Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [47]
“Well, that’s admirable,” Hose said. “I lost my father too. It’s a reason but not an excuse, you follow me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let me just leave it this way, Darby. All the rest is interesting but doesn’t matter to me. My priority is your academic performance, which means it has to become your priority too. Nothing less. Mr. N. tells me you have talent, maybe even a future. But I’m telling you, you’re going to lose it all if you don’t wise up and get after this. Your midterms are just before the play—the musical—opens. You can’t afford one F. Even one, and you’re out of the musical. Got it?”
Brady nodded.
Mr. Nabertowitz said, “Bob, we have an important rehearsal tomorrow afternoon. I’d love it if you could make it.”
Hose looked amused, as if he couldn’t imagine anything he’d less rather do. “I’ll check my schedule,” he said. “I gotta tell ya, I’ve never seen a burnout in a play before.”
Friday Morning | Adamsville
Outgoing chaplain Russ met Thomas Carey at the same Denny’s where they had been introduced, then drove him toward Adamsville State Penitentiary, less than a mile away.
“I’m going to tell you the truth, Reverend,” Russ said. “I’m not sure you’re right for this. Don’t get me wrong—I’m grateful you’re interested, and it gives me a real sense of relief that we’re going to get somebody in my chair without maybe losing the chance forever. I just sense you’re too nice a guy.”
“I appreciate your candor. And I suppose I’ll have a lot to learn. I don’t know about changing my character or personality, though.”
“That’s what I’m worried about. I wouldn’t ask you to change who you are, but these guys’ll chew you up and spit you out, given half the chance. I daresay you’re going to be pushed and pulled and stretched and tested like never before, and unless you can adapt to a really hostile, alien environment, you’re going to find it hard going.”
“Well, if the Lord’s not in it, I won’t get the job, will I?”
“Oh, I believe you’ll get it. I just want to see you keep it.”
“May I call you when I need advice?”
“I’m going to be a long way away, Reverend. And my advice is always going to be the same. Trust no one. Believe no one. Be tough.”
“Doesn’t sound like pastoring to me.”
“You’re not going to be their pastor, man. You’re going to be their chaplain. You represent God to them, and while, yes, He loves them, He also knows everything about them. He can’t be conned. You dare not be.”
“You’re scaring me, Russ.”
“I hope so.”
Russ pulled off the road, and the car crunched through gravel leading to the checkpoint at the edge of the expansive property. Before reaching the guardhouse, he pulled off to the side. “Your first day,” he said. “My last. I want to drink in the sight one more time, and you need to never forget this first glance. I’m used to it after ten years here and a lifetime in the system. But just check it out. You land this job, you’ll be working in one of the most secure penal institutions in the world.”
A strange coldness swept over Thomas as he gazed at the fifteen-foot cyclone fence that enveloped the entire acreage. Its top was adorned with spiraling bales of razor wire five feet high and five feet thick. A quarter mile inside the fence was a twelve-foot solid wall of concrete, no windows, one massive two-door iron gate in the center. Watchtowers were spaced evenly from the corners along the top of the wall, and while Thomas could see no one in them from that distance, Russ assured him that each had two veteran marksmen with enough firepower to eliminate any threat.
“Not a detail is left to chance here, my friend. Nobody’s playing. The cons call this place the Real Deal. Ready?”
Thomas wasn’t so sure. But he nodded anyway, and Russ pulled slowly to the guardhouse. A uniformed man emerged, clipboard in hand.
“I assume you know this guard,” Thomas said.
“I know them all,” Russ said, “but don’t forget what I told you. Let that be the last time you use the word guard here, unless you’re referring to the guardhouse.