Takedown, page 24
“Buchanan… Reverend Buchanan. He just likes to be called Buck.”
The room fell silent. Everyone looked at one another as if Gavin had just told them he was James Bond. Finally Benjamin said, “The Reverend Jesse J. Buchanan?”
“You know Reverend Buchanan?” Mullens was without a smile for the first time since Gavin had walked in.
“Yes, but he can’t help right now. He had a heart attack and he’s fighting for his life in the hospital.”
“I thought he was dead,” Benjamin said.
“So did Krogan, which was what Buck wanted. After he lost his wife, son, and daughter-in-law in a Krogan crash, he took his granddaughter and vanished. He said enough was enough and it was time for a change of occupations. But I wanted Krogan bad and convinced him to return to action one more time. I kind of wish now that I’d left well enough alone.”
“Buchanan burned out,” Benjamin said, as if talking to himself. “Sometimes I think I’m burning out.”
Mullens laughed. “You already are, my friend. Charred through and through. But that’s okay. We still love you.”
“It’s so nice to be cared for by those who aren’t afraid to speak the truth in love,” Benjamin said sarcastically but then added a wink.
“You did the right thing, Gavin,” Hartington said while the other two continued. “I’m sure Jesse Buchanan told you there’s a war going on. If we’re not attacking, we’re being attacked.”
Gavin nodded. “Buck has told me that. I just don’t know how. That’s why I’m here.”
“How much do you know about spiritual warfare, Detective?” Father Lauer asked.
“I feel like a baby walking through a jungle. Can you guys help me or not?”
Mullens stood up and walked over to Gavin, putting his hand on his shoulder. “Son, before you mentioned Buchanan, your story sounded mighty wild, and I for one thought we had a loon on our hands. Meet them all the time. I want to apologize. Reverend Buchanan came through our church once, and that meeting lasted sixteen hours. People came from all over and were delivered of everything from alcoholism to acrophobia.”
“What’s acrophobia?” Gavin said.
“Fear of heights,” Benjamin answered.
“Fear of heights?” Gavin said incredulously. “I have fear of heights and Buck knew that. Why didn’t he fix it?”
Hartington giggled. “Just because you’re afraid of heights doesn’t mean you have demon problems. Most of the time our problems have nothing to do with demons. But when they do—”
“Buchanan’s the man,” Mullens interjected.
“He’s a legend,” Benjamin said. “He has a powerful anointing, like no one I’ve ever seen.”
“What Jim’s sayin’ here is true,” Mullens said. “You can go through a hundred problems before you find one with a demon attached, but when they’re attached to the problem, ooooh, baby. And this Krogan fella doesn’t sound like your basic demon.”
“According to Buck, he’s anything but basic. During the hypnosis, he was described as being at Jesus’ crucifixion, laughing. And Buck said he thought Jesus spoke about Krogan when saying a demon like him would require prayer and fasting.”
“We’re on a fast,” Mullens said. “That seltzer’s our lunch,” he pointed out.
“Do you want us to cast him into another tortoise?” Hartington asked, apparently serious, possibly even excited about the idea.
“Been there, done that. This time I want him in a real jail with real guards on a suicide watch. The only problem is that I can’t arrest him.”
“I thought you said he drove through your house with a cement truck and killed your decorator,” Lauer said.
“He did, but I can’t prove it. At least not yet. There’s blood in the cement truck that will prove to be his, but we can’t place him at the scene, and we’re not allowed to just force a blood test on someone. I mean, what am I supposed to do, stab him with a knife and then test the knife? Not that the thought hasn’t been entertained. Obviously, if I did anything like that and it proved a positive match, even a bad lawyer could have it thrown out of court for improper procedure. Enjoyable, but improper.”
“I say we kick his butt,” Mullens said. “Spiritually speaking, of course.”
“What if he were to confess to the crime?” Benjamin wondered aloud. “If he were to admit to you that he did it, wouldn’t that be just reason to arrest him and take a blood test?”
