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  In 1970 he established a church in California, with himself as the head. He ran afoul of the IRS, which asserted that the church was little more than a tax dodge. LaSalle made millions in donations which, according to the IRS, he used primarily to fund a lavish lifestyle. After a ten-year legal battle, LaSalle was convicted of tax evasion and sentenced to eight years in prison. The conviction was later overturned by the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals. It was while he was serving part of his sentence that LaSalle wrote a small book, Booth Speaks, which became popular among white-supremacist groups.

  LaSalle has kept a low profile in recent years. He has been accused at various times of leading a cult, a Christian militia, and a polygamous sect. None of these charges appears to have been substantiated.

  A blood-warm disquiet snarled around Steve’s stomach. He had never been one for guilt by association, but this was a little too close to home.

  There was still something extra bothering him about the book Booth Speaks. He looked at it again, read the last page one more time. That’s when it hit him.

  I bless the entire world.

  Somebody else had said that to him. His brother, the first time he saw him in prison.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Gincy arrived at Steve’s apartment at six, half an hour after Steve called him. The monkey was whispering again, telling Steve what a prize jerk he was for trusting a con named Johnny LaSalle with a father like Eldon.

  Didn’t help to argue, to scream inside that Johnny could be innocent in all this, could be a victim himself.

  The monkey did not care for fine points, and when it turned to screeching, Steve called Gincy, because if he didn’t he knew he’d fall big-time.

  He wanted Gincy there, not just on the phone. Something about Gincy’s disposition always calmed the beast.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Steve said as soon as Gincy walked in. “Let’s drive, go see a movie or something.”

  “Got a better idea,” Gincy said, flashing his famous smile.

  “What?”

  “Trust me.”

  Gincy he could trust. They piled into Gincy’s red and white MINI Cooper. Gincy’s weightlifter arms seemed bigger than the car. He popped in a U2 CD and said, “So what’s going on in that lawyer head tonight?”

  “I got a new client,” Steve said.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Only this one’s a little different. It’s my brother.”

  “Your brother? I thought — ”

  “It’s him. The one who we all thought died.”

  “Wow. How’d you find him?”

  “He found me.” Steve told him the story, and about Eldon LaSalle and Booth Speaks. Gincy took it all in without comment.

  When Steve was finished, Gincy said, “One day you think all those guys’ll have dried up and blown away. Then you find out there’s enough people who still think this way that you want to get yourself a gun and get ready for when they come for you.”

  He paused. Bono filled the space for a minute.

  “I remember a Klan rally when I was a kid,” Gincy said. “Right in our town. A town where my daddy was on the fire department. I remember him telling me to stay in the house. I remember him getting down the shotgun. And I remember his face. He wasn’t scared. He was disgusted.”

  “So what do I do about my brother?”

  “You talked to him about it yet?”

  “No.”

  “Then you talk to him. You be up-front.”

  “And if I find out he’s just as bad as his old man?”

  “Maybe you’re the one who can get him turned around. Maybe that’s why this has all happened. God works like that.”

  “Not exactly great work, if you ask me.”

  Gincy finally pulled into a lot at the park by his own apartment. Steve was greeted by the multicolored lights and giddy screams of —

  “A carnival?” Steve said.

  “Hey,” Gincy said, “Cotton candy is the single most underutilized antidepressant in America. Let’s go get ourselves some pink happiness and walk around.”

  “Carnival?” Steve put his head back on the seat. “Oh man.”

  “What?”

  “I asked Ashley to marry me at a carnival. Shall I just shoot myself now?”

  “Oh man, I didn’t know!”

  “Why should you? You have a shotgun in the trunk, I hope?”

  “Will you knock it off?”

  “A .22? Anything will do.”

  “Shut your pie hole, Dilbert.” Gincy sometimes called him the name of the well-known comic strip character to jolt him out of complacency.

  Then Gincy was out of the MINI Cooper and on his way toward the lights.

  Steve paused, then decided walking was preferable to car sitting. He caught up with Gincy at the entrance.

  “Is this great or what?” Gincy said, waving his arms at the attractions.

  Steve said, “What makes you so happy all the time?”

  “I have my reasons, and — ”

  “Well, cut it out.”

  “Cut out being happy?”

  “Don’t you realize there’s only a certain amount of happiness in the world?”

  “Huh?”

  “Yeah. The amount of happiness is constant and has to stay in balance. So every time you smile, somewhere in the world a unicorn’s getting punched in the face.”

  “No such thing as unicorns.”

  “Oh? Maybe you’ve made them extinct with all that gladness.”

  “Let’s get some cotton candy, boy.” Gincy clapped Steve on the shoulder. Hard. The slap made a popping sound. They did get their pink confections, then walked the carnival. Kids were everywhere, playing games and riding rides and hanging onto balloons and whining at their parents. Real Americana. Something Steve and Gincy had both missed.

  They were near the Ferris wheel. It was stopped, and a couple of kids at the top looked down, screaming.

  Gincy faced Steve. “Is there anything else you want to tell me before we venture on?”

