THE MCJ

REUNION

A new “Chris Johnson, Anglican Investigator” adventure

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three

Chapter Four - Spotlight Dance

Captain Yips poured himself a stiff bourbon, stiff, in this case, being defined as half the bottle.  “Hold it!” said Dale Price.  “Just hold on a second!  I’m not as up on my Anglican theology as I’d like to be but I know that it takes Spong’s ego twenty, thirty, forty years, maybe even longer, to take a physical form.  And since the old man’s in his 70’s, the last time you beat Spong’s ego should have been all she wrote.”

“It takes that long if it has to create its own,” I replied.  “But I figure it found itself a prefab.”

“A prefab?” Yips replied.  “What are you talking about?”  Then the realization sank in and the Captain took a large gulp of bourbon.  “Dear Lord.  Matt Fox.”

And then there were four.  “Matt Fox,” Price whispered and poured himself a whiskey of his own.

“Spong’s ego gets what it wants,” I said.  “And Matt Fox gets what he wants.  Genuine influence in the church.”

“And with the backing of enough Roman Catholic bishops,” said Yips, “Spong’s ego becomes...”

“Unstoppable,” Nicky said quietly.  “Absolutely unstoppable.  Good God, what do we do?”

“We get inside that joint Eucharist, the four of us,” I said.  ”We flood the place with more orthodoxy than it can handle.”

“Basically, we really do go medieval on their asses,” said Price.

“Pretty much.”

“It’s that simple, is it?” asked Yips.  ”We just walk right in?”

“Getting in is the least of our worries.”  I took a debit card out of my pocket and handed it to Dale.  ”You two guys get on a flight to Washington today.  Drive to the airport right now and take my Toyota.  Leave it at the rental place for me.  When you get to Washington, get yourselves rooms at the Hilton.  Put it all on that card.”

“How much money is on this thing?” asked Price.

“Let’s put it this way.  You could buy you and your wife new Hummers, you could buy the Tigers a decent set-up man and a reliable middle infielder with a good stick and you could buy Joey Harrington an offensive line, three All-Pro receivers and a clue and you won’t even have scratched the surface.  By the way, if anybody asks, you’re high-powered California attorney Peter Sean Bradley.”

“Peter Sean Bradley?  Who’s that?”

“He’s a high-powered California attorney.  And he owes me(”The Case of the Conned-vent”).  Plus he gets frequent-flyer miles every time you use that thing so I’m going to need you guys to spend money like drunken Anglo-Catholics.”

“Can do,” said Yips.  “Is that really true about the Hummers?  Because I could use some new wheels.”

“Uh huh.  Anyway, I’ve got your cell numbers.  Don’t call me, I’ll call you.  Nicky and I will join you in a couple of days.”

Dale, the Captain and I shook hands.  I watched the two of them get into the Echo and drive off.  When I turned around, my wife was staring at me with a look of stark terror in her eyes.  “I know something else about Spong’s ego,” she said in a quivering voice.  “I know that since you defeated it once, the chances of you defeating it again are pretty much non-existent.  And I’m...um...really scared, baby.”

In the past, I would have said something cryptic or casually dismissed Nicky’s fears with my usual supreme confidence but I knew my wife well enough to know that now was not the time for either.  I reached out, gently caressed her cheek and said quietly, “Who said it’s going to be me?  Let’s go get something to eat and I’ll tell you what I have in mind.”

After lunch, my greatly-relieved wife and I spent the rest of that day shopping for clothes and casually discussing my strategy.  Our evening consisted of a light dinner and a couple of movies and we both went to sleep early.

The next day, Friday, my wife and I packed light and then took a cab to the airport.  When we got to the ticket counter, the attendant asked, “Two tickets for Washington, Mr. Johnson?”

I saw the picture of Matt Fox in her pocket.  Nicky saw it too; she squeezed my hand hard but said nothing.  Outstanding poker player that I am, I replied easily, “No.  Grand Forks, North Dakota, actually.  My wife’s best friend from college is getting married.”

“Grand Forks?”

“Grand Forks.”

The attendant looked confused but said, “Two first-class seats for Grand Forks..”

