Unlikely Angels
How, when Gods are so scarce, is there an Angel in every whorehouse?
It was not in her head. She was different than the other girls, and those differences kept her feeling like an outsider. Angel was always surprised and a tad apprehensive when chosen, which was a major difference in itself, as the others vied to be chosen, making themselves comparably “bigger” everywhere that bigness mattered in mad attempts at being picked; bigger boobs, bigger hair, bigger lips, bigger personalities, while Angel remained small, girlishly-figured (flat as a board, a carpenter would call it), and meek from the facts of it. Yet she was chosen, and frequently. In fact, the other girls would not have believed it to learn that Angel was the fourth highest earner of the sixteen of them. Yet it shouldn’t have surprised them. They, better than anyone else, understood the sheer number of pervs out there, and how many of those pervs desired youthfulness in a lover. With most of Angel’s customers it was the more youthful the better. Child-like was even preferable, which was poor Angel’s lot, her appearance being small, round-eyed, and submissive. And none of the girls would have guessed it, not even Angel herself, but Angel’s lack of desire to be chosen was actually an added temptation for the sordid sort she attracted.
Like the other cathouse professionals Angel had learned to discern those customers who were likely to choose her within minutes of them walking into the brothel’s front room, where the scantily clad girls awaited to serve them drinks, and to seduce them (and their billfolds) for the night. It wasn’t so much the pervs’ looks that gave them away to her, it was more how they acted. Some customers walked in like they owned the place, appearing immediately at ease. They were the regulars; the senior fraternity brothers from the downtown university, the half-sober vocational workers who didn’t want to go home to their nagging, never in-the-mood wives, and finally the hurried, desperate to be discreet professional-types… but none of those “normal” kinds, ever seemed to be looking for Angel.
Of all the names to choose from, for a job like hers.
No, the ones who picked Angel were the neurotic, weaselly ones, their eyes darting this way and that. That was how she could tell them, by their eyes. Her customers always seemed unsettled, and not with the nervous kind of jitters that a brothel can give someone who seldom frequents one, either. Theirs was not just a nervousness gained through lack of situational confidence. No, it was way worse than that. It was a nervous born from ineptitude maybe… or worse, from some prevailing odium which followed them around like that cartoon character with the dark cloud always above him. Nevertheless, these were not cartoon characters. Far from it. Her customers did not come to the brothel looking for a good time. These people, men and women, came with a different purpose; for the chance to be alone (if only for a short while) with someone whom they could control, someone they could dominate, someone they could show the very opposite of a good time. And Angel had the look they sought; that callow, guileless look these insecure types craved. Poor little Angel’s diminutiveness made her ripe for domination.
And it was not just men. Angel attracted women too; couples, lesbians, or sometimes even lesbian couples. Always the hard core lesbians. The “butch” ones. The cropped haired, masculine ones, and the ones who had begun “the change”. The scarred and breast-less ones who sought out a paid professional, as professionals lacked the option to back out after being introduced to said lesbian’s clinically contrived attempts at manliness.
Poor little Angel humored them all, best she could. After all, she was one of them; those diffident, nervous types. She understood them. There was empathy for them inside her, even as they hurt her. It was somehow in her heart to help them. Wasn’t she as meek and misunderstood as they were? Wasn’t she also bullied and looked down upon? Wasn’t she the eternal subject of humiliation, degradation, and lewdness? By God, didn’t she allow the most disdainful of them to have their ways with her, so long as it did not become too violent? Angel was so used to being pounded on from behind for long stretches by strangers with no interest in ejaculation that she had grown to expect it, and of having her tiny bottom slapped pink by a calloused, masculine hand as she was pounded, or worse, being sprayed in a golden shower afterward. But, “it was ok,” Angel always reminded herself while catching her breath, and while cleaning herself up, and while counting her money at the end of the night. It did not hurt that bad, nor for that long, and it was a kind of therapy she was supplying to them, the saddest and most destitute of people, was it not? It made Angel feel better when she applied a virtuous spin to it all. “It is not only profitable work,“ is what she often told herself after a bad night, “it is good work.”
Now then, with this dismal setting properly set our story may begin. Having read to this point you will not fail to understand Angel’s happy surprise at the prospective client who walked in early in the evening on this particular night and bee-lined straight for her. The woman was not at all Angel’s “type”. She was neither shifty, nor weaselly. Rather, this woman approached Angel’s corner table with a warm, friendly smile. She was singularly attractive, not young, but not old either. The woman’s make-up was as light as her perfume was. Her hair was pulled back and uncolored. Her clothing was of good quality, and was conservative in style. She had the refined look of a professional type, of a doctor maybe, and would have looked comfortable in a lab coat. And the woman’s demeanor was spot-on for her appearance with her naturally inquisitive eyes, and her shoulders confidently set, so much so that Angel’s hopes for the night actually rose. Surely such a woman as this had not come to her with degradative aims?
Angel’s instincts were only partially wrong.
”Hello! Angel, isn’t it?”
”Yes. Have we met?” Having chosen it herself, and having been decently raised, the name still left her a little uncomfortable to use. “Of course, Angel isn’t my ‘real’ name.”
The woman did not mean to cut, but her words were sharp, nevertheless. “I should think not.” The glimmer in the woman’s eyes vanished for just a tick, then was back, although stiffer. “No, we have not met. I am Beverly Vypont. I have a proposition for you. Do you mind if I sit?”
Curious, but also stung, Angel remained negligent with her invitation, exhaling a pointed and impolite stream of smoke in the woman’s direction while gesturing towards the seat opposite her own.
Beverly Vypont waited patiently for the smoke to clear before slipping properly into the offered chair. “I came by this afternoon and spoke with Carmen, your manager. She described you to me, suggested that I look for you.”
”Oh, how nice of her.” There was no emotion in Angel’s voice. Carmen had “recommended” her to this woman? So… this would likely be bad after all.
”May I explain my situation?”
”Sure. Why not?” Angel snuffed out her cigarette, the better to listen.
The woman paused, scanning the table as if for a drink. Catching the clue, Angel rose. She was, after all, a servant, if a barely dressed one. “What can I get you?”
”Whiskey. Neat. Thank you.” Beverly Vypont watched Angel circle the bar, liking what she saw. This girl Angel was just as Carmen had described her, youthful and pretty if a bit sharp featured. The girl wore nothing but a very short, scarlet negligee. The legs sticking out from below it were thin, pale, and a bit knock-kneed, but that was alright. It would not matter. Willingness was the key, and Carmen had hinted that this girl would brave just about anything. The whiskey Angel brought back was cheap, biting harshly at Beverly’s tongue, much as this mission did, but that did not matter, either.
”Now then. What is it you want from me?” Angel’s half-smile did not reach her eyes.
Right to the point, Beverly thought. Fair enough. “I need a woman for my son.”
Angel laughed dismissively. Usually it was the father with such a proposition, not the mother. “Why not just bring him in then, Lady. We’ve all done that trick here.”
Beverly Vypont was not laughing. “It is not that simple.”
Of course not. Angel cursed her bad luck. It was never that simple, not for her. “All right then, spit it out already. Why isn’t it that simple?”
Beverly Vypont’s eyes leveled on Angel’s own, looking through them into her very soul, striking Anne’s callous indignity a shameful hammer blow when she said it. “My son is dying.”
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Anne would have dropped her head into her hands were this Vypont woman not holding her hypnotized with her eyes. Could she never just get a “normal” guy?
