Games of Deceit: Divine Revelations

As always:

Thanks to rf-fast for the editing work. Your insights are what takes this story from mindless drivel to something more.

Author's note: This is the second in a series. It is not necessary to read one before the other as they are each stand alone stories.

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What makes a happy ending? It's an important question to have an answer to when you are entertaining yourself with that movie, book, or television show. Is it when the guy gets the girl? How about when the protagonist defeats the evil that is plaguing the world? I suppose you could say 'yes' to both of those and live out your life saying 'damn that was a good book or movie.'

But what about the guy that didn't get the girl? He wanted love just the same and fell short. What about the evil wannabe dictator who wanted to rule the world whose life ended when some person with a hero complex kills or puts them in some impossible prison with no chance of escaping until the top studio executives that be demand a sequel? Was it a happy ending for them? The difference is strictly point of view.

Why do I mention this you ask? Because life is the same way. Your happy ending didn't come because you didn't get that promotion at work, but for the person who did get the job, they couldn't be happier. For people who were conned out of substantial wealth, it was a nightmare, not a day of happiness. The fortune I accumulated by manipulating those people from their precious securities, well I'm happy. The difference between me and the so called villains in entertainment is that I know I'm the antagonist and this is my life. Part of it anyway.

My life is a string of adventures. You may call them swindles but once again, that's point of view. I have several plush bank accounts, including one in Switzerland, but I didn't have a personal residence or a place of business. I had everything I needed in a duffle bag and I live in worn down motels or homeless shelters as a vagabond. I just roamed the earth in search of my next victim. It is how I made all my money.

See, I told you I'm the bad guy as I'm already lying to you. I also made some of my money, $200,000 to be exact, when my parents died. Don't get me wrong, it's not one of those stories either. I wasn't the good kid and then lashed out because I lost the stability my parents gave me. I was twenty-three when that miracle happened. Nope. I was a wretch for as long as I can remember, and I have eidetic memory. And yes, I remember that humid 97-degree day in second grade before they had air conditioning. I stole your lunchbox. Someone needs to tell your parent how to make a tuna fish sandwich because it had too much mayonnaise on it. But I did like the chocolate pudding.

My condition has helped me in so many ways. First, without any effort, it got me through elementary and junior high. But it was too easy and I quit caring when I landed in high school. I purposely wrote answers incorrectly because I thought they were funny. Did you know Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart founded the Red Cross? I also tested myself. I answered questions to the prior period's exam on the current one. 'Describe Pasteurization.' Instead of 'Pasteurization is a process of heating a food, which is usually a liquid, to a specific temperature for a predefined length of time and then immediately cooling it after it is removed from the heat. This process slows spoilage caused by microbial growth in the food,' I wrote 'The goal of the North Africa offensive was to force Mussolini to remain in Africa where his troops could not aid Hitler's armies.' If the teachers would have matched up the tests, they were flawlessly answered. Good times. Later, I used my talent for more mischievous means. I'd hang around the bank counter, and watch people fill out their account numbers on their deposit slips. It's all about the challenge. I do what I want, when I want, until boredom takes me to another place.

I was in Montana and in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere. As long as I trekked through this state, it gave me the same introspection: if you want to get away from it all, and I mean all of it, come to Montana. It hasn't got there yet and it wasn't heading in that direction. I was getting bored with my surroundings when I arrived in the small town of Middleton, population: three. Okay, I was exaggerating, but I doubt by much.

It was still early, the sun just beginning to make its ascent in the sky as I entered the small, quaint little Middleton Diner. In fact, it was the only diner in town. It was just me and an elder farmer as customers. I sat at a booth and skimmed the menu as I listened to the seemingly harmless conversation between the waitress and the other patron.

"Did you get your money yet?" The waitress asked as she refilled the man's coffee.

The farmer shook his head, "Damn Green Meadows. Just because I'm not a big producer for them, I get pinched. That company is the worst thing that happened to me."

"It's been the same for everyone."

"I know."

"Well, at least Father Hargrove is looking into the matter. Don't know where this town would be without him. Wonder what his sermon is going to be about today?"

