Chapter 11: A Medium

Many Cones, Based On True Crime

Chapter 11 starts with Albert Moffit and his wife enjoying some televangelism.
Many Cones is a podcast novel based on true crime. The murders inspiring this crime fiction took place 30 miles from Chicago in Northwest Indiana, and captivated the area from the initial brutal crime scene all the way through and beyond discovery of a shockingly bizarre motive.
Albert Moffit had been standing behind his wife for some time. She was seated in the corner of an old, brightly speckled divan. Her body countervailed the life colors. She sat straight, as if at attention.
On the tube, a slick haired gentleman with a southern accent was squinting baby blues, and acknowledging invalids across the television world; he had been alerted by God and was listing out each malady. Every so often he mentioned a first name and offered comfort. God would not alert him to the pain and suffering without first making sure the victims were watching television.
The silver tongue sat, laid his hands on a dark brown, ornate volume of something or other. He pushed himself ramrod sharp, shoulders hunched, eyes closed with obvious effort, and began intoning. “Bless me Father . ..” Suddenly he seized up, began shuddering, slowed the tics and shook his head from side to side. Eyes still tightly shut. While rotating his head, he spewed sing-song, enclitic homonyms. Melodic nonsense.
Just as quickly as the tongues came, they vanished. The proud medium settled into himself, calm, all smiles. He opened his eyes slowly, and in a Mr. Roger’s voice, said, “That was God. God has a special message for... “
When his wife began her vigil to huckster divinity, Moffit used to openly laugh at the scam. That was some years ago. His actions drove his wife further into herself. In the beginning, she would argue with Albert. Explain her interest and attachment as relaxation. Then she stopped listening to Albert. He stopped reacting, stopped laughing, stopped speaking to her.
Now the Divine Presentations engendered no responses in Moffit. He stood slack-jawed, unfocused, and allowed the rantings to enter his consciousness, without apparent recognition.
As the preacher was quoting, “A special message for...” Moffit heard a heavy rapping on his office door. He left the front room. Did not consider that he would never learn the recipient of that special message. His wife never acknowledged that he was standing close enough to reach out and touch.
Albert opened the door. Richard Sparne strutted in, as self important men often do. He remained standing until Moffit extended an arm, indicating a chair.
The Kid appreciated his own sense of comfort in the presence of power. He ached to continue impressing and bypassed pleasantries. “I’m in the process of recruiting some girls for our stables.”
Moffit feigned interest, not sure if he followed the Kid’s lead in. “Tell me about it.”
“There’s a ton of good looking bitches in my school. I figure if we start them young enough, they’ll bring top dollar on the market.”
Moffit was still not certain which market the Kid was talking about. He sat without comment.