“Dying can mean a lot things? What do you mean when you say it?”
”He is bedridden now, under hospice care. He has weeks, at most.”
”Well, how do you intend to get him here then?”
”I’m not. You will have to come with me. Carmen said it would be ok.”
Angel somewhat controlled her belligerence. “Carmen said? Screw Carmen, I’m not leaving here and going God knows where with some deranged woman who wants me to fuck her dying son!”
”I’ll pay you $100,000.”
Angel had been leaning forward over the table, the better to hear the woman’s whispered tones, but she sagged back now, her determination to say “no” whooshing out of her like air from a poorly patched tire. “$100,000? Jesus! Lady, are you batshit crazy? What do you expect me to do with him for that kind of money?” Her nosed curled with displeasure at the very thought of it.
Beverly Vypont refused to let this whore’s vile words rile her. ”I don’t know, honestly. I know he can get an erection, but I don’t know if he can feel anything… you know… down there. But he asked me for this, for a woman, and at this point I will give him whatever I can.”
Angel reached again for her cigarette pack. “What is wrong with him?”
”ALS. Lou Gehrig’s Disease. It’s a…”
”I know what ALS is. I’m not stupid.”
”Of course not. I did not mean to imply…”
”Whatever. Forget it. Fucking Carmen…. why me?” That last part was not intended to be spoken out loud, though it was.
”You don’t have to, you know? I can ask someone else.”
”For 100 grand? Not on your life! I’d blow a grizzly bear for 100 grand! I’ll do it, but sheeesh… it’s messed up, Lady.”
Beverly Vypont missed the attempted humor. Her reply was tight-lipped, and was spoken with a raised eyebrow. “You are talking about my child, ‘Lady’. And believe me, his life is much more messed-up than yours.”
”Oh! Yea. Sorry... though I kind of doubt that last bit is true.”
Having witnessed the worsts of God and man an Angel treads fearlessly forth, for in the darkest of pits goodness doth dwell, waiting to be awakened.
Beverly Vypont opened the door and waited, making way for a hesitant Angel to enter first. It was too large a room for a bedroom, though there was a bed in its center; the hospital type of bed with a button to raise its patient to a sitting position, and then to lower them again for sleeping. The bed was currently partially raised. The room was dark but for the soft, bluish glow of an electronic halo which encircled the headboard while somehow reaching without diminishment into the furthest corners of the room through air already weighted with the sickly odors of antiseptics, the odors and lights tangling together with the sounds of sucking oxygen and the consistently quiet beep of a heartbeat monitor. These were, Angel instinctively knew, the sights, smells, and sounds of an approaching death so close by as to leave her reverently docile.
”Christian? This is Angel.” There was obvious emotion in Beverly Vypont’s voice, enough to pull at Angel’s own heartstrings, dragging her into a fervent state as well. “She’s come for you.” The woman’s voice literally broke with that said. She backed quickly out of the doorway then, pulling it to behind her, leaving Angel practically alone in a room filled with fears.
Despite them, and with only the briefest hesitation, Angel tip-toed ever so slowly to the bed’s side. She had to see, didn’t she? What it was she was in for? He was truly little more than a boy. His head did not turn toward her as Angel came into his vision, though his eyes looked side-wise at her with something akin to terror in them. Angel understood that. She was afraid too. How to begin? What to do? How to do it? What if she hurt him, or unplugged something important? Hell, he might not even want her.
Angel started with the obvious. “Hi?”
He held a blow tube between his clenched lips. Her eyes followed its meandering tube down to a box that was connected by wire to another box which was in turn connected to an IV bag whose tube ran back down and into his arm. Rather than trying to reply around the blow tube the boy closed his eyes for a long second before reopening them, making Angel immediately aware that this was how he communicated, with his eyes. “Would you like to be friends, Christian?”
Angel was not sure how to feel when the eyes slowly closed and reopened. Part of her was repulsed, but a larger part was already reaching for the soul inside the boy’s emaciated shell. She could see it in there, hiding behind his silence, a young man as desperate to love as she was to be loved. “Good” she said. And she meant it. “I would like that, too.” Her smile wasn’t forced anymore. There was a chair beside the bed, so Angel removed her overcoat and draped it over the chair’s back, leaving herself in the same skimpy, silky red negligee she’d been wearing before, when Beverly Vypont had first approached her in the brothel. While beside the chair she sat down and removed the ridiculously tall shoes she’d put on for the ride over... anything to appear taller. Returning to the bedside she decided to make things easy. With either hand she pushed at the strings holding the “nightie” to her shoulders, letting it slide off and around her ankles so that she stood naked before him. She was pleased to see that Christian’s eyes widened again, but not with fear this time. They fell to her breasts, which was the only part of her he could actually see for the bed’s height. She giggled as his face actually blushed when he looked back up at her, his shame obvious in them.
”It’s ok to look,” she assured him.
And to show it was ok, she looked down too. It was her turn to be embarrassed. They were so small. Why in God’s name had the mother chosen her for this? Any of the other girls would have been better for this boy, though even as he looked there was a rustle of movement from under the bedsheets. They were apparently big enough. “Are they all right? They aren’t very big.”
The boys’ eyes closed and then re-opened, remaining on her body. She reached for his hand, finding it twisted, its fingers curled up tight as a rubber band, the arm it extended from pale, emaciated and weak. It was nothing for her to pick the hand up, as there was literally no opposing force, neither muscular nor gravitational. The hand was cold, so she gathered it up in both of her own, warming it, massaging it futilely in an attempt to relax what could not be relaxed. “You are so cold. Would you mind if I warmed you?”
The eyes closed and opened once more.
Letting go of the hand, she reached for his blankets, pulling slowly at them, respecting his shame and distrust. His body was wasted away, his ribs pushing birdlike against pale skin, their cage protruding overtop a starved abdomen, but there was nothing shrunken about one part of him. In fact, that part, being non-muscular, stood tall, swollen and purple with life. Ignoring it, Angel climbed in beside him, pulling the covers back over them both. “Is this ok?”
The boy’s muscles might be atrophied and weak, but there was nothing wrong with his skin, which thrilled at her warmth, and at the softness of her skin against his own. His eyes closed for a longer moment this time, and then reluctantly re-opened in acknowledgement. Angel rolled onto her side, so that she could see him better, and he her. She slid one knee forward until it rested gently atop his thigh. She had been with many people, and she was finding this one not so different after all. She could please him. It would be good work to please him. Who had she ever pleased who needed it more than this boy? She placed her hand on his chest, and was gratified to see his eyes close as her hand began to rub, massaging its warmth into him.
”You like that, don’t you?” There was no response from him, but she was not fooled. She correctly suspected that he had never been touched in this way. After a moment she allowed her hand to slide down to his stomach, and her thigh to slide up his until it touched his nether region, pulling an audible moan from the poor boy, followed by a puff into the tube in his mouth, which brought a beep from the box attached to the IV stand. This was going much easier than she could have expected. She blew lightly into his ear then, causing another moan, and another puff, and another beep. She whispered into his ear then, that thing every man wants to hear from a woman, “You are very big down there.” She wondered what it must feel like to hear that, and to be unable to respond? To be unable to reach for the woman who said it, unable to climb atop her at her invitation, unable to take her in any way that a man might take a woman.