Gavin shrugged. “Sure, but how would I get him to confess… especially to me?”
“You beat him in the wrestling ring,” Benjamin suggested. “Isn’t tonight one of those Armageddon challenges?”
“How did you know that?” Mullens asked.
“I watch the WWX once in a while… purely to see who I should be praying for, of course.”
“Of course,” Mullens muttered.
“Let me get this straight,” Gavin said. “You’re talking about me going in the ring with Krogan and beating him into a confession, and then arresting him based on that confession?” I’ll be killed, Gavin thought.
“Yes,” Benjamin said. “We wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.”
“Buck told me that. And it doesn’t make any more sense hearing it from you.”
“Getting him to confess shouldn’t be any harder than casting him into a tortoise, and you’ve already done that,” Lauer reasoned.
“I just got done telling you, I didn’t do anything. Buck did all the work.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Gavin,” Hartington spoke up. Other heads were nodding, as if they knew what Hartington was going to say. “Buck may have been an instrument, but it was God’s will and power channeling through him, and it will be God’s will and power channeling through you.”
Gavin said nothing, but at that moment he felt a chill run up his spine.
“We’re ready to stand by you, Detective,” Lauer offered boldly. “We’re all prayed up and fasted up. We’re ready to go.”
“Go?” Gavin looked around at the intent faces of the ministers. All appeared confident.
“Absolutely. We’ll stand in the upper four corners of the Nassau Coliseum… north, south, east and west.”
“I’ve got the south,” Mullens said with a wink.
“You can count me in,” Hartington said.
“We’ll be your prayer support,” Benjamin said. “Jesus said ‘Where two or more are gathered in my name, there I am in their midst.’With the four of us, I would imagine Krogan will be seeing enough angels to beg you for mercy.”
“I somehow doubt that,” Gavin said.
“Then that’s the next order of business,” Hartington declared. “Your faith.”
“Now you sound like Buck again.”
“We’ll take that as a compliment,” Benjamin said. “Do you know God, Gavin?”
“I don’t usually get to know the good guys as well as the bad guys. But if the bad guys exist, I guess He does also.”
Benjamin shook his head dramatically. “We’ve been called not to just believe He’s there but to know Him. Are we to be content to know about God intellectually when we’ve been created to know Him spiritually?”
“Are you asking me?” Gavin said, feeling intimidated.
“You’re a logical man, Detective,” Lauer said. “So I’ll give you an analogy. Think of your faith as a telescope. All this time you’ve been wondering about it—how it fits into your life, its size, its shape, its color, how it works, how it doesn’t work. You examine it for what it is, but you never look through it. The time has come for you to look through it.”
“Yes,” Mullens agreed. “Then we can go to the coliseum, get you a good spot in line, and start claiming some ground. Gentlemen, we’re going to war.”
While the ministers nodded and smiled at one another in confident agreement, Gavin felt a gnawing in the pit of his stomach. For all their enthusiasm about “going to war,” Gavin still couldn’t picture himself as the guy to be leading the charge.
38
Krogan zoomed down Main Street, Hamden, in a flash. The police car that had taken off after him in that speed trap never had a chance, but it had added to the thrill of the ride. He’d have to take that route on the way back to Long Island, he decided.
“Make the next right,” said the female voice of the Ferrari’s navigation system.
Krogan had spent the ride up thinking about Buchanan—the humiliation the old man had caused him in both worlds, and conversely, the most humiliating way he could kill him, and how much better the world was going to be for Krogan without him. Yes, this would be the third and last time they would meet. There would not be a fourth. Every human runs out of luck. This one had just taken a little longer to come up empty.
Krogan downshifted and made his turn. Time to slow it down.
“Your destination is ahead on the left. Your route guidance is complete.”
Krogan’s excitement was abruptly tempered with caution. If he were between worlds, in the waterless place, he would right now be under heavy attack from more angels than even he could handle. Just knowing that gave him pause, a rare reaction on his part. Even in the flesh, he couldn’t think of another demon that would tread this close to the likes of Buchanan. But Krogan wasn’t just any demon. Those in the waterless place would see him and know his glory.
