2
On Pace’s birthday, Marnie called, but it was to tell him that her husband, Francisco Madero “Digger” Bernstein, had died in his sleep three nights before.
“I guess it’s too soon to ask you how you’re feelin’, now Digger’s gone.”
“Oh, I’m all right. He needed me and truly appreciated my doin’ for him. I’ll have time to take up some other things now.”
“What about the bakery?”
“I got a couple of women run things there pretty good these days. It’s still popular. Happy birthday, by the way.”
“Thanks. You’re the only one knows about it any more.”
“You finish that book yet?”
“Might never will. I keep writin’ on it, like Proust did on his, even on his deathbed.”
“I hope you’ll let me read some of it one of these days.”
“I will, Marnie, I promise. Thanks for callin’. Sorry about Digger.”
“You were really great about our havin’ to part after he got blown up. Am I ever gonna see you again?”
“I have a sincere feelin’ you will.”
“What’re you doin’ to celebrate beginnin’ your seventh decade on the planet?”
“It’s strange thinkin’ about how I’ve now outlived Sailor Ripley by five years. Anyway, I’m about to go into town and buy myself a bottle of good single malt Scotch. The Glenmorangie Quinta Ruban, if they’ve got it.”
“Maybe next year we can celebrate together.”
Pace drove into Bay St. Clement, stopped in the liquor store and bought the only bottle of Glenmorangie they had. When he walked back outside, he noticed a sign on a door in a building across the street that read: CRUSADER RALPH’S FOLLOWERS. He’d heard or read something about this bunch, men and women from all over the world who subscribed to the teachings of a former mercenary soldier who had escaped from prison in Mali, where he’d been sentenced to death for attempting to assassinate the president of that African country on behalf of a tribal warlord who opposed the government’s ties to Al Qaeda. The president had branded Ralph as a CIA operative and it was most likely the CIA that had helped him get away. Supposedly he now lived on an undisclosed island in the South Pacific from where he communicated to his followers exclusively via the internet. Pace knew little else about Crusader Ralph, as the man began calling himself after fleeing Mali, and he was surprised to learn that the ex-merc’s influence now extended to a little town in North Carolina.
When he got back to his cottage, Pace checked out Crusader Ralph on his computer. There wasn’t much information available on the man’s website, only a notice that said for an admission fee of five hundred dollars a person could submit him or herself for consideration to become eligible to receive the teachings, along with instructions for making payment. Pace then went to Wikipedia and read what it said there about Crusader Ralph: “According to his Followers, Crusader Ralph is the one True Teacher in the universe. Other than he is believed to have been born in Akron, Ohio, no facts about his life are available and his Followers are forbidden to divulge his teachings to those outside the organization. For further reference go to www.crusaderralph.com.”
Pace decided to visit the storefront in Bay St. Clement and find out what was behind the door, but not until after he’d had a birthday shot of single malt Scotch.