"I don't know, but whatever it is, I'm sure it will be great."

"He's a wonderful preacher."

"Yup, this town sure is lucky to have that man as a leader."

"Did you hear what Mayor Graves said?" The old man shook his head. "Mayor Graves said Father Hargrove should be the mayor. Said he'd step down if the Father wanted it."

I shook my head. How can one man have that much influence in a community? It was as if he was the linchpin to the entire town.

"I'm sorry, stranger," the waitress called over to me. "I'll be with you in a minute; can I get you a coffee?"

"Regular, with two creams please, and no rush." I smiled. I found my new adventure. I wonder if I can take down a preacher? I suddenly had an urge to attend mass.

The church was small and rundown, and if it weren't a church, this would be my kind of place. I wore what I call my 'guy next door attire' which consisted of a navy blue polo shirt and black slacks. The goal was to look as nonthreatening as possible; I wasn't well off as what a suit would have made me appear nor did I want to look desolate. Despite being a church, if I wore my bum clothes, people would look down on me. In my own experiences, I found church parishioners like to say they help the homeless, working at soup kitchens and such but they frown when a bum shows up to actually participate in their place of worship. Hypocrites.

I walked in, with a bible in hand, and the place was almost at capacity. I suspect nearly all the community was here. I took a quick glance and found my target seat. Every church has a core group of gossipers, usually consisting of the silver haired, short, and decrepit elderly women. The ones that have nothing else to do except butt into other people's lives because their husbands committed suicide to get away from their incessant babbles. I took my seat, to the stares of everybody.

I simply smiled and gave a slight head nod to my spectators.

A moment later, a four-person choir began their opening chorus and everyone rose. The Father stepped out from behind the curtain and up to the podium as the song was coming to a close. In appearance, he was your typical preacher. And by typical I don't mean those guys on television. He was slightly balding, slightly overweight, and he looked like he could have been around since the days of the crucifixion.

Father Hargrove's sermon was good, focusing on having a positive attitude during rough times. As he continued, I concluded in fact that I did want to take him down. Finally, the whole reason I came here arrived and the collection plates came around. I made it look like I was trying to be discreet, but I knew all too well my gossipers were watching. I carefully pulled out all the cash in my wallet and briefly thumbed through the five hundred dollars before putting all of it in the plate.

When mass ended, I wanted to leave with the highest possible profile. I was the first to stand and I walked down the center of the aisle, my head up, a bible under my arm, and a smile on my face. I made eye contact with as many people as possible. I wanted to be noticed, as if my tall, broad frame would have allowed differently, but I knew my actions would ensure the rumor mill would immediately start as soon as the exit doors shut.

I went to my motel room because I had to kill a half hour or so. It was just one of those towns that shut down for their religious practices. I turned on the news for a little bit while I changed into a pair of jeans. I took a glance in the mirror and smiled, "Yup, I'd trust that face too."

It was a wonderful spring day for a walk. I wanted to familiarize myself with the town and its people. I entered every store, shop, and gas station just to introduce myself. As always, I lied about everything to keep myself anonymous, "Hi, I'm Carl Brinson. I'm a travelling minister sent on a pilgrimage from God to show people all around the country how to live in the footsteps of our Lord, Jesus Christ." The hardest part was saying that with a straight face. Luckily, I have had quite a bit of practice in the art of deception. With people I passed on the street, I was less formal but just as cordial, smiling and giving a polite, "Hello." They always responded in kind but as I passed, I immediately heard the whispers, "He was the one that filled the collection plate," or a more simpler, "That was him."

I came up on the diner where I ate breakfast and it was a stark contrast to earlier. The place was packed. Apparently, this was where the after church crowd gathered. As I entered the establishment, I feigned tripping and held fast to the door to prevent my faux fumble. Once again, I wanted all eyes on me. Once again, it worked. When I looked up, silence filled the air and I had garnered the stare of everyone.

I smiled a befuddling smile, "I apologize. I didn't mean to disturb everyone's meal." I then let my eyes go wide and took a meager step back out the door, "Wow, you're pretty busy. I'll just go somewhere..."

