Free The Golden Gizmo by Jim Thompson

resourceful as that would not waste time with dogs. Not if they wanted to bump you.
    Chinless must have missed the watch. He'd missed it and he was holding off on killing him, Toddy, until he got it back. He-but wait a minute! If Chinless had got to Elaine, he already had the watch! Why else would he have killed-
    "Is this right, brother?" said a severe voice. "Is this how we live in God's way?"
    The man wore that look of puffed elation which seems to be the trademark of do-gooders, an expression born of a conscious constipation of goodness; of great deeds and wondrous wisdom held painfully in check; a resigned look, a martyred look, a determinedly sad look-a perpetual bitterness at the world's unawareness of their worth, at the fact that men born of clay take no joy in excrement, regardless of its purveyor. The man had a thick, sturdy body, a bull neck, a size six and five eighths head.
    He gripped Toddy's arm and marched him swiftly toward the door. "Don't do this again, brother," he warned. "The physical man must be provided for, yes. We recognize the fact. But before that comes our duty to God."
    Toddy made sounds of acquiescence. This guy obviously wasn't used to having his authority questioned.
    They went down a short flight of stairs which opened abruptly into a small sweat-and-urine-scented auditorium. Tight rows of wooden camp chairs were packed with the usual crowd of mission stiffs-birds who were too low, lazy or incapacitated to get their grub and flop by other means.
    The man shoved Toddy into a chair in the front row, gave him a menacing glare, and stepped to the rostrum.
    "I apologize for this slight delay, brethren," he said, with no trace of apology. "For your sakes, I hope there will be no more. You are not entitled to the comfortable beds and nourishing food which you find here. They are gifts-something given you out of God's mercy and goodness. Remember that and conduct yourselves accordingly… We will rise now and Praise Him from Whom All Blessings Flow."
    He nodded to the woman on the platform, and her hands struck the keys of the upright piano. Everyone rose and began to sing.
    There was a comedian immediately behind Toddy. He liked the melody to the hymn, apparently, but not the lyrics; and he improvised his own. Instead of "Praise Him from Whom All Blessings Flow," he sang something about raisin skins and holy Joe.
    The next song was "Onward, Christian Soldiers," which the comedian turned into a panegyric on rocks and boulders, the padding, in his opinion, of mission mattresses.
    Toward the end of the hymn, the preacher cocked his head to one side and sharply extended his hand. The pianist stopped playing; the bums lapsed into silence.
    "Someone here-" he said, staring hard at Toddy, "someone thinks he is pretty funny. If he persists, if he commits any further disturbance, I am going to take stern measures with him. Let him be warned!"
    Toddy stared intently at the song book. There was a heavy silence, and then another song was struck up- "Nearer My God to Thee."
    The comedian behaved himself this time, but some guy in the back of the house was sure giving out with the corn. He was gargling the words; he seemed to be trying to sing and swallow hot mush at the same time.
    The preacher looked at Toddy. He stood on tiptoe and stared out over the congregation. They went on singing fearfully, afraid to stop, and the corny guy seemed to edge closer.
    Toddy stole a glance up from his book. The preacher's mouth had dropped open. He was no longer singing, but his hand continued to move through the air, unconsciously waving time to the hymn.
    Then, at last, the owner of the preposterous voice came into Toddy's view. He sat down at his side, on the floor, and laid his great pear-shaped head against Toddy's hip. Having thus established proprietorship, he faced the rostrum, opened his great jaws to their widest, and "sang":
    "Nrrahhhh me-odd t'eeeee…"
    He was best on the high notes, and he knew it. He held them