Just ahead Krogan could see a white mailbox with small lavender letters that read Samantha’s Dairy Farm. Very cute, he thought sardonically. He turned into the gravel driveway and stopped. A wire fence, probably electrified, bordered the driveway on either side. To his right, several brown cows with pink bows around their necks stopped grazing to stare at him. How disgustingly adorable, he thought. If he had the time, he would brand his name into their sides and then slit their throats.
His gaze turned to the house at the top of the driveway. A white two-story with pink shutters and a wraparound porch. Looked like a little girl’s dollhouse. There was little doubt who the decorator was. To the right of the house was the broad side of a long, white barn with about two dozen small windows running the length of it, all with pink shutters. Between the shutters were large detailed paintings of multicolored butterflies.
Krogan drove slowly up the tree-lined driveway. Near the top of the hill, the driveway emerged into the open and he pulled over. Surprise would be important. Buchanan, with help from his suck-up celestial bodyguards, might realize who he was even in a host he’d never seen before. He had to admit Buchanan was special in that regard. But even Buchanan could be surprised … like in Norway, when—Surprise!—he and his family were gone. Almost, anyway.
Behind the white barn stood two other structures, a smaller barn and a chicken coop. The old preacher had to be here somewhere. First Krogan checked the house. He walked up onto the porch and peeped in through the white lace draperies. He saw nothing. He tried the front door. It was open. He pushed it open slowly and listened carefully. He walked inside, leaving the door open behind him. If someone came by to check on why the door was open, it would be their bad luck. Curiosity kills.
The house was immaculate. He looked into the living room. Swords of sunlight stabbed through the curtains and cut amber lines across an old, wide-plank pine floor. He paused to look at some family photos on the wall. A picture of Buchanan and his wife on their wedding day, looking happy, in love. Too bad. He sneered. The only picture he had ever seen was in the newspaper after the crash.
Krogan quickly lost interest in people who were dead and gone. He went into the next room. The kitchen. Again, incredibly neat and clean. No dishes in the sink. No boots on the floor. Did anybody live here? He checked the refrigerator. It was almost empty. A tub of butter, an assortment of jelly jars, salad dressing, some eggs, but no real food. Not even milk. What kind of dairy farm was this?
Krogan went upstairs and checked the bedrooms, just in case Buchanan was upstairs sick or taking a nap. Beds were made and there were no clothes on the floor. The old man was an utter neat freak. Disgusting.
He went back out on the porch and looked toward the barns. The closest appeared to have farm equipment in it, probably tractors and stuff. He stepped off the porch and started toward it. Leaning against a fence post was a pitchfork. He grabbed it. He’d always wanted to throw a pitchfork through someone. He could probably nail Buchanan from a hundred feet away. He eased up to the first of four garage doors, took a quick look, then ducked inside. He was right about the tractors. There was also some kind of forklift with LULL written on the side. He wondered how far he could throw a cow with it. Beyond that was a flatbed truck on lifts, the front wheel off. But no Buchanan.
Krogan felt anger bubbling up through his veins, tightening his jaw, clenching his teeth. Had those blasted angels seen him coming? Did they warn Buchanan, hide him, take him away? He raised the pitchfork to throw it into the rear wall of the barn. Then he heard a noise outside. He stepped out the door and peered around, his eyes darting about. Nothing. Another noise. It was coming from behind the barn. He went back in and ran around the tractor to the rear of the barn, then looked out one of four small windows along the wall. Horses. Three girls on three horses. He recognized one from a picture in the house. “Samantha,” he whispered with a smile. He looked at the pitchfork and then back at Buchanan’s granddaughter. He quietly slid open the window with the sharp tips of the fork. The girls were letting the horses drink from a white bathtub in the field just thirty or so feet away. An easy target. She was dead. He listened as the girls spoke to each other and the horses. Useless chatter about a horse trial she would never get to see. He didn’t know where Buck was, but his granddaughter would make a good appetizer.
