The Good Atheist Read online

  He remained silent for a moment. “I wonder why they didn’t arrest you last night,” he finally said.

  “I don’t know. Selene said it was part of the deal for turning Paige in.”

  “Yeah, except the Tolerance Bureau doesn’t make deals, and Paige isn’t that important to be used as a bargaining chip.”

  “So what are you getting at?”

  “You’re the one they really want, my friend.”

  “I don’t think so, Jorge. If that was the case, why don’t they just arrest me? They had me last night.”

  “That’s not what they want you for,” he said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Where are you right now?” Jorge asked.

  “Standing across the street from Rosie’s.”

  “Wait for me there.”

  “Jorge, haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve said? The town is crawling with soldiers and Tolerance goons. There’s a sweep. You might get picked up.”

  “They’ll be done in a couple of hours. Just sit tight at Rosie’s for me, will you?”

  “I’ll be there,” I said. We disconnected and I crossed the street. The Tolerance truck parked in front of Rosie’s had a few people in the back. I could hear them through the rear hatch, singing “Amazing Grace.”

  I took a booth at the back of the restaurant, facing the front door. The place was mostly empty, the mood subdued. Evidently Tolerance sweeps were not good for business.

  Lucy arrived at my booth. “What’ll you have, hon?” she drawled around a stick of chewing gum.

  “Just a coffee. Dark roast, if you have it.”

  “All our coffee is black, hon, unless you add milk.”

  “No, I meant dark roast. Never mind. Whatever you have will be fine.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Want something to eat?”

  Even though I had not eaten all day, I wasn’t hungry. Getting electro-shocked does little for the appetite.

  “No thanks.”

  “Last of the big spenders,” she quipped and turned away.

  17

  The Tolerance Interceptor loomed in the street out front. From my seat inside the restaurant I could watch the sweep going on outside through the large front windows. Inquisitors patrolled up and down the street, stopping to question citizens, and occasionally going inside a shop.

  About an hour later the Interceptor lifted off, rising straight up into the air. I went outside and looked up at the sky. It was above the buildings and gliding away to the south, out of town. The Inquisitors were gone and the street was returning to normal.

  I went back to my booth and passed the time reading a novel on my smart phone. I ordered more coffee. An hour later Jorge walked into the restaurant and sat down across from me.

  “I stopped by your place,” he said.

  This took me by surprise “What for?”

  “Look, Jack, don’t take this the wrong way, but I had to be sure.”

  “Sure of what?”

  “Your story. Selene is still there. She was in tears, and she told me everything.”

  “Damn it, Jorge. I’d already told you everything.”

  “I know, but I needed to be sure.”

  I got up to go. “Jorge, that’s as good as calling me a liar. I don’t need this.”

  “Jack, try to understand. What I’m about to tell you is extremely sensitive, and I had to be certain.”

  I stood next to the booth, putting my jacket on. “Don’t worry about it. If you don’t feel you can trust me, I’m not going to stay here and try to convince you. I’ll see you later.” Then I turned and headed towards the door. I had almost reached it when he caught up to me and grabbed my elbow. I stopped and turned around.

  “I know where your father is,” he said.

  I didn’t move. “I beg your pardon? What did you just say?”

  “Let’s sit down. I really don’t think you want to do this at the front of the restaurant.”

  We went back to the booth and sat down. I didn’t take my eyes off of him. “You know where my father is?”

  Jorge leaned in and lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper. “What I’m about to tell you needs to stay between us. You can’t tell anyone, understand? Not even your wife.”

  I nodded. After last night, I didn’t feel like telling my wife anything, except maybe through a lawyer.

  “Your dad is off the grid, hiding in New York.”

  I leaned back and took a deep breath. I’d finally found someone who knew where my father was. “New York is a big place. Can you tell me where?” I asked.

  “I don’t exactly know. But I know who does.”

  “And why are you telling me this now?”

  “What happened last night convinced me you could be trusted. I know how badly you want to find him, so I’ve decided to take the risk.”

  “He’s my father. Of course you can trust me.”

  “No offense, but often family are the first to report offenders.”

  “All this time…you’ve known all along I was looking for my dad… and you didn’t say a thing.”

  Jorge raised his hands, palms out. “Try to see it from my point of view. We only just met a week ago. I had to think of your father’s safety.”

  “Why do you think I’m suddenly trustworthy?”

  “Because of what you did for Paige last night, or at least tried to do.”

  “You and my grandfather have stayed in touch with him all these years?”

  He nodded. “We helped him disappear. We used our contacts with the underground.”

  “But you don’t know exactly where he is?”

  “No, only that he is in New York somewhere. I don’t want to know more than that. We stay in touch through a mutual contact.”

  “That’s how my grandfather exchanged letters with Dad?”

  Jorge nodded. “And we’d bring him things he needed. Cash, because he can’t use his chip for electronic payments. He can’t work legally any more. Electronic parts, laptops, recording equipment, books, building materials. Anything he needed, really, from the world.”

  “Who’s the contact?”

