Piranha (The Falau Files Book 4) Page 15

  “Father Locke, how are you?” said Falau struggling to find words that would fit the situation.

  “I am sure you know how I am.” said Father Locke who then raised his hand as Falau started to talk. “I know you have to keep up this ridiculous story of building the road and know you’re not trying to insult my intelligence. We all take orders and have to follow them. I know all about that. My bishop is telling me to leave here and move to an area that will care for what I have to say. I am struggling with that.”

  “The people here need you. They want you. You’re one of them.” said Falau.

  “That is true, but the church is not in the habit of having the priests die in situations like this.”

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  “You come here ready for battle by the way you're dressed. You have a look of a man on a mission. You’re ready for a fight. Do you know what you’re up against?”

  Falau looked to the ground and cocked his jaw to the side making it clear he was not going to answer the question.

  “You know what he did to me right?” questioned the priest. “They held me to the ground in my church and cut his initials into my back. He let everyone here know he was in charge. If not for the kind woman I would have died. She gave her life for me.” Father Locke’s eyes overflowed with tears and they ran down his cheeks in a steady stream as he looked up into Falau’s eyes from a few feet away. “They killed her for having compassion, mercy, and love in her heart. The rest of the people were willing to let me die, but she would not. She gave her life for me. She had to know it was going to happen if she helped me.”

  Unable to control his sobbing Father Locke stood in place holding his hands to his face praying for the deceased woman who saved him. Falau stepped in closer fighting the awkwardness he placed on himself and overcame it grabbing the priest by the shoulders and pulling him in for a hug. Falau patted his back not saying a word. Every time his mouth opened he knew the words were meaningless in the situation. All he could do is be there in this moment for Father Locke, a man he felt he shared a friendship with.

  “The people now call him the piranha because he feeds on the flesh of the people. He has a hunger for it and devours all of it he can. The body and the soul.”

  After a few minutes Father Locke pulled back and composed himself wiping the tears away from his eyes and trying to clear his thoughts. “Very impressive.”

  “What?” questioned Falau not understanding what the Father was speaking about.

  “Even with all that emotion you still didn’t blow your cover.” he said with a smile as he wiped another tear away. “I will not ask you who you work for, but I will say that I can take no part in something that brings an end to human life. My anger and hate towards Lawrence Whitmore is stronger than anything I have ever felt, but I have vows to God and killing or being part of a killing is something that I cannot compromise.”

  “I would never ask you to do such a thing, Father. That’s not why I am here.”

  “Why are you here.”

  “I am going to clean up your problem. I am going to make things right, but there will be no killing. Your conscious can be clear and clean with that.”

  “A removal?” questioned Father Locke.

  “Father you don’t really want to be considered an accessory to anything do you? I would think that the less you know the better it is for you.”

  “I think you’re right about that.” said Father Locke. “So how can I help?”

  “I am just a lonely pilgrim making my way to the holy land. I know it is a long way from here, but I have heard that a pilgrim can get a good meal and a place to sleep in a church when they are on their journey.”

  “I would be happy to do that for you. Do you need anything more.”

  “Yes. My clothing is not suitable for this area. I was wondering if you could let me borrow a set of your daily clothing you wear as a priest. I will be washing my clothing before I go the next day.”

  A smile crossed Father Locke’s face. “Well, that will make you look just like a priest. If somebody didn’t know you then they would think you’re a priest. Say a guy like Lawrence Whitmore.”

  “That would be true. Lucky there is no chance of me running into him and if anyone ever asks you if the stranger in town went to see Whitmore you can say no being fully truthful. No way I am going to see that man.”

  Father Locke chuckled softly watching the smile that was on Falau’s face.

  “I will be back in a little bit with dinner and a sleeping bag. You can sleep in here under the roof of God. Maybe it will help you with your journey.”

  “Thanks. I can use all the help I can get.”

  Chapter 30

  FALAU SLEPT PEACEFULLY without the reminders of his past and the horrific images of Jennifer in his head for the first time in years. No matter if it was his mind being occupied with the mission that stood before him or the fact that he was in the house of God the full night’s sleep did him well and he was ready for the day ahead.

  Pulling himself out of the sleeping bag he saw a covered plate that sat next to his clothing for the day. Falau removed the cover to see two hard boiled eggs and an assortment of fruit. A bottled water laid on its side next to the plate. There was no indication who left the food but Falau was sure it was Father Locke. No other person in the town would have dared to have any contact with the outsider and they would not dare to give him a meal. Lawrence Whitmore would not have approved of this type of behavior.

  Falau slowly ate his breakfast finishing all there was as he sat on the floor of the church. Gazing up at the makeshift altar Falau found himself longing to have more faith in God. He admired and was jealous of the people who could find solaci in God and fill their hearts with the religion they held so dear. Falau blamed his past for stripping this from him. The crash and the drinking had taken its toll on his soul and his ability to have faith in anything.