In that moment Angel understood the mother, why she would go so far to give her son this, this… most beautiful of things… for this was, in it’s very essence, love... the joining of two into one. And in this moment Angel found herself loving the boy, her heart swelling for him and his condition, her throat choking for him, and her tears welling for him, almost as though he were her own. And in this moment, alone together in this room of death, and in this bed of love, wasn’t he was hers and no one else’s? And wasn’t she his, and wouldn’t she forever be his? Unabashedly then she went for it, going down and taking him into her mouth. If she would be the only lover the boy ever knew, then she would be a proper one! Through her tongue, and through her lips she felt the pulse of life in him, and she smelled the familiar smells of man and woman, and she heard both his puffing and the beeping of the infernal box through her own blood-stoppered ears, and as she felt his weakened body stiffen to climax she pulled away and climbed atop him, sliding herself onto him with her own audible moan. He felt good inside her, normal. Emaciated he might be, but he was a man, she was a woman, and they were meant to be this way together... only it was at that very moment that realization struck her.
Opening her eyes, she watched with an increasing curiosity as he puffed into the tube, inhaling through distended nostrils, exhaling through tightened lips. Like before, her eyes followed the tube down and around to the little white box which emanated its annoying beep with each of his breaths. Continuing on, she saw where the IV entered the box, and where it exited on the bottom side. And closer to his arm, with each puff of his mouth, and each beep of the box, she watched as liquid was pushed through the needle in his arm, into his veins, into his blood. His eyes were closed now, his body relaxed, the heart monitor sluggish for a moment before suddenly turning frantic. Oh, shit!
“Christian?”
Nothing. No movement. No tenseness, and only a limpness inside her. “Christian? Are you there? Open your eyes if you can hear me, Christian?” Despairingly she leapt, more than climbed, from the bed. What had she done? What had they made her do? What had they done to her? To him? On trembling legs she begged, “Christian? Please Christian, answer me?” And then more urgently, “I need you to answer me, Christian!”
Nothing. She screamed then, Angel did. She screamed, and she cried, standing naked and alone beside him, but the boy never woke, and the mother never heeded her calls, and God, as ever, ignored her, He having new and more important matters to address, and new souls to welcome…
She had chosen poorly, Angel had, both in name and profession. This loving humans is no easy task.
The gift
Instructions: Open on your 25th birthday - please recycle the wrapping paper mindfully.
Contents:
One mirror - which allows you to see yourself as you truly are. With every flaw and blessing clearly shown - to motivate you to always evolve and understand who you are and how you are. It will be painful to look into the mirror - but all growth is accompanied by pain and struggle.
One healthy dose of self-confidence - perhaps not everyone needs this, but for those who did not grow up in homes where they were made to feel safe and where their voice mattered, here is a nice dollop of self-confidence. It's a quiet dose, that just allows you to listen to your inner voice more, that has the ability to make you believe you are worthy of being treated well. That gives you the confidence to take that risk, pursue that dream, make that art, take that trip, ask that cute person out.
One never-ending gratitude journal - Your life is a gift, this day is a gift. The air you breathe is a gift. This journal is a gentle reminder to acknowledge these gifts each and every day. A life focused more on appreciating what you do have, than what you don't, will be a life filled with contentment, happiness and joy. It will also help you to take care of the things you do have, the pets, the people, the house, the car.
One healthy dose of compassion - for yourself, your parents, the postman, the bus driver and everyone in this world. Because everyone is going through something, everyone has pain - and when we take a step back and realise a bad day doesn't equate to a bad person, and that behaviour is never personal, we gain a much more holistic appreciation of life. Even animals get grumpy sometimes. Not every day can be a great day, some days will be miserable. On those days, you need radical self-compassion and to make sure your bad mood isn't thrown in the faces of other people. Spread joy, not misery.
One pair of rose-tinted glasses - to help you see the beauty in the small things. The delicate petals of a flower, the relaxing hum of a bee, the vibrant colours of the sunrise and sunset. That delicious crunchy apple. Really taste it, really revel in the beauty of the world. There is so much and often we don't even see it.
One letter: Dear 25-year old, welcome to a quarter of a century. You probably feel old today, but I promise you that life stretches before you like a giant, unexplored forest and there are so many directions in which you can venture. Tread lightly on the earth, for she is delicate and sensitive. Listen to the whispers of your heart. It's never to late st start over, to make amends, to evolve and be a better person. Mistakes are part of life, they are part of growing. Embrace your mistakes, learn from them - they are part of the process. Remember the conversation never ends, as long as both people are still talking. If there are misunderstandings, just talk it out until you find common ground. Don't be afraid to be bad at something, it's the first step to becoming good at it - if you can learn to enjoy the process of learning, then you can learn anything. Be kind to yourself, you are becoming.
Happy birthday. I hope you use your gifts well.
Book Five - Part Ten - Ending Evil: Chapter Ten
A Wintery Weekend In Montie
By 3:30, the temperature were already at zero with a ten-mile an hour wind. Traffic was slow but steady and the jail was filling with several of the homeless men and women, while others were housed at a nearby motel over the weekend and their meals comped by the city.
By five, it was almost completely dark and cars traveling were much fewer. Going out and about on a night like tonight just didn’t appear to be the right thing to do.
This Friday night was one of those times when hot tea and hot soup seemed to be the perfect choice to take the chill out of your bones.
Other homes cranked their heaters up an extra ten degrees or plugged in an electric fireplace, or even used the real thing and dropped a log or two into an existing fire and sat close by to enjoy the natural heat that seemed to relax people and bring contentment.
But Montie itself was tucked away from the outside world that could slice right through you if you weren’t careful. It was every bit that kind of cold.
Ed and Stevie, Ellie, and her parents, would already be set up in their hotel rooms. Stevie would spend about two hours in one of the hotel’s meeting rooms to have a team meeting and listen to what Coach Claymoore had to say.
Baker and Leon, after eating grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches and chicken-noodle soup, sat on the couch and watched a movie. It was an older DVD, but one Leon had never seen: The Teenage Ninja Mutant Turtles. Leon laughed and laughed throughout, and surprisingly, Baker found it funny all over again, or maybe it was Leon’s laughter who had her laughing so.
Later, after Leon went to bed, she went into her bedroom, opened the bottom dresser drawer, and pulled out a white shoe box holding several important papers. Opening it, she dropped in the small white box Satchell gave her earlier and it sat next to a pair of bronzed baby shoes and Stevie’s birth certificate. Then her phone rang.
She dived across the bed and picked up the extension. Two rings. “Baker.”
“Hey, mom!”
“Hi, Stevie. Did you guys get all settled in?”
“Yeah. Ed’s in the shower and says hi. We had a big team meeting tonight and dinner here was good.”
“Sounds like a fun time.”
“It would be even better if you were here.”
“I know. I wish I could be there. At least I can wish you much luck and good fortune over the next few days. Leon and I will be cheering all of you on. So will the city.”
“Mom, if we win tomorrow and Tuesday, we’ll be in the Final Four. Do you think you might be able to come out here then and watch the game?”
“You bet-cha, Bub. Leon and I will be there to see you win State as well. That’s how confidant I am.”
“We think we can, too. I love you, mom. See you soon, okay?”
“You know ….”
Hell, he did it again. Get over it, Jan.
Book Five - Part Ten - Ending Evil: Chapter Nine
Kyoto, Japan – 1:15 p.m.
Lee walked into an expansive waiting area. Behind a modest desk sat a thin, but attractive secretary he suspected to be in her early twenties.
“Nanika otetsudai shimashou ka?” (Can I help you?)
