Michael Guillebeau - MAD Librarian - You Gotta Fight for Your Right to Library

One matter settled, he turned his focus to the other. By this time they were panting together. She could feel what he needed and she gave it to him, got what she needed at the same time and then collapsed on his chest.

“Two,” she said. “Two to one.”

“Oh, my sweet, sweet Sweetblossom. I’m so glad to be done with lawbreaking and secrets.”

He wrapped his arms around her and rotated her down beside him, tucked her head into his throat and let out a long, sliding-into-sleep breath.

Serenity, however, was wide awake. “We may have to talk a lot more like this, Joe. The MAD and Maddington still need that money to keep coming in.”

She started to say more, but her cell rang.

SERENITY FELT GUILTY. She had given Joe two sleeping pills along with his pain pill and slipped out of the house as the Sunday morning sun came up.

All this guilt just to go to church.

She thought about what Joe had said.

Nobody has that kind of money, he’d said. Nobody has that kind of money.

That had to be it.

She pulled into the parking lot of the sprawling Queen of the Universe Catholic Church with its gigantic mural of Mary smiling over the solar system. It was empty except for a little knot of Beemers, Mercedes, and one mere Cadillac, which looked like the poor stepsister. All were parked at the small private chapel down the hill from the main sanctuary on top. Serenity pulled around the corner and found a hidden spot between two lilac bushes.

Just in case she needed privacy when she came out. If she came out running.

She slipped into the chapel and took a seat in the back row and studied the small crowd up front.

Every local businessman was in the second and third pew. Sunday morning, very early, was a command performance for a private mass before the regular church opened.

And in the front pew, Paul Molcut sat alone. When the heads all bowed for prayer, she walked to the front and slid in next to him. An usher, big but nondescript, appeared from nowhere and put his hand on her shoulder. Molcut opened his eyes and waved him away.

“Good to see you here, Ms. Hammer,” he said to her. “When I invited you to join my church, when I was at your library, I didn’t expect you to join us, at least not so easily.” He paused. “I’m glad that you respect the way things are.”

“I respect the way things are going to be.”

“So do I. But we may worship at two different churches.”

The priest had paused while they whispered. Molcut stood up.

“I think we’re done here for today, Padre. Thank you.”

The priest opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and faded out through a door behind the altar. The other men stood up and walked out, shooting glances at Serenity as they left.

Serenity said, “I know where the money comes from.”

Molcut put a finger to his lips. “Not here.”

He looked around and motioned to two elaborately-carved wooden closets at the back. Confessionals. He stood and walked to them, slow and tired, and Serenity followed. He took the one on the left and she opened the door to the one on the right. She went in and sat down on the cushioned bench that filled the darkened space, closing the door behind her. A screen slid open between them and she saw the dim outline of his head.

“There is too much chance,” he said, “of far-away people out there prying into our business.”

“Like Bentley’s auditor was prying at the library? I’m surprised that you don’t use your same silent companion to stop them, too.”

“He works for them, not me. But he does what he has to do.”

“Even at the library.”

He exhaled. “By any means necessary.”

Hearing one of Doom’s standard phrases come out of Molcut’s mouth took her by surprise. She didn’t say anything and he took that as a sign to continue.

“We were not willing to let Councilman Bentley find out where his money was coming from.” He paused. “Although I do think our ‘representative’ may have overreacted. He saw a convenient weapon and a means to deflect blame, and acted.” He paused again. “Ms. Hammer, I do not have complete control over this organization. Many people have tried to stop us, and many people have gotten hurt. Please don’t be one of them.”

“I’ll be careful. You’ve already killed at least one man.”

“According to Don Juan, so have you. At least we left the family a body to bury.”

“Maybe that’s your mistake, burying too many things in too many places. That’s why it’s going to be different this time,” she said. “In the past, you’ve had to deal with one guy, or maybe one organization, who knew a thing or two, and might dig and find a little more. It was easy for you to hide things from them and easy to control the damage.

“But we’re librarians. Finding out information and sharing knowledge is our business, our profession and, for some of us, even our calling. My librarians, and some librarians at other libraries, have been digging. They know how to dig in ways you can’t even imagine.

“We know it all. Dark money PACs have been around, legally, for ten years, and have been used to blackmail businesses for contributions and, at the same time, blackmail politicians who are dependent on them for reelection. But I was surprised to learn that you’ve united all the Dark PACs, and all the illegal drug money in the state of Alabama. That’s way past legal. We can prove it all, and you can’t kill every one of us.”

He said nothing, and she went on.

“My husband was right about something he said: nobody has this much money. But all of us in Maddington and in the whole state of Alabama together, do. You, and people like you, have quietly blackmailed every company, every business, every mobster—and ultimately all of us for what you call ‘political contributions’ for so long that we just shrug and take it without even asking how big it is.”

Through the darkness, his voice said, “People want us to do this for them, but they would be surprised at how big it is. That’s why we don’t keep the money in a bank, even one under our control, as it could still be monitored. But a neglected municipal fund in Maddington? No one cares. And it’s all legal. At least the parts I oversee are: making sure that businesses of every kind know the importance of political contributions, and making sure that politicians are controlled by those contributions. It’s simple, Ms. Hammer. Everything gets organized, and when it gets organized, it gets bigger and more efficient. Think of the guy who took a little hamburger stand, organized it into McDonald’s, and gave America a billion hamburgers.”

“So you just organize hamburger stands?”

She saw a little bit of a shrug through the panel. “We don’t worry about what our companies produce. Satellites, t-shirts, hamburgers, politicians, laws—everyone pays us a little, and benefits a lot.”

“Drug dealers?”

Another shrug. “McDonald’s isn’t responsible for the cholesterol in their hamburgers. We’re not responsible for what our subsidiaries do.”

“And your enforcer out there?” she asked.

He laughed. “That’s a little harsh. He’s more of a persuader than an enforcer. Usually, a conversation is sufficient but, by any means necessary. We don’t tell him how to run his part of our operation, nor are we responsible for what he does. Although, as I’ve said, I regret his last choice. I’m not a bad guy.”

“Debatable. But none of that matters if people find out about all this. They won’t put up with it.”

He said, “They won’t care. They just want someone to keep the world running.”