Chapter 78
Louis listened to the noises downstairs but did not move: patience, patience.
At last, he heard footsteps ascending and Sturgis entered the attic room carrying a half-full bottle of wine, a wineglass, and plate of cold cuts and cheese.
Sturgis put the glass and plate on the side table, pulled the cork from the bottle, and poured himself a generous measure.
He then picked up the remote control and turned on the TV, which came alive to CNBC.
The noise of gunfire in some benighted part of the world masked Louis’s approach, but as the screen darkened briefly, his reflection became apparent and Sturgis reacted.
He stared first at Louis, then at the gun in Louis’s hand, the suppressor doubling the length of the barrel, before returning his attention from the weapon to the man.
“I know who you are,” said Sturgis.
“Likewise. Put the glass down slowly and sit in that chair.”
Sturgis did as he was told.
“How did you find me?” he asked. “I was assured of discretion.”
“You should have paid better,” said Louis. “You might have been guaranteed it.”
“What do you want?”
“The name of the person who told you to have me killed.”
Sturgis’s face lit up, transformed into the countenance of a fanatic.
“It wasn’t a person,” he said. “It was an angel.”
“An angel with membership of the Colonial Club? So an angel can get on the books but not a Black man? Brother King must be turning in his grave.”
“It’s nothing to do with the Colonial. I’m no longer a member.”
“I thought it was a lifetime deal.”
“I’m about to be indicted,” said Sturgis.
“Receipt and possession of visual material of a child depicted in sexual conduct, with a mandatory minimum sentence of five years and up to twenty on each charge. I admit, I do like them very young, but we all have our weaknesses. I’m not optimistic about the prospect of leniency, and that’s before the authorities begin digging deeper into my activities.
I’ll be an old man by the time I get out, assuming I survive long enough to be released, which I doubt.
Pedophilia arouses the moral indignation of the general prison populace, or so I’ve been informed. ”
He might have been discussing unpaid tickets for traffic violations, so casual was he.
“And how does the Colonial fit into this?”
“My former friends and associates, learning of the misfortune that was about to befall me, deemed it best to sever ties. I was asked to resign from the club. I chose not to.”
“Why?”
“That’s none of your business.”
Louis fired a single shot. The wine bottle exploded, showering Sturgis with glass and merlot. Tiny wounds began to bleed, but Sturgis took it in stride.
“I repeat,” he said. “It’s none of your business.”
“What is my business is who instructed you to have me killed.”
“I told you: An angel. He came to me in a dream. He told me I couldn’t be saved from punishment in this life, but everyone was capable of being forgiven in the next. The sinner only had to prove himself worthy of salvation. He said God was merciful.”
“And the name of this angel?”
Sturgis pointed at the vast, obscene representation on the wall.
“His name is Brightwell.”