Free Repairman Jack [08]-Crisscross by F. Paul Wilson Page A

gets past the eighth unless they're very rich, very determined, and more than a little crazy. Members get so wrapped up in the FL situation they take out second and third mortgages on their homes to finance the climb. The ones who don't have any assets either go out and recruit new members or mortgage themselves to the church as volunteers."
    "What does that do for them?"
    "Helps them pay the fees for their current FL rung. But they receive discounts instead of cash. They also get discounts for every new member they bring in."
    "Sounds like a Ponzi scheme, or multilevel marketing."
    Jamie nodded. "Amway as religion. Headhunters and staff workers paid in a currency not subject to withholding, Social Security, or Medicare deductions."
    "Nice."
    "But there's a more sinister side to it. Not only does this serfdom situation keep you in almost constant contact with other Dementedists—thereby reducing exposure to conflicting opinions—but the church works the volunteers till they drop, knowing full well that exhaustion makes people more susceptible to suggestion."
    "They sound like swell folks. Is that why you're after them?"
    Jack saw Grant stiffen. He sensed a door slamming closed.
    "Is this conversation about Dementedism or me?"
    "Demen—Dormentalism, of course, but I was just—"
    "Just nothing! None of this is about me! And I swear, if they sent you here on a fishing expedition—"
    Whoa, Jack thought. I do believe I've touched a nerve.
    He held up his hands. "Hey, hey, easy. I'm not after you and I'm not after Dormentalism. I just want to find sonny boy."
    She seemed to relax, but just a little. Jack realized she was stretched tight. Scared.
    "Sorry for sounding paranoid, but you don't know what it's been like since that article came out. Phone calls—I had to change my home number—threats, lawsuits, people following me, every type of harassment you can imagine."
    "You're not paranoid if they're really after you."
    "Oh, they are. When I applied for membership I gave a phony name and address. Didn't take long before they found out. They designated me UP—that's Unwelcome Person—and kicked me out. But with that article I graduated to what's known as a Wall Addict—"
    "That would be a WA?"
    "Right. But I'm not just a WA, I'm also IS—In Season. That's an 'enemy of the Church' and fair game for all their smear tactics. They use character assassination to try to discredit you privately and professionally, and they're ruthless. And now I hear that some person or persons unknown have been prying into my personal situation—financials, past relationships, hell, even the movies I rent. That's why you see so few investigative pieces on Dementedism. Reporters and editors are afraid of the shit storms that follow."
    "But not The Light ."
    She allowed a tight little smile. "No. Not The Light . That's why I stick with the small-time weekly—formerly small-time, I should say. Those exclusives we had on the Savior last June bumped our circulation and it's stayed up."
    Jack wondered what she'd do if she knew she was talking to the so-called Savior.
    "I've had offers from every other paper in town, plus the Washington Post and Times , even the San Francisco Chronicle , but this is where I stay. And you know why? Because The Light isn't afraid of anyone. It's not in the pocket of some larger corporation that's always trying to cover its ass. George Meschke's a tough son of a bitch of an editor, but he's fearless. Oh, he makes damn sure you've got your facts straight and your sources lined up, but if that's all copacetic, then he goes to press."
    "He still behind you after the suits and threats?"
    She nodded. "He's a human bulldog. He doesn't let go." She pointed at Jack and he noticed how her pinkie stuck up. "But you—" She must have spotted his stare; she pointed the stub straight at him. "Can't keep your eyes off it, can you. I'll answer your unasked question: boating accident eight years ago. Outboard propeller.