OK:

Here it is! The big event! Will "The Champ" be put in his place? Will our intrepid hero fall into old habits?

Will I stop talking like a cheesy 60's batman episode?

Seriously, The actual confrontation came out better than expected, but I know I have more work to be done. I will continue working on this. As I said at the start of this arc (many moons ago!) that once its finished, I will do re-writes and re-edits on the entire thing and repost.

So feel free to comment and critique. I'm a big boy, I can take it.

Lu-Man

***

The Road Less Traveled:

Chapter 5: What Goes Around....

By: Lu-Man

Gravy. That's what they think I needed to work up towards was serving gravy. Very hard to splash brown water on plates of turkey and mashed potatoes. I'm surprised I could do so without a college degree.

I kept my muzzle down. The bright lights shined from the camera crews shined on the worst spots in the shelter, the dingy white walls, the plane long white tables, the dirty ceiling. At first the reporters where happy doing voice overs, speaking as they panned the cameras across the place. Every year the homeless are forgotten for 364 days. This quiet society of people shuffle to and fro throughout our lives without leaving so much as a ripple. Christmas comes around and suddenly everyone is concerned if they're getting enough food, enough clothing, if their children have toys. Christmas passes. They become faceless again.

It was months until Christmas. Reverend Tramp knows how to work up a crowd, however even he couldn't draw this kind of media attention. There was one person they where hear to see. I looked down at each plate as it passed in front of me. Splash, brown gravy. Covering everything. Brown water. Much like the brown water I've covered my life in.

A familiar voice drew me out of my reverie. I looked up and saw the beautiful girl that I saw in church so long ago. “Cynthia....” For a moment I forgot about the cameras. Hell, I forgot about serving. “What are you doing here?”

I looked down. “Dishing up brown water.” She chuckled. “Its supposed to be gravy.” I looked down. “Not the way they make it.”

“Why did you leave?” Cynthia asked. I could see the question burn in her eyes, her muzzle drawing up with the question. I couldn't lie to her. “Damian. I tried to help. I failed. How can I...” I choked up. Tears fell. Cameras focused. Some clicked.

“We all have failures sometimes.” I nodded. “You don't give up. You keep on struggling. You have a gift.” I laughed. “I know, its not public speaking.” Cynthia wiped a tear I hadn't noticed away from my eye. “You're wrong. Its that and so much more. Stop standing in God's way. Just let go and let him work. Let go and let God.”

I nodded and shuddered. I could hear Reverend Tramp whip up into one of his famous Tramp the Champ speeches. The cameras for a moment focused on him. Cynthia took a moment and kissed me on the head. I bowed and let her, embracing her gently. “Please come home.”

I nodded again, releasing the embrace. “Yes, I think...”

I felt a powerful grip on my shoulder. “This gentleman came to me, in the middle of the night. Crying. Lost. He had been mistakenly placed in the wrong spot by well meaning people.” He hugged me close, I looked up at him and tried not to growl. “He wasn't where God intended him but where people intended him to be. Just like many of these people here.” He waved his arm to the homeless who ignored him and continued to eat.

He continued on and on.

I gently slid away from Tramps grip as he walked around the homeless. I watched as the cameras zoomed in on one elderly man who shook so much as he attempted to eat. The food shook out of his fork before he could even get it up to his graying muzzle. I looked up at Cynthia who was glaring at Tramp. “That man uses anyone he touches.” She growled. I nodded. Something clicked again. “I can't go home quite yet.” I told her.

“Why not?” She asked, the tilt of her head showed she was truly perplexed. I grinned at her and gently brushed her ear. “There's one thing I feel I must do before I leave.”

The look upon her face shown she knew exactly who I was talking about. “Be careful.”

I grinned wider. “Hey, its me!”

She scritched me gently behind the ears. “That's what worries me.”

I wished her goodbye as 'The Champ' rounded out his speech. It must have been a go to one he says regularly because most of the camera crews where visibly bored by this point. Some zoomed in on me, others panned the crowd. More than a couple stepped forward to try and ask me questions. Tramp however, was a bit too careful to let them by. See, I was the draw, he was the star. That's the way he wanted it.

I had finally figured out what was going on. He was using me to get attention to himself and his little pet project. More than a few dollars where probably donated to the 1-800 number and website he kept spouting every 3 minutes or so. And it was about every 3 minutes of his 15 minute speech. I timed it. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say this little non-profit organization he's running was giving him quite a hefty salary too. And he could keep everything after taxes because it was non-profit.

