The Trinity Game (32 page)

“Yeah, well, you also told me we were on a mission from God. Mixed messages. I was a kid, remember?” He pointed at the radio. “Find us a news station, will ya? Let’s see what’s doing in the big world out there.”

Trinity turned the knob and scanned up the AM dial…some hillbilly music…a screaming preacher with a mind full of the “End Times”…a countrified pop station…and then he found a news station and brought it in strong.

…amazing development last night, when the Georgia Lottery numbers came up exactly as Reverend Tim Trinity predicted. But at a press conference this morning the Georgia Lottery Corporation announced that, despite the record jackpot, there were over 859,000 tickets sold with those winning numbers, so each winning ticket
will pay only four dollars. For the first time in its seventeen years of operation, the lottery is being suspended pending an internal investigation. The GLC insisted that the investigation will be swift and said the lottery will resume as soon as the integrity of the game can be assured.

“Hot damn!” Trinity clapped his hands together. “That sure is something, ain’t it?”

“Yeah, terrific. We can now add the government to the list of people who want you dead.” Daniel turned the radio off. “Let’s see, we’ve got the gambling industry—the mob, the casinos, and now the government—”

“Don’t forget Wall Street,” said Trinity. “For all we know, I might start predicting closing numbers of the Dow Jones.”

“And Wall Street,” Daniel agreed. “Then we’ve got probably a dozen religions, including various sects that compete for the title
Christian
—”

“Including your friends at the Vatican,” said Trinity.

“You’re too sinister about the Vatican. They just want you contained.”

“Yeah, in a pine box.”

Daniel waved it off. “Suffice it to say, you’ve got a lot of powerful groups in your fan club. What do you know about Samson?”

“Had a soft spot for Delilah,” said Trinity. He followed with a just-trying-to-lighten-the-mood gesture. “I don’t know anything. When the world turned upside down, I told Jennifer to ask around and get me the best bodyguards in the business. She was a bright kid, I could give her jobs like that.”

Daniel thought back to Trinity’s dressing room. “Not
was
. She
is
a bright kid. She left your dressing room a couple minutes before the bomb went off.”

“Only because I sent her out,” said Trinity. “Look, I see where you’re going with this, but I’m telling you, you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree. Jennifer Bartlett’s one of the good guys. I’d bet my life on it.”

“You did,” said Daniel.

“Doesn’t prove anything.”

“No, it doesn’t. I’m just exploring different angles.”

They rode in silence for a while. It was an easy silence, and Daniel felt a profound sense of wholeness he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He’d always told himself that cutting toxic people from your life was essential to becoming an independent adult. Part of the process of self-actualization, as the psychologists called it. And that’s what he’d done when he walked away from Trinity. But Tim Trinity was the only family Daniel had ever known. He was father, mother, uncle…protector, provider, teacher.

He was everything. Even if he was a con man.

Leaving may have been the healthy choice, but when Daniel walked away he left a lot of himself behind. He could admit that now. Being with his uncle again did pick the scabs off the old wounds, but it also forced him to remember the love he had for the deeply flawed man who loved him.

Although Daniel hadn’t said a word, his uncle seemed to pick up on it.

“Look at us,” said Trinity, “no silk suit, no dog collar, cruisin’ down the 77 in a rusty old beater…” His hand swept across the sun-drenched rural Alabama landscape. “Just like the old days, eh?”

Daniel smiled back at him. “Yeah, kinda.”

“But this time, we really are on a mission from God. That story I sold you when you were a child…” Trinity lit a new cigarette, “…it was prettier than the truth, and I wanted your world to be prettier
than the one I lived in. Only so many times I can apologize for that. But think about where we are now! That pretty story—that fantasy—has become manifested in reality.”

“In the fantasy, people weren’t trying to kill you.”

Trinity chuckled. “Well, I guess that’s the downside of reality.”

Daniel couldn’t help but laugh. “Hell of a downside. Look, Tim, don’t go getting all messianic on me. At best, you’re a modern day Elijah or something. But you’re not the sacrifice. I’m going to keep you alive. And I’ll need your cooperation with that.”

“You got it,” said Trinity. “I don’t want to die if I don’t have to. But I’m seeing this thing through, all the way. Whatever God wants. Whatever the cost.”

“Can’t argue that.” Daniel squinted against the sun, and a wave of fatigue rolled over him. The last day had used up a lot of adrenaline, and he’d only gotten a few hours’ fitful sleep at the cabin. He pulled the truck to a stop on the shoulder and threw it into park. “Listen, you mind taking the wheel for a spell? I’m feeling a little ragged, just need to rest my eyes an hour or two.”

D
aniel drifted with the current, just below the surface. He felt his consciousness moving through space-time, aware that he was being transported on the smell of dry, dusty grass.

It took him back to the Winnebago, back to the tent revival circuit in summertime.

It was always such a rush, pulling into the dirt parking lot next to the big white tent, looking to see which other preachers’ RVs were already there, which other preachers’ kids were hacking around the place. Looking especially for Reverend Auld’s baby blue Winnebago, looking for Trixie, Auld’s skinny blonde daughter with the freckles splashed across her cheeks and the unsettling green eyes. Hoping she was there, hoping she wasn’t, fearing he’d be tongue-tied yet again.

A car door slammed, and the ride in the time machine ended. Daniel yawned, stretched. Then realized they weren’t moving. He blinked and sat up straight. “What’s going on? Where are we?”