A door shut behind him. He spun, cat quick, pitchfork raised, ready to throw. He saw nothing. A different door. He ran to the front of the barn. An elderly black man with white hair had just entered the chicken coop. He must have been in the smaller white barn, tending cows or something. The door of the coop shut closed. Buchanan! Got him. He would have Samantha for dessert.
Krogan went back in the garage and hurried across each bay until he reached the far end. The chicken coop was just next door, almost attached. He was about to step out when a thought came to mind. He smiled, almost laughed. He turned around and gazed at the LULL. The all-terrain forklift had an extending boom. Krogan hurried to it. Just as he expected, the key was in the ignition. He quickly and quietly opened the well-greased garage door. How considerate of the preacher to maintain his farm so well. He hopped aboard the LULL and placed the pitchfork next to his seat.
The LULL started after a few cranks. Excellent. If the old preacher saw him and came running, he would get a pitchfork in the neck. Krogan played with the simple controls. No sweat. He stepped on the gas, drove out through the garage door, unable to stop himself from laughing. The chicken coop was small. How much fun can a demon have in one day? He would remember this forever. He drove around to the front door of the chicken coop, blocking any possible way of escape. Through the glass door he could see Buchanan, tending to his chickens. The old man must have gone deaf. Whatever. Krogan lowered the forks. The chicken coop was raised off the ground, probably to allow the chicken crap to fall out through the floor. A fatal flaw in the design. He eased the LULL forward, the forks finding the space under the coop. He raised the forks slowly, very slowly, until they touched the floor. Buchanan still hadn’t noticed, his attention still focused on his stupid chickens.
Krogan yanked back on the fork lever, instantly lifting the front of the coop off its foundation. He stopped and laughed, as white chicken feathers exploded inside the coop. The frenzied clucking sounded as if the chickens thought this was as funny as he did. The old preacher turned and raced toward the door, waving frantically at the feather cloud. A pity Krogan could not make out Buchanan’s face clearly enough to see the fear.
“Where are your bodyguards now, Preach?” Krogan yelled. He yanked on the lever again. The coop rose, angled effortlessly upward. Buchanan fell away from the door. Krogan pressed the throttle as he continued to pull on the lever. With the chicken coop tottering at a steep angle, Krogan found another lever that extended the boom. He pushed the lever till the chicken coop was completely vertical. He heard Buchanan scream in pain as feathers billowed through window openings. He laughed heartily.
Krogan saw movement in his peripheral vision, followed immediately by the sound of horse hoofs and whinnying. The three girls that galloped around the barn were approaching him from behind. He extended the boom farther while stepping on the gas. Creaking, glass cracking, feathers flying, he continued to push.
“No! What are you doing? Stop!” screamed the voices behind him as the chicken coop teetered. He pulled back on the boom lever, put the LULL in reverse, backed away, lowered the forks, and rammed the bottom of the chicken coop. Again he raised the forks and drove forward until the chicken coop flipped completely onto its roof. Buchanan’s screaming had stopped. The frantic clucking had quieted. Feathers were floating to the ground.
“Yes!” Krogan proclaimed victoriously, stretching his arms to the sky for the unseen world to see. “You’re dead. I’ve won!” He took a moment to bathe in his glory before his attention was drawn to the next task. Time for dessert.
He threw the LULL into reverse and stood on the gas pedal. He cranked the steering wheel to the left, spinning the machine a hundred eighty degrees.
39
Amy! My God!”
Amy was snatched from her light sleep by a voice more familiar to her than any other. She opened her eyes to see her twin sister, Amber, rushing to her bedside.
“Oh, hi, Amber,” Amy sang sleepily. “How was the Mediterranean?”
Amber had been away on a cruise with the new love of her life, Eric. Amy had seen no reason to interrupt her sister’s vacation with news of the accident.
“Never mind my vacation. Yes, it was great. But somebody should have called me about you.”