  Lifting the hardboiled egg to his mouth has hands shaking had started to subside but it was still visible. The big man’s mind jumped to Dave back at the Alcoholics Anonymous meeting and the idea of believing in a higher power. Letting out a long sigh he finished off the egg in one last single bite.

  If I just could stay on missions forever then I would never have to think about drinking, thought Falau smiling to himself with the ludicrousness of the idea.

  Getting to his feet he took the pile of clothing of all black and started to unfold it. Falau’s eyes adjusted looking at the shirt seeing imperfections in it as well as the pants. Pulling the pants up to his waist he could see they would be short on his legs. Father Locke was not as big a man as Falau the shirt would look like a child’s on the large muscular body of Falau. He slid it on and strained to do the buttons across the front. They strained, and it was obvious. He put on the jacket and it was larger in size but still was a tight fit. Not the kind of clothing that most priests would wear. Worn out clothing would be fine as getting a change of clothing out in the jungle was no easy task, but ill-fitting clothing was not as easy to be explained.

  The big man removed the coat and reached his hands behind him ripping the bottom of the shirt. Giving a swift pull he started to rip the shirt up the middle of the back. Getting to that half way point on his back the rip lopsided the strain of the buttons in the front giving them the appearance of fitting well. The jacket would cover the shortness of his sleeves and lowering the pants on his waist would be hidden by the jacket as well and make them not look so high on his legs. Pulling out his knife he frayed the bottom of the pants making them look like they had been worn away by walking great distances.

  Falau gave the clothing one last adjustment and looked himself up and down the best he could. He was a mess but a mess that was passable for what he needed to do.

  Climbing out of the back window he lowered himself to the ground and slipped into the high grass then the jungle. Father Locke had been nowhere to be found all morning. He was building an alibi was all that Falau though
t could be happening. He wanted to make sure he had some kind of proof he had not been with Whitmore when the problem had been resolved. Falau’s mind ran over the scenario and it seemed that it was the only logical one there was other than the one that was the polar opposite. Father Locke could have gone to the police overcome by guilt knowing that Falau was a person that could do much harm to anyone he needed to. Perhaps Locke’s training would cause him to protect Whitmore.

  Falau pushed the thought from his head knowing he would not know until he arrived at Whitmore’s home later that day.

  Falau flanked the town and got to the far end of the opening and positioned himself on the path so he could walk down the main street in full sight of everyone. The only two people in town who had any kind of interaction with him were Father Locke and the man who owned the junkyard. Locke was no problem but if the junkman saw him and recognized him then the plan would have a large hole in it.

  Approaching the open door to the bar he could hear music coming from inside. Passing through the door the smell of smoke hit him hard and the big man could see several patrons already intoxicated despite the early hour. The room was wide open looking like the dining room of any standard restaurant. The tables were wood and the chairs the same. Along the far wall was a bar with a grizzly looking man who was missing one eye was tending bar. A toothpick moved side to side in his mouth as he stood with his arms folded looking at Falau.

  The room fell silent other than the music. Everyone was staring at Falau as he stood in the doorway.

  “We got all the religion we can use. No need to sell any of that here.” said the bartender causing the customers to burst into laughter.

  “You’re not going to get any sermon from me. At least not today.” said Falau walking to the bar with confidence that he had seen in almost all religious men when they entered into a stressful situation. “My name is Father Billings. I have come to replace Father Locke.”

  “We have a good understanding with Father Locke. We are not interested in a change.” said a voice from a man sitting at one of the tables. The man had a cigarette dangling from his lip as he spoke, and the years of mining had ground the dirt into his skin permanently. He showed no expression in his dulled out brown eyes.

  “I have no interest in changing anything.” said Falau turning to the man. “I also have no say in where the church sends me or Father Locke. They just give us an assignment and we have to follow it. This is where they want me to be so this is where I have to stay.”

  “What if we don’t want you?” asked the bartender placing both hands on the bar and moving closer to Falau. The big man turned toward him looking him straight in his eye.

  “Nobody will make you come to church.” said Falau firmly. “As for now my assignment is to find Father Locke and talk about the transition. Then I meet with a Lawrence Whitmore about his sponsorship of me.”

  “Did you say Whitmore?” questioned the man at the table.

  “Yes. Lawrence Whitmore. He is the one who is sponsoring me. Is that you?”

  “No.”

  “So Whitmore is the one that has paid for you to come here and is waiting for you?” asked the bartender pulling back from the bar and having his voice sounding more calm and relaxed.

  Falau let out a small laugh “Oh so that’s how it is here. Mr. Whitmore is the man with all the power. I have been down this road a lot of times before. No worry. I am not intimidated by such men.”

  “You better be.” said the man at the table. “Whitmore controls everything around here. You try to change that then you will be punished. He don’t care that you’re a priest.”

  “As long as he lets me hold mass and help the people that need help then we will get along just fine.”

  “You keep your mouth shut and do what he says and then you will have no problems. You do anything different then you can end up dead. You understand me?” said the bartender. “I am trying to help you so just do what I say, and you will be fine.”