As we walked toward the gate, Nicky asked, “They know, don’t they?”

“I’m not sure but I’m not taking any chances.  We’ve got a fair amount of flying ahead of us today.”

“Why Grand Forks?”

“I figure we’ll run into nothing but Lutherans.”

The Grand Forks flight left an hour later.  After wandering the spacious Grand Forks airport terminal for a couple of hours and having lunch, we approached another ticket counter.  “Two first-class seats for Baltimore, please.”

“Baltimore?” Nicky whispered as we walked toward the gate.

“I’ve got a hunch that they’ll be looking for us in Washington,” I said.

We arrived in Baltimore that evening and got rooms at the downtown Radisson,  registering under the name Mr. and Mrs. Diogenes.  “Do you know who you two look like?” the desk clerk asked me as we signed in.

“Yeah,” I told him with a grin.  “We get that a lot.”

As Nicky took a shower, I called Captain Yips.  “Where are you?” he demanded.

“The Baltimore Radisson,” I told him.

“Good call.  When we arrived, Persell came up and introduced himself.  He specifically asked about you.  I blew him off; said I’d never met you.  They’re watching the airport.”

“We’ll rent a car then,” I told him.  “Did you guys bring suits with you?  If not, buy one.  We don’t want to stick out.”

“Dale and I each bought three a little bit ago.  All he had to do was say the name Peter Sean Bradley and the alterations were done before we got out of the store.”

“That Bradley's a heavyweight.  Have you guys got a laptop?”

“No.”

“Buy one.  And I’ll give you the number of the company web server.  I think we’ll avoid a face-to-face so I’ll IM you tomorrow evening with the details.”

“Got it.  See you then.”

The next day, Nicky and I drove to one of Baltimore’s tonier shopping malls for some Sunday go-to-meetin’ clothes of our own.  I went with Armani off the rack(no time for alterations but it didn’t matter since it was me) while Nicky opted for an excruciatingly sexy Donna Karan.

As we walked out of a restaurant after lunch, I heard someone behind me shout, “Mr. Johnson!”  I turned and saw George Wayne Smith walking toward me.

“Stay sharp,” I whispered to Nicky.  “George! What a pleasant surprise!  What are you doing in Baltimore?”

“I just came down for the day.  Took some time off from that big meeting in Washington.  And you?”

“My wife and I are looking into some Chesapeake Bay property for a summer home.  So what’s going on in Washington?”

“Didn’t you hear?  Catholic and Episcopal bishops have been meeting all this week.  I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it.”

“I’ve been real busy lately and I haven’t kept up.  Listen, George, we’ve got to roll.  It’s great to see you again.  Don’t eat too many crab cakes.”

Smith forced a laugh as we walked away.  “So they know,” said Nicole.  “Do you think they’ll follow us?”

“Doesn’t matter,” I told her.  “Even if they do, it’s Episcopal surveillance.  A blind six-year-old could lose George Wayne Smith.  All the same, I think we’ll stay in the room, watch movies and get room service for dinner tonight.”

“Okay by me.”

That afternoon, I IMed Dale and the Captain.  I had no specific, detailed plan in mind, just a series of general principles.  A key factor in dealing with Spong’s ego was flexibility.  If even I didn’t know exactly what was coming, our enemy would be at that much more of a disadvantage.  After agreeing when and where we’d meet in the morning, I logged off.

“Now what?” asked Nicky.

“Now we wait,” I said.  We napped, ordered room service for dinner and watched movies mostly in silence for the rest of the evening.  I could tell Nicky was nervous.

We got up very early the next morning, had a quick breakfast and drove into Washington.  We found a parking space Dale and the Captain held for us along Wisconsin Avenue a bit north of the Cathedral and the four of us began walking south.

“Let me make sure I have this straight,” said Yips.  “We go in, you give the signal and the eye candy walks in later when Fox’s sermon is about to start.”

“No, no, no, no,” I replied.  “I’ll already be in the church.  It’ll be Nicky who comes in later.”

“I implore you.  Please stop that,” said the Captain as Dale rolled his eyes and Nicky made a “walked right into that one” motion with her hands.

“You still haven’t told anyone just how we’re going to get in,” said Price.  “Last I heard, public seating is very limited to nonexistent.”

