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  “Pull over a minute,” the sergeant said. “I want to hear what he has to say.”

  Preacher’s voice was resonant, yet soft and friendly. It came through the speakers mounted on either side of the platform with compelling intensity and conviction. “If you will accept in your hearts the fact that Jesus Christ our Lord died on the cross for our sins, you have taken the first step toward joining the Community of God. For in the Community of God, man has no sins, no guilts, no wars. Only love for God and his fellowman. In the Community of God, man can find true peace within himself and with his neighbors. In the Community of God, you, too, can join hands with neighbors and live with the righteous. Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ and come to live in the Community of God.” He paused for a moment and looked down at the people gathered in front of the platform. He raised his hands in a kind of benediction and in the lights of the oncoming cars, the shadow cast behind him seemed like the vague outlines of Christ on the white cross. “May God bless you and keep all of you.”

  He held the gesture for a moment, savoring the sudden stillness of the crowd, then dropped his arms suddenly as the girls came around the van, holding their collection boxes in one hand and giving out mimeographed sheets with the other. Preacher disappeared behind the curtain.

  “He’s got quite a spiel,” the sergeant said. “For a moment he almost had me believing it.”

  Tom laughed. “It’s not his spiel, Sergeant. It’s those girls. All that fresh young pussy can make me believe anything.”

  A passerby dropped one of the mimeoed sheets near the patrol car and the sergeant stepped out and retrieved it. Getting back in the car, he read it under the dashboard light.

  For more information about the Community of God, write and mail this form with or without your contribution to:—

  The Community of God

  P.O. Box 119

  Los Altos, Calif.

  He looked up through the window. The black curtain was already gone, the platform had been pulled back into the van and the doors closed. A moment later the van pulled out into the traffic. He glanced behind him. The girls were walking down the street, still handing out the mimeoed sheets and waving their collection boxes at the crowds.

  He glanced at his wristwatch. It was nine p.m. “Time to go in,” he said. “Six hours in this car is long enough.”

  “I’m with you, Sarge,” Tom said enthusiastically.

  The sergeant was thoughtful. “Let’s pay them another visit tomorrow. Something about them is still bothering me.”

  Chapter Four

  “Do you really believe in God, Preacher?”

  He rolled over in bed and looked at her. She was sitting up, leaning back against the silken pillows. The red-gold light filtering softly through the small Chinese lanterns turned her skin into soft ivory. He waited until she finished lighting a cigarette before he answered. “You know that I do.”

  She looked down at him. “Sometimes I wonder. The things you do. The dope. The girls. Everything seems so free and easy. Doesn’t your God say that these things are sinful?”

  “It’s all interpretation,” he said. “Nothing is sinful if it’s done with love. If we believe that Christ the Redeemer died for our sins and we give ourselves up to His care, then we can sin no more.”

  She touched his face, her fingers tracing the line from his cheekbone to his chin. “You’re a strange and beautiful man, Preacher.”

  “Thank you,” he said quietly.

  “It has been a long time since we were together,” she said. “Many times I have thought about you.”

  “I have thought often about you too, Barbara.”

  “I wondered what it would be like when you came back. If you came back. Would it be the same as it was before when my father was alive and I did not have the responsibility of the House of Soong on my shoulders?”

  “Was it?” He watched her.

  She met his eyes. “Yes. And no.”

  “How is it different?”

  “I question now what I did not before.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Business?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Are you with me because of how you feel, Preacher? Or is it five hundred dollars a brick?”

  “What do you feel?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure,” she answered. “You tell me, Preacher.”

  He placed his hand on the silky softness of her inner thighs and felt the warm moistness of her response. “I’m with you as I always have been, Barbara. For love.”

  “And the others? Are you with them for love too?”

  He looked up into her face. “There can be no other reason, Barbara. We are all children of the same God and all we have to give one another is love.”

  The ringing of the telephone seemed a strange sound in this room of Chinese silk and tapestry. She answered it. She listened for a moment then spoke rapidly in Chinese. Finally she covered the mouthpiece and turned to him.

  “We can move it all tonight if you’ll take four twenty-five.”

  He thought for a moment.

  “If you want my advice, Preacher,” she said in a suddenly businesslike voice, “you’ll take it. Fifty bricks is a lot of shit to sit on and the police in this town are not stupid. Through our contacts at headquarters we’ve already found out they have you on their daily checklist. The minute word gets out that a big shipment has hit town, they’ll come down on you real fast.”

  He looked into her eyes. “You sounded just like your father then.”

  “I hope so,” she said. “Or I should not be the head of the House of Soong.”

  “Okay,” he said. “When and where do they want to take delivery?”

  Again she spoke Chinese into the telephone. “Now,” she said to him. “Anywhere you say.”

  He was out of bed and already dressing. “Tell them I’ll be on the corner up the block from your office. Will they have the money?”

  “No,” she said. “You’ll get that from me tomorrow morning.”

  “Okay,” he said easily.

  She turned back to the telephone and spoke quickly, then put it down and watched him finish dressing. “Preacher,” she said.