  Falau nodded in agreement as he pressed his lips together. ”I should probably go to Whitmore and introduce myself and pay respects to him.”

  “Now you’re making sense.” said the bartender “You have a little walk in front of you. It’s about ten miles but if you keep in that direction you can’t go wrong. Stay on the path and you will get to the town and he lives outside it. Anyone can point you in the right direction and then you’re fine.”

  “Thank you.” said Falau reaching out his hand to shake the one eyed man’s hand but it was not met.

  “We can shake if you come back alive.” said the bartender.

  “Okay, that’s a plan.” said Falau turning away. The big man walked to the door and opened it before turning back to the men in the room. “Next time I am coming back with a sermon.” he said winking to the room before he walked out the door.

  Chapter 31

  THE NEWLY CREATED FATHER Billings set off on the trail that left the town in the direction the men pointed. Falau made sure to act like he was looking for the right spot to follow. Stopping and looking side to side and then adjusting and backtracking for the right spot. If anyone were watching he would look a fool and that’s exactly what he wanted.

  Slipping beyond the tree line the big man dropped his lost look and set out on the ten mile walk. Covering the familiar ground quickly Falau was sure he was aware where the unsafe spots were and what areas to avoid. The numerous trips back and forth had given him the knowledge needed to make the journey before nightfall.

  Falau covered the first eight miles faster than he had imagined at just over two hours. His pace was firm and brisk but not looking too much out of the ordinary. He thought that Locke would probably cover the distance even faster with his familiarity of the land. As he walked he sipped from the bottle of water and only took one short break to refill it and add the iodine tablet to it. So far he had no signs of any intestinal issues that could be the result of tainted water, but he knew he could only push his luck so far. Even if the mission came to a close this day there was a good chance he could spend the next few days sitting on or leaning over a toilet bowl.

  Reaching a corner that opened into the thinning jungle for the last two miles Falau looked over the terrain. The ground cover was much thinner in this area and the trees held no lower branches. It was as if all the trees were in a race to see who could get to the sun first. Any of the plants on the ground or the branches below were left to no light or very little. Their existence was just a matter of time. The lack of light led to their demise and opened the ground to be more forest like than jungle.

  Keeping his pace the big man moved without any hesitation and found the walk to be suitable for the next moves in his mission. Always a man who desired a solid plan this time Falau had not taken the time to plan things out. He was playing by the seat of his pants not knowing what would be available to him at the next moment. Now he knew that he had to get into see Whitmore and finish the job. After that there would be a maze of guards to navigate and he would need to make the tree line before they discovered the body. With some luck he could just disappear into the jungle but the guards were sure to know the land and the search would be on.

  Falau’s attention split between the plan and the walk. His feet pushed through the plant life on the ground until he stopped feeling the ground move beneath him. Pulling back he saw a snake that looked like a common garter snake from back in the states curling up at each end. The center of it crushed by Falau’s shoe. A moment of shame fell over the big man as he looked down at the dying animal. Having little affection for snakes the feeling of sympathy for the animal he felt “just looked slimy” was forging.

  “What are you doing in here?” said a voice from behind Falau. The voice was calm and relaxed like the one of a man who knew he had the upper hand.

  Falau started to turn acting as if nothing were wrong.

  “Not so fast. Put your hands into the air and answer my question.” said the man with the low strong voice.

/>   Falau lifted his hands into the air in a methodical and calm manner. It was obvious the man was armed and from the sound of his voice he was more than ten yards away leaving Falau no option of attack. Frontier justice was all that counted in this part of the jungle. If this man shot him on a whim nobody would know and there would be nobody for anyone to find. The jungle kept secrets better than any man could.

  “I am a priest. I have come to see Mr. Whitmore at his home.”

  “You know Mr. Whitmore?”

  “No, but I am the new priest for the outpost and I wanted to come to him and pay my respects to him.”

  “Why would you do that? How do you even know about Mr. Whitmore?” said the man as he followed his words with a sharp spitting sound like a man chewing tobacco.

  “When I went to the outpost I stopped at the bar for a drink and the men there told me that Mr. Whitmore is the benefactor of this area. He helps the people. I wanted to pay respects to such a man and let him know that I, in no way, would be looking to change things that are working well for the people.”

  “You sound like a fool.” said the man “and I think you’re full of shit.”

  “May I turn around to see you rather than talking to the air.”

  “Turn around but keep your hands up.”

  Falau did as instructed and moved his feet in small choppy steps looking to push the ground firm under him in case he saw the opportunity to lurch forward. The big man finished the turn and looked the man with the shotgun in the eyes.

  “Remington 850.” said the man pushing the shotgun toward Falau. “I have six shells loaded. Any one will kill you from this distance. So make sure to keep your mouth shut, priest, or is it road builder this time?”

  A grin crossed over the man’s face and showed his missing and stained teeth. He wore a uniform that had the letters LWM intertwined on the left breast pocket. Falau assumed it stood for Lawrence Whitmore Mining.