Princes of Arkwright (8 page)

Tucker snapped his head to the side to look at the angel, then he glanced at
Victoria to see her reaction.

“
If you mean ‘pray,’” said Victoria, “I’ve done plenty of that.”

“
It’s been my experience that prayer doesn’t work,” said Aly.

“
No,” said Uriel, “Talk to God.”

“
What do you mean?” asked Victoria, as Tucker squirmed on his stool and looked longingly at the front door.

“
People are too afraid to ask God for what they need – or too stupid,” said Uriel, picking up his Narragansett by the neck with two fingers and staring at the label.

“
Would you like to elaborate on that?” said Aly, cocking her head to one side.

“
Certainly,” said the archangel, his iridescent eyes now burning brightly. Tucker looked around the bar and pretended not to pay attention.

“
The admonishment was a simple one, Alyson,” said Uriel, “but perhaps a narrative would better illustrate. Some time ago, it seems an age hence, there were two cities, side by side, as twins.”

“
You mean like Minneapolis and St. Paul?” asked Tucker, now interested.

“
I do not remember the names,” said Uriel. “God decided that the people who lived there were too wicked to live, so he sent Michael and myself to lay waste to the inhabitants.”

Tucker looked quickly from
Victoria to Aly, but both seemed riveted to what Uriel was saying.

“
So we went with God to visit the cities,” the angel continued. “On the way, he decided he wanted to stop to visit a nearby farmer. He was just an ordinary man with no special personal endowments, but for some reason I could never fathom, God favored him. So we were sitting there, eating lunch and enjoying his hospitality when God tells him that he is sending us to destroy these cities. These tidings were unwelcome to him. He said it is not in character with the Almighty that God should do such a thing. After all, he said, there could be righteous people living in the cities. He asked God, ‘What if there are 50 innocent people living there? Would you destroy the innocent along with the guilty?’ This mere man actually presumed to question the will of God. But how much more surprised were we when God told him he will save the city if we find 50 innocent men. Then the man continued, ‘What if there are only 45 innocent men?’ Again, God relented. Then, alternating between apologizing to God and pestering him, he finally asked, ‘What if there are only 10 innocent men?’ And God paused for a moment, then said, ‘For the sake of the 10, I will not destroy it.’”

Uriel took a drink of beer – the first Tucker had actually witnessed.

“So the cities were saved then?” asked Victoria.

“
Hell no!” said Uriel, grinning. “We wrecked that place!”

“
Um, Uriel?” said Tucker, with a gesture that was halfway between running his fingers through his hair and trying to pull it out, “I’m sorry … what was the point of that story?”

“
Simply this, Tuckerbromley,” said the angel, his fiery gaze now fixed on Tucker’s face. “That this human was one of God’s best friends. And even he was too scared or too stupid to ask what he should have asked.” Here, the angel’s voice dropped to a whisper, “What if you find only one innocent man?”

Tucker stared intently at the archangel, who went back to drinking his beer. Aly and
Victoria looked at each other with raised eyebrows and mouthed the word “wow” to each other.

“
Well, Tucker,” said Aly. “You certainly have interesting friends.”

“
We’re not friends,” said Tucker and the angel simultaneously.

Aly excused herself and went into the ladies room while
Victoria went to wait on other customers.

“
So, Uriel, what do you think about her?” asked Tucker. “Would we make a good couple?”

“Do not worry, Tuckerbromley,”
replied the angel. “This one was set aside for you since before the world began.”

Tucker shrugged his shoulders.
“So tell me, Uriel,” he said, “how does one go about becoming an angel?”

“
God creates you,” said Uriel.

“
Well, when people die, don’t they become angels?” asked Tucker.

“
No,” said Uriel. “They become dead.”

“
Well, suppose a man wanted to become an angel,” pressed Tucker. “How would he do it?”

“
How would a dog become a man?” said Uriel. “It is a stupid question. An angel is an angel. A man is a man. And a dog is a dog. You don’t change who you are.”

“
But I thought God could do anything,” said Tucker.

“
He can.”

“
Then I want to become an angel, like you,” said Tucker. “Can’t you talk to God for me?”

“
Talk to him yourself, Tuckerbromley, for he has given you a well-trained tongue.”

Victoria
came back with her arms full of bottles, dropping them into a large brown bin. Tucker rubbed the back of his neck and looked toward the pool tables.

“
There are a lot of blue-hairs in here tonight, Victoria,” he said. “These pool leagues are getting older and older.”

Tucker turned back and was dumbstruck by Uriel
’s expression, which was a mixture of shock and fear. “We must leave at once, Tuckerbromley,” he said.

“
Why?” asked Tucker, looking around at the old-lady perms bobbing up and down like ocean buoys. “Oh no. Demons? Here?”

“
Yes,” said Uriel. “Let us go.”

“
Why can’t you just fight them?”

“
Do you really want me to start striking elderly women in the middle of a crowded pub?” asked the angel, his eyes burning.

“
Well, aren’t the other people in here in danger then?”

“
No,” said the angel. “They are interested only in you.”

“
Why are they interested in me?” asked Tucker. “What did I do?”

“
You are under my protection,” explained Uriel.

“
Wait a minute,” continued Tucker in an angry whisper. “Do you mean to tell me that I’d be safer right now if I wasn’t being protected by an archangel?”