“Yeah, I was wondering about that myself,” said my wife.

“Never you mind,” I told them.  “Just stay cool.”

As we approached the great door of the Cathedral, their answer came running up to greet us.  “You can’t come in here,” said Frank Griswold.  “You’re not allowed in here for this service.”

“Good morning, Frank,” I said pleasantly.  “Lovely day.”

“You can’t come in this service!” Frank exclaimed, his voice rising a bit.  “You don’t have an invitation.”

I raised my right hand a bit and waved my index and middle fingers slightly.  “We can come in this service.”

Frank’s voice dropped back down.  “You can come in this service.”

“We just gave you our invitations.”

“You just gave me your invitations.”

“You’ll get out of our way now.”

“I’ll get out of your way now.”

“Welcome.”

“Welcome.  Welcome to the National Cathedral.  Please come in.  We’re so glad you could join us.”

I smiled and nodded at Frank as we walked inside.  “One thing,” asked Price after we got in the door.

“Shoot,” I said.

“I was always under the impression that what you just did was, well, fictional.  A plot device in a series of famous space movies.”

“Where do you think George Lucas got the idea?”

Dale considered this for a moment and then asked, “You don’t own a light saber, do you?”

“Of course not,” I said.  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Price held up a finger and started to say something until Captain Yips muttered, “Just let it go.”

The four of us gathered in a side vestibule.  “Is everyone good to go?” I asked.  The three of them nodded.  “Then let’s do it”

I kissed my wife, gave her a hug and said, “See you in a bit, babe.”  Nicky stayed in the vestibule as Dale, the Captain and I walked in and found seats in the church.

The place was already filling up.  Dale and I sat together in the middle of the church on the left side while the Captain sat seven or eight pews back from us on the right.  I kept a space for Nicky on the aisle and waited for the service to begin.

The great organ began a hymn I’d never heard.  It was a very long hymn since the whole processional consisted of close to every Episcopal and Catholic bishop there was.  At the end of the line, in a place of honor, was Matthew Fox.

Dale pretended to sing as he scanned the crowd.  At one point, he nudged me and gestured toward the front of the church with his head.  Amy Welborn and Wannabe(Newbie)Anglican were sitting together five pews ahead of us.  “Hang on, guys,” I said. “It ends today.”

I wasn’t paying all that much attention but it seemed as if the prayers and readings were rushed, almost as if they were in a hurry to get to the sermon.  As the gradual hymn began, I speed-dialed my wife and said, “Get ready.”

The Gospel reading was a short one and the rest of the gradual hymn was sung.  Then Fox ascended the pulpit. All around me was silence. As he began to speak, I could hear the door to the narthex open. Fox took a drink of water...

And promptly spit it all over Frank Griswold.  I smiled; I knew what was happening.  I turned and saw Nicky slowly walking up the center aisle as jaws dropped all over the church.  ”Son of a...I hope my confessional has a bed and maybe a refrigerator and a little stove,” said Dale Price.  ”I’m going to be in there a while.”

Nicky casually asked me if the seat next to me was taken. I assured her that it was not as Price and I moved over at the same time and almost knocked an old lady to the floor.

To put it mildly, Fox was absorbed.  When he finally got going, he told the congregation that he hated pulpits and had decided not to use this one.  So he started slowly walking up and down the aisle as he spoke.

His subject was sex.  I didn’t pay any attention to the words.  But when he got to where Nicole was seated, he said, “The 23rd of my 95 theses says, ’Sexuality is a sacred act and a spiritual experience, a theophany (revelation of the Divine), a mystical experience. It is holy and deserves to be honored as such.’”  As he said that, he reached out, touched Nicky on the shoulder and ran his hand to her back.

There it was.  Nicky caught it too.  She glared up at him and snarled, “Get your hand off me, perv!!”

I speed-dialed Yips.  “We’re in,” I said in a very low voice.  “Take whatever the old man gives you.”

Fox had a goofy smile on his face.  He backed up a couple of steps and said, ”I can see that you’re still caught up in that outdated and thoroughly un-Christian fundamentalist mindset.”