"There's plenty of room, Sugar." The same waitress that referred to me as a mere stranger earlier had now called me Sugar with a smile.

"Luanne, bring him over to my table."

It was the voice of Father Hargrove, though I was unsure where it came from. It didn't matter. Luanne led me on a march through the sea of people toward a long table in the back. The elder preacher was seated dead center and the scene gave me the impression of Da Vinci's 'Last Supper.' A gruff, middle aged, peppered haired man stood along with someone I recognized from the choir, a raven haired, conservatively dressed beauty who appeared to be in her late teens.

It was odd. Was the Father demanding his evacuation or was this man leaving on his own accord. Was the preacher just being nice or was he in charge? Not as if that knowledge would change my overall plan, but it would change my plan of attack.

"I can't circumvent someone from their seat. Certainly there's an available chair somewhere?"

"You can't circle what?" Luanne raised an eyebrow.

I held my laugh, "I don't want to kick anyone out of their seat just for me."

"Nonsense," Father Hargrove answered. "Jerry and Clarissa are finished already." He then looked at the aforementioned two. "Don't worry Jerry. You just take care of your daughter and I promise I'll contact Green Meadows first thing tomorrow to get an update for everyone's sake."

Jerry gave a nod, "Thanks Father."

When he turned, I smiled as I offered my hand, "Thanks for the chair, Sir."

Jerry clasped it and I easily felt his hardened palm. He was like most everyone else in this town, a man who works hard in the fields and by the sound of it, raises a teenage daughter by himself too.

"Now Mr. Brinson," Father Hargrove gestured to the empty chairs. "Please, have a seat. We have a lot to discuss."

As anticipated, news travels fast. As I sat down against my foe, I still allowed my body to act surprised that he knew my name. I eyed him carefully, trying to judge whether he was a good man or a corrupt power monger.

"I'm Father Peter Hargrove," he extended his hand across the table with a smile. "I understand I owe you a debt of gratitude. That was very generous of you."

The place was still silent and all eyes were still on me. "No Sir," I shook my head with a grin. "I am on this earth to do God's work and I had heard whispers this morning that this town is in need. I believe in giving your entire being, heart, body, and soul to a cause so I feel it was my honor to help. I just assumed you were the right man to ensure those funds went to where they were most needed." I could almost feel the collective display of heart felt emotion in the room.

"God's work, huh," the preacher nodded. "Well Carl, it's always a pleasure to meet a fellow man of the cloth. Tell me, how long are you planning to be in town?"

"As long as God wills it to be." I chuckled, "I should also tell you that I used to be a lawyer in my former life. I couldn't handle all the scum I got off with light or no punishment so I fled and God found me. Now I do His work."

"A former lawyer, huh?"

"Yes Sir."

"Well all be, God certainly does works in mysterious ways," Father Hargrove laughed. "Listen, this small town has been having a problem with a big company. Would you be interested taking a look to see what might be done?"

"Of course. I'm certain that He," and I looked up to the ceiling as I said that, "would want me to help in this matter."

"Well then, stay as long as you'd like. I can use all the help I can get with them. Why don't you drop by the church tomorrow and we can go over the details?"

"Sounds good."

I was introduced to pretty much the whole town that afternoon. Most were farmers and their families and wished me luck. I was their hope. But I knew I'd be their downfall. With each face that passed in front of me, I took a specific interest in titles.

The mayor, Clyde Graves and his wife, Loretta were the first in line. There was the young couple of Clark and Deanna Hawthorne who now owned the Hawthorne Savings and Loan. It was in Clark's family for generations. The main two gossipers were a pair of sisters, Agnes and Ethel Crane. The city council only consisted of three members; the mayor, the clerk, Winston Porter, and the treasurer, Kristen Barkley, who had a teenage son, an altar boy named Ricky. I felt so honored at the procession of people; I almost had a twinge of guilt over what I was planning. Almost.