  Steve looked at the ground.

  “Steve, what’s going on?”

  “I met a girl,” Steve said.

  “Whoa.”

  “She works for me.”

  “And you want it to be more than that, huh?”

  Steve said nothing. He felt like screaming, like the kids on the Ferris wheel.

  “Who is she?” Gincy asked.

  “Law student from DeWitt. There’s something else about her.”

  “Now what?”

  “She’s pretty religious.”

  “She’s pretty and religious?”

  “Okay, yeah.”

  Gincy started laughing. He rocked back and let it go. “I love it!”

  “What’s so funny?”

  “God has a sense of humor, maestro. I mean, here you are, Mr. Hardcore Atheist, Mr. I-Can-Do-It-All-Myself, Mr. There’s-NoHigher-Power, and God hooks you up with a religious chick.”

  “Don’t get all giddy about it. She wants to keep it strictly business.”

  “But you don’t?”

  “I don’t know, I — ”

  “Oh man! Look at that.”

  He pointed to that sledgehammer attraction. “Remember those cartoons where the guy knocks the bell off, he hits it so hard? That’s your stress level, dude.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “Your divorce final?” Gincy asked.

  “Almost. And Ashley wants me to move my stuff from the house.”

  Gincy got his serious sponsor look. “You been going to meetings?”

  “Here and there.”

  He put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Anything else you want to tell me? Aliens landing in your apartment maybe?”

  “Isn’t that enough for one night?”

  “You got it.” Gincy made a hunk of cotton candy disappear. “You’re under a lot of stress. Maybe more than when you got hooked on blow. It’s all coming back.”

  They moved on, past the milk-bottle pyr
amid and ping-pong-ball-in-the-cup game.

  “So what’s your advice, sponsor of mine?” Steve said.

  “My only advice is the same as always. Give up.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Give up. Quit trying to do everything on your own. Go to God. That’s how — ”

  “Not tonight, man.” Steve tossed the rest of his cotton candy into a trash can. “I’ve had to look out for myself for twenty years.”

  “And what’s come of that?”

  What Steve didn’t need right now was another one of Gincy’s higher-power lectures. They were near one end of the carnival now. At a ride called the Zipper. Gincy turned to Steve, his eyes reflecting the red, blues, and greens of the carnival lights.

  “You ever been on that?” Gincy pointed at the Zipper.

  “What? No. I hate those rides.” The Zipper went around in a fast, tight oval, almost like a small Ferris wheel. But as it did, each individual car — more like cages — spun around too. “If I got on that thing I’d color the inside pink.”

  “You afraid?”

  “I just don’t like ’em,” Steve said.

  “You have to take a risk in this life, bub. It looks scary to you, but it’ll take you to a whole new level. And faith is the same way.”

  “I’m fine where I am, feet on the ground.”

  “I don’t think you are.”

  “When did you get a license to practice psychotherapy?”

  “The day I met you, man. Wait here. And think about what I just told you.”

  Gincy licked the last of the cotton candy from the paper, tossed it into a can, then handed a ticket to the guy running the Zipper.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  “The big question,” Sienna said, “is whether the church should incorporate as a 501(c)(3) or not. The main advantage is that it’s easier for people to give tax-deductible gifts. But there’s a theological question.”

  She’d arrived at Steve’s office at two minutes before three on Friday afternoon. Looking good in gray business casual. He poured them a couple of Diet Cokes from the little refrigerator, then sat at his desk. Her printed memo was in front of him. He’d read about half of it. The point was, she was here.

  “We have to bring theology into it?” Steve said.

  “Hello. Church.”

  “Excuse me. What’s the issue?”

  “Does the church want to be tied up with the government? In a way, the whole idea of Christianity was against the government. It refused to bow down to Caesar.”

  “What about the whole rendering unto Caesar thing?”

  “What about it? There’s a difference between obeying the law and getting your church tangled up in the government.”

  “So what’s the alternative?”

  “You just declare yourself a church.”

  “You know what?”

  “What?”

  “You’re pretty when you get theological.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You’re going to have to stop that.”

  “Can I help myself?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right,” Steve said. “Here’s what I’m thinking, Sienna. Seriously. I’m having a hard time with this setup.”

  She sat back and sipped her Coke, waiting for him to explain.

  “It’s like this,” Steve said. “I think they want a church so they can launder money.”

  “What gave you that idea?”

  “It’s Eldon LaSalle’s background. He got in trouble with the IRS before. And let’s face it, my brother is an ex-con.”

  “You don’t believe people can change in prison?”

  “I haven’t seen it.”

  “You’ve seen your brother. Don’t you believe him?”

  “I haven’t had enough time to believe him.”

  “Are you his lawyer?”

  “I’m somebody’s lawyer. I just got a big fat retainer.”

  “So there you are.”

  “Where am I?”

  “Hired. Count your blessings.”

  “You see?” Steve said. “You had to bring theology into it again.”

  She shook her head. “You can be a very annoying person when you put your mind to it.”

  “That’s what the judges all say.”