I listened to him wind down his speech. I knew he had a “BIG SURPRISE!” coming tomorrow. He mentioned it more than a few times. I figured my best chance was to find proof. I had little more than 24 hours to do it.

As the dinner service finally wound out, I found myself in the back doing dishes again. As I scrubbed, I planned. The Champ really enjoyed his spot light. Sometimes a person's weakness is the one thing they love the most. I knew who I needed help from to make my plan work. All I had to do was sweet talk him.



The best way to produce any surprise in a public spectacle is as follows. Item number one: give the victim the illusion of control. The victim should feel like they have ability here not only to control their own situation, but yours as well. If the victim should feel like they can control fate itself, so much the better.

I stopped before one dogs door. He growled at me in greeting. The kitchen staff barely ever met the “House staff” on another floor. However, their distaste for the champ was legendary. Their here the longest. He has the longest leash on them, whether its drugs and booze or just plain old black mail every one whose on the house staff knows they can't leave: just the way he likes it.

This poor guy had one ear partially bitten down. In his eyes was an air of self defeat that I haven't seen in anyone's face besides mine in a long time. “You're the electronics guy?” I asked.
“Show engineer.” he snorted. “What of it.”

His bloodshot eyes belated the noose that Rev. Tramp had around his neck. I made no comment of it. “What's your feeling on the champ?”

“Hate isn't quite strong enough to describe it kitchen rat.”

Kitchen rats where what the house staff called us. It was weird, we each wore the others insult as a badge of pride. “Well, he's going to have me on stage tomorrow. I stopped by to ask a favor.”

“You'll have to pay for favors.” He growled. “They cut into my supply. Which means I have to pay for my own.”

“The payment will be what happens during tomorrow's show. All you have to do is keep the microphone on. I'll take care of the rest.”

He nodded. “Go have your little tantrum or whatever on stage. But I expect coverage for my supply for the week or so he cuts it.”

I nodded. I didn't have any cash. I figured I'd be kicked out by tomorrow night anyway so I wouldn't have to worry.


I watched as he closed the door without a sound. No goodbye needed or given. I slowly shuffled back to my room, doubt creeping in around me again. Every big spectacle I've been given, everything I've ever done like this, I was on one substance or another. Usually, alcohol, but sometimes weed, or shrooms, or something else. Usually it was just alcohol.

I approached my door with more trepidation than usual, feeling the encroaching act of tomorrow closing in on me. He sat on my bed, passing a bottle between his hands, smiling that gentle smile. “You know,” he said, “You took off earlier after dinner service. Most of the other kitchen rats met in the hall for a victory drink with me.”

I smiled and shrugged. “I didn't hear you mention it.” I said, “and besides, its not good to give a recovering alcoholic a drink, especially a just recovering alcoholic.”

He smiled wider. “Well, then, I can understand.” He took a small sip from the bottle. I could tell it was liquor. Strong stuff. Good old fashioned cheap corn whiskey. He patted the bed next to him. “Well, I just wanted to make sure you where up to what's going to happen tomorrow.”

I smiled. “Well, to be honest, I am a little nervous. But I'll be fine. I've made public speeches before.”

Tramp grinned at me with a knowing smile on his lips and a tilt in his ears. “Yes, but at the last one they said you blew a what, .38 after wards? That the cop didn't know how you where still functioning?

“I've been an alcoholic a long time, Reverend, I know how to operate through the haze.”

He smiled and nodded. “So you think you'll be fine?”

I nodded back. He turned and grinned again, this smile completely false. “Well, I'll be praying for you son. I just need your head in the game tomorrow. A lot of souls to save. It will be a very big day.”

I swallowed hard and nodded. “I'll be fine.” He grinned and leaned down, gently kissing me on my fore-head. I could smell the whiskey on his breath. It made mouth water just a little bit. “Good night, good guy.” He said, and turned to leave.

“Reverend Tramp?” I asked as he approached the door. He turned and arch an eyebrow. “Could you leave....the bottle?”

Tramp nodded again. This smile was genuine. It had a kiss of triumph in it that I would frequently see on drug dealers and other men of such profits. It was the knowing. The smile that said 'I know you're coming back. I have you completely in my pocket now.' I was used to giving the addicts reaction to that smile. I simply looked down and didn't pay it any attention.