Research and supplies are the keys to any con. When you take the facts and manipulate them for your own purposes, you always want to make sure you have the tools you need. For instance, when I foreclosed on an orphanage because it was in a prime location for development, I needed a fake deed. I then sold the land for twice of what it was worth. So after lunch, I went to the nearest city I could find on the map that looked big enough to have all that I needed. I visited a public library to use the internet. I dug up all the information that I could on Green Meadows. Apparently, they were a company that was dedicated to using only organic products in their food. They were under investigation by the government and were being sued by a competitor. Losing either battle meant the company would fold. Any chance of the town getting their money did not look promising.

Next, I went to stock up on provisions; snacks, drinks, drugs, you know, the usual. I met Dwayne the Dealer, a man of many occupations. He was the drug dealer, local pimp, loan shark, gang lord, and a few other titles as well. I got everything I needed, from prescription medications to illegal drugs. If I ever needed him again, I was to go to Jackson Pharmacy, as he was also the pharmacist. A man of many occupations indeed.

The meeting with Father Hargrove went better than I expected. We talked for hours. Each of us took turns talking about ourselves and how we got into doing the Lord's work. We spoke about his wartime past and I made up some stories about people I defended. We even had a scripture battle in which we would quote our favorite passages and the other would name the book and verse. The preacher was a genuinely good man, wanting nothing more than to help and include everyone. Easy prey.

"You know, Carl, I like you. Since you're a fellow man of the cloth, would you be interested in helping out on Sundays? I'd set aside some time and you can discuss whatever you want. A new voice for the congregation would only solidify God's word."

"That would be delightful," I smiled. "But I must warn you, I preach what I practice and what I practice is giving yourself, mind, body, and soul to God's way of life. Charity work, helping others, thinking about your fellow man before yourself; those aren't just ideals, but a way of life. If I do this, my goal will be to have the congregation gain a feeling of pride in doing the Lord's work."

"Pride," Father Hargrove's face was beaming, "that's just what this town needs. You have my blessing, Carl. Helping others and doing charity is exactly the way to go about spreading a positive attitude." His face then took on a serious expression. "Well, I suppose we should attend to business," the Father pulled out a manila envelope from his desk. "This is everything you need to know about what is rightfully owed to this town by Green Meadows."

I opened the folder and my eyes went wide, "This is a substantial amount of money." That was an understatement. The price tag of crops sold to this company was over two million dollars. Granted, this total represented what was owed to the combined community but it still surprised me.

Father Hargrove pulled out two more sheets of paper. "You will need to fill this out. The top page is a legal document allowing you to speak on everyone's behalf. The second one is a page of signatures everyone had to sign to authorize the first sheet." He pulled out a pen and scribbled near the bottom. "It is now signed by me as well."

I read the document and it was more than the simple explanation he had given. The town signed their rights in this matter over to the man and I don't think he realized how much that entailed. Any settlement would now go directly to him. That probably wouldn't have mattered as he was so kind hearted he would have distributed the wealth but now he signed that privilege over to me. Of course, none of this mattered because Green Meadows was about to go bankrupt anyway. I filled out the form and handed it back to him.

"Okay, now all we have to do is send a fax and make a phone call." The Father turned his chair and placed the documents in a fax machine that appeared to be from the 1980's. Once they transmitted, he picked up the phone and dialed. "Yes, this is Father Hargrove from Middleton, Montana." I heard the sigh come through the phone. He didn't care. "I just wanted to see if you got the fax I just sent over. You won't have to deal with me anymore because this town just hired a pit bull of an attorney." The person on the phone must have responded she had received the document because Father Hargrove hung up the phone with a contented little smile, "Good luck Carl."

The week went by fast but not nearly as fast at how quick I became Mr. Popular. Everybody wanted to talk to me. Everyone wanted to be seen with me. Everyone loved me. I was trying to find little adventures to keep me busy while I took down Father Hargrove.

The twin gossipers and I were seated at one of the two sidewalk tables the diner had and while we were perusing over the menu, Deanna Hawthorne came up to us. She was an attractive young woman with honey blonde hair, long legs, and a smile that could melt the polar ice caps.