Lee handed her a business card he had received at the airport in Albany from a man named John Steele.
"Yes. I believe I have an appointment to see Mr. Taniko."
Lee and John struck up a conversation as he was waiting for his jet to fuel up. John learned that Lee was a recently discharged veteran and wanted to do a human-interest story. Lee said he would let him know and since he found out John Steele would also be in Japan for a cover story about foreign industrialists, and that he had a good eye for detail, Lee altered his features enough to resemble Steele while flying across the country. Without him realizing it, he was doing what Freddy did.
“Hai, sutīru-san. Chotto matte kudasai.” (Yes, Mr. Steele. Just a moment.)
Lee took a seat to the left of her desk as he watched her pick up her phone.
“Taniko-san, a John Steele from the New York Times is here to see you. Yes sir, I will tell him.” She set the phone down.
“Mr. Steele-san, he will see you in a moment.”
“Thank you. I’m impressed. Your English is exceptionally good.”
“It is because of the number of various businessmen, Taniko-san comes into contact with, my position requires me to be fluent in several languages; as also is Taniko-san.”
Her phone buzzed once. She picked it up, then set it back down again.
“You may go in, Mr. Steele-san.”
Lee stood, then opened a door she4 pointed out, and he stepped through an open archway into a brightly lit room with several glass cases surrounding the walls in Taniko's office, some of which held Japanese artifacts such as Katan swords, Toso Masuku's (painted masks), and many different cuts and styles of glass and pottery designs.
Behind his desk w2as a large painting which appeared to be an original of two feudal nations at ward hundreds of years ago. Two walls were covered with a silken coverlet with Japanese lettering inscribed. Another wall was filled with a six-foot, six-shelfed bookcase with a variety of books on mining, manufacturing, and mine construction. The remaining wall was mostly a large picture window with an excellent view of Kyoto.
Lee already knew there would be no paperwork to exclaim the hundreds of millions of dollars Taniko makes exporting drugs worldwide. That was only part of the reason he was in his office.
“Sutīru-san, yōkoso (welcome). What is it your New York Times wish from me? If you seek an interview, I can have Taimashi, my secretary, schedule you an appointment. To be quite forward, I do not have time to talk with you today.”
"Actually. what I want, I don't think you want her to know about, and you will make time for me."
"I am afraid I do not understand Steele-san."
Lee reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper and slid it across Taniko's desk. Taniko opened the sheet and read a portion of names listed, many whom he .recognized.
Taniko licked his lips nervously, then raised his head slowly, until his eyes were level with Lee's
"Where did you get these names?"
"Where I got them from isn't important."
"What do you want from me?"
"I want what they and others like them want. Some fine music, good drugs, and exceptionally great sex."
"You do not, as it is said, beat around a tree. Do you prefer young boys, or young girl?"
"Girls."
“When and where?”
“Tonight. I want them where you do all your filming and editing. I want what I do, on film.”
"It is expensive." "Trust me. Money isn't a problem."
Lee reached inside his coat and pulled out a thick envelope and threw it on Taniko’s desk. I'm sure you can convert that easily enough. It adds up to a hundred thousand."
Taniko relaxed and for the first time, smiled. Reaching for his pen, he grabbed a sheet of paper and wrote down his address and time. He pushed it across the desk.
"Steele-san, please, I will have dinner prepared for us at seven this evening. I would be most honored to have you as my guest."
"And the rest."
"I will have it all arranged. All you ask for is below my home."
"Then I'll see you at seven."
"Nihon wa anata o kengei suru." (Japan welcomes you.)
"Domo arigatogozaimashita." (Thank you very much.)
"Koeidesu." (It is my pleasure.)
As to Mitsu Taniko, he would have the American’s money looked over to make certain it wasn’t marked. If all checked out, he would proceed with Steele-san’s request.
Meanwhile, he would have Taimashi call the New York Times to confirm they do have a John Steel who works for them. If any problem arose, Taniko has four men, he pays very well to dispose of his body.
Book Five - Part Ten - Ending Evil: Chapter Eight
Thursday – January 3rd
The Squad Room – 8:39 a.m.
“I have gone over the report of the shooting where we lost Savage and Sadowski yesterday. I worked it over several times to ensure those men arrested, will not be able to get out of a large lengthy sentence with any lawyer that represents them.
“Carl Macklin is working with the families on viewing and burial arrangements and once he finds out the dates and times, we’ll be notified. As to the Projects, I am hereby tripling the number of units that will patrol the area and that will remain in effect until otherwise noted. No unit will go in their alone, and with three units available 24/7, additional backup will still be available. We will not lose another man or woman, due to an oversight. Units will rotate week to week. And, to gain additional support, we will be placing employment availability for an additional thirty-eight officers.
“For those who want to attend tonight, be at Benny’s Pub at seven. You all know the drill. Now, if no one has any questions, then get out there and please—stay safe, and keep our streets safe.”
The room cleared as bodies stood, pushing chairs out of the way, making screeching noises, that, over the years have left striped skid marks. It gave the room, like those who came in and sat down five days a week, character. But on this particular movement, no voices were heard, even in slight mumbles. It was cops thinking about two of their own. It could have been one of those who walked out the door just then. Cops are a unique and different kind of brotherhood.
Baker stopped in the break room to get a cup of coffee and went from there to her office to look into her last and only unsolved missing person’s report. It would do her good to focus on something else other than yesterday.
She knew it would be a lost cause but lost or not, she would still do what had to be done. An end result might happen today, next week, next month, next year or ten years from now, but for the sake of the family, the sake of justice, and for the sheer fact she wanted to bring closure to a mother and father, and friends.
Tina Yeager. She would turn thirteen in two more months. This was really out of her jurisdiction, as Tina’s disappearance happened off the southeastern coast of Florida. She lived in Montie but went on vacation to Florida with her parents. But Tina was a hometown girl and Baker wasn’t about to wait patiently for a call from the police there she knew would probably never call.
She tapped keys to enter onto South Miami’s police website. Using her police identification number, she was able to look under missing persons, and after thirty seconds, found Tina’s picture. Still listed. Nothing new added. Baker covered other areas of the site including rapes and murders; solved and unsolved. Nothing.
The only logical conclusion to Tina’s disappearance is that if did in fact drown, the current would have pulled her body further and further away from the mainland into the Atlantic, meaning; she could have been dinner for a shark or two, or, she could have been swept along the Gulf as far west as Texas or even Mexico. If that happened, alligators and/or crocodiles would have gotten to her first. Nothing would be left of her to find … or identify.
Her phone rang.
“Baker.”
“Yes, this is Captain Ryan Collins, Houston PD.”
“Houston? What can I help you with?”
“We found a portion of an arm down here and have run it through forensic testing.”
Baker sat up in her chair.
“What did you find?”
“It wasn’t easy, but they were able to extract portions of what bone marrow they could, and although the skin, what there was left of it, was extremely rotted out, they were able to get two good samples of skin grafts to conduct the testing.”
Baker thought, no wonder J.W. moved north. Texas police are slow talkers.
“If you would, Captain Collins, I would appreciate it if you would cut to the chase.”
“I was about to. We, like most departments around the country, have a list of hits we respond to when it comes to things like this. The tests have confirmed the arm is that of a ten or eleven-year-old girl.”
“Save me some expectations here Captain, what is the girl’s name?”
“Yeager. Tina Yeager.”
Baker gasped, and her breath hitched for a moment. What are the odds.
“This will certainly be a huge relief for her parents, and for us.”
