long before Tulsa. When I was a little boy, he was the minister at our church. It was his first pastoral job, and I would have guessed it was his last. Until now.”
His smile went away. “You’re shitting me! How old was he, eighteen?”
“I think around twenty-five. I was six or seven.”
“Was he healing people back then?”
“Not at all.” Except for my brother Con, that was. “In those days he was straight-up Methodist—you know, Welch’s grape juice at communion instead of wine. Everyone liked him.” At least until the Terrible Sermon. “He quit after he lost his wife and son in a road accident.”
“The Rev was married? He had a kid?”
“Yes.”
Hugh considered. “So he’s actually got a right to at least one of those wedding rings—if they are wedding rings. Which I doubt. Look at this.”
He went to the band at the top of the website page, put the cursor on MIRACLE TESTIMONY, and clicked. The screen now showed a line of YouTube videos. There were at least a dozen.
“Hugh, if you want to go see Charlie Jacobs, I’m happy to tag along, but I really don’t have time to discuss him this morning.”
He regarded me closely. “You don’t look like someone who swallowed a bird. You look like somebody gave you a hard punch to the gut. Look at this one vid, and I’ll let you go.”
Halfway down was the boy from the poster. When Hugh clicked on it, I saw the clip, which was only a little over a minute long, had racked up better than a hundred thousand views. Not quite viral, but close.
When the picture started to move, someone shoved a microphone with KSDK on it into Robert Rivard’s face. An unseen woman said, “Describe what happened when this so-called healing took place, Bobby.”
“Well, ma’am,” Bobby said, “when he grabbed on my head, I could feel the holy wedding rings on the sides, right here.” He indicated his temples. “I heard a snap, like a stick of kin’lin wood. I might have passed out for a second or two. Then this . . . I don’t know . . . warmth went down my legs . . . and . . .” The boy began to weep. “And I could stand on em. I could walk! I was healed! God bless Pastor Danny!”
Hugh sat back. “I haven’t watched all the other testimonials, but the ones I have watched are pretty much the same. Remind you of anything?”
“Maybe,” I said. Cautiously. “What about you?”
We had never discussed the favor “the Rev” had done for Hugh—a favor big enough to cause the boss of the Wolfjaw Ranch to hire a barely straight heroin addict on the basis of a phone call.
“Not while you’re pressed for time. What are you doing for lunch?”
“Ordering in pizza. After the c&w chick exits, there’s a guy from Longmont . . . sheet says he’s ‘a baritone interpreter of popular song’ . . .”
Hugh looked blank for a moment, then slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Oh my God, is it George Damon?”
“Yeah, that’s the name.”
“Christ, I thought that sucker was dead. It’s been years—before your time. The first record he made with us was Damon Does Gershwin. Long before CDs this was, although eight-tracks might have been around. Every song, and I mean every fucking song, sounded like Kate Smith singing ‘God Bless America.’ Let Mookie handle him. They go back. If the Mookster screws up, you can fix it in the mix.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. If we’re going to see the Rev’s fine and holy shit-show, I want to hear what you know about him first. Probably we should have had this conversation years ago.”
I thought that over. “Okay . . . but if you want to get, you have to give. A full and fair exchange of information.”
He laced his hands together on the not inconsiderable middle of his western-style shirt and rocked back in his chair. “It’s nothing I’m ashamed of, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s just so . . . unbelievable.”
“I’ll believe it,” I said.
“Maybe so. Before you leave, tell me what that verse in Matthew says, and how you know it.”
“I can’t quote it exactly after so many years, but it’s something like, ‘As the lightning flashes from east to west, covering the sky, so shall be the coming of Jesus.’ It’s not about healing, it’s about the apocalypse. And I remember it because it was one of Reverend Jacobs’s favorites.”
I glanced at the clock.