Showdown by Ted Dekker Page B

in with Mary. Both ordered drinks. They were as quiet as Claude. Others started wandering in then, each entry punctuated by the slam of his screen door.
    In some ways the stupor that clouded Steve’s mind felt like the effects of the strong painkiller prescribed to him after some fool tourist’s Doberman tried to rip off his hand.
    Steve was normally a controlled fellow, ask anyone. But that hadn’t stopped him from hauling out his shotgun with his unshredded hand and sending the Doberman to mutt hell with enough buckshot to splatter its head over a ten-foot-square section of the back wall.
    Paula walked in. She was dressed for Sunday in a navy blue cotton dress with white piping on the neckline and pockets. Black leather flats. Who was she trying to impress? She sat at the end of the bar, and Steve ignored her.
    Two fans swished overhead, and no one bothered turning on the jukebox. Steve stopped whatever he’d been doing,which was already a distant memory, and looked around at the “in” crowd of Paradise, Colorado. Without counting, he’d say about twenty.
    The silence grew uncomfortable. Awkward. Downright infuriating.
    Steve slammed his fist on the bar. “What’s the problem?”
    Katie looked up at him, blinking. “What do you think you’re doing?”
    He wasn’t rightly sure, actually. He just didn’t like the silence. A person can hide in a cacophony of noise, but everyone stands out in this kind of melancholic silence, and Steve wasn’t in the mood to stand out.
    â€œYou think he poisoned us?” someone asked.
    Katie faced Bob, an older farmer who raised the question. “Right.”
    Bob looked at one of his fingernails as if deciding whether it needed cleaning.
    Once again silence stretched through the bar. A fly buzzed by Steve’s ear.
    â€œCould be,” Claude said after a while. “We all drank his communion. Could be he poisoned us. I feel . . .”He stopped, either distracted or unsure how he felt.
    â€œWell, if he did poison us, bring it on, medicine man,” Katie said. “I feel pretty relaxed.”
    â€œDon’t be stupid,” Paula said. “The man’s a devil, not a medicine man.”
    â€œYou think a devil got up there and turned water into wine?” Katie challenged, coming to life.
    â€œWhat water into wine?”
    â€œOkay, then an apple into wine. Whatever. You get my point.”
    â€œNo, Katie, I don’t think I do. What is your point?”
    â€œMy point is if he wanted to kill us, he’d have done it last night.”
    They stared at her, uncomprehending. Steve didn’t know what she was driving at either. Maybe she’d had a dream like his about a killing.
    â€œWho said anything about killing?” Claude asked. “He’s off his rocker maybe. He might be playing us for some reason, but I doubt a killer would be so obvious.”
    â€œWhat in the world are you all talking about?”Katie demanded.“He’s no killer. He’s a preacher.”
    â€œCome to bring grace and hope to Paradise,”Bob said, still inspecting his fingernails.
    â€œYou’re the one who brought up killer, Katie. And frankly it wouldn’t surprise me.
Either way, he’s a devil,” Paula said.“No man of God would talk the way he talked. I say we have our way with him before he has his way with us.”
    â€œHas his way with you?”Mary asked. “You holding out on us?”
    A lone voice spoke out loudly from the rear door. “Paula’s right. You should get rid of him or call the cops in Delta.”
    They turned as one to face Johnny Drake. The boy had come in the back and stood facing them with a fixed face.
    â€œYou eighteen, boy?” Steve asked. “Get out.”
    Paula stood. “Shut up, Steve.” She walked toward the boy. “What makes you say that, Johnny?”
    Johnny eyed them.“He may not be the devil, but