Free Comeback by Richard Stark Page B

sheening on his face. 'The television costs us so much, Tom, but without the television how will we reach God's creatures? And the counseling, the crusades in the field, all our efforts . . . Now, I know some of the good we do is strictly speaking not in His service, is more social work than religious work, but I believe God can and will forgive us for our lunch programs and our school crusades and—"
    "The money's for you\ n Tom cried, feeling himself sink under Archibald's platitudes, drown in his false pieties, lose his own hard certainties in the undifferentiated sludge of Archibald's philosophy. "It's all for you! The rest of it, it's all just fake, it's all just to cover for you, for you, for you!"
    Archibald sighed, more sinned against than sinning. He sat back in the small chair, gazing with sad forgiveness at Tom as he contemplated what had just been said, and finally he replied, "I had suspected that was what you believed of our mission, Tom. I'm glad you've unburdened yourself of it, brought it out in the open where we can look at it."
    "It's true, and you know it."
    Another sigh. Archibald said, "And I suppose that's why you helped those men."
    A hard wall. There, right there, in the path of Tom's life. A huge hard impenetrable wall, right there now. His throat pained him, his eyes pained him, with the emotional sense of his loss. He looked at the stolid Dwayne Thorsen, then back at Archibald. They were waiting for an answer. And he too was waiting to hear his answer. He and they all wanted to know: Would Tom lie? At this point in his life, at this nexus, at this nadir, would he lie? or would he tell the truth?
    "Yes," Tom said.
    Archibald's long sigh this time seemed more honest, more human, and even Dwayne shifted position slightly, though his face didn't alter. Archibald, as though the question hardly mattered, said, "And do you know where they are now, Tom?"
    "No."
    "Oh, Tom," Archibald said. "Don't disappoint me at this stage, Tom. You have started to open your heart, don't close it again."
    "I don't know where they are," Tom insisted. "And that's the truth."
    Archibald and Dwayne shared a glance. Tom knew they were trying to decide whether or not it was the truth, and he knew Archibald didn't really and truly care whether Tom believed all that stuff about the money, all that face-saving garbage about lunch programs and counseling and of course his own work with former convicts. There's a laugh; the work with former convicts. How do you like your social programs now, Reverend Archibald?
    Archibald turned his attention back to Tom. "I hope to do what I can to help you," he said, "in your difficulties with the law. And I equally hope you will—"
    A knock at the door interrupted him. Archibald frowned at Dwayne, the unctuous mask slipping slightly, and Dwayne silently crossed to the door, opened it, spoke briefly in a low voice with someone outside, accepted a sheet of paper, and shut the door again.
    While Archibald and Tom watched, Dwayne came back to the bed, reading the sheet of paper, which was white but flimsy, curling at the edges. Archibald, tension at last apparent in his voice, said, "Dwayne? What is it? Do they have the rascals?"
    "No," Dwayne said, and extended the sheet of paper for Archibald to take. The paper curled like parchment as it changed hands, so that for one instant there was something almost Biblical in the transaction.
    Archibald unrolled the paper, read it, and the blood drained from his face. That expression of shock wasn't false. Tom stared at the soft clean hands holding the sheet of paper; he burned with both fear and curiosity, wondering if they would even tell him what the paper was all about. And then Archibald looked at him with something new and incomprehensible in his eyes. Sympathy? The genuine article?
    Extending the rolled-up sheet of paper, Archibald said, "You should see this, Tom. And I am truly sorry."
    What in God's name could it be? Fear clenched Tom's chest as he