privately for a second?”
“Later,” True said, getting up. “We’re on a tight schedule, and I have other things to attend to.”
Right. I knew a brush-off when I heard it—and Annie, for her part, knew a vote of no confidence when she heard it. When we got back outside, the first thing she said was: “You’re frightened of me.”
“‘Frightened’ is kind of strong,” I lied. “You do freak me out a little, yeah, but—”
“You don’t need to be frightened.” She flashed me this brittle smile. “I know how I seem, but I’m really very dependable. God keeps me focused.”
“Oh-kay, well that’s good to hear…So what does God want us to do first?”
“How much money do you have?”
“Not a lot. Maybe twenty bucks and change.”
“Give me the twenty.”
Two doors down from the deli was a corner grocery that sold scratch lottery tickets. “Which kind do you like?” Annie asked me. There were fifteen varieties to choose from, most with some type of gambling theme: Lucky Poker, Scratch Roulette, Twenty-One, Three-Card Monte…Then I noticed this one kind called Jungle Cash that had pictures of animals on it, including a baboon that was being stalked by a pair of tigers. “That one,” I said, and Annie nodded approvingly.
Jungle Cash tickets were two bucks each. Annie bought ten, and when we scratched them all off, nine were winners. We left the store with over three hundred dollars.
“Does that always work?” I asked.
“‘There will be water if God wills it,’” Annie replied, and flagged down a taxi.
The cab took us to an address in the Richmond, a Pentecostal church called the Chapel of the Redeemer. It reminded me of the Diazes’ church in Siesta Corta, and, already keyed up by Annie’s God-talk, I got worried that my training curriculum was going to include speaking in tongues. But then I noticed the chains on the front doors, and the sign that said PROPERTY FOR LEASE .
“What is this place?” I asked, thinking maybe Arlo Dexter was using it for a bomb factory.
“Home,” said Annie.
“You live here? You and God?”
“Not inside,” she said. “Around back.”
Around back was a small cemetery. Like the church doors, the cemetery gate was chained and padlocked, but Annie had a key.
Her home was a refrigerator box covered with a waterproof tarp. The open end of the box faced a gravemarked WILLIAM DANE . The grave plot had been neatly outlined with stones, and Annie was careful to step around it.
“I’ll just be a minute,” she said, and crawled into the box.
Some questions you don’t ask, especially of a crazy person. So while I was waiting, I decided to treat this situation as one of the organization’s test puzzles, which for all I knew it was. I hadn’t seen a ring on Annie’s fingers, so William Dane probably wasn’t her husband. He could have been her lover, I thought, but then when I took another look at the plot, I noticed the stone outline was too small for an adult-sized coffin.
“All right…” Annie reappeared, wearing a light blue knapsack that clashed with her bag-lady couture. She crouched beside the grave and patted the headstone in a way that dispelled any doubt Billy Dane was her son. Then she looked up at the sky. The rain had stopped but it was still overcast, and I could tell she didn’t like the idea of leaving the kid alone in bad weather; I half expected her to pull the tarp off the refrigerator box and use it as a blanket. But she resisted the impulse, and got back up after giving the headstone one more pat.
“Where to now?” I asked.
“Just follow me. And pay attention.”
We set off on foot in the general direction of downtown. We’d gone maybe a block when Annie started doing the muttering thing again. This time I couldn’t make out a single word. I tried to just ignore it, but I couldn’t do that either—the babble coming out of her mouth had this weird insistent edge to it, like fingernails on a
“Later,” True said, getting up. “We’re on a tight schedule, and I have other things to attend to.”
Right. I knew a brush-off when I heard it—and Annie, for her part, knew a vote of no confidence when she heard it. When we got back outside, the first thing she said was: “You’re frightened of me.”
“‘Frightened’ is kind of strong,” I lied. “You do freak me out a little, yeah, but—”
“You don’t need to be frightened.” She flashed me this brittle smile. “I know how I seem, but I’m really very dependable. God keeps me focused.”
“Oh-kay, well that’s good to hear…So what does God want us to do first?”
“How much money do you have?”
“Not a lot. Maybe twenty bucks and change.”
“Give me the twenty.”
Two doors down from the deli was a corner grocery that sold scratch lottery tickets. “Which kind do you like?” Annie asked me. There were fifteen varieties to choose from, most with some type of gambling theme: Lucky Poker, Scratch Roulette, Twenty-One, Three-Card Monte…Then I noticed this one kind called Jungle Cash that had pictures of animals on it, including a baboon that was being stalked by a pair of tigers. “That one,” I said, and Annie nodded approvingly.
Jungle Cash tickets were two bucks each. Annie bought ten, and when we scratched them all off, nine were winners. We left the store with over three hundred dollars.
“Does that always work?” I asked.
“‘There will be water if God wills it,’” Annie replied, and flagged down a taxi.
The cab took us to an address in the Richmond, a Pentecostal church called the Chapel of the Redeemer. It reminded me of the Diazes’ church in Siesta Corta, and, already keyed up by Annie’s God-talk, I got worried that my training curriculum was going to include speaking in tongues. But then I noticed the chains on the front doors, and the sign that said PROPERTY FOR LEASE .
“What is this place?” I asked, thinking maybe Arlo Dexter was using it for a bomb factory.
“Home,” said Annie.
“You live here? You and God?”
“Not inside,” she said. “Around back.”
Around back was a small cemetery. Like the church doors, the cemetery gate was chained and padlocked, but Annie had a key.
Her home was a refrigerator box covered with a waterproof tarp. The open end of the box faced a gravemarked WILLIAM DANE . The grave plot had been neatly outlined with stones, and Annie was careful to step around it.
“I’ll just be a minute,” she said, and crawled into the box.
Some questions you don’t ask, especially of a crazy person. So while I was waiting, I decided to treat this situation as one of the organization’s test puzzles, which for all I knew it was. I hadn’t seen a ring on Annie’s fingers, so William Dane probably wasn’t her husband. He could have been her lover, I thought, but then when I took another look at the plot, I noticed the stone outline was too small for an adult-sized coffin.
“All right…” Annie reappeared, wearing a light blue knapsack that clashed with her bag-lady couture. She crouched beside the grave and patted the headstone in a way that dispelled any doubt Billy Dane was her son. Then she looked up at the sky. The rain had stopped but it was still overcast, and I could tell she didn’t like the idea of leaving the kid alone in bad weather; I half expected her to pull the tarp off the refrigerator box and use it as a blanket. But she resisted the impulse, and got back up after giving the headstone one more pat.
“Where to now?” I asked.
“Just follow me. And pay attention.”
We set off on foot in the general direction of downtown. We’d gone maybe a block when Annie started doing the muttering thing again. This time I couldn’t make out a single word. I tried to just ignore it, but I couldn’t do that either—the babble coming out of her mouth had this weird insistent edge to it, like fingernails on a
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