The Trinity Game (38 page)

“T
im, there hasn’t been another car on the road for eight miles,” said Daniel. “Put it in the glove box.”

“Oh,” Trinity sounded distracted, “OK, good idea.” But he didn’t.

“Or keep fidgeting with it until you accidentally shoot one of us.”

“Right. OK.” This time he put the gun away. “Sorry. Guess I’m a little rattled, now it’s sinking in. That was…that was pretty close back there.”

“Yes it was.”

Trinity lit a cigarette. “Those men sure died ugly.”

“Yes they did.”

They rode in silence for a while. Trinity turned on the radio and found a talk station.

…and the Tim Trinity sightings just keep on pouring into 9-1-1 centers and newsrooms across the nation. The latest one, believe it or not, from Anchorage, Alaska. Elvis Presley, watch your back, I’m tellin’ ya...
The radio jock chuckled at his own joke.
Speaking of the King, a blurry YouTube video that some jogger in Memphis claims to be of Reverend Trinity has gone absolutely viral on the Interwebs and is now drawing so-called “pilgrims” to Tennessee by the tens of thousands…

Trinity turned the radio off, shaking his head. “Memphis? What the hell would I be doing in Memphis?”

“Hey, it’s good news,” said Daniel. “The more people think you’re in Memphis, the better.”

They fell back into silence for a minute. Trinity shifted in his seat. “Danny, I, uh…” He gestured to the glove box. “I asked Pat about Honduras.”

“He tell you?” Daniel kept his eye on the road, but caught Trinity’s nod in his peripheral. “Good. Not my favorite story to tell. He tell you I freaked out?”

“He said you kept your shit together like a pro, and he wouldn’t have survived without your help.”

Daniel smiled. “Yeah, I did all that. And then I freaked out.”

“Probably a healthy reaction,” said Trinity, “certainly a normal one. You were almost killed.”

“Wasn’t that kind of freak-out.”

“Moral crisis?”

“Identity crisis,” said Daniel. “When it happened I was terrified of course, and the killing was horrible…”

“But?”

“But beyond the normal stress reaction, I was actually OK with it. I couldn’t convince myself that I’d done wrong.”

“You hadn’t,” said Trinity. “What, you’re supposed to turn the other cheek?

“Yes.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I was a priest. We’re supposed to emulate Jesus.”

“Even if it means dying.”

“Especially if it means dying.”

Trinity threw his hands up. “What can I say? You Catholics have some crazy ideas.”

“Everybody’s got crazy ideas, Tim.”

“True.” He gave Daniel an avuncular wink.

“Anyway, it’s in the past where it belongs. But you were right, what you said before in Atlanta. I was a priest for the wrong reasons…and I’ve known it a long time. But every morning I woke up and made the decision to be a priest. And now…Now I just can’t keep making that decision anymore.

They rode in silence a while, but this time it was an easier silence.

“She’s not married, is she?” said Trinity.

“Nope.”

“You think she’ll have you back?”

“I don’t know,” Daniel said. “But I aim to find out.”

As the skyline of New Orleans grew large before them, Trinity said, “Been home since Katrina?”

Daniel shook his head. “You?”

“No.”

“You rode out the storm, huh?”

“Not my finest hour.” Trinity stared out the window. With the baseball cap and sunglasses, his face was unreadable, and Daniel decided not to press him for details. So many things had happened, in both their lives. So many years had flowed past. It wasn’t a matter of
getting caught up
.

Everything was different now.
They
were different now.

Trinity pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. “Christ, I got a headache…”

“I’ll stop and pick up some aspirin.”

“No, it’s—
ackba
—” His hand flew up and punched the roof liner, a shower of sparks raining down from the cigarette between his fingers, “—
backala
—Shit, it’s comin’ on strong—
abebeh reeadalla
…” His left leg jerked up, slamming his knee against the bottom of the dash. “Fuck!” His entire body spasmed and his head snapped to the right, sending out a loud crack as it hit the doorframe.

The tongues were upon him.

On television, it had looked ridiculous. From the back row of the audience, disturbing. But up close it was a horror show. Chills ran up and down Daniel’s arms as he quickly exited the highway, tires squealing in protest on the off-ramp, Trinity babbling and thrashing beside him.

He screeched to a stop on the service road, threw the truck in park, and grabbed his uncle’s shoulders, struggling to hold him down and prevent further injury.

The next thirty seconds felt like they would never end. But then, finally, the tongues stopped and Trinity’s body relaxed and his eyes regained their focus.

“I’m OK, I’m all right…It’s over.” Trinity blew out a long breath and sat back upright. “Man, that one came on fast.” He wiped the beads of perspiration from his face and forced a smile.

“It looks painful,” said Daniel.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” Trinity chuckled, lighting a new cigarette. “Yeah, it ain’t exactly a day at the beach.” He dragged on his smoke, shook his head. “It is what it is. Anyway, it’s over. Let’s go.”