  “A Korean named Zuebo. Runs a small grocery market in New York specializing in organic fruits and vegetables. That’s his front, anyway. He mostly specializes in supplying people in hiding, who are off the grid, with what they need. Like your dad.”

  “Can you give me his address?”

  “What would you do with it?”

  I looked at him in surprise. “What the heck do you think I’d do with it? Go down and see him, that’s what.”

  Jorge shook his head. “You can’t go.”

  “Why on earth not?”

  “Have you asked yourself why they didn’t arrest you? You body slammed a Tolerance officer. That’s not something they normally take kindly to.”

  “Selene made a deal with them in exchange for informing on Paige.”

  Jorge frowned. “I know, but I’m not convinced that’s the real reason. Paige isn’t important enough for them to cut a deal like this over her and turn a blind eye to what you did.”

  “Okay, you tell me.”

  “It’s you they were interested in, Jack. Not Paige. Your father was a well-known astronomer, one of the top scientists in the country. When he converted, the Tolerance Police went crazy. It’s the thing that drives them nuts the most – when a scientist converts.”

  I remembered seeing him on a television once when I was a kid. Some kind of science documentary. I thought it was pretty cool that my dad was on TV. What I didn’t realize at the time was just how famous he was.

  “You’re the son of one of the most wanted turncoats in the history of the Tolerance Commission,” Jorge said. “I think they’re using you to find your father. They want you out there free. You’re the bait at the end of the hook.”

  It made infinite sense, and it explained why my father had not tried to contact me. And Selene wouldn’t have had to know any of that.r />
  “You can’t possibly expect me to sit here and do nothing. I’m not giving up on my father. I’m going down there to talk to this Zuebo.”

  “That’s exactly what the Tolerance Bureau are waiting for you to do.”

  “I’ll be careful not to be followed.”

  “They don’t have to follow you. Every time you buy something to eat, stop and put hydrogen in your car, make a phone call, anything, that chip in your finger tells them exactly where you are and what you are doing. If you do this, you will lead them straight to your dad. Is that what you want?”

  He was right. I couldn’t use my chip.

  “I could go off the grid.”

  “If you remove the chip from your finger and go off grid, you’ll never be able to work legally again. Never be able to go back home, return to your wife or your former life. Never access a bank account, buy or sell anything. You’ll have to go to Canada, or spend the rest of your life underground.”

  “Jorge, if that’s what it takes, then I will. I need to see my father, and ask him what happened. Why he never contacted me. Why he converted. Do you have any idea what it is like growing up without your dad? It’s a pain I would never wish on anyone.”

  I could see in his eyes that he didn’t really know, but he was trying to be sympathetic.

  “It leaves a gap, an aching hole in a boy’s life,” I said.

  “Jack, if you go off grid, it will only alert them that something is up and give them reason to watch you closer, maybe even physically follow you. Right now they don’t have any reason to. It’s best if we let them keep thinking that way. You’re just the bait they’ve left out for your father, and they are waiting to spring the trap. Don’t help them.”

  “Why did you tell me this if you didn’t want me going down there?”

  “So you’d know he was okay and take some comfort in knowing where he was.”

  Lucy came over and refilled our cups with the black oily goo that passed for coffee. “You boys going to order some food or something, or just sit here taking up a booth all night?”

  Jorge made a point of looking around at the empty restaurant. Only one other booth was occupied. “I hate to break this to you, Luce, but people aren’t exactly lining up at the door to get in. So what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is those Tolerance sweeps are bad for business. And on top of that, I got a pair of lugheads like you two who won’t order anything, sitting around all night wanting free refills.”

  “Bring us some food, then. I haven’t eaten since last night, and I’m getting hungry,” I said.

  Lucy smiled. “Want to see some menus?”

  I waved her off impatiently. “Just cook something. Surprise us.”

  “All right, if you say so, big guy.” She grinned and left us alone.

  We were both quiet, deep in thought. I sipped at the coffee and added more cream and sugar to disguise the burnt oily taste. Jorge was right. I couldn’t go off grid, at least not yet, and I couldn’t drive down there myself. I’d need to buy fuel at least. Pay road tolls. Get food. And if something went wrong with the car and I needed assistance, I’d have to use my chip. Same thing if I flew or took the train. I could only buy tickets using my chip. Cash transactions hadn’t been legal since my grandfather’s day. And if I went off grid, I wouldn’t be able to travel at all.

  But someone else could drive me.

  I leaned forward. “You take me.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “You said it yourself, I can’t drive or travel, otherwise they will be able to track me,” I said. “And I can’t go off grid. But you can drive me. Anything we need along the way, you can buy it. You said you make the trip twice a month, so there is nothing unusual in that.”

  “I don’t know, Jack,” he said.

  “How did you and my grandfather normally go down?”

  “Simple. We would drive down in a van with a load of greenhouse tomatoes in the back,” he said.

  I remembered the delivery van in the shed with ‘Grandpa Ben’s Organic Hothouse Tomatoes’ on the sides, and the greenhouses. “Tomatoes?” I said under my breath.