“Don’t get too excited. We’re still dredging the river in hopes to recover more body parts. You're also the last of sixteen agencies I’ve contacted.”
“I see. You won’t have to worry then. You’ve contacted the right place.”
“Give me your fax number, and I’ll forward the information on her DNA. If it matches the parents there, then we can put this one to sleep.” Baker did.
“I will see to it the parents are notified.” The fax printed out as she spoke. “I’ll make sure they have blood workups and a DNA test done and have it rushed to your labs for confirmation.
“If it matches up or not, fax me back the results. Before I forget, and I’m sorry for this, a bad habit of mine, but I often forget to mention this call is being recorded.”
Baker’s eyes rolled.
“It’s okay. I agree to it. No problem.”
“Thank you. Now if you would clearly state your title, badge number and name, please.”
Another inward sigh from her.
“Lieutenant, badge number 4751, Janis Baker-Manning, with a hyphen.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
After they were finally disconnected, Baker looked over a series of numbers bled black onto white paper. Numbers that may or may not prove to really be Tina Yeager.
Sitting away from her desk, she looked at the file, searched for the Yeager’s phone number and slowly punched in the ten-digit phone number.
“Hello.”
“Mrs. Yeager?”
Baker went on to tell her what she recently found out and explained she would drive out to her home and pick up her and her husband to go over to the crime lab where Carl Macklin, head of the Forensic and Special Investigation Unit would himself conduct the tests. She assured Mrs. Yeager the tests was a simple procedure. Baker would call Carl next and ask that he do so.
For a weeping mother on the phone, with hopes of her daughter returning home, the time began to prepare in truth for the closure that has never come.
For Baker, she prayed she wouldn’t have to make a call like this ever again.
The Rest of The Day in Montie
No one was shot. No one was robbed. No one died.
But the day wasn’t a happy one.
The Lucky’s and the Sadowski’s were in a void of nothingness. That sea of endless pain and grief that began with a fateful beginning, and with a seemingly never-ending ending.
For the Yeager’s, a long-awaited question, “Where is our little girl”, was finally answered.
Tears of grief and relief in the finally knowing, brought a husband and wife even closer and much stronger in their love and need for each other.
Lab results sent back to Texas confirmed what everyone had suspected.
There would be a private funeral arranged this day where little Tina Yeager will at long last be afforded a place to have the peace she deserves. Her parents will always continue to share that invisible hole inside each other, but over time, that hole would shrink but in truth, never wholly close. Two years later they would give birth to another daughter.
No one would know about the funerals for Larry Lucky and Mason Sadowski until the evening news.
At seven o’clock, fifty-three police officers were at Benny’s Pub, both off and on-duty. As with every police officer who loses their life, a tribute was said, shot glasses poured, then emptied, twice. As always, as the unspoken custom dictates, each glass was thrown against what is commonly known as Memory-Wall.
When night put her blanket over the city, streetlights aglow, giving the snow that had already settled into small drifts as if they were a coffin offered up by mother nature, many people would sleep easy. They would be the ones who had no idea what went on this day.
Others would lie awake throughout the night. Some would ask, “Why?” Others, thanking God the search is over.
Another day down, another one coming. Life is the final frontier.
Friday – January 4th
The Squad Room – 8:29 a.m.
“The families of Officer’s Larry Lucky and Mason Sadowski will be holing a private viewing this evening and have requested a small private service. The burial will take place tomorrow at eleven at both Morningside and Christian Belt Park Cemeteries. Those wishing to attend may do so, but it is also requested you arrive in civilian clothing.”
“What? I don’t get that,” said Phil Savage.
Satchel was back in the room. He inhaled, released his breath sharply.
“The families are distraught and shook up by what happened. Though neither side has vocalized it, I almost suspect they wouldn’t want us at the funeral at all.”
“What? Do they think it was our fault they are dead? These were our guys, Captain?”
“I hear you, Phil. I get it. But, they were also someone else’s father, husband, brother … son. I’m not going to ask any of you not to go, just be respectful, which I’m sure you are all capable of doing so.” Satchell stepped back, allowing Baker to resume the meeting.
“I will be on call this weekend if anything at all comes up. I don’t want to be left out of the loop on anything and everything that goes down.
“Streets aren’t too bad out there, but we could still have some driver situations. Again, round up any homeless out there and bring them in. Weatherman’s saying the temps could drop to ten below. Factor in the wind, you get the picture.
“Oh, and Phil? Don’t let what Captain Page said, affect you too much. The loss and grief the two families are feeling is normal. Given time, their feelings toward us will change.
They need time just as we’ll need time to get over the fact, we won’t see them walk through a set of doors or drive around town, keeping our city safe.
“Speaking of which; if no one has any questions, then get out there and stay safe and keep our streets safe.”
As everyone filtered out, Baker walked into Satchell’s office.
“Sorry you had to cut your vacation short Satch, but welcome back.”
“I know. Goes with the badge though. It pisses me off why we, the greatest country on the planet has to resort to violence to get what we want most.”
“That’s a question we could debate the rest of our life.”
“Very true. Anyway, have a seat. I was going to call you in here.”
Sitting across from Satchell she asked, “How is Samantha doing?”
“She,” said a semi-smiling Captain, “is doing very well.”
“You look like married life is agreeing with you as well.”
“I won’t get into it but let’s just say a half of a life that went into hiding, isn’t hiding any longer.”
Satchell reached down, opened a drawer, sat up and pushed a white box across his desk to her. She reached out with her right hand and fondled the cover. It looked like the type of box you would find jewelry in. She opened it.
Inside, lay a small round button made of bronze. It was about the size of a tiny pinky fingernail.
“Okay, I give up. What is it?”
“It’s a homing signal. The day you meet Freddy, you put this on your person. We can activate the tracking process just a few minutes before you two are face-to-face.
“That little device will alert us to the exact position you’re in at all times, just like a GPS would. When you get to where your destination spot will be, be it the front or back of the cottage, left or right side, we can at least have units in place at the very least, cover any and all exits, either by land or water. In the event you,”
“It’s okay, Satch. I got it. We both know this is a fifty-fifty deal. Freddy believes the same thing I imagine. Either I come out of this alive, or he does.”
“That’s what bothers me about this whole damn thing. You’ll be offered a flak-jacket to wear under your clothing. It will come with full sleeves and a pair of flak-pants. Depending on the weapon he uses and the power behind it; with this type of protection, other than a head shot, it should keep you alive.”
“Close range won’t help me any if that ends up being the case, Satch. Remember, we’ll each have a .38 Smith and Wesson, and a Bowie knife.”
“Yeah, Russian Roulette. Like I said before, I didn’t like this then, and I like it even less, now. At least with this device, we can at least contain Freddy.”
“What if for some reason he doesn’t show and changes his mind? I doubt that will happen, but what if?”
“That would make me extremely happy. If he doesn’t show, you can let us know by saying so. It also has a microphone the size of a pin needle inside. If he does show, say something to indicate his presence. It’s a one-way transmitter.”
“Cool. What did you do, go online and buy this thing?”
“It was something Carl and Huey put together in one of their lab units.”
“Huh? Thought they dealt in evidence, not advanced technology. How much do they know, Satch?”
“Just enough. Don’t worry. No one knows what is going to happen, really happen but for you and me.”
“And Ed. I finally told him. I still don’t know how to explain all this to Stevie. Right now, with the state games going on, I didn’t think this was the best time to tell him, and have him on edge during the playoffs, that he might be minus a mother.”
