Irish: An Angel's Journey

by David Pollitt

  Chapter 9

  Grace’s Final Exam

  This part of downtown Denver was filled with abandoned warehouses wrapped by broken-down fences. Street people shuffled along, seizing sparse opportunities to beg for money and using well-rehearsed speeches. It was as if they went to school to learn inflection, pitifulness, mixed with a voice of sincerity. The girls looked back barely able to see the interstate and heard a trucker’s horn blasting through and around the Denver bypass, playing a rough facsimile of Victory in Jesus.

  "Willie!" they shouted together.

  They walked hand in hand through the dry hot streets with the concrete heat rising up and engulfing them. Grace wasn't complaining like on the desert, and Irish noticed. She was adapting thought Irish.

  "What exactly are we looking for?" asked Grace. She heard a piece of God's instructions when she woke, but not all of it.

  "You know our mission on earth as heir-servants is to provide protection, deliverance, provision, with healing as part of the whole package. We've repaired the human heart, repentance, and healing. We've brought healing and a human’s salvation. We've protected Willie from the rock incident along with getting a nice ride, protection. Now, you learn about provision. Seldom will you have an assignment that will only be one. Every human needs some if not all of those things God provides, especially, when you help a family. Sometimes we might go a step further and correct some very bad wrongs; some may call it retribution. Sometimes, it means leading the bad guys to the Lord, or it may mean bringing them down, exposing them. Whatever it takes to make things right, we do it. Most of the time, they'll never know it was us, but they will always wonder. No matter what you think about God's intentions for man, the children are the most important. God goes to great lengths to take care of them and bring retribution against those who harm them. We have a family to help and have some scores to settle. Everything is wrapped up in this one. It all depends on you. You must start and end it. Every decision will be yours. I'll just be along for the ride and do exactly what you tell me

  to do. You must make the first contact, using your savvy, your charm, and your love for God and man. You're up-to-bat, sweetie. This is your final exam."

  Grace was stunned. She couldn't imagine what was needed, although she had some idea. She didn't even know what being up-to-bat meant or what a final exam was, but she clearly got the gist of it anyway.

  As they rounded a corner, there were some kids playing basketball in a rundown, fenced dirt court with the basketball rim hanging by one bolt on part of a wood backboard but still usable. They stopped to watch. Grace noticed the small twelve-year-old Spanish boy, Hector, trying to get the best of a tall black kid, Cash, three years older. Hector never gave up and kept coming back, not letting up, and persistence was winning. They were both covered with dirt, but Grace could tell that Hector's dirt had been on him a long time while the other boy’s dirt was from hard play.

  God spoke to Grace and finished revealing the whole situation to her in a matter of seconds. She nodded knowingly, then changed her looks by tearing her jeans in several places and changing into rundown shoes with holes, then stepped on her ball cap and pushed her hair up under it out of the way.

  Hector made the final score and jumped around the goal pole excitedly, "You owe me a dollar!" shouted Hector.

  Cash said, "Well, maybe I need to take this ball and sell it to get your dollar. How about that? You little cheater! You didn't tell me you were so good!" He grabbed the ball from Hector and started to run away when Hector tackled him courageously.

  "Hey, what the heck are you doing? You're looking to get hurt, you little illegal." Cash had the ball against the ground with his back to Hector, and Hector sat on his back casually waiting for him to get up.

  "Boy, I'll pound you to dog meat when I get up. Now get off me!"

  He was frustrated at this kid perched on him. He already skinned his forearms and elbows with Hector's tackle. He hated it when stealing was so hard. He planned to steal Hector's ball from the very beginning, but Hector caught him completely by surprise. Normally, they just started bawling, and he'd keep running.

  "Give me my ball, and I'll let you up. Give me a dollar like you promised, and I'll not kick your butt. If you think I can't, you'll be finding out soon." Hector was pure grit, including street wise and street tough; mostly because, for five years he and his mom lived on the streets.

  Cash was older, bigger, taller, heavier, and probably stronger, but it was a matter of easy money versus getting it the hard way. Being skinned-up was as far as he wanted to go. He could turn over easily enough and start a tussle, and he knew he could win, but how much more incidental or deliberate abuse would he take? It just wasn't worth it anymore.

  "Okay, okay, right back pocket. Just a dollar, right?"

  Hector grabbed for his back pocket almost tearing it off. He had five ones stuffed in it, crumbled in a mixed mess of sweat and dirt. "I'll take two since you tried to steal from me!"

  Hector stood up and threw the remaining three dollars at Cash's back. As Cash scrambled for his money, Hector grabbed the ball and walked slowly back to the hoop, tossing more balls for practice. Cash didn't say a word but brushed himself off and kicked at the ground in frustrated anger. He turned without incident and went to find another mark, maybe an easier one this time. Hector kept shooting practice hook shots one after another, then stopped suddenly when he saw Grace sauntering up the dirt court. He bounced his ball towards her when she got close enough, so high, that he knew it was way out of her reach, but was surprised, when she jumped, caught it, and tossed it back to him.

  "Mind if I play?" asked Grace.

  "What does a little, 'honky' girl with freckles know about basketball? Get out of here!" shouted Hector while turning his back on her while he shot another basket.

  "Caught your ball, didn't I?" Grace smiled and pinched up her face, which made her freckles seemed more like a large melon-colored patches than multiple dots.

  "Just luck," he replied, not paying any attention to her.

  Hector had been on the streets long enough to have opinions. His opinions included not trusting any whites. His mother said they had all the money. Since they had it all, and they didn’t have any; it was a conspiracy: a conspiracy that included even this little girl.

  "What? Are you lost, white girl?" spoke Hector sarcastically.

