(II)
Sometimes you just can’t win. The thought occurred
to him when he opened his wallet and saw but four single dollar
bills in there just after he’d walked in to the Donut King at the
edge of town. A dozen doughnuts, by the way, cost $4.69, and he
didn’t dare ask Trey for the extra.
That would be
humiliating. After all, Sutter was the chief.
So he bought one
doughnut and a cup of coffee and walked out.
“Cuttin’ back?” Trey
asked. “Usually ya git yourself a dozen.”
“Yeah,” he lied. “Doc
said to lose weight if I wanna live to collect my Social fuckin’
Security. I’ve been payin’ into the bitch for damn near fifty
years, so I ain’t gonna let myself get ripped off.”
It would be just his
luck, wouldn’t it?
Chief Sutter wasn’t
generally prone to cynicism, an attitude he was inclined to regard
as unhealthy. He was a levelheaded man, a fair one and probably
more goodhearted than most police chiefs nearing retirement. Father
Darren at church reminded them every Sunday that taking for granted
what one had was a sin, sort of a slap to the face of God, Who’d
made this world and everything in it as a gift to mankind. Every
day above ground was a good day, a blessing and another opportunity
to celebrate the joy of life, and most would probably
agree.
Fuck me and the horse I rode in on, came the sour
thought.
Even good men had bad
days, and that was what Chief Sutter woke up to this morning, his
three hundred-pound frame smothered in a swelter, and his wife, who
weighed not much less, snoring like a mountain gorilla. The air
conditioner had crapped out overnight—what a splendid thing to
happen in the South, during summer’s tightest squeeze.
It would probably
cost him two grand to replace, and with the two mortgages, property
taxes going up, and a wife who’d maxed out the credit cards, Chief
Sutter didn’t know what he was going to
do.
Just ain’t right, he thought later, on his way to
the station. I’ve worked my ass off my whole
damn life helping other people, and what have I got to show for
it?
Not much, right now. Just a lot of debt, and damn little
satisfaction.
“Still bothered about
your money problems?” Trey asked from the passenger seat. Sgt.
William Trey was Sutter’s second in charge and officially the
department’s deputy chief. Second in charge didn’t mean a whole lot
on a two-man police department, but Sutter figured he deserved the
acknowledgment. Trey was fifty now but tended to still act like the
brazen, feisty cockhound he’d been when Sutter’d hired him almost
three decades ago. A local boy with good intentions, and who
respected his home. He sort of looked like Tom Cruise, if Tom
Cruise had never made it. But he was still agile and fairly fit,
which—considering his weight—Sutter sadly was not. When he needed
someone to jump over a fence to run down some punks, Sutter was
glad for such a deputy. And he had a way of painting a bad
situation with a happier color. “Look at it this way, Chief. All
married men got money problems. Take us, for example. We both got
wives the size of a coupla full-grown Berkshire hogs, and the only
difference is they eat more than a
coupla full-grown Berkshire hogs. That costs money, Chief, and it’s the husband’s job to provide
it. A fat wife is a sign that a man is providin’ for her, which is
what God wants.”
Chief Sutter
appreciated the spin but wasn’t sure if it was
working.
“We‘se both married
in the eyes of the Lord; that’s how it’s supposed to be,” Trey went
on. “You’re not seein’ my point now, are ya?”
“Well . .
.”
“Here’s what Father
Darren would say. Why is it you think you ain’t got enough
money?”
“Well,
’cos—”
“’Cos yer wife spends
half the money you work your ass off for on food, and you spend the
other half on keepin’ a roof over her head and her big ass in a
car, right?”
Sutter gave him an
alarmed glance. “Yeah, and it’s a right pain in the ass and it’s
pissin’ me off.”
Trey nodded
knowingly. “And here’s what Father Darren would say. He’d say that
a wife who’s fat ‘n’ happy is the wife of a God-lovin′ man, a man
who’s doin’ his best to live by His laws.”
Sutter blinked. “That
what he’d say?”