  He grinned. “Organically grown. You’d be surprised how much they sell for in the city. We get ten Euros for a single tomato, and Zuebo has his mark-up on top of that. Ben made a nice little living selling all-natural organic tomatoes. Health nuts in New York are willing to pay a fortune for organic fruits and vegetables. Part of the whole get-back-to-nature fad that’s going on.”

  Tomatoes? As a business front for the underground? I mused.

  Jorge grinned, as if reading the expression on my face. I never could play poker. “Of course, it wasn’t just tomatoes we had in the back of the van. It was a cover to bring your dad cash, electronics, whatever he needed.”

  “Cash? What good is that? It’s not legal…it’s not even worth anything.”

  Jorge shook his head. “Not dollars. That’s just useless paper. Euros, yuan, Canadian dollars – hard currency like that is worth a lot, and you can use it on the black market to get almost anything. It’s perfect for people off the grid.”

  “So then there’s nothing unusual about you driving down there. No reason for the Tolerance Police to suspect anything. I could come along for the ride. They wouldn’t need to know I was with you.”

  “You would have to be very careful not to use your chip, or even let your hand get near a reader. Sometimes they go on by accident.”

  That much was true. I’d once bought opera tickets by accident when my hand passed too close to a reader while reaching for a pack of chewing gum. It was the most expensive gum I’d ever bought.

  Lucy interrupted us with two plates of salad, topped with strips of chicken. I poked at mine with a fork. “The chicken looks good, but what’s all the green stuff?”

  “The salad is good for you. Eat up.”

  “When I said surprise us, I meant something good.”

  She grinned mischievously. “This is good. Stop whining.”

  “I guess I can’t complain, can I?”

  “If you complain, next time I spit in your salad. House rules,” she said and walked away.

  I picked at the salad. “When were you planning on going down again?”

  “My next regular delivery is in a week.”

  “I can’t wait a week.” He didn’t say anything, and we both munched on salads. “There’s no one else I can ask to help me with this. You can’t possibly expect me not to go down there. One way or the other, I’m going to figure out a way. You can either help me or not, it’s you to up. But one way or another I’m going.”

  Jorge sat back and regarded me thoughtfully for a moment. “All right, don’t get so wound up about it. I’ll take you.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow. We can leave in the morning. Meet me here at four. I don’t want to get you at the cottage. That way Selene won’t see you leave with me. The less she knows about our trip, the better.”

  “Four, as in A.M?”

  “You can park around back. Be waiting out front with a couple of large coffees.”

  “Is it okay to leave my car here for a few days?”

  “Lucy puts on an ornery act, but she’s completely reliable.”

  “She threatened to spit in my salad.”

  “She must like you.”

  We finished our meals. I ate the chicken and most of the green stuff. Jorge got up and took his coat of the hook next to our booth. “Jack,” he said as he put his coat on.

  I was still picking at the salad. “Yes.”

  “Don’t be too hard on Selene.”

  This surprised me. “She informed on one of your own.”

  “She was a wreck when I dropped in. She’d been crying all day.”

  “Good.”

  “Don’t be so hard on her. You’re going to need to find a way to forgive her.”

  I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Don’t preach to me, Jorge. I got stun-gunned. I got beat up by some very
large cops and nearly arrested. She betrayed me and informed on a perfectly sweet kid. After what she’s done I don’t know if I can look at her again, let alone forgive her.”

  Jorge shook his head slowly. “You’ve got a hard heart, Jack.”

  “My marriage is none of your concern. Just get me to New York tomorrow. I don’t want to hear any more about my wife.”

  Jorge left without arguing any further. I waited another fifteen minutes, then got up and put my coat on. I went to the counter, and put my finger on the reader at the counter to pay the bill. I added a nice tip, and said goodbye to Lucy, who favored me with a scowl and returned to wiping the counter. It was late, four A.M. was just a few hours away, and I still had to go back to the cottage to pack – and face Selene.

  18

  Selene was standing at the window looking out as I pulled into the driveway. Lights from the cottage cast a pale glow over the ground. I got out of the car and went straight into the bedroom, passing thought the living room without a word to her. She followed me in and sat on the edge of the bed while I pulled a travel bag out of the closet.

  She’d been crying. Her face was red and puffy, turning the scars on her face into angry red welts. There was smeared eyeliner where she’d been wiping at her face.

  I tossed some clothes into the bag. We didn’t talk for several long minutes.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?” she finally blurted.

  I didn’t look at her. “What’s there to talk about?”

  “Where are you going?” More tears streamed down her cheeks, mascara running in rivulets.

  “I’m hardly going to tell you that.” I folded a shirt and placed it in the bag.

  “You don’t expect me to just sit here waiting for you to come back, do you? Not knowing where you are or how long you will be?”

  “I don’t care what you do.”

  “How long will you be gone?” she pleaded. I only expected to be away two or three days, but at the moment I felt the less she knew the better. Also, I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing it would be a quick trip, possibly alleviating her anxiety.

  “I don’t know,” I said, after a moment’s pause.