“All right.” Daniel put the car in gear. He didn’t want to dwell on it either.

Diamondhead, Mississippi…

T
hey were five of the nation’s top Christian evangelists, boasting congregations in the tens of thousands, highly rated television programs, bestselling books. One had even been a spiritual advisor to presidents.

They did not, however, all preach the same gospel. Three preached salvation and prosperity in equal measure (but they called it “abundance” and took pains to include the non-financial rewards of “abundant relationships” and “abundant health”). The other two had no interest in abundance of any sort. They preached that the End Times are upon us and the only thing that matters is getting right with Jesus in time to catch the Rapture and avoid being here for the living nightmare that will soon torment those left behind.

Despite their differences, they’d come together for a live roundtable discussion on television, to present a dire and urgent warning to the world:

Reverend Tim Trinity is not a servant of the Lord, and his followers are being led away from righteousness and salvation and straight to eternal damnation in hell.

That was the message. The case they were making to the world. They quoted a ton of scripture and carefully explained how each quote helped make the case. And they frequently returned to the warning, repeating it exactly the same, word for word, each time.

Andrew Thibodeaux sat at the Formica counter, absently stirring sugar into his eighth cup of coffee while starting at the television. He’d stopped at the Chevron next door to gas up, had almost fallen asleep standing at the pump, and realized how hungry he was when his eyes snapped open and the familiar yellow aluminum siding with the glossy black letters came into focus.

WAFFLE HOUSE

Two words that spelled
oasis
across the Southland. Even the red, white, and blue banner spanning the top of the menu provided comfort, assurance. Tim Trinity was not the Messiah and nothing made sense anymore, but a Waffle House was still a Waffle House, buttermilk biscuits were still buttermilk biscuits, and America was still America.

Andrew needed that assurance. Needed it badly.

But it wasn’t enough.

The End Times preachers on the television weren’t satisfied with warning everyone what Tim Trinity was
not
and moved the conversation to what Trinity
might be
.

Pastor Billy Danforth made their case. “Please understand, I’m not saying that Tim Trinity is the Antichrist. I’m saying he
could
be, and failure to look at the evidence is an abandonment of our pastoral duty…”

The waitress who smelled of old lady perfume stopped by to collect Andrew’s empty plates and said something about all the coffee he was drinking. He wasn’t listening, but she laughed and
he realized she’d made some kind of joke, so he smiled at her and made a laughing sound before turning back to the television.

“…The prophecies in scripture provide characteristics of the Son of Perdition, and you can’t deny a good number describe Trinity. Does he not present himself as an apostle of Jesus while preaching a different Jesus? Does he not make war with the saints and seek to change God’s law? In his last televised sermon he said,
Paul was wrong
. If that isn’t making war with the saints, pray tell me what is…”

Andrew remembered to stop stirring his coffee, put the spoon down.

“…Does he not speak great things and tongues, and understand dark sentences, and does the whole world not wonder after him? Indeed, has he not deceived millions into thinking he is the returning Messiah?”

Andrew remembered to drink some coffee, noticed it was cold.

“The Antichrist shall rise up out of the water,” said the other End Times preacher, deftly taking the baton. “And this man’s career rose up to new heights from the floodwaters of Hurricane Katrina. And I find it ominous that we know absolutely nothing of Tim Granger—that’s his real name, I refuse to call him Trinity—we know nothing of Granger’s bloodline on his father’s side...”

Andrew Thibodeaux swallowed the rest of his coffee, signaled the waitress for a refill, and returned to the screen.

New Orleans, Louisiana…

A
s they drove into the city, Daniel was struck by the number of rooftops still covered with blue tarpaulin, Dumpsters in driveways, portable storage containers on front lawns. Six years after Katrina, and New Orleans—the cultural womb of the South, the city that gave America much of its soul—was still struggling to her feet.

It’s a
shanda
, he thought, recalling the Yiddish word Julia once taught him. He turned onto South Carrolton, and as they rose to higher ground, the blue tarpaulins disappeared and the city looked more like her old self.

He drove in on Magazine Street, and as they passed Bordeaux he felt a smile invade his face. Le Bon Temps was still in business and, aside from a fresh coat of paint, looked the same as when he drank and danced in the place with Julia and her friends on Friday nights…fourteen years ago.

Would she take him back?

Casamento’s was also open. Under different circumstances Daniel would’ve suggested they stop for some gumbo and an oyster
loaf, but just seeing the place was enough to make him happy. He switched the radio on, set the tuner for 90.7 FM.

“The mighty O.Z.,” said Trinity. “Greatest radio station in the world. I’ve missed it.”

“I stream it on the Internet.”

“Thought you guys all sat around listening to Gregorian chants.”

“Please,” said Daniel. He turned up the volume. Louis Armstrong and Louis Jordan belting out
I’ll Be Glad When You’re Dead, You Rascal You
.