Free The Rapture: In The Twinkling Of An Eye by Tim Lahaye, Jerry B. Jenkins

“Hmm,” Leon said. “If I knew something like that, I wonder how much I should charge for such information.”
    73′
    “I’ll give you the four thousand with interest!” Stefan said.
    “So it was you and not Teodor who worked the con. Maybe I should hire a responsible young man like him to replace you.”
    “Mr. Fortunato, please! Come after me; just don’t let anyone do anything to my mother.”
    “Well, that’s fair,” Leon said. “Tell you what—next time you see her, tell her that I promised to look after her from now on. You’re going to be busy.”
    “Busy? I’m going to be busy? What am I going to be doing? I’ll do anything to get square with you again.”
    “Oh, I know you will, Stefan. And in the meantime, it would help my business if you warned people against trying to pull anything on me.”
    “I promise, sir! I promise! Now, please! Don’t let anything happen to my mother!”
    “I’m sorry, Stefan. We’ll have to continue this another time. I have to take this call.”
    “Wait! No!”
    Leon disconnected from Stefan and answered Matei.
    “You’ve already heard from Stefan? You’re not worried he will tip off the girl?”
    “Trust me,” Leon said. “He’s thinking of nothing and no one but his sainted mother right now.”
    “He can think all he wants about her,” Matei said. “It’s done.”
    “As planned?”
    “No hitches, no evidence, no witnesses.”

CHAPTER NINE

    Raymie’s bedtime arrived by halftime of the ball game, and Rayford knew it would soon be time to face the music. On the way up to Raymie’s room, Rayford said, “Hey, I forgot. I brought you something.”
    “Something else?” Raymie said.
    “Yeah, come on.”
    The boy followed him to the garage, where Rayford pulled from the backseat of his BMW a padded envelope with a framed picture of himself in uniform in the terminal, his cap under his arm, a 747 showing outside the window. Rayford had signed it, “To Raymie with love, Dad.” Under that he had written, “Rayford Steele, Captain, Pan-Continental Airlines, O’Hare.”
    “Cool!” Raymie said. “I’ll put it in my room.”
    But on their way back inside, Raymie said, “Hey, Dad, look. Flat tire on the four-wheeler already.”
    Rayford swore, then apologized.
    “Dad, can I ask you something?”
    Uh-oh.
    “Will you come to church with us this Sunday?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe.”
    “Why not?”
    “I said maybe.”
    “That’s what you said last week.”
    “Well, this Sunday I’m going to have to fix this tire.”
    “C’mon, Dad!”
    “Do you want me to fix this four-wheeler for you or not? I don’t have all the time in the world.”
    “Next Sunday then?”
    Rayford sighed. “For sure.”
    As they mounted the steps toward Raymie’s room, Irene called out from the kitchen, “His Bulls pajamas are laid out. Don’t let him wear his socks to bed.”
    A few minutes later Rayford was back in the living room, and he could tell Irene was on her way. He instinctively picked up a newspaper as a diversion.
    “You mind if I turn the sound off until the third quarter?” she said. “Or do you want to see last week’s highlights?”
    “It’s all right,” he said, the newspaper in his lap.
    “Rayford,” she said, “I don’t want to fight, but please don’t undermine what has become so important to Raymie.”
    “All right,” he said. “I’ll try to behave.”
    “Don’t make light of it,” Irene said. “Please.”
    “Fair enough. I guess a little religion won’t hurt him, but you know my concerns.”
    “It’s not like he’s going to become a missionary or a pastor,” she said. “Although that wouldn’t be all bad. He’s just a young boy very interested in the things of God, as I am.”
    “He’s only interested because you are.”
    “And what’s wrong with that? Aren’t we supposed to be examples to him?”
    “Not of fundamentalists.”
    Irene made a face. “It’s not fair to use inflammatory language, Rafe.