In Preacher's office, the young lady in the floral sun dress sat nervously on the other side of his desk. Olivia Benoit was twenty three years old. She had always been a small girl, thin build. It was known around town that at a young age, she left her home to escape an alcoholic and abusive father. Since then, she has been forced into finding work where she could. Two weeks prior, she had taken the job as a bookkeeper for Preacher's church.
As they sat in the silent room, Preacher placed his black framed glasses on, and ran his eyes down Olivia's tan legs, all the way down to the wedged shoes strapped to her foot. As subtly as she could, she tugged slightly at the end of her dress to pull it down a bit.
Preacher reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a package of cigarettes and lit one. He squinted at her through the smoke that rose through the air. He smiled. With his left hand, he grabbed a coffee mug that sat on his desk and scooted it closer to him, tapping the first round of ashes into it. Olivia shuffled the papers she had been holding in her lap.
"So hunny, what can I do for you?"
Olivia reached forward to hand Preacher a few pieces of the paper work. He didn't reach back, so after a few seconds she laid them down on his desk.
"You hired me to be you bookkeeper, sir....."
He tapped his ashes into the mug.
"That I did. I trust things are going well? Everyone is treating you appropriately?"
"Yessir. The thing is, you hired me to be your bookkeeper, and it's been a while since anyone has kept record here at the church."
"That's exactly why we needed you. You leave things unkempt for too long and things start slippin' through the cracks."
"Well, I have found some inconsistencies in some of the financial records, specifically with the donations."
Preachers eyes glared over the paperwork laying on his desk, they followed each line. Slowly, he set the papers down on his desk and raised up out of his chair. On the wall behind him, a bookshelf was lined with novels and other assortments of text. Among them sat a framed picture of his father, yellowed with aged. It was black and white, his father a younger man in the picture than Preacher was now. He picked it up with both hands, looking at it. After a few moments, he sat it back down. His back remained to her. Olivia continued.
"The church has received a lot of donations over the past year. Some from anonymous donors, and others from church members themselves. And sir, these donations are more money than some of these people make in a year or longer. I'm not sure....."
"Olivia, do you believe that God can use evil men to do good? To serve his purpose?"
"Well, I guess I believe he can do just about anything."
"I believe that too. Now who am I to question God's will? These people that come to my church, some of them are lost, Olivia. Some of them are bad men who do bad things. I don't know how they make their money. I hear rumors.
But if God puts on that man's heart to give to this ministry, I will not turn it away. I will not turn God away. I must take that donation and make it work for God's purpose. We must work for God's purpose, Olivia. As hard and confusing as it may be sometimes."
He turned back toward his desk. He tapped his ashes into the mug.
******
C.D. sat parked on the side of the highway, taking slugs from his whiskey bottle. He looked on as the man he had been watching slumped onto the ground in front of the Hot Wells dock. The orange glow of a cigarette lighter ignited.
He cranked the car and turned the headlights on, revealing the man and his car. Slowly, he pulled out onto the road and drove until he was parallel to the sitting man. His window screeched as he lowered it with the handle. The man didn't look up at first. He took a drag off of his cigarette.
"You broke down?"
Redman didn't budge.
"I can give you a ride if you broke down. Won't charge you nuthin'. Long as you ain't wantin' to go back to town. I done run into the law once tonight, don't wanna make it two."
Redman took another hit from his cigarette and exhaled deeply. He put his hand underneath him and pushed up out of the grass. He read the words along the side of C.D.'s car. Redman's mind raced, as he knew the implications of this man seeing him here. He looked back at the car he was leaving behind.
"Yeah, you can give me a ride."
As he walked around the other side of the car, he flicked the lit cigarette onto the black pavement of the road. The tip smacked the ground and scattered into red sparks. As he closed the door of the car, all of the noise from outside went silent. All of the crickets, all of the frogs were replaced by the car engine and the blues music oozing out of the stereo. C.D. pulled the car's shifter into the drive position.
"Any place in particular?"
"Yeah, take the long way around and drop me at that bar going out of town, toward Big Woods road."
"Jack and Dorothy's? I know just where you talkin' about."
The car pulled out onto the road and headed off down the highway. The red taillights slowly left behind Redman's car sitting silently in the dark. And three black bags at the bottom of the swamp.
The car drifted through the night, a night thats darkness was only broken by the light of the moon. Like two glowing eyes, the headlights of C.D.'s cab rattled on down a lonely stretch of road.
"What'chu doin' out there anyway? This time of of night. Was you fishin'?"
Redman remained in silence. He stared out of the passenger window, watching the part of the ditch lit by the headlights whip by.
"I didn't see no pole, if you was fishin'. You musta been doin' it with yo hands is all I know. Strange to be out there alone at night."
In the pocket of his military jacket, Redman's fingers held tightly around a folded pocket knife. With two fingers, he slowly flipped it open until he felt it click into place. Still, he gazed out the window.
"Turn here."
The wheels of the car took a hard right. The gravel of the first road growled against the fenders beneath the car. The small sign atop a pole at the entry of the road that met the highway read "Bayou Scie Rd." C.D. knew that this small detour would bring them to the road their destination was on. Still, he grew uncomfortable with the man's silence. He glanced over at Redman.
He was staring out through the windshield, as if into another world. A world all his own. Where no one else existed but himself. His greasy hair blocked the side of his face, so that C.D. could barely see him plainly. The smell of sweat and cigarettes permeated off the man.
Suddenly, the man turned his head and stared directly into C.D.'s eyes.
"Stop the car."
C.D.'s stomach sank.
"Mister, I'll take you......."
Redman braced himself against the dashboard with both arms and screamed.
"Stop the damn car!!"
C.D. gasped as he turned to see a car turned sideways blocking the entire road. He closed his eyes as he slammed down his foot as hard as he could on the brake pedal. The cab began to fishtail on with a loud grind until finally coming to a stop.
Dust swept through like a cloud and swallowed the two vehicles. The cab stopped just feet before colliding with the car blocking the road. C.D.'s headlights blazed through, revealing three men standing between them.
Two men stood on either side of one that held a shotgun that had been sawn off at the barrel. He held it at his waist, pointed directly at them. As the dust settled, the man holding the gun became clear. He wore black from head to toe, until it met a white priest's collar at his neck.
Preacher stepped forward, wearing a scowl across his face. He tapped the tip of the gun against the hood of the cab.
"Redman, get your ass out here! And bring that biscuit lip with ya!"