Nicky stood up.  “Wrong, spunky.  Debauchery isn’t 'sacred' just because you slapped that label on it!”  I could feel the ground rumble a bit.

“So you don’t think that sexuality is sacred and spiritual?”

“Inside of marriage, sure.  See that man right there?” Nicky said, pointing to me.  “That is the only man in the world I have sex with.  Sex with that man is sacred.  Sex with any other man is fornication.”  I could feel the ground rumble even more.

“And you want to know something else?  I know as well as I know my own name that that man is the last man I’ll ever have sex with.  I mean for my marriages to last until death do us part because I said those words in a church and I take what I say before God seriously.  My first husband didn’t.  That man does.”  The pews started to shake a bit.

The old man seemed confused.  “Well, I’m afraid I don’t agree with you.  All sexuality, whatever its context, is sacred and mystical.”

“Oh, that is a CROCK!!”  Captain Yips stood up.  “’Sexuality is a sacred act and a spiritual experience, a theophany (revelation of the Divine), a mystical experience. It is holy and deserves to be honored as such,’ Gracie?  Come on, Matt!  That’s an Episcopal pick-up line!  ’No, no, baby, what I wanna do is a sacred act!  Trust me.'”

“Tell me something,” said Nicky to an attractive woman sitting in the next pew over.  “Have you ever had sex outside marriage?  Nooner in the office,  one-night stand, that kind of thing.”

“Now and then,” the woman said defensively.  “Taking control of one’s sexuality is very empowering.”

“Give me a freaking break!!” my wife snapped.  “Becoming the personal Slip ’n Slide of some guy who doesn’t even know your name is not empowering. You want to know what real power is?  Real power is saving yourself for a guy who likes you for what you bring to the table the other 23 hours of the day!  It’s not jumping into bed with someone who knows you’re as easy as an Episcopal confirmation class!

“I’ve got news for you, jackassette.  Sleeping with every good-looking guy who buys you dinner doesn’t mean you’re empowered.  It means you’re a skank.  And I’ve never aspired to be any man’s personal play toy.  But that’s just me.”  The rumbling was getting loud and the shaking was definitely noticeable now.

“I think we should have this conversation some other time,” said Fox.

“What are you laughing at?!” snapped Dale Price, standing up and pointing at a young man in one of the Catholic delegations.  “No, wait.  Let me guess.  You’re a good-looking guy.  I’ll bet you like to get after it.  You have to beat them off your back with a stick, don’t you?”  The man grinned idiotically and nodded.

“You won’t even look at them if they’re too old or have a few extra pounds on.  You and your friends in the bar make jokes about those.  Man looks on the outward appearance, God looks on the heart and you look on the rack.  But if the woman looks okay to you, then it’s, ’Baby, this isn’t cheap sex.  It’s a theophany, a revelation of the divine.’”

“Please be quiet,” insisted Matt.

“If need be, you’ll shell out for the abortion your church condemns,” continued Price, “put in an appearance or two at Mass and maybe a day of obligation if you’re up early enough and you figure you’re golden.  Actually you’re a hypocritical lying slimebag but to-may-to, to-mah-to.”

I was going to interject something here until I realized that I didn’t need to.  My team was rolling.  The noise and the shaking were now very loud and very noticeable now and people in the congregation were beginning to look at one another. Then I saw it.

A black cloud with two glowing, luminous, malevolent eyes emerged from behind the altar and began slowly moving down the aisle.  Fox got very excited. “It’s here! It’s here!” he shouted like a little kid.

The team saw it too and did just what I had instructed them to do.  Nothing.  “So where do you suppose all this started anyway?” asked Captain Yips as if nothing was happening.

Fox turned and shouted at him, “Shut up!”

“I’ll tell you where I think it started,” said Nicky.  “When they took the word ’obey’ out of the marriage ceremony. I think that’s where marriage itself started to go bad.  I had them put it back into mine.”

“Will you all please shut up?!” demanded Fox

“Why is that?” Price asked my wife.

“I don’t think it means that the wife should be a slave or anything,” she said.

“Neither do I,” said Yips.

"Agreed," said Dale,

“Shut up! Shut up!” Fox shouted.

