Sean Chercover - The Trinity Game

Trinity put his soup can on the coffee table, reached out his right hand. “Gimme the phone.”

“What?”

“I gotta call Liz, let her know I’m OK.”

“Tim, Liz was still standing in your dressing room when I dragged you out.” Trinity didn’t withdraw his hand. Daniel shook his head. “I said no. The world thinks you’re dead, and you’re gonna stay dead until it benefits us to resurrect you. If they know you’re alive, they’ll come at you again. We need time to figure our next move.”

Trinity’s arm dropped slowly to his side, and his eyes became wet in the flickering orange light. He blinked rapidly, let out a long breath.

“You and Liz were close.”

“Sorta off and on, but…yeah. We were close.”

“I’m sorry.”

Trinity pulled a steel flask from his pocket, screwed off the cap, and raised it toward the ceiling in a toasting gesture. “Glory and survival, Liz. Hell of a broad.” He took a swig, closed his eyes for a moment, nodded to himself. “OK. We go to New Orleans.”

“First place they’ll look for you,” Daniel said. “People in trouble usually run home.”

Trinity pointed at him. “I’m dead, remember? They won’t be looking. Your words.”

“A couple days at most. And that’s where they’ll start.”

“Then we haul ass, in-and-out before they find out. See, I know where the answer is…” Trinity held up a hand. “Last night, I had a dream. More powerful than a dream, it felt like a vision. It felt like God talking. In the dream, God came in the form of a beautiful black woman. The woman said I was in danger. She also said she could help me. And when I woke up, I knew where to find her. She’s in New Orleans.”

“What’s her name?”

“I don’t know. But she’s in the French Quarter. I know her address—633 Dumaine, just off Royal.”

“You just woke up with her address in your head.”

Trinity nodded. “I woke up, and in my head, I could see the building—white, one story, green shutters, slate roof. I could see the numbers by the door, and I knew exactly where it was. We go there, we’ll find her. I’m sure of it.” He took another pull from the flask. “If you wanna bail out, I understand. You never signed up for dodging shrapnel. I can drop you off wherever you like…but I’m going to New Orleans.”

“This dream, it was like the dream where God told you he wanted me by your right hand?”

Trinity let out a sheepish grin. “Yeah, well, I was lying when I told you that. I just made it up so you’d stay.”

“What?”

“That was before I promised not to lie to you. I haven’t lied since, and I’m not lying now.”

God, he was like a child sometimes. “Speaking of promises,” said Daniel, “what happened to telling the world you’re not the Messiah?”

“I tried. Honest—you saw me—the words wouldn’t come out. So then I did exactly what I told you I’d do: I opened my mouth and trusted the Lord to feed me my lines.” Trinity took a swig from his flask. “And you know what? I think he did.” He winked. “Just wish he’d given me a little more material. Man, I felt like an ass up there.”

Daniel smiled despite himself. He kicked off his shoes. “I’ll go with you to New Orleans,” he said.

“Thanks.” Trinity held the flask out. “Care for a snort?”

Daniel took the flask, smooth and warm in his hand, and swallowed some bourbon. It went down with a welcome burn. The engraving on the flask caught his eye, and he angled it toward the oil lamp.

To Pops—Happy 41 stBirthday—Love Danny

He looked up and his uncle nodded.

“You broke my heart, son.”

Daniel took another swig, handed the flask back. “Right back at ya, old man.” He lay back on the couch and closed his eyes. “Better get some shut-eye. We hit the road early.”

Outside, rain started drumming hard para-para-diddles on the cabin’s tin roof, and thunder cracked in the distance. Tim Trinity was quiet for a minute. Then he said, “Thanks for saving my life today.”

“Go to sleep, Tim.”

Now I lay me down to sleep,

I pray the Lord my soul to keep.

If I die before I wake,

I pray the Lord my soul to take.

“Sweet dreams, kid.”

Early morning mist rose through the Georgia pines like the souls of the dead ascending from their graves on Judgment Day. The lonely jackhammer knock of a woodpecker echoed somewhere in the distance. Daniel and Trinity rolled slowly along the muddy road, windows down, Daniel scanning cabins on the left, Trinity the right.

“Thought we s’posed to be hauling ass,” said Trinity.

“Keep your eyes peeled, I can only watch one si—hold on…right there, perfect.” Daniel turned into a driveway and stopped behind a battered, once-green GMC Sierra with about twenty years on it. The cabin had no electricity, much less a satellite dish. To the right of the cabin, a pile of freshly cut firewood and an axe sticking out of a tree stump. Tall rose bushes bloomed fiery red against the cabin’s wall, and a massive Cracker in faded denim overalls stood cutting back excess leaves with a twelve-inch Bowie knife. He looked to be in his mid-thirties. He turned and stared at them. He didn’t smile.

Trinity said, “From where I sit, this is about as far from ‘perfect’ as we are from Seattle. I say we back the hell outta here.”

“Stay in the truck.” Daniel got out slowly, closed the door. To the man with the knife, he said, “Good morning—”

The man let out a humorless snort. “ Was good, until you showed up. Round here, folks get gutted for trespassing.”

“Sorry, I, uh, didn’t see a sign posted.”

“’Round here, don’t need a sign.” He gestured to the road with his knife. “You girls best be on your way.”

Daniel raised his left hand and reached for the door handle with his right. “No problem, understood.” He opened the door of Trinity’s truck. “Before we go, can I interest you in swapping trucks?”

“Huh?”

“Straight swap, our truck for yours.”

“What am I gonna do with a pretty toy like that? I look black to you?”

“Your Sierra’s worth—what?—maybe five, six hundred bucks? But fresh tires, so I figure you’ve kept it running OK.”

The big man stepped forward, holding the knife at chest level. “So?”

“Our truck’s practically new, decked out with all the options, worth fifteen or twenty times as much. Call it a pretty toy, but it’s also a pretty valuable toy. You can sell it, buy a good solid truck with plenty years left in it, and pocket some serious cash in the process.”

“Can’t sell it if it’s hot.”

Daniel held the man’s eyes. “It’s not.”

“Cross your heart and hope to die?” The man shook his head and snorted. “Big City faggots always thinkin’ we just a bunch a gullible morons up here.”

The blade rose, its sharp tip now pointing directly at Daniel’s chin. Electricity hummed through his nerves, his fingertips tingling. In an instant, his right foot slid back into position, weight shifted to the balls of his feet, and his core muscled contracted.

“Keep waving that blade around, Clyde, and I’m gonna get the sudden urge to defend myself. Which would look a lot like me breaking your wrist, dislocating your knee, and shoving that pretty knife up your ass.”