Free Gravewriter by Mark Arsenault

back tomorrow. Until then, remember that it’s your government, heh-heh, so stay in tune, stay informed … and get involved.”
    Moments later, Pastor Guy emerged from the booth, grinning, on a self-balancing two-wheeled Segway scooter, which he drove everywhere, due to alleged back troubles. He was a sleepy-eyed, red-faced clergyman, whose shape reminded Adam of the letter D— straight along the backside, bending out like a bow in the front. Abraham Guywas a real preacher—or at least he had been before his radio gig—at a nondenominational Christian church in a storefront in Cranston, between a barber and a TV repair shop. He smelled of Cohiba cigars, and sometimes of Beefeater and Angostura bitters, though Adam had never seen him smashed.
    The pastor let the scooter balance itself beneath him. He straightened his three-button vest, stuck his thumbs in the elastic waistband of his black preacher’s pants, rocked onto his heels, and waited for his daily review.
    â€œGood show, Pastor,” Adam said dutifully.
    â€œHeh-heh.”
    Victor entered from the waiting room, looking grim and bored, as if his life was nothing but funerals and study hall.
    â€œDid you hear that last woman?” Pastor Guy cried. “That’s not just a voter, my friend; that was a future campaign contributor!”
    â€œDid you get her address?” Victor asked flatly.
    Pastor Guy slapped his consultant on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, my boy. She’ll find us after we announce—” He noticed the stranger from the waiting room, now leaning in the door, and squinted at him. “Who are you?”
    â€œAbraham Guy?” the man asked.
    â€œYou heard the show,” the pastor said, sounding annoyed and suspicious. “Who the hell do you think?”
    The man handed the pastor the manila envelope. “I’m a process server,” he said. “That’s a subpoena.”
    â€œOh, you cocksucker,” the pastor blurted. He stared at the envelope, which he had accepted in hand, and which, under the rules of process serving, he now owned.
    â€œYou’re welcome,” the man said. He tipped an invisible cap and left.
    Pastor Guy sighed and then tore open the envelope. Inside he found eighteen dollars in travel money, and a command to testify.
    â€œIt’s the Peter Shadd murder case,” the pastor said. “The defense wants me as a character witness.”
    â€œYou know that guy?” Adam asked.
    â€œFrom my prison ministry,” he explained. “I’ll have my lawyer quash this thing tomorrow like the flea on the elephant’s ass, as soon as Judge Palumbo slides on his black satin dress.”
    â€œThis is Ethan Dillingham’s case,” Victor Henshaw said.
    The pastor looked up from the paper, blinked hard a few times.
    â€œIsn’t he running against you for governor?” Adam asked.
    â€œNobody has announced yet,” the pastor said.
    â€œIf you don’t testify,” said Victor, offering political analysis for the first time in Adam’s presence, “it’s going to look like you’re avoiding him because of politics.”
    â€œGod forbid,” the pastor said dryly. He frowned and smoothed a bushy eyebrow with his thumb. “Of course, if I get the better of his cross-examination …”
    Victor completed the thought: “You announce your candidacy on the courthouse steps.”

nine
    B illy rumbled down the steps to outdoors and then turned to wave to Bo in the window. The kid beamed, waving the nickel Billy had given him for putting his cereal bowl in the sink after breakfast, where it would soak until it was washed and dried by magic elves, or until there were no more cereal bowls in the cupboard and Billy had to wash it, whichever came first.
    A shadow moved over Billy.
    The shadow of a man as big as a bear left Billy light-headed and weak in the legs.
    Capricorn: Well, it’s