“Don't drop it. That's the key to everything.” He smiled as he set the bottle down and left. It had just a little bit of the sweat running down the side. The label was turned towards the wall, all I could see was the 'key' of the word 'Whiskey'. I sat in my bed shaking. I didn't want to do it. I barely had any courage as it was to continue. I felt alone, down, defeated. I didn't want to put that bottle to use.

That night was the longest night of my life. I watched the sweat drip down the bottle. I counted the drops at one point. I picked it up a few times. I brought the bottle up to my nose a couple times, uncapping it to take a whiff. Each time I did so, her face would come into my head.

Cynthia. Beautiful Cynthia. Darling Cynthia. Wonderful Cynthia. The woman who sat by my bedside as a shook and shook and even hallucinated so much through those cold terrible nights. I slammed the bottle back down each time. A little splashed out on my paws. I didn't care.

Towards the end of the night and early dawn I weakened some. I almost took swig when I heard a knock at the door. “Time for breakfast service” Came a voice followed by a more muffled “Rev says to just let him be. He needs rest for the show this afternoon.”

I checked the time. It was 5 a.m. Already five. Great. I inhaled a few times and went over to the sink to brush my teeth. The show was at one. If I could only just drink little, I could steady myself.....I yelled and picked up the bottle. I was about to throw it against the wall when I looked at the label again. K E Y was still showing through my paws. Hmm....perhaps this was the key after all.


Two knocks at my door. “Five minutes until show time.” was all I heard. I grumbled something at the door. First I unscrewed the cap, took a small swig, rinsed it around my mouth and spit it back into the sink. I dry heaved for a few seconds before tucking the bottle into my pants. It was a good thing that I had an empty stomach. Bleck.

I hadn't showered, merely just changed clothes. I knew my room wreaked of alcohol, I stank the stench of drunks. I spritzed some cologne on. Reverend Tramp shown up not much longer after that. “Looking sharp!” he said “Smelling like a brewery but looking sharp. You're supposed to drink the alcohol not wear it.”

I shrugged. “So I spilled some.”

“OK, kid. Are you ready for this?” I smiled and nodded. He didn't blink once. “OK, lets get going.”


We made our way down a hallway, and the set of stairs. Instead of going all the way down, we went down one floor and exited through double doors. This led us to a back stage area. I could hear a crowd already gathered. “Now” he said, pressing some note cards in my hand. “Just use these cards as talking points and you'll be just fine. Remember, its about saving souls. If its embellished a bit here and there, its not a big deal.”

He parted the curtain, and strode proudly over the stage. The entire thing was lit up, and dressed in white. I could see some green plants in front of it. I looked up, and there was a cross above me, illuminated in lights to make it appear like it was glowing. There was a rock band also on the stage. Several of the members watched me instead of the reverend. I guess they've seen this show a few times.

The applause was deafening when he stepped forward. I could see camera crews in the back. No doubt this would be on the 6 o'clock news. People dressed to the nines all stood up. There appeared to be a golden seating rule here. The seats in the back and middle where packed, but there where still an empty seat or two in the front.

I sat down on a chair next to the band. He spoke a bit about awakenings, and how they could mean so much. Then he spoke about sometimes meeting the wrong people. What difference those people who may mean well can make, even if they didn't have Christ in their hearts. I knew he was speaking about Cynthia and her father. I suppressed a growl.

They went through a couple rock songs, and some psalm reading. Then he motioned to me. I could see the offering plates being passed around as I stood. Obviously my “conversion” speech was supposed to be the big money maker.

As I stood behind the microphone, and prepared myself, I thought back to earlier that day. I prayed probably for one of the very first times, for strength. The bottle that I carried now, suddenly looked a whole lot lighter, and a lot less mean. I thought back to fighting the temptation to drink the bottle when I swished the contents around my mouth. Knowing that the smell of whiskey on my breath was the only thing that could get me out here.

I looked up, and could see the shadow of the engineer in the booth above the crowd. I swallowed, said a silent prayer for Cynthia, and then began.


“Everyone worships something. There is always something that you place first in your life, holds that precious position above all else. For some people, its money.” I was told at this point, the slide show turned to a picture of the illustrious Reverend Tramp. “For some, its themselves or their job. For me, it was alcohol.”

“The demon rum,” I said, as I pulled the full whiskey bottle out from behind my jacket. I deliberately held it out so that 'The Champ' could see exactly how much I left in it. “Has led my life since I was about 12 years old. What I was running from, what exactly I was running to, I don't know yet. What I do know, is that I was disgusted with my life, and myself. I hid, and did all kinds of nasty things just to keep the feelings at bay.”