  “Yes?”

  “Make this the last time you do it,” she said. “It’s not worth it. It’s only money.”

  “I need the money,” he said. “How else can I keep my family together?”

  “There has to be a better way than to risk going to jail.”

  He stared at her for a moment. “I’ll think about it.”

  She reached for a kimono and got out of bed. “I’ll have to let you out. After eight o’clock at night the elevator works on a key lock.”

  “Okay,” he said. She came toward him and he took her in his arms and kissed her. “Remember what I said. Only for love.”

  She looked into his eyes and smiled. “Yes, Preacher.”

  He followed her to the elevator and waited while she placed the key in the lock and pressed the button. The door opened. He held it open with his foot while he spoke to her. “I’m going to give them the keys to a three-quarter-ton pickup,” he said. “The bricks are in a false bottom. Tell them to leave it somewhere safe when they’ve emptied it and I’ll get the keys when I see you in the morning.”

  She nodded. “About ten o’clock, Preacher.”

  “Ten o’clock, Barbara,” he said and pressed the button.

  She watched the door close, then watched the indicator lights on the panel until they stopped at 1. Then the light went out and she took the key from the lock and walked slowly back to her room.

  ***

  From somewhere nearby a church bell tolled four times as he walked along the night-mist-covered sidewalk near the wharf. Already the first of the fishing boats were in with their catch of Dungeness crabs being lifted in their nets by the long-poled winches and dumped into the boiling pots at wharfside. He stood there for a moment, watching, then crossed the street and walked up the block to the alley.

  His footsteps e
choed hollowly on the cobblestones as he approached the van. He paused while searching in his pocket for the key to unlock the door. It swung open and he looked up. “Charlie,” he said. “How come you’re not sleeping?”

  She stared down at him. “I couldn’t sleep. I was worried about you.”

  He climbed into the van. “There was nothing to worry about.”

  She closed the door behind him. “You were with that Chinese girl.”

  “Yes.”

  She came close to him. “I can smell her on your beard.”

  He laughed. “That’s chow mein. I didn’t have time to wash.”

  “That’s not funny,” she said. “I can tell the difference between cunt and chow mein.”

  He took off his blouse, then his shirt, and sat in a chair to pull off his boots. “You’re not jealous, are you?” he asked in a reproving voice.

  She knelt in front of him and pulled at his boots. “No,” she said. “I know better than that. Jealousy is a sick thing. But I wanted to be with you.”

  “You are with me,” he said. “You know that.”

  She pulled the second boot off almost angrily. “Don’t give me that shit, Preacher. I’m not a stupid kid like the others. I’m twenty-five years old and you know what I’m talking about. They’re all happy to wait their turn whenever you want them. But I want more. I wanted your prick exploding and shooting inside me, not in some stupid Chinese hole.”

  He stared down at her. His voice was cold. “Those are evil thoughts, Charlie.”

  She began to cry. “I can’t help it, Preacher. I love you so much.”

  He took her hands away from her face. “It’s God you love, Charlie. The same God that is in all of us.”

  “I know,” she nodded, still sniffing. “But is it sinful to want you?”

  “It is sinful only if it is selfish,” he said.

  She sank back on her haunches and looked down at the floor. “Then I am sinful,” she said in a small voice.

  He got to his feet and looked down at her. “You will have to pray that God will forgive your sins, Charlie.”

  “Do you forgive me, Preacher?”

  “It is not I who grant forgiveness, Charlie,” he said. “Only God can do that.”

  She reached for his hand and kissed it. “I’m sorry, Preacher.”

  He raised her to her feet. “Now, go back inside to sleep. It will be morning soon and we have much to do tomorrow.”

  ***

  The panel door of the van was open as the sergeant walked up the alley. He looked in the door. Preacher was seated at the desk, writing. “Preacher,” the sergeant called.

  Preacher looked up. “Hello, Sergeant.”

  “I’m not disturbing you?” the sergeant asked.

  Preacher smiled. “Not at all.”

  “Mind if I come in?”

  “Come on,” Preacher said.

  The sergeant clambered heavily into the van. He glanced at the notes on the desk. “What are you writing?”

  “My sermon for tomorrow,” Preacher said.

  “I heard you speaking last night. You have a silver tongue, as they used to say when I was a boy.”

  Preacher smiled. “It’s easy to speak with God’s words.”

  The sergeant nodded. “The collections going well?”

  “Very well,” Preacher answered. “We should have almost seven hundred dollars by the time we finish tonight and start home.”

  “You’re not staying tomorrow?” The sergeant was surprised. “Sunday is the busiest day on the wharf. You should get at least twice as much as any other day.”

  Preacher smiled. “It is also the Sabbath. And on the seventh day He rested from His labors. And we must be back for the Sunday services.”

  “But you’re here already,” the sergeant said. “It seems to me it would be a shame to pass up all that money.”

  “We really don’t need that much, Sergeant. Our wants are very simple. The main reason to be here is to spread God’s word.”

