Faith (a rolling stone article).

Frankie the Faith Healer has no real belief in God, just a belief that there are suckers in all Southern hick towns and plenty of money to be made exploiting them. Tonight he was in Nashville.

“The Faith Healing shtick has been down plenty of times in the past.” Frankie tells me whilst sipping on a glass of champagne. We are in his tour bus with the rest of his crew, speeding away from Nashville.

Do we need to drive this fast? I ask Frankie.

“It’s better this way.” He says calmly, watching as one of the Lighting Engineers entertains the rest of the crew with an impersonation of Frankie from the performance earlier. It would be funny, but it’s so close to accurate that it frightens me. In that moment watching, I realise that Frankie could be anyone. All you needed was confidence and a cold heart. Frankie resumes answering my question.

“Most of the people in our crowds, they look dumb… and well, most of them are dumb, but there are a few that will realise. The healing will wear off and they’ll put two and two together. I’d rather not be in town when that happens. Rednecks, they move in packs, with guns… and pitchforks.”

This is the main reason Frankie and his merry band of “Healers” never schedule two shows within a week of each other and always waits until the last minute to publicise their event.

“Back in the day we were doing 4-5 shows a week, but that got difficult. We had people protesting, hecklers; some people have even tried to kill me.” He says, finishing off his glass of champagne and calling for another.

“How’s that for hypocrisy? These people go to church every week learning ‘thou shalt not kill’ and then as soon as they are pissed off, they forget it all. All of God’s laws only apply when it’s convenient. I hate that about religion.”

Frankie pauses, pensive for a moment. I ask him why he got into this business. His answer comes instantly, seemingly pre-recorded.

“These people, religious fanatics, they don’t just in God. They need you to believe as well. They force their opinions on you. It’s bullshit. If you ask me, anyone who’s dependent on some higher power to guide them or live their life for them deserves to be exploited.”

As soon as the sentence is finished, he gulps down his champagne and calls for a bottle to be brought to him. His assistant Sophie comes to us with a bottle of Jim Beam. She tells Frankie that this is all they have. He shrugs and takes it. He offers me a shot but I decline.

I ask him about his show. He noted earlier that his shtick is far from original. So, I ask him, How does it work?

“Everyone is desperate to believe.” He starts, and then throws back a shot of bourbon. “So it’s no problem getting them there. The important thing is to create the illusion. They WANT to believe you have the power. My job is to give them a reason to believe.”

And you give them a reason?

“I heal them. And it works… for a while.”

I ask him to elaborate. He doesn’t. He merely throws back another shot. And another. And another. Soon enough he’s unconscious in his chair, so I join his crew in their little after-show party and start talking to Sophie.

“He’s not a bad man.” She tells me. “I know you think what we’re doing is bad, but he’s not a bad person.”

Why does he do this then?

“He hates religious fanatics.” Sophie explains. I wait for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t, so I push for an answer. Eventually she relents.

“His mother was a fanatic. Absolutely crazy. She made him say a ‘Hail Mary’ every morning, made him prey before every meal, made him read bible stories every night and submit a report about the moral lessons taught in the story. She did this to him since he was a kid. Eventually he just had enough. He ran away. I met him on the streets soon after that happened and we conceived this idea. It’s his retribution. His revenge. That’s why he does this.”

Does he believe in anything?

“He believes in challenging ideas. He believes in everything that his mother told him was evil.”

After a brief pause, Sophie excuses herself, saying she needs to get some sleep. As she goes to her mattress on the bus floor I ask her one last question.

Frankie said when he heals people it works for a while, what did he mean?

She looks at me and smiles. “Morphine. That’s his ‘healing’. He presses one hand against a person’s head and pushes; with the other hand he secretly injects them with morphine.”

Then she turns, walks to her mattress and goes to sleep. I stay awake as the bus rolls on, speeding away from angry religious zealots all junked and seeking a retribution of their own.