Satchell nodded.
“Understood. Let’s say for now the bases are covered. Come the day of deliverance, I will have everyone notified and the entire area surrounded, and that includes the lake and the airport. I promise you; he won’t slip by us this time.”
“We still have plenty of time for this, Satch, but I have a place to put this where I won’t forget when the time comes. Trust me; I’m counting down the days. All seventy-one of them, counting today.”
Book Five - Part Ten - Ending Evil: Chapter Seven
Tammy’s Ice-Cream Delights
922 State Street – 3:29 p.m.
Just three doors up from Melodies If You Please, Tammy Seville started closing up for the day. Ice-cream in winter? Yes, and it worked out well for Tammy, better than she even expected. What made her store intriguing to her customers, her different variations of ice-cream which were found to be far different than what you would find in the grocery stores or even Baskin-Robbins for that matter.
She made all of her own ice-cream she sold in either cups or cones, pints, quarts, half-gallon, and gallon containers in 99 unusual flavors. It took her a few weeks to get the first batch ready and another two weeks to train her help. But she had the room. Two large walk-in freezers and six freezer-mixers to work with. Now that she was ahead of the game, if necessary, in one day she could actually churn out three-hundred gallons of ice-cream in all 99 flavors without batting an eye. Of course, having three employees make it easier.
Besides her ice-cream, Tammy also made and sold ice-cream cookies and cakes, ice-cream floats, sundaes, and her specialty: ice-cream cakes for birthday parties that she would sculpture to look exactly like the person having the birthday.
Being an artist, she saw her opportunity to take a dessert she enjoyed (5’1, 225), and bring it to a new and fun level. Montie, her hometown, Tammy felt it was the best place for her to set up shop.
She had sold a few of her paintings at a gallery in Spain last year that gave her some recognition and then managed to land another art gallery showing in Boston that earned her even more money.
She took that money she earned, along with her life savings and is living a dream she’s chased for fifteen years. Ice-cream Designer. Go figure.
With everything cleaned up, it was time for her to drive her van over to the Arena. She had five hundred gallons of ice-cream in the back, and it would all be given away free, in part of the celebration of the Pythoners going after the state championship again.
All in all, Tammy felt like she was on top of the world.
It felt good to be back home.
Getting inside her van to drive off, she quickly looked up at a pale blue sky that would soon be crept upon by darkness and whispered, “I made it, mom, and dad. I love you both.”
Montie Arena – 4:00 p.m.
The noise level inside the Arena would put most NFL stadiums to shame. Each time Coach Claymoore announced a team member’s name, the decimal level only increased.
Each time a player came to the podium to say a few words, the high-school band would play, “We Are Family” or “We Will Rock You”. Channel 08 Sports were on hand for interviews after each player spoke, and even NBC, ABC and ESPN were there, of which the latter was a surprise. It had become an adventure none of the players would ever forget.
Then came Coach Claymoore’s final introduction.
“This next young man, my goodness, what can I say? He has been through more adversity than any young man should ever have to face and endure, but by God … he did.
“I don’t think anyone in this Arena right now would have given him half a chance to be where he is today. But honestly, the way he thinks, the way he acts, I believe he would just shrug his shoulders and say, you’re wrong, just watch me.
“Okay, enough praise for this young man. Come up here, Stevie. Stevie Baker, ladies, and gentlemen!”
It took better than twenty minutes before quiet finally took control and Stevie spoke.
“Thanks, Coach, for the kind words. Outside of my mother and stepfather, your words, your expressions mean a lot to me. Without you, we wouldn’t have gotten as far as we have.”
The whistles, handclapping and yelling cranked up another notch for a few minutes. Stevie raised his hands. The crowd quieted down.
“Just like Dale and Ron, Carl, and Pete, and all the rest of the guys said, we are a team. We play to keep it together. We play because we enjoy the game. We play because now, out of all the years the Pythoners have been in existence, we finally have the opportunity to put a trophy in our school trophy case that’s never been there before, and that’s the New York State Championship title!”
The crowd roared. Baker was smiling so much. She never felt the tears of joy running down her face. She clutched Ed’s hand in one and Leon’s in the other.
“This year, as most of you have known, we have dedicated this season to Jimmy Kerrigan; and for Jimmy, for Montie High, and for all of you out there who took the time to fight the frigid weather to get here, I promise you, we will bring the championship home to Montie!
“Thank you.”
The crowd went wild over Stevie’s last words. Baker, Ed, Leon, Ellie, and parents of the other players were beaming over their sons. Coach Claymoore grinned. Promise? Well, Coach would give it all he had. He knew the team would as well.
It was a good day all around. He saw the ice-cream lady. Walking through the crowd of people after the ceremonies ended, he finally made his way to where she was. Handing out ice-cream.
“How about a scoop of that Velvet Chocolate, young lady.”
Tammy looked up and smiled.
“Certainly, Coach.”
Taking the cone from her and taking a lick, he looked at her and said, “Yummy. You named this right. Your parents would be really proud of you.” Then he turned and walked over to the press.
What a day, he thought.
Baker-Manning Home
111 Homestead Lane - 5:12 p.m.
As everyone was entering the house, Stevie grabbed the mail from the mailbox.
“Ed, this looks official and important, and it’s addressed to you.’
Taking the envelop, he looked at the return address then quickly opened it and pulled out a single page.
“Good news or bad, Ed,” asked Baker.
After scanning through the five paragraphs, Ed’s eyes lit up and a smile creased his face.
“Oh, it’s good news, Jan. This is from Buffalo informing me that if I want to take the bar exam, I have to notify them in ten days to be placed for the testing. The test itself is the twentieth of this month. It also says I will get an email ten days after the testing on my results and if I pass, my name will be added to the New York Law Journal.”
“This what you have been waiting for, working for, Ed. Eighteen days from now, you’ll be a full-fledged attorney.”
“Provided I pass.”
“With all the studying you have done, you better pass. If you don’t, then no dinner for you and you go straight to your room,” laughed Stevie.”
Leon had a puzzled expression.
“I don’t get it. How hard can it be to pick up a bar, look at it and say, yeah, it's a bar."
The Projects – North End – 5:19 p.m.
Both Lucky and Sadowski had seen the transaction going down amongst six people; two blacks, one white, and three Chicano’s.
They called dispatch knowing full well they would need backup.
Drugs in Montie isn’t on the same scale as a New York City, Chicago, Detroit, or DC; but drugs are drugs and be it small or big time, dealing in drugs is still a felony.
Three cars pulled in and had all the exits leading to the street covered. Lucky and Sadowski stepped out of their car just as two other officers, Franklin and Mahoney had. Weapons drawn, telling those who were busted to lie face down on the concrete.
But there was one person they never saw, a Chicano in the backseat with a Mac-10, who unloaded on Lucky and Sadowski and tried to get Franklin and Mahoney, at the same time.
There were four other officers who found cover at varying distances and opened fire on the shooter.
The two black men, three Chicano’s and the white male, all tried to make a run for it, two of which grabbed weapons they had first surrendered: a Colt Magnum .357, and an older Walther P-38. They were running and shooting at the same time. It was a madhouse!
More units were called in. Franklin took a bullet in his upper right thigh and Mahoney was hit in the left shoulder. The other four officers meanwhile, unloaded on the runners and apprehended the remaining men who gave up, but not before killing the shooter in the car. The two who tried to run were wounded but not badly enough where they would be in a hospital for long.