  When Sienna smiled, Steve counted it as a small but significant victory. Maybe he could wear her down. Like global warming on the ice caps.

  “There is another problem,” he said.

  “And that is?”

  “The old man, Eldon, is a rank racist.”

  She cocked her head but didn’t say anything.

  “Yeah. He wrote this crazy book about John Wilkes Booth and the goodness of slavery and don’t mix the races. I guess he’s still got a lot of followers. Maybe even my loving brother.”

  “Have you talked to him about it?”

  “Haven’t had a chance. I’m driving out there tomorrow. What do you think I should say?”

  Sienna shrugged. “Be honest. Do you think you can’t represent them?”

  “It’s a lot of money.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “You’re a clever little vixen. You want to get me to open up.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “I’m, like, a criminal defense lawyer, okay?”

  “And what do the canons of ethics say about representing people you loathe?”

  “You just took ethics, didn’t you?”

  “Answer the question.”

  “Okay, professor! Yes, I am obligated to provide representation to people unless I cannot perform my duties due to conscience.”

  “Hmm, I don’t know.”

  “What don’t you know?”

  “You said you were a criminal defense lawyer. Ergo, no conscience.”

  She smiled super sweetly, and Steve wanted to give her a noogie. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to take her home with him. He wanted to run away so he wouldn’t ruin her.

  He wanted to run to something that would finally pull him up, not down.

  Johnny. He was the way. He had to be. The way to get rid of the past forever and the way to secure his professional future. Be a lawyer, for his own flesh and blood.

  “Are you okay?” Sienna said.

  “What?”

  “You drifted for a minute.”

  “Drifted,” he said. “That’s the right word.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  Hercules Auto Body was located on the east end of Verner, just before the main road hangs a hard right and heads toward the mountains. Steve arrived a little after eleven on a hot Monday and parked the Ark just inside the chain-link and razor-wire fence.

  A Wyoming-sized man in dirty coveralls emerged from the office, turning slightly sideways to get out. He wore aviator shades and his mess of dark — or dirty — hair was pulled back in a ponytail. A beard of like color and equal hygienic chaos covered most of his face.

  “Whoa,” the man said, eyeing the Ark. “She’s a classic, she is.”

  Steve nodded. “She’s a gas guzzler, she is, but nice and wide.”

  “Like me.” The man smiled. Yellow teeth peeked through the beard. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Nothing a little Turtle Wax won’t fix. I came to see Johnny.”

  The yellow teeth disappeared behind a clamped mouth. “You his PO?”

  “No. His brother.”

  Wyoming gave Steve a once-over. “You look a little more respectable.”

  “Is he around?”

  “He’s working.”

  “Can you tell him I’m here? I’ll wait — ”

  “I don’t run a messenger ser vice.”

  “You can’t just tell him?”

  Wyoming didn’t say anything, or move. The smell of grease and hand cleanser wafted off him.

  “Look, this isn’t a prison,” Steve said. “You’re doing him a great favor hiring him on. I want to make sure he keeps the job and does good work. I’m as interested in seeing him return to society as you are.�
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  “I don’t give a rat’s patoot about society,” Wyoming said. “I got a business to run and I don’t need any distractions. Now if you — ”

  “Steve!”

  Johnny, smiling broadly and wiping his hands on a red rag, was coming across the yard.

  “Problem solved,” Steve said.

  Wyoming didn’t look convinced. Before he could say a word, Johnny piped, “I’ll take my break now, if you don’t mind, Russ.”

  “I do mind,” Russ said.

  “I got it coming. I take it now, we get it out of the way, am I right?”

  “You ain’t calling any shots.”

  “And that’s why I’m just asking,” Johnny said. “Your word goes.”

  “Ten minutes,” Russ said. “No more.” Then he headed back to his lair.

  When the office door closed, Johnny said, “So what do you think? I’m a working stiff again.”

  “Great boss.”

  “Ah, he needs to get over himself. He didn’t want to hire me at first.”

  “So why did he?”

  “I think he saw it was in his best interest, know what I mean?” Johnny smiled.

  “No, I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I mean, little brother, it’s good business to do a little favor for the LaSalle family from time to time.”

  “Hey, what a coincidence.”

  “Huh?”

  “The LaSalle family. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  Johnny worked the red bandanna in his hands again, then used it to wipe his forehead. “What about it?”

  “You tell me.”

  He studied Steve. Then he smiled and wiggled a finger in Steve’s face. “You’ve been doing a little digging, haven’t you?”

  “I guess somebody had to. Why don’t you tell me about Booth Speaks?”

  Johnny shook his head slowly. “Don’t be like all the rest, Steve.”

  “Why don’t you answer — ”

  “You’re my lawyer.”

  “You don’t hold out on your lawyer. That’s not a good way to start.”

  “How much time have we had? Have you given me a chance?”

  That was true. Steve didn’t like the slight hurt in Johnny’s eyes.

  “Okay, Johnny. But I need to know what’s up with that stuff. If we’re going to set up a church, I have to have all the info.”