Up where the altar had once stood, there was a big carved wooden chair. Empty. Off to one side of it was a cluster of desks all pushed together. Four black guys sat there, their backs to Ron and his burly escort. They were talking to each other.

The driver nudged him, and Ron walked down the length of the church and up the three broad steps that led to the desks. Then he stood there, silently, waiting, while the blacks at the desks kept up their hushed conversation. Ron was just starting to wonder how long they’d keep him waiting, when one of the guys at the desks turned and noticed him.

“They got him,” he said simply.

The others turned and looked at Ron. It was hard for Ron to tell what they were thinking. Three of the four were openly frowning. The fourth stood up and grinned.

He walked down the steps slowly toward Ron. He was tall, but very lean, spindly. His face was thin and bony. His eyes had a funny shape, almost oriental. His smile was wide, toothy. He looked friendly enough. He wore a simple outfit—vest, slacks, sandals—all sky-blue.

“They call me Timmy Jim,” he said in a mild, slightly scratchy voice. “That ain’t my real name, but it’s what everybody calls me.

Ron blinked at the leader of the Muslims for a moment. “I’m Ron Morgan.”

“I know. Know all about you. You got a good friend down in th’ market—that ol’ man Dewey. He got word to me you was in trouble. Tol’ me I could use you. Says you’re a freak with machines.”

“I fix machines,” Ron said.

Timmy Jim’s grin got even bigger. “Okay. Great. You can fix ’em for the Muslims. More’n that, you teach some of my kids how to fix ’em.”

Ron felt confused. “I didn’t know the Muslims took in white people.”

The grin vanished. “The Muslims do what I say. We ain’t takin’ you in as a member. We’re gonna let you work here, boy. We’re savin’ your ass—but only because that ol’ man down in the market claims you can help us. If you ain’t as good as he says you are, you’re goin’ right back where we got you. ’Stand?”

Ron heard himself say, “In other words, I’m a slave.”

Timmy Jim’s mouth dropped open. Then he broke into a wild, high-pitched cackling laugh. “Yeah, baby, that’s just what you are!” He laughed and laughed. The others all laughed too.

Ron stood there, feeling their scorn bite into him. Then he thought about what Dino was going to do to him. I don’t really have a choice, he realized.