Conroy, the deliverer? It sounded like something out of Ghostbusters. Maybe he’d tell Johnny he was the Key Master and be done with it.

What if his brother was certifiable? Lost in delusion? What then? Would it be better if he’d never heard from Johnny in the first place?

There was a mussed-up newspaper on an adjoining table. The Verner Herald. Steve gave it a quick look, trying to get more of a sense of the place. Small-town stuff. A book fair coming up at the local library. A man named Howard Lochner had landed a twenty-five pound rainbow trout in a local mountain lake. Almost a record, they said.

The door swung open and a bit of LA walked in. Two black kids wearing basketball jerseys. One was the purple and gold of the Lakers. The other was a New Jersey Net. Neither one was exactly Verner attire.

Steve watched them, but not as hard as the manager of the store, a short man with a comb-over who perspired from the forehead. He kept his eye on them as they took their time looking at the menu and cracking a joke only they were in on.

A funny kind of tourist, Steve thought.

He went back to the paper. Exciting stuff. Green Valley Elementary was starting in a week. The president of the PTA, Kitty Bates-Rooney, was looking forward to an “awesome year” because of “the most dedicated teachers in the county, who are already at work preparing for the kids.”

And then she mentioned how everyone was rallying behind Joyce Oderkirk at this “very difficult time.”

Joyce Oderkirk.

Steve pushed the last of his sandwich in his mouth and washed it down with now watery Pepsi. He asked the skinny kid at the cash register the way to Green Valley Elementary. He had to ask again because the kid kept taking glances at the two new customers.

But he finally gave Steve the information in a voice that cracked twice.

31

“My name’s Conroy. I wonder if I might speak with Joyce Oderkirk?”

The woman gave Steve a suspicious look. “Are you a reporter or something?”

“No.”

“What then?”

“I’m a lawyer.”

Wariness dug deeper into her eyes. “You know she’s suffered a terrible loss, don’t you?”

“I do. I knew her husband.”

“I’m sorry. It’s awful. Two little girls. I don’t know how Joyce does it, but she’s here and she’s—” The woman stopped as if she’d just revealed a state secret.

“Please,” Steve said. “I think she’ll want to see me. If you could tell her I’m here.”

“What’s it about?”

“If you don’t mind, ma’am, that’s personal. But important.”

She shrugged, but her shoulders fought it. She told Steve to wait and went to an inner office. He looked at a framed