“You can roger that,
Chief, and here’s why. ‘Cos if yer fine wife, June, was bone-skinny
and didn’t have no cable TV, or no car a’ her own, and had ta live
in a shit little house, then that′d mean that you weren’t livin’ by His laws.”
Sutter sighed. “I
hope you’re right, Trey, but what ya don’t understand is I’m
chokin’ on a right shitload of debt, and now I somehow gotta find me
two grand for a new air conditioner.
I’m real happy that I’m livin’ by God’s laws, but I sure don’t see
God buyin′ me a new air conditioner.”
Trey pointed. “But
don’t ya see? He will. All you gotta do is ask Him. God provides to
those who rightly deserve His provisions. Do it right now, in yer
head. Ask God ta forgive ya for not managin’ your finances proper,
and ask Him to help ya out. Go on. Do it. Remember what Father
Darren says: A man should never be embarrassed to talk to
God.”
Sutter slumped behind
the wheel of the cruiser. Can’t hurt, I
guess. He closed his eyes and prayed: God, what I’m askin′ ya to do is to forgive me for bein′
selfish ′n′ ungrateful ’n’ for takin′ your gifts for granted.
Forgive me for not lookin’ hard enough to see how you want things
to be, and forgive me for not managin′ my finances proper and for
lettin′ things get outta hand. I need your help, God, and I mean I
really, really need the scratch for a new air conditioner, ’cos if
I can’t dig it up, June’ll be whinin’ worse than a truckload of
weasels. . . .
When Chief Sutter
opened his eyes again, he felt better. He didn’t feel any richer,
but he definitely felt better.
“Good man, Chief.
When you talk, God listens.” Trey sipped his coffee in some seeming
assurance. “He listens to me, I can tell ya that. I ain’t braggin’,
but let me show ya something.” He slipped out his wallet and
withdrew two slips of paper. “Now, I make less than you, and if
anything my wife, Marcy, eats even more than your wife, but look at
this.”
He passed the slips
of paper to Sutter.
Holy . . . shit! They were bank balance receipts.
“Trey, I say you sure do manage your money proper. Jiminy
Christmas.” Trey had five grand in his checking and eight in his
savings.
Trey took back the
papers, nodding. “It’s ’cos God listens when I talk to him. God
looks at me and ya know what He sees? He sees a man who’s had
plenty of chances to go astray but chose not to. He sees a cop,
same as He sees you. He sees a man bustin’ his ass to uphold the
law and maintain peace and decency. So God don’t leave a man like
that out to dry. Instead, He helps him out every so often. Just
like He’s gonna help you.″
Sutter reflected on
the words. He remembered Trey back in his younger days, before
marriage, before typical social and domestic responsibilities had
come into his life. The man had been an absolute nutcase, a
hard-drinkin’, hard-partyin’ character. Gals
would follow that boy down the street, Sutter thought.
Spent mos a’ his money on bar-hoppin’, hot
rods, and women. . . . But life had changed Sgt. William
Trey—a change for the good. He’d used the force of his will to
change himself into a good man, and now
good things were befalling
him.
Would the same good
things befall Sutter?
He needed some good
things now.
It was almost as if
Trey were reading his mind when he said, “Good things,
Chief.”
“What’s
that?”
“Good things happen
to men who put their trust in God.”
Sutter stared out the
window. What Trey was telling him just made him feel better and
better. He shook his head. “Trey, I known you for goin’ on thirty
years, and in all that time I had no idea you had so much religion
in ya.”
“Ain’t no secret;
ain’t no big deal.” Trey calmly sipped more coffee. “Live by God’s
laws, and He will grant blessings upon you.” But in that same
moment, Trey’s eyes shot wide out the window at a figure at the
side of the road. It was a woman, a woman flagging them down, and
that was when the very God-fearing Sergeant Trey exclaimed, “Holy
sufferin’ shit, Chief! Would you get a
load of the tits on that piece of
ass?”