  "No, are you?" asked Grace.

  When Hector heard her reply, he felt more than thought she meant something more than his current whereabouts. He felt a twinge of guilt and thought about eternal things: God, church, heaven, but didn't know why.

  He answered her question and exposed his thoughts, "We go to church on Christmas." He thought, "Why did I say that?"

  Grace said, "I didn't say anything about church, did I?"

  Again, he heard those church sounds like at the mission, singing their Amazing Grace. He never did understand why they were so happy. What's to be happy about? They were all homeless and without. A couple times, when he acted as if he wanted to check out the mission, his mom, Maria, pulled him away, saying something about no good drunks getting a free meal. The free meal didn't sound that bad, but he never went.

  His mom was so proud. He thought so stupid and proud sometimes. People would give her money, and she would throw it back at them telling them to keep their pity. He'd let her go on; and without her knowing it, chase them down, apologizing, and taking it. He heard his mom’s story more than once. His dad and mom arrived in Denver ten years ago. His mom and dad got their citizenship; and after several years, his dad got a small business loan and opened up a cleaner. It was a good time. Hector was getting ready to enter sixth grade when these men showed up at his house in suits and briefcases. They were from the IRS, and his dad owed some taxes. They didn't let them try to work it out but forced them to sell the cleaners, their house, and put a lien on anything they might buy—perpetual handcuffs.

  It wasn't over much, only abo
ut 6000 dollars, but he heard one of them say as they left his house one day, "Just one more illegal not making it after we get through with them. If they go homeless, I pick up another thousand points. You'll never catch up." Hurting people was just a game to them.

  His dad tried to get help, but no one did. He worked for another cleaners; but for every job he got, the IRS followed him around and put his family on statutory deductions. He couldn't afford to live, but they didn't care. They squeezed his dad so hard he just quit. They were finally on the streets when his dad left. He heard his mom and dad fighting for hours before it happened. He heard something about his mom’s wedding rings.

  For several years, Hector and his mom stayed at or near the mission, but most of the time they lived under an abandoned rail trestle. One day they ended up with a 1980 Econoline Van. He never asked where they got it, but he heard his mother say something about her wedding rings to someone. They moved lock, stock, and barrel into it. They parked in different places, never the same place for long. They collected valuable trash, aluminum cans, and old cleaner hangers for money. She always talked about finding his dad or going back to Mexico.

  Grace got close enough to grab his ball; and with a special ease, she tossed and swished it from half court. He turned to see it pass through the rims without touching them and stopped in his tracks.

  She asked him, "Miss your dad, Hector?"

  "What are you a psychic, weirdo social worker, or something?" He stared at her and looked over his shoulder. "Maybe I'm on candid camera or something,” stated Hector nervously.

  "Or something," replied Grace before she disappeared before his eyes.

  Hector walked slowly back to his van. His mom was stooped over a Hibachi, grilling some hot dogs. She got them plus twenty bucks for a Radio/CD player she found in the trash behind one of the old warehouses that were being converted into new condos. From the looks of it, laying on top of the trash and the painters high above her, it was theirs. There was a lot of yelling from ten stories up when she picked it up. It was like finding a buried treasure. She felt rather happy today. Twenty dollars was enough gas to get way past the city limits as long as the police didn’t spot the newly stolen tags. She had just a glimmer of hope for some reason.

  Hector came walking slowly towards her, and she smiled warmly. She knew how much he loved that basketball. It came with the van.

  She missed her husband, but somehow she accepted his shame for not being able to provide for his family. She hated those men from the IRS; and although she wasn't a believer, she prayed for them to get theirs, for payback.

  Hector hugged her as he climbed into the side of the van with his feet against the alley brick while leaning against an old mattress. He liked this new spot near the park with the big fountain and near the entrance of the dead-end alley, too far back to be spotted. It was perfect.

  "Been shooting hoops, dear?" she asked as they waited hungrily for the dogs to get done.

  "Yeah, got two dollars and saw a ghost," replied Hector so casually that it was hard to tell if he was serious.

  "Two dollars, that's nice. Was it a nice ghost, dear?" his mother replied; it not registering yet.

  "It was a little white girl. She asked me about Dad," said Hector in an uneven tone.

  His mother stood up from her cooking and crossed herself. She had been praying in her Catholic way for a miracle, a sign that Miguel, her husband, was coming back, for an end to all this. Could this "ghost" be the sign a miracle was coming?

  "Oh Hector, you're imaging things, aren't you?" tears welled up in her eyes. Hector never answered as he remembered the giant swish from center court, then the little girl’s disappearance.

  "She was a little white girl with freckles. Her eyes were funny with bright spots like tiny headlights in them. She disappeared right in front of me. Mom, when she got near me, I kept thinking strange things." His eyes were closed, remembering.

  Maria asked carefully, "About good, strange things? Maybe church things, the Saints, Mother Mary, angels?" There was an inner feeling in Maria that wanted to qualify what Hector had supposedly seen. She needed to know and understand exactly what it was. She was still looking for her sign.

  "Some of that, not Saints or Mother Mary. Everything else, heaven, the mission, the singing. I was mean to her, but she was nice. Did I do something wrong?" asked Hector sheepishly. He was looking at her carefully now, not knowing whether what happened was important.

  "Hector, I've been praying for your dad to come back. I've been praying for a sign. I want to ask him to forgive me. I really do love him, just like I love you. I want us to be a family again, even if it's on the street. What did she say about your dad?" She moved close to Hector and knelt in front of him, looking up into his eyes, then leaned against his extended leg.

  "She asked if I missed him?" said Hector reluctantly. He didn't want to admit that he never answered