  The sergeant stared at him. He seemed to be sincere. Even the police lieutenant in Los Altos that morning seemed to be convinced they were straight. He said they had a twenty-acre truck farm outside of town and even the lieutenant’s wife had bought eggs and vegetables from them. The Los Altos policeman said that to him they were more like Jehovah’s Witnesses or Seventh-Day Adventists than anything else. They were always quiet and well-behaved as they passed out pieces of literature while making their sales from door to door. Still, the grapevine had it that a ton of marijuana was being dropped on the city and it had to come from somewhere.

  “You seem to be alone here,” he said. “Where are the girls?”

  “Out with the collection boxes.”

  “I never saw where they were staying,” the policeman said.

  “The door is open,” Preacher said. “You can have a look for yourself.”

  “Do you mind showing me?”

  “Not at all,” Preacher said. He got out of the chair and the sergeant followed him to the building. Preacher opened the door and they went inside.

  There were ten neatly rolled sleeping bags on a freshly swept floor. Otherwise the small storeroom was bare. The sergeant glanced around. There wasn’t the faintest hint of weed in the air. He looked at Preacher. “Very nice. I see they’re all ready to leave.”

  Preacher nodded.

  The sergeant went back outside into the alley. He turned as Preacher closed the door behind him. “You’ve collected a lot of money,” he said. “Keep your eyes open in case someone decides to hit on you.”

  “I don’t think anyone will.” Preacher smiled easily. “God looks after His own.”

  “Just be careful,” the sergeant said. “If you should need any help, don’t be afraid to call us.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” Preacher said.

  The sergeant turned as if to leave, then turned back. “There’s been rumors that a large order of dope has been dropped on the town. Have you heard anything about it?”

  Preacher met his gaze. “I haven’t heard any rumors.”

  The sergeant looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. “I guess you wouldn’t,” he said. “You’re all too far out of it.” He held out his hand. “You understand. I’m just doing my job.”

  Preacher’s grip was firm. “I understand, Sergeant.”

  “Goodbye, Preacher. Good luck.”

  “Goodbye, Sergeant. God bless you.”

  He watched the policeman walk down the alley to the patrol car parked in the street. Barbara had been right. This would be the last time. He had the strangest feeling that it was only because the sergeant liked him that he was not being pressed. Almost as if he were saying, “Okay, just this one time. But no more.”

  Thoughtfully he walked back to the van and climbed inside. He stared down at the desk. The heading for the sermon tomorrow stared back up at him: “Go forth and sin no more.”

  Chapter Five

  It was near seven in the morning when he turned the pickup onto the dirt road at the top of the hill that led down to the farm that belonged to the Community of God. He drove past the large NO TRESPASSING—PRIVATE PROPERTY signs placed on either side of the entrance to the dirt road. He turned the curve at the top of the hill, stopped the pickup and got out. He walked to the edge of the road and looked down.

  Sprawled out in the small valley below him were the neatly painted wooden buildings that made up the commune. Four buildings. The women’s building was the largest because it accommodated the larger portion of the Community’s population, twenty-eight women and seven children. The men’s building was smaller. Including himself there were seventeen men. Between the two buildings were the second-largest building, which housed the dining room and kitchens, and the smallest building, which held the meeting room and also served as the church and social room. Behind the buildings were large carport-type sheds under which were parked the various cars and machinery that belonged to the Community or their members, and still farthe
r away was the small building in which he lived and which also served as the general office.

  A wisp of blue smoke was rising from the chimney over the kitchen and he could see the purple van already parked under the shed. He nodded to himself. That meant the girls had had no problems on the drive down from San Francisco. They’d made better time than he, coming straight down on the freeway. He had driven down on the back roads, not wanting to take any chances of being stopped on the freeway. The back of the pickup reeked of marijuana. The Chinese had been very careless unloading the cargo, having broken open some of the carefully wrapped bricks. Or maybe they weren’t careless, just checking that they were getting what they paid for. At any rate, one of the first things to be done was to clean out the false bottom of the pickup and hose it down thoroughly. Even better, he would have the false bottom removed completely, because from now on there would be no further use for it.

  He went back to the pickup and continued down the hill. It took another ten minutes to negotiate the narrow tire-tracked dirt road and come out in front of the farm. By that time it seemed as if almost everyone in the Community was outside in front of the buildings to greet him.

  They smiled and waved as he drove slowly by. “Good Sabbath, Preacher.”

  He waved back to them. “Good Sabbath, children.”

  He stopped the pickup in front of his small house. Tarz, the tall, slim, blond young man with granny glasses who was known as the Organizer and was his chief assistant, came toward the pickup as he got out, closely followed by Charlie, who had driven the van down.

  “Good Sabbath, Preacher,” Tarz said, his teeth white and large in his smile.

  Preacher took his hand. “Good Sabbath, Tarz.” He turned to Charlie. “Did you have a good trip?”

  She smiled. “No problems. It was a piece of cake.”

  “I’m glad,” he said. “The children all right?”