“I just think it means that the man should be the head of the relationship.  And I've got no problems with that.”  Damn, I thought.   Can my baby kick ass or what?

Matt shouted, “Do not say things like that here!!”

Nicky ignored him.  “I just think that once we got away from the Biblical standard for marriage and for relationships, then everything else started to go south.  And everything’s still south despite Matt Fox’s pseudo-spiritual varnish.”

“SHUT UP!!  SHUT UP!!  SHUT UP!!” screamed Fox as Spong’s ego drew ever closer.

“Interesting idea,” said Dale.  “Say, is ’obey’ still in the 1928 Prayer Book?”

“No, I think they took it out,” said Yips.  “But the 1662 still has it.”

Fox screamed at the top of his lungs, “SHUT UP!!  STOP TALKING!!  PLEASE SHUT UP!!”

“Ah, the 1662,” mused Price.  “That is a great Anglican prayer book.  Lord knows, we’ve never done anything that good.  You wouldn’t happen to know where I can buy one, would you?  I love the the language, the cadences.  Pure poetry.”

“Cambridge University Press has a nice calfskin-leather bound edition you can order online,” said Nicky.

Matt Fox was very close to losing it.  As the entity bore down on him, he shrieked, “SHUT UP!!  SHUT UP!!  SHUT UP!!  SHUT UP!!  SHUT UP!!”

I sensed that it was time for the coup-de-grace so I stood up, walked forward, stood between Spong’s ego and Fox and asked Matt, “I think genuine, particularly calfskin, leather is the best binding material for Bibles and prayer books and it was a mistake to get away from it.

“I mean, you know, books are made so cheaply these days.  They fall apart if you even think about reading them.  I know it’s killing animals but, hey, folks eat meat.  What do you think, Matt?”

I didn’t think it was possible for Matt to scream any louder than he had been but he did.  In as loud a voice as I’ve ever heard out of any human being, he screamed, “DAMN YOU ALL TO HELL, SHUT THE HELL UP!!”

As soon as those words came out of Matt’s mouth, I knew we had won.  Behind me, I could hear a sound like metal tearing.  I turned and saw that some sort of vortex had opened up and was sucking Spong’s ego into it.

“NOOOOOOOOOO!!” shrieked Fox.

The malevolence in the ego’s eyes was replaced by stark terror as it struggled to pull free.  Then with one final flash of blinding light, the vortex sucked Spong’s ego in and closed.  And then there was silence.  “Ballgame,” I whispered.

Nicky, the Captain, Dale and I stood together in the center of the Cathedral while Matt Fox stood near the sanctuary crying, “NO! NO! COME BACK! COME BACK!!” Everybody else in the room was unconscious.  Then, wild-eyed, Matt turned and ran down the aisle toward us.

Dale put his hand on his gun but I just leaned casually against a pew and said, “Afternoon, Matt.  Interesting service.”

“How could you?!!” Matt demanded. “How could you do this?!!  How could you destroy the only chance I, I mean we, had?!!”

“Because your deity exists only in your own head, Matt,” I told him.  “And since you can higher-criticize it into any shape you want, it’s not a deity that interests me or anyone else.”

Then Fox realized who I was. “You?!! YOU?!!” he shouted, pointing at me. “You...won?!!  Again?!!  You...how could you...how could...how could you beat Bishop Spong’s ego TWICE?!!"

I nodded toward my three associates.  “Cuz we got game, bitch.”

Matt Fox turned and ran out the church.  Dale started after him until I said, “Leave him be.  He’s only a goofball again.”

911 had been called so the four of us got out of the way and let Washington’s finest help people.  "It worked," said Dale as the four of us stood on one corner of NatCat.  "I just got a call from Mark Shea's wife.  She said he just came to.  Wanted to know why all those Matt Fox books were lying around his place and where they came from."

“I don’t get it,” said Yips.  “How did we win?  You barely said a word.”

“That was the idea,” said Nicky.  “Chris knew that Spong’s ego would be expecting him.  It might not be expecting the three of us.  And it certainly wasn't expecting our little helper.”