“You know, its hard to hate yourself, when your best friend says, 'you're having a good time'. Your savior says 'you're not weak, they're weak and stupid.' When your God makes you crawl across the floor of your bedroom to vomit up blood in the nearest trashcan, only, you don't quite make it. Only to start back drinking again.”

That's when I tossed 'The Champ' the bottle. “You can have this back. Me and my friend have gotten a divorce. You're right about one thing though, it is the key to everything.” He turned beat red and looked up at the booth. He made a motion with his hand that I guess was meant to cut my mike.

“You see, I came here because I'm a fool. Most of you are here for that same reason. But its okay, we can be fools together cause you see, Tramp The Champ, is such a damn good actor, that its hard to see past the facade.”

I swallowed and smiled. I thought of Cynthia again. “I know what real charity is. Real charity is giving of yourself, truly giving of yourself and not seeking a pat on the back or a dime back for the work. Its giving, not for what you can get out of it, but for what someone else gets out of it. And hopefully to see the face of God in who you help.”

The applause drowned out my speech. I stepped back from the microphone for a moment. I looked at Tramp motioning to the band to play, and they tried, but none of their instruments where miked up at the moment. This is why its always a good idea to be friends with the audio technician.

I sat back and grinned at him for a moment. “I think your band is having some technical difficulties.” Was all I said. He glared at me again before smiling. He stepped over to the microphone “That is a resounding speech.” He grinned, a response forming in his head. “I like the little jab you snuck in there about me. However, anyone who knows this church knows that I do more community work here than any other pastor in this town or the city beside us. From the soup kitchen, to the charity drives, to the charitable donations...”

“Really?” I butted in, “all by yourself? You must be very close to God to do all that. Some kind of miracle worker. So tell me, what's stopping you from praying for everyone's health and happiness.”

“I do every day, even yours. You really didn't think I wouldn't notice that you took some from that bottle before you handed that little test of faith back, now did you?”

“Yes, the real question is, how far after you drank did I drink, and was it just enough to make you think I was drunk so you'd let me on stage?”

I could hear the reporters in the back starting to clamor at this point. I ignored them. I was staring at Reverend Tramp now, and I could see his smile was gone. The charm that he seemed to ooze was no where to be seen. I had gotten to the real core of the man. Sad, sadistic, and greedy. His eyes betrayed his panic now.

“I'd be willing to submit breathalyzer or blood tests to anyone in here. I told you Reverend, I've been a drunk for a long time, and part of that experience is how to act truly drunk.

“Young man, anyone can claim to have a revelation. To play people's emotions is just sick. That's what you're doing today, playing all these good people's emotions to feel sympathy for you.”

I looked up wondering what century this guy was from. Really, who says young man anymore. From my vantage point, I really could only catch a few words on the projector. I'm told the words printed there was “"Beware of the scribes, who like to go about in long robes, and to have salutations in the market places and the best seats in the synagogues and the places of honor at feasts, who devour widows' houses and for a pretense make long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.”

I looked back down at the reverend and simply said. “When was the last time you actually took time to sit down and speak to the lord for yourself?” His nostrils flared at the suggestion. Before he could speak, I started again. “You spend all this time praying for everyone else and all this money on yourself. Really, isn't the formula supposed to be the other way around? I know another preacher in this town, and he could never afford anything near of what you're driving. And its not due to lack of donations at the church.”

At this point, I'm told that the Reverends financial record was on the slide show next. I wouldn't normally believe this, but I was told that by a news headline the following day. I kept going. “Charity and love are not tax deductions! They are real, true and almost physical extensions of all human beings. They are like a muscle. They must be exercised often. Or just like an arm or a leg, they wither.”

I knew an exit line when I heard one. I turned and attempted to leave. The reporters had ran all the way up to the stage at this point, leaning in with microphones. Some where shouting questions. It was like sea of roaring voices. The crowd themselves where in an uproar. Many could not believe that the lovable Tramp could be so crooked. Others more than believed it. They threw their hymnals strait at the stage, one of them even beaning him in the head. That footage still makes me smile.

I turned and ducked around the corner through a door. I knew what would happen next. I've been arrested for disturbing the peace enough. I attempted to make my way through the back area. Not everyone was a fan of the tramp, but he had more than a couple followers in his troupe.

I was expecting trouble.


***