Tribulation House: Reloaded

Chapter 12

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- 12 -

I first met the mobsters when they came by the church to introduce themselves. There was a taller guy who twitched a lot. The shorter guy seemed to do all the talking.

I had heard about a previous visit, when they apparently told Reverend Daniel Glory they would torch the church if we didn’t pay them money.

Did they say it that bluntly? I don’t know the actual conversation, I just know what I heard. He said he just laughed them off. After all, we weren’t long for this earth—there was no point worrying about the future.

The trick was to put the men off just long enough that one day they come back, knock on the door, and nobody’s home but the janitor, you know?

Why don’t I think Jesus is going to rescue our janitor? Well, he’s not a member of our church. I don’t know his eternal plans.

Anyway, sometime after Reverend Glory related this story about the mobsters, they came around again after one of our Kingdom Come planning sessions. I remember we were still working out some of the logistics before each team leader broke off with smaller groups. You know, so the script department could work on their script, and so the sound engineers could—

Oh—I already explained this.

Okay, so we come to the end of the meeting, and there are two men wandering around in the foyer. The tall guy was twitchy. He kept rotating his shoulders and picking his ear.

I asked if I could help them—I figured they were lost—and the shorter man asked, “Who’s in charge around here?”

I said, “Tonight, I guess I am. Unless you’re asking about Reverend Daniel Glory.”

The shorter man shook his head. He had this weird sort of grin, and leaned in like he was trying to pull me into his confidence. “If you don’t mind, we already talked to that Glory guy. I’m not sure that he has all his oars in the water, you know?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that, so I nodded. Puffed my lip out thoughtfully.

He said, “We just wanted to express our concerns for you in this neighborhood.” He motioned around the foyer with his hands, bobbing his head toward the neighborhood outside. “This ain’t the safest area. You have such a lovely church here, I would hate to have something happen to this place. Know what I mean?”

I smiled. “The Lord protects his own.”

“My partner and I represent an insurance cooperative that will guarantee this establishment will be free from disaster and harassment.”

I asked him what sort of harassment he was talking about.

“It’s a real crazy world out there,” he said. “Why, I just heard tell of a ring of tow-truck operators who circle the town just looking for unsuspecting vehicles to tow, and then hold them until the owner coughs up the charges.”

“You mean when people park in handicapped spots, stuff like that?”

“That’s the thing—these vehicles are actually parked legally. But once a car’s been towed away, who can prove it?”

I was aghast. Just another sign of the end times. “Who would do something like that?”

“I know. It’s rough.” The man leaned in and put an arm around my shoulder, leading me toward the glass door exit. “Just think, some of your members might be enjoying your little church meeting, and they come out ready for their Sunday chicken dinner and find their cars towed away.”

I imagined that happening to one of the older congregants. “That’s terrible!”

The man squeezed my shoulder. “We can prevent that sort of thing happening. As long as we’re on the job, everything is under our protection.”

I hate to admit it, but it took me until about this point to realize what he was actually talking about. That these two men were the gangsters who had threatened Reverend Daniel Glory. And here they were, right in front of me, these men of violence, one with his arm around me.

Suddenly, his grin seemed more wicked. His eyes more threatening. I wondered whether they were hopped up on juice or weed or whatever it is that worldly people do these days.

I cleared my throat and sent up an unspoken prayer request for some extra guardian angels. “The problem,” I said, hoping my voice was not quivering as much as my stomach, “is that I am not authorized to make decisions regarding the church’s funds. We actually have a board of directors who handle that. If you would like to come make your presentation to the board—”

“We already got that song from your preacher man. Sounds to me like a stall.”

“No, sir. No, um, ‘stall.’ ” Based on his expression, it did not seem to satisfy the man. I added, “I could take your proposal to the board myself.”

The man squeezed my neck from behind. His grip made it hard to breathe. I could see spots. He said in this sort of low voice, “You do that.”

It was hard to talk with that grip on the back of my neck. “I will take it to them first opportunity.”

He lightened up, his eyes glowing again. I wondered what spirit was on him. “Glad to hear it.” He took his hand off the back of my neck and patted me on the back. “Stress to them the—importance—of this offer.”

The taller man rotated his shoulders again. I noticed a shiner on one of his eyes. Who would have the nerve to inflict violence on men such as this?

The shorter man made for the exit, motioning for his partner to follow. As they were shoving the door open and going out into the night, the shorter man said, “I would hate for something to happen to your fine church. Or to one of its members.”

Then he made this click-click noise with his lips—it’s one of those noises my dad used to make, but I can’t really do it myself. Then they were gone.

And Jesus forgive me for saying this, but it was scary. It was like looking into the face of Satan. I wondered, is this how Jesus felt after His temptation in the wilderness?

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