“The old-fashioned and orthodox out of my mouth would have been good,” I said.  “The old-fashioned and orthodox out of your mouths was even better.  But that particular old-fashioned and orthodox out of the mouth of Matt Fox was...”

“Fatal," whispered Price. “My God!  Spong's ego couldn't possibly have seen it coming!  It couldn’t take physical form in Matt Fox after that!  And then the vortex caught up with it.”

“Exactly,” I said.  “You never hear the Christian orthodoxy with your name on it.”

“So we’re all done with it then?”

“Probably.  It found a way in that no one knew it had so I wouldn’t count on anything.  But if it should somehow manage to come around again, you guys know what to do."

People were starting to come to.  Amy Welborn was the first to walk over.  “Matt Fox?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I replied.  “How much do you remember?”

“I remember going to Mass at Mary Queen of Peace.  And I remember waking up here.  That’s it.  Sorry I screwed up.”

“You didn’t screw up,” said Dale.  “I would have made exactly the same call.”

“And it was a mistake to stay at the mansion,” I said.  “So there were lots of screw-ups to go around.”

“You’re too kind,” she said.  “Chris?  The Vatican is eternally grateful.  We can’t thank you enough."   Amy handed me a check.

I glanced at it and immediately handed it back.  “I don’t need this.  Why don’t you, Dale, Yips and the kid split this four ways?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You helped.  So consider you taking this to be my reward.  Have the doctors look you over, okay?”

“Okay,” said Amy who walked over toward the paramedics.

Wannabe(Newbie)Anglican walked over rather sheepishly.  “Sorry, you guys.  And thanks for picking up my stupidity.”

“Captain?” I asked.  “When you started out in this business, how many times were you fooled by the anonymous tip?”

Yips thought for a moment and then said, “At least ten.”

“I think I’ve got twelve on my record,” I said.

“And I’ve got fifteen,” said Dale.  “Took me the longest time to catch on.”

“So don’t let it get you down,” I told Wannabe.  “It’s how you learn.  You’ve got a big future in this business, kid.  I’ll be happy to work with you any time.  The Captain will get in touch with you about your cut.”

“I’m getting paid for this?  You’ve got to be kidding me.  But thanks.  Thanks a lot,” said Wannabe who wandered over to get himself checked out.

“I guess this is it.  I’d stick around and get all emotional but I knew you have business to attend to,” said Captain Yips, gesturing toward Nicky, “and I’ve got White Sox tickets tomorrow night.  So until next time.”  The Captain turned and left the church.

“Considering the size of Welborn's check,” said Dale, “I’d better see who's on the waiver wire and get started on those Hummers.  Late.”  Price slowly put on his fedora, nodded at me and strode purposefully away leaving Nicky and I alone.

She grabbed my hand as we started walking out.  “So you’re back in it then?”

“I suppose,” I said evenly.

“I was thinking that you could use a little motivation to keep sharp and keep you going.  So what say you and I go home and get started on Chris Jr., Christine or Christina, depending?  Someone you could teach the family business to.”

“An excellent idea except for one thing.  He or she is not going to be named Chris Jr., Christine or Christina, depending.”

“Why not?!”

“Because I want my son/daughter to have his or her own identity.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Think how Genghis Khan Jr. must have felt what with everybody always coming up to him and saying things like, ’ How come you haven’t conquered most of the Eurasian land mass yet, Genghis?  How’re you coming on your empire, Genghis?  Your dad conquered a lot more when he was your age, Genghis.’   Probably drove the poor kid to drink.”

“I like the names.”

“Ain’t happening.”

“Honey?” asked Nicky as we walked out of the Cathedral into the cool afternoon. “We’re not going to have the same kind of argument that John Wayne and Elizabeth Allen had at the end of Donavan’s Reef, are we?”

“Not here,” I replied.  “But if you’re still in the mood later tonight, I’ll see what I can do.”

"Cool."

Nicky and I took our time driving back to Baltimore.  We caught a flight to St. Louis that afternoon and arrived back at the mansion early in the evening.  I’d tell you what we did when we got home. 

But it really isn’t any of your business.

The Adventures of Chris Johnson, Anglican Investigator

The Hound of the Inghamvilles

Posted on 10/9/2005 9:53:33 PM , 17 comments