Page 8 of Brimstone Hollow

“He was a snake-handling preacher,” I say.

“Yes,” Dishman says. “He was pretty well-known around here.”

“Were you one of his parishioners?”

His big shoulders bounce with a silent, ironic laugh.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “No, I’m Mount Zion Church of Christ.But of course everyone knows about Ezra King. He was a man of powerful faith.”

“Powerful? You mean the snake handling?”

There’s a half nod in my direction before he says, “Ezra’s brand of religion wasn’t to everyone’s liking. It was intense, especially back in his early days. Too intense for me. But, if you’d ever seen him preach, you couldn’t deny his—well, it was like ashine. You know how some people have that? Like they just burn very bright. That’s how Ezra King was. His voice especially. People said he spoke with God’s voice.”

“You respected him,” I say, as I realize it.

“I respected the strength of his belief, certainly.”

There’s another knock at the door and we both watch as the same officer as before pokes his head in. He looks like he’s barely out of high school, with chubby cheeks and a hesitant, apologetic smile.

“Sorry again, Chief,” he says. “Sounds like someone’s been setting off fireworks down in the Cherry Dairy parking lot. A little fire started but they got it out. You want me to send someone down there?”

“Who’s left?” Dishman asks.

“Well, Jim’s on his way back from lunch, I think.”

“Call him and have him stop by.”

The kid starts to back out of the doorway and Dishman says, “And Gavin!”

“Yes, Chief.”

“Have you taken your lunch yet?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“Well, take it, son,” Dishman says. “You need to eat.”

The kid exits, closing the door behind him.

Unable to help myself, I smile at the stern kindness in Dishman’s voice. Between Security Forces and Special Investigations, I served under plenty of tough, hard-nosed superiors. But the best of them? They were all cut from the same cloth as Chief Dishman. The kind of guy who treats his officers like family. The kind of guy whom you’d die of shame if you disappointed.

“Sorry about that. Like I said, it’s a busy weekend. Summer always starts like this.”

“How long have you been on the job?” I ask.

“Almost thirty years now,” he says. “Chief for just about the last twenty. You’d think a small town like this wouldn’t have that much going on. Traffic to Red River Gorge is a blessing, but the tourists really balloon the population and we don’t have enough staff to cover it in the summer. I’ve only got six officers and only three of those are full time. Sorry, I’m rambling. What else were you gonna ask?”

“You knew about Ezra King’s snake handling,” I say.

“Sure,” he says. “Everyone did.”

“Isn’t snake handling illegal in Kentucky?”

“Well… yes,” Dishman says with a grimace. He turns in his chair, away from the monitor, folds his hands together on the desk, and says, “But I do believe in freedom of religion, as long as you’re not hurting anybody. He never let anyone else touch those snakes. It was always only him and, these days, only special occasions.”

“Christmas and Easter,” I say.

He chuckles, good-naturedly, and says, “That’s about it, yes.”