“
We call that ‘divine irony,’” said Uriel. “Now let us go.”

They stood up and looked at the front windows. The shadowy forms of several elderly heads were popping out of the fog and pressed up against the pane. Tucker and Uriel immediately sat down.

“Now what?” said Tucker.

“It is time to flee with great alacrity
. Come with me.”

Tucker got up and followed Uriel into the men
’s room, bolting the door closed.

“
I don’t know how we’re going to get out of here, Uriel,” observed Tucker. “There aren’t any windows in here.”

Suddenly, a sound like a violent scratching could be heard coming from the door.

“Occupied!” shouted Tucker. “Uriel, what’s the big deal? What could they do to us anyway?”

“
You do not want to know,” said the angel, examining two urinals.

The scratching at the door got louder and was accompanied by a high-pitched whimpering sound.

“Uriel,” said Tucker. “Do you think this dead bolt is going to hold them off?”

“
No,” he said. “But this will.”

As he spoke these words, the angel reached out with both hands, pulling the flush levers on the urinals and water came spilling down the insides of the porcelain.

“Um, Uriel?” said Tucker. “I’m pretty sure that’s not holy water in there.”

“
What is holy water?” asked the angel, his hands still on the levers.

Tucker was about to make a reply when the first drops of water came spilling over the sides of the toilet. Just as they hit the red tile, Tucker felt the floor drop out from under him. It still appeared exactly the same, but the floor now had the consistency of blood. Tucker lost his breath and tried to struggle as the liquid floor sucked him down. All was dark now and Tucker couldn
’t breathe. He had the sensation of moving very quickly as he flailed his arms and legs, searching for a solid surface. Suddenly, the cold air slapped him in the face as he washed out of a large pipe and went plunging head first into the water.

This time, he had no trouble swimming, and looked about frantically to see where he was. Above him, he could see the underside of a bridge. He was swimming in the foul chilly waters of the
Arkwright River, just in front of the bar.

“
Uriel!” shouted Tucker. “Uriel!”

As the frigid water seeped further into his skin, Tucker swam to the opposite bank very slowly, for his saturated clothes impeded his progress. The strip of vegetation between the river and the street was only about 20 feet, but was so thickly choked with trees, weeds and briars that it was impossible to see the street from the river – especially at night.

“Uriel!” shouted Tucker again, but there was no response. He strained his eyes searching the riverbank, but it was still so foggy that he would have had a hard time distinguishing a man from a tree. When he finally emerged from the water, he stood up just as a stiff breeze came swishing down the river, throwing Tucker into a convulsive shiver. The angel was nowhere to be found and the detective’s thoughts turned to his apartment and a warm shower. He started scaling the sharply angled riverbank, scratching his hands and tearing his clothes on the thorns and branches that clogged his path. Above him, the lights inside St. Michael’s Church glowed amber through the huge stained-glass window facing the river. On the window, a barefoot and effeminate Saint Michael, with long, billowing blond hair and a sword in his hand, stood on the prostrate form of Satan. Using the window as a guide, Tucker forced his way through the woods and over the wall in the same spot he had seen the old woman scurry away just the night before.

As he approached his apartment, the front door opened and
Wayne appeared on the front step with a recycling bin filled with empty bottles of antifreeze. Tucker caught the familiar scent of boiling cabbage as he stood in front of Wayne, silent and dripping.

“
Tuck man,” said Wayne, looking intently at Tucker through heavy eyelids. “You smell. What happened to you?”

“
I was flushed by an angel,” said Tucker, making squishy sounds as he struggled to walk down the hallway.

“
Huh?” said Wayne.

“
Nothing, Wayne,” said Tucker, putting his key in the lock. “I’m cold, wet, exhausted and in dire need of some more life insurance. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go scald myself under a hot shower and hope to hell I can get some feeling back in my extremities.”

And with that, the door slammed

9. ROLAND LEMIEUX

T
ucker Bromley walked down Station Street with a brilliantly wrapped birthday present under his arm. Wrapping gifts was a particular talent of Tucker’s, and he took great pride in his skill. He hadn’t bothered to ask Victoria what sort of a party it was going to be, so he just wore a gray suit with no tie and hoped there wouldn’t be a houseful of screaming children.

He found the apartment without any trouble and knocked on the door. A sour-faced man about 65 years old with glasses and a prominent bald spot answered the door.

“Yes?” he said, his six-foot-two frame towering over Tucker.

“
Um,” said Tucker, “is this Victoria Lemieux’s apartment?”

“
Yes it is,” said the man, frowning and looking down on Tucker.

“
Dad, let him in,” said Victoria. “This is my father, Roland Lemieux. This is my friend, Tucker Bromley. We used to go to school together.”

“
Oh, yes,” said Victoria’s father, suddenly revealing an amiable disposition. “You’re the cop who overpowered those murderers.”

Tucker swelled at this introduction and was glad it took a pleasant turn. He hadn
’t counted on meeting Victoria’s parents today, and was glad he didn’t give an awkward first impression.

“
So, is your mother coming?” he asked, looking around.

“
She’s been dead for five years, Tuck,” said Victoria, looking down.

“
I’m sorry,” said Tucker, now thinking that an awkward first impression was inevitable with him. “I didn’t know. So, um. where do the presents go?”