They would be charged with possession of an illegal substance, cocaine, hashish, and opium. There would also be additional charges of attempted murder against Franklin and Mahoney. They would also be charged with the murders of officers Lucky, and Sadowski.
It had been quite some time since a police officer had been killed in the line of duty in Montie. Still, the residents, families, the entire makeup of Montie would, as with days past, stand strong, stand united, never wavering when tragedy strikes. Montie always managed to rebound and stand a little taller and a little stronger.
On this night, two families will grieve. Two families will feel the personal loss and pain of losing a husband, a father, a son.
Though it happened in the line of duty, let it also be remembered that another person died that day. Someone’s daughter. She was sixteen.
They say everything that happens, does so for a reason. On this particular day, no one could find a good enough reason.
The Baker-Manning Home
111 Homestead Lane – 5:42 p.m.
“Baker.”
“It’s Carl, JB.”
“Hey, Carl. What’s up?”
“I’m at a scene right now in the Projects. There was a major shootout. We lost two good men.”
“Who? And what went down?”
“From what I have seen, it was to start as a simple arrest. Then all hell broke loose when a shooter no one saw, in the backseat of a car, opened up Lucky and Sadowski. She was a sixteen-year-old girl, Marianna Gutierrez.
“I’ll contact the families after I do the prelims. Tomorrow, I’ll make arrangements with the mortuaries to handle closed caskets.”
“Closed?”
“Yeah. The shooter, Marianna, about wiped their faces clean off their shoulders.”
“My God!” Baker felt as if she had just been kicked in the stomach.
“Who’s the lead officer there?”
“Devon.”
“If he’s close by, put him on the line.”
Carl didn’t cover his phone and Baker heard him yelling for Devon to come to him. “It’s Baker. She wants to talk to you.”
“Lieutenant?”
“Listen, Devon. Get all you can on this. Any eyewitness reports, photographs, positions of all the bodies, as close to a timeline as you can, and put it on my desk when you come in.
I’ll be there in about twenty minutes. No missing words. No loopholes. Got that?”
“Got it.” He knew by the seriousness in her voice that he had better make certain any information, and evidence was rock solid.
Baker hung up and looked over at Ed and Stevie and told them what happened.
“Mom, I know you have to go. I’m good with it.”
“Sorry, Bub. I was hoping to see you guys off at the airport.”
“Jan, do what has to be done. What with Ellie and her parents along for the ride and the game, we’ll be busy anyway. Besides, I know what you’re feeling. We’ve been there too many times in the past.”
“Don’t worry about us, mom. Like I said, I’ll call you after the game.”
“You better.”
No, nothing ever seems to come easy in Montie, but for over two-hundred years, Montie gets a little stronger and a little prouder as times passes.
Book Five - Part Ten - Ending Evil: Chapter Six
Wednesday – January 2nd
Baker’s Office – 9:06 a.m.
After letting everyone know she would be handling Satchell’s duties while he was away, she decided today was as good as any other day to clean out her desk of useless items and pull some files to begin the next quarterly reports. She was finishing up with only her second drawer when there was a knock on the door. She looked up to see Lee Austin.
“Yes, Mr. Austin? Come in. What can I do for you?”
“Actually, Lieutenant, it’s what I can do for you. The name Carleton Vangard may mean nothing to you, but I think Manny Delgado might.”
“Delgado rings a bell.”
“It should. You arrested him about eight years ago.”
“I remember now. He tried robbing one of the branch banks in town.”
“I’m here to give you a heads up. He’s in town.”
“How do you know this?”
“I was having lunch at Lucy’s, and I overheard their conversation. Lieutenant, he plans to kill you.”
“You’re certain of this?”
“Like I said, I heard them talking. When they left Lucy’s, I saw them get in a green van and drive off.”
“How is it you know their names?”
“Like I said, I heard them talking. Vangard let Manny’s name just fall out of his mouth. The other thing, when I left Lucy’s and was driving back to my place, I saw them parked a block from the police station. I’m sure they were waiting on you to come out, so they could tail you.”
“Interesting. You wouldn’t happen to know where they are staying, would you?”
“No, but my guess is they’re staying at one of the motels on 60. Vangard said something about leaving something important in the room.”
“All right. I’ll have a few of my officers look into this, Mr. Austin. Thank you for the assistance and the information.
“How is your business working out for you? I spoke to your aunt the other day. She worries about you, but she said you already have a few clients.”
“Things are getting better all the time, Lieutenant. Couldn’t be better.”
Johnson County Airport – 11:16 a.m.
Once more, with the assistance of his pilot, Cragg, he took to the skies.
Lee had confirmed with Cragg that the package he wanted delivered, made its destination. Lee relaxed, knowing his idea would remove Delgado and Vangard off the streets for an awfully long time.
For now, his travel’s would require a few additional stops more than usual. After all, not even a Lear Jet can fly halfway around the world on a single tank of fuel. For this trip, he would have his own stewardess, Janice, on board to prepare his meals and for conversation, other than about his line of work. Half he would explain if she asked, the other half, he would not. It wasn’t her concern.
Chicago’s O’Hara Airport would be first, followed by Sea-Tac outside of Seattle,
Washington. From there it would be on to Juneau, Alaska, and from there to Sapporo, Japan, which houses a modest airport. Lee planned on getting at least six hours of sleep as well. He would need to be well-rested and on top of his game for what lay ahead.
Lee would spend three days in Tokyo.
According to the dossier, Mitsu Taniku, an industrialist in mining, construction, and manufacturing, also dealt in about five percent of the drug traffic that went through half his export business to the United States, Australia, and South America. It accounted for nearly one-hundred million dollars annually of the worldwide drug trade. At five percent of the drugs moved around the world; you do the math.
For that alone, Lee would love nothing more than to put a bullet in the man’s head.
But Mitsu also had his hands in the underground market as well. Illegal porn sites, prostitution utilized by young women bought and sold to the highest bidder.
Lee had been thinking if he could free some of those girls being used, he could save lives and return them back to families waiting on news, any news of their whereabouts, be they dead or alive. Ask any parent and they will tell you when it comes to their children, the not knowing kills their heart and soul more than anything else.
In truth, me may be able to save two or three at best. Usually, the girls are so far gone, being saved isn’t an option any longer. They could care less one way or the other. Sad, but true.
The other truth, Lee wasn’t an army. What he would do in the next three days would either work, or he could end up dead.
That was an option he didn’t find satisfying.
Motel Six – 1:56 p.m.
Several police cars converged in front of Room 231.
Both Carleton Vangard and Manny Delgado were arrested and handcuffed and taken to jail, while both were crying foul the entire time.
In the motel room and in the van, four handguns were found. Also in the van, six kilos of cocaine were found. Delgado and Vangard were screaming bloody hell over that one.
“That shit ain’t ours!” cried Vangard.
“Yeah, one of you fucking assholes planted that shit! This is a fucking set up! You hear me!”
“Yeah, we hear you Delgado. Lower your head and get in the car.” Larry said as he look over at his partner, Sadowski.
Manny raised his head back and struggled against Lucky to be heard.
“This is all your damned fault, Vangard! You and your big fucking mouth! Somebody heard you flappin’ your gums!” That quickly, Manny turned toward Baker. “And YOU! You one lucky bitch! I got a bullet with your name on it!”