He was alone in the truck. Trinity was gone, and he’d taken his Bible with him.

Daniel glanced at his watch—1:57. He held up a hand to block the sun and looked through the windshield. About sixty cars and pickups, parked on a field of dry grass…

And a half dozen RVs…

Parked beside a big white tent.

For a few long seconds, Daniel groggily considered the possibility of time travel, decided it was more likely that he was still asleep, still dreaming.
No, this is the truck we got from the redneck. This is now…

Oh, shit.

Trinity’s stopped at a tent revival.

He jumped from the truck and ran, weaving between parked trucks, passing under a vinyl banner that said:

THE HOLY SPIRIT IS ALIVE IN GREENVILLE

…and into the packed tent.

About two hundred people under the tent, some sitting in folding lawn chairs but most standing, some holding camcorders, all facing the plywood stage where a fat Holy Roller with a microphone bellowed hallelujahs through a PA system so powerful you could feel the man’s voice rumble in your abdomen. Daniel kept moving, scanning the crowd as he pressed further inside.

After a few seconds, he spotted his uncle.
But it was too late.

The Holy Roller stopped bellowing and stood agape as Trinity bounded up the steps at the side of the stage, bright blue Bible in hand. Several in the crowd gasped audibly. A woman shouted, “It’s Reverend Tim!” And another, “Reverend Tim’s alive!” followed by a “Praise Jesus!” and at least a dozen hallelujahs.

Tim Trinity waved to the crowd and flashed his thousand-watt smile. “Thank you, thank you, bless you.” He made calming gestures with his Bible and the crowd got quiet. “I was just drivin’ past and spotted y’all’s tent, and I got to feeling that God wanted me to stop and say a few words.” He shook his head. “Now, I don’t…well, to be honest, I don’t feel a spell coming on, and I don’t know if God
will choose to speak through me in tongues, and if he doesn’t, I won’t fake it.”

Trinity stepped gracefully over to the Holy Roller and took the microphone from him with a smile and a nod of thanks. He turned away from the crowd, found a chair at the back of the stage, and dragged it to the front. He sat and blew out a long breath and said, “I hope y’all don’t mind if I sit. I tell ya true, the last few weeks have been as much a trial as a blessing. But I’m trying. Trying to do the right thing. And that’s why I stopped when I saw your tent. I know you’ve all seen me on television, but some of you will remember, before I was on television, I used to come by Greenville pretty regular.”

“We remember you, Reverend Tim!” shouted a skinny old man in the crowd.

“Good. Because I have a confession to make.” Trinity cleared his throat. “All those times I came here, I was, uh…well, no way to sugar-coat it. I was a fake.” The crowd gasped, almost as one. He nodded, “I know, it’s terrible. I was conning you, just trying to put on a good show and separate you from some of your hard-earned money. That’s the truth.” He stood up. “I believe God brought me here so I could make my confession. And I think he would want me to warn you that
this man
—” he thrust a finger at the Holy Roller standing to his right “—
this man
is a false prophet, just as I was.”

The crowd responded with a stunned silence, as if Trinity’s words hadn’t quite registered or didn’t make any sense. After a few seconds, everyone started talking at the same time, their voices running together in confusion and despair.

But some voices rose above the chaos to call out their disbelief.

“No!”

“Not Preacher Bob!”

“Why should we believe you? You just admitted you’re a fake!”

The Holy Roller jumped forward, snatched the microphone from Trinity, jabbed a finger at the air between them and bellowed, “Satan!” He swept his arm, taking in the crowd. “These good people are like
family
. They
know
me, have known me for years, and you will
not
turn them away from righteousness!”

“You tell him, Preacher Bob!”

Preacher Bob kicked it onto high gear. “We are the children of God—
Hallelujah!
—and we will not have the wool pulled over our eyes—
Hallelujah!
—and we will not be tricked by your black magic—
Hallelujah
! In
Jesus’s name
, we cast you out of this place of Christian worship! Be gone! Be gone! Be gone!”

The crowd chanted along with him:
Be gone! Be gone! Be gone...

Trinity stood in place, his face a portrait of bewilderment and loss. “No, no, you don’t understand. Wait, I’m trying to—I’m speaking the truth…” He closed his eyes and held his Bible to his chest. “Please,” he said.

The crowd pressed toward the stage, chanting even louder:
Be gone! Be gone! Be gone…

Daniel sharp-elbowed his way through the crowd, leapt onto the stage, and grabbed Trinity’s wrist.

And dragged him the hell out of there.

Blue Ridge Mountains, Georgia…

C
onrad Winter pulled to a stop behind the red Escalade with the gold rims and the bullet holes in the tailgate. He eyed the axe in the tree stump, the shabby cabin, the big man sitting on the stoop, next to a row of rose bushes. He mentally tipped his hat to Daniel. He hadn’t really expected him to mess up this early in the game, knew Daniel wouldn’t be the easiest prey he’d ever brought down, but that would just make the sweet honey of victory that much sweeter. Golden Boy was now playing in
his
world, and the outcome was not in doubt.

Conrad cut the engine and turned to his assistant. “Here’s the play. Get out, come around, open the door for me. Leave your jacket unbuttoned and accidentally flash your piece on your way. Then plant yourself in front of that axe over there.”

“Got it.”

Conrad watched the big man on the stoop, saw him notice the gun as Father Doug came around the fender. He got out and walked toward the man, and as he got close, the man stood.