Blood and Oranges by James Goldsborough (top 50 books to read .TXT) 📕

are we breaking? Who is arresting us? We are law-abiding citizens, just as you are.”

Willie raised his hand. “No sophistry, please. Gambling is gambling whether on shore, three miles out or in the middle of the ocean. It is a nonproductive enterprise, a biblical evil that preys on the little man who has better things to do. I shall continue to denounce it—without mentioning you, of course. I respect your wish to remain a silent partner.”

Rising, Eddie walked to the front window and looked out on the parking lot. Callender was leaning against the Cadillac having a smoke. Spying Eddie, he quickly turned away. Eddie’s skin prickled. “Which is exactly why you must keep this discussion private—even from your righthand man.” He turned on Willie, anger in his voice. “Why did you bring him here?”

“I thought it might do you both some good.”

“Salt in the wounds, Willie, salt in the wounds.”

Willie thought of Lot’s wife, turned into a pillar of salt. “I have no intention of discussing this with anyone, including Henry. Why did you invite me here, Eddie? Something about a business proposition, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, yes.” he cried, crossing to a cabinet behind his desk and extracting a large mahogany box. He set the box on the desk facing his brother.

“Have a look.”

A brass plaque was inlaid above a large slot in the box, large enough for an envelope:

JUST A FEW DOLLARS OF YOUR WINNINGS WILL FEED AND HOUSE A POOR FAMILY FOR A WEEK

“Alms boxes, Willie, placed throughout the ship, along with envelopes. That’s why I want you to come out and meet people, talk to them, have a look around. Our clients will be invited to share their winnings with the less fortunate, and I have no doubt that they will be generous. Money from these boxes will be distributed to churches across the city. As much of it as you need will be sent to the temple. Just let me know.”

Willie stared at the box as though a snake might crawl from the slot. “Surely you don’t think you can . . .”

“Stop! I know what you’re going to say, and you couldn’t be more off base. I hold the temple’s mortgage, remember. I’d like to pay it off some day. A little more money in the coffers is not such a bad idea.”

“Pay off the mortgage with alms from gamblers? Surely you’re joking.”

“You know me better than that, Willie. When money’s involved, I never joke.”

Chapter 11

Willie knew little about Angie, which was just as well. She never told him more than that she was from Texas, and that her father, like Willie, was a preacher. They’d had coffee a few times after rehearsals, but with other cast members. He knew she lived somewhere in Glendale, somewhere near Tony’s soda shop because she said she could walk to work. Though thinking about it constantly, he’d not dared invite her on a date, much less to Sunset Towers. The girl was cautious, but also a flirt, and he was powerfully tempted. At times he thought himself a fool for having feelings for her and, worse, imputing feelings to her for him. He admonished himself that if he did not act the fool no one would know. It was a dilemma, one he was helped out of, once again, by Henry Callender.

Callender brought him a clipping from the Times, an item about an unmarried girl who’d sought an abortion and died under the scalpel, murdered really, along with the fetus. The Los Angeles police caught the man, who was no doctor, and were looking for women to testify against him. The clipping had been sent in along with an unsigned note, short and to the point:

“Rev. Mull. How can you tolerate such activities?”

“A natural for you, Reverend,” Callender said, “ and for the young lady.”

“Angie?”

“I could write the script myself.”

“You can write?”

“I could give it a try.”

They had to knock down a door and a wall to get Willie’s Chevy roadster on stage for the show. All week long, a banner announcing “Taking a Ride” flapped from poles on the roof of the temple, visible from Echo Lake to downtown and to the thousands who passed each day on the trolleys running along the boulevards, Sunset and Glendale. Willie usually wrote the Sunday scripts himself, but this was a collaborative effort. He was impressed by what Callender had done, but needed to touch up the ending, give it the drama he wanted.

A few days before the show, Willie spoke of it on his KWEM radio broadcast:

I’m speaking to all women who might be listening, but especially to young women who have left families in the East and Midwest to come to our fine city but still don’t feel quite at home. “Taking a Ride” is a story for you, a story that can change your life. Don’t be disappointed. Come to the temple early to be sure you find a seat. If you can’t make it in person, be sure to tune into KWEM, 1020 on the dial, 7:00 p.m., this Sunday.

By five o’clock, thousands were swarming the temple, slowing trolleys on Glendale and Sunset to a crawl. At 5:30, the temple doors opened and ushers began helping five thousand fortunate people to their seats while hymns from the choir rolled through the building. At 6 p.m., the Rev. Marcus Wynetski, associate pastor, led the congregation in hymns and prayer, and at 6:45 deacons passed with the gilded plates. At 7 p.m. sharp, lights dimmed and the red stage light went on. A portly, silver-haired network announcer entered from the wings, embracing a large, diaphanous circle microphone:

“From the Temple of the Angels in the City of the Angels,” he intoned in his liquid bass, “welcome to Sunday evening with the Reverend Willie Mull—proudly sponsored by Lux soap flakes, which won’t turn silks yellow.”

Willie, wearing his black clergy stole, stepped to the microphone. “Wherever you may be around this great nation of ours, I welcome you