Sixteen witnesses heard that. That statement alone would prompt the judge to tack on another ten years on top of the first ten to Manny’s sentence. Carleton ended up getting ten years for being an accomplice to commit murder.
All in all, it was a solid arrest.
Baker looked at Sadowski before she left and said, “Wasn’t that nice of Delgado? He actually engraved my name on a bullet. How sweet of him. Get their asses downtown.”
As Baker got back in her car, she quietly said, “Thanks, Austin.”
The Call - 2:56 p.m.
“Baker.”
“Lieutenant Baker?”
“Yes.”
“This is Johnson County Port Authorities.”
“Yes, what can I help you with?”
“We thought you might like to know a Lear jet took off from here at 11:15 this morning. It was logged in but never reported to our office until a just now, but we figured you would want to know.”
“Okay. Who is it registered to?”
“Paperwork read, Lee Austin.”
Baker sat upright in her chair.
“Did you say, Lee Austin?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Okay. Thank you.” Baker hung up.
He had just been in her office for a short time before he left, and now he’s on a jet. How did he get his hands on a Lear Jet? Business can’t be that good.
She called his cell phone.
He answered from 12,000 feet in the sky.
“Yes, Lieutenant, what can I help you with?”
“First, thanks again for the information. It paid off.”
“You’re welcome, but I hear another reason in your voice for the call.”
“Yes. Would you mind telling me where you are at the moment?”
“Not at all. Just passing Cleveland as we speak.”
“In a plane?”
“I’m certainly not jogging. It’s called a Maverick 360-C Lear Jet. Eight-seater, pretty much state-of-the-art.”
“How did you manage to get your hands on one of those?”
“I didn’t. It belongs to a client of mine.”
“According to the airport, it’s registered in your name as the owner.”
“I know, but the client set it up that way as he wants to remain anonymous.”
“I see. Sorry to take up your time.”
“Then, I’m not in any trouble?”
“No, but should you be?”
“I just hope I have no problems with this case I’ve taken.”
There was something he said right before he hung up that bothered her, but she wouldn’t interfere with his work unless he broke the law. And for the moment, she had nothing.
Before her day was over with, Lee would be the last thing on her mind, but that didn’t mean she forgot about him.
Looking at the clock, she saw it was time to get to the Arena. The parade from Montie High was under way and she didn’t want to miss any of the festivities that would happen or miss seeing Stevie waving to the crowd with his teammates.
Book Five - Part Ten - Ending Evil: Chapter Five
3345 Devonshire Way – 8:12 p.m.
Coach Claymore sat in his leather recliner and smiled the smile of a man who has been waiting for moments like the ones that have happened the last two seasons for a lifetime, and he gets a second chance at the state title.
Tomorrow, there would be a parade from the school to the Arena to celebrate the Pythoners victory. There would be more practice in the days ahead as the team prepared for one game at a time in the Gardens again.
Coach felt that tingling sensation run up across his left arm and could feel a slight constriction to his heart. Without thinking twice, he reached next to his hot tea to grab a plastic vial holding his nitro tablets. Pouring one onto his palm, he reached for his tea at the same time. Putting the tablet in his mouth, followed by two healthy gulps of water, it was only ninety-seconds before Coach felt the symptoms dissolving away. Twenty minutes later, he fell into a dreamless sleep.
1224 Clearfield Street – 9:07 p.m.
It took Lee longer than planned for, but he was finally able to find out who Manny Delgado and Carleton Vangard were. Both did time in Albany. Manny, however, was arrested and convicted in Montie. Attempted armed bank robbery of one of the branch banks. The arresting officer was a Sergeant Baker. Vangard’s arrest happened in Albany, three charges of possession with intent to distribute.
Both were released two months ago, and as he read, both were currently in violation of their parole. Lee surmised that Delgado talked Vangard into coming along for the ride, to help kill Baker.
Lee couldn’t allow that to happen, but he didn’t have anything on them to have Baker arrest them other than for being in violation. If she could find any handguns in their possession, that would give each of them the mandatory minimum of five years. Felony convictions prohibit the use of any type of weapon.
In five years, Delgado would be back. Compound any weapons on a parole violation, that could hold him for up to seven years, max.
Lee had an idea. He sent an email to Cragg. Gave him detailed instructions and an address. He knew it would work.
Book Five - Part Ten - Ending Evil: Chapter Three
Montie Arena – 7:35 p.m.
“Incredible, people. I wish you could have been here to see this!
“With only two minutes left in the game, Gerald, Anson, Ron Snyder, Dale Whittier and Carl Macklin Junior have scored thirty-two combined points since the start of the second half. Stevie Baker has scored eleven points since starting the fourth quarter.
“Breckenridge is down twenty-one points. No! Make that twenty-four! Baker just hit another three!
“Folks, the Montie Pythoners are on their way back for their second chance at the state title. With forty seconds left in the game, it’s all but over!
“Alright, Breckenridge has the ball, inbounding to Miller, who passes over to Redmond, and he passed it downcourt to Thomas. Thomas dribbles, spins around Whittier, stops and shoots and bangs it in for three! Thirty-one seconds remaining.
“Whittier inbounds to Macklin, Macklin to Baker, Baker back to Whittier. Whittier brings the ball up court as both Miller and Redmond double-team him but he somehow managed to arc the ball over both defenders and get the ball to Snyder. Nine seconds left on the shot clock. Snyder goes corner post and fakes a shot and passes to Anson, just outside the paint, brings himself up to the free-throw line and shoots, and scores!
“Eight seconds left in the game. The best Breckenridge can hope for is a three-pointer and a foul and somehow manage to get the ball back before time expires.
There they go! Miller passes a long ball to Redmond, who turns, fires for three, and it doesn’t go in! Pythoners ball! One second left! The Montie Pythoners are back in the hunt again! 88-64 is the final score!
“I’ll be back with interviews from the players and Coach Claymoore right after these words. Oh my, what a game!”
The Pythoners were stopped last year in the final-four round. This year, the Pythoners were determined to win it all.
But tonight, the team, the city, and a dozen set of parents were filled with pride.
On the way home while driving, Baker and Leon were talking and more excited perhaps than all the fans who were at the game. Ed and Stevie were joining in the conversation, laughing, and smiling the whole time.
Baker knew tonight wasn't the best time to tell either of them about the future plans she made with Freddy. She also knew she couldn’t wait forever.
Calvary Church of Christ – 11:59 p.m.
“By the power vested in me through Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior, and by the governing laws of the State of New York, I pronounce you both husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”
Satchell turned right as Samantha turned left and he took a half step forward, placing both hands around her waist and kissed her gently. Then they parted, turned away from Pastor Mackenzie and took a few shorts steps before Don shook his hand, then kissed his new sister-in-law. Pat hugged Satchell tightly.
“Third time’s the charm, Satch. I just know it is.”
He pulled back slightly and smiled saying, “I believe you, Pat.”
“Mr. Page?”
Satchell looked to his left and smiled even more.
“Yes, Mrs. Page?”
“Today, we start a new day, a new year, and...”
“And a new life together, Mrs. Page.”
The four of them went out for a late-night breakfast, from which Don and Pat left them to their own in the parking lot. With Satchell behind the wheel, Samantha, holding his one free hand, he drove them back to Samantha’s house.
Once they were at the front door and he opened it, he picked her up in his arms and carried her across a new threshold. It now became official. Whatever amount of time it would be, their honeymoon had just begun.
As he did though, Satchell had one final thought before they reached their bedroom.
“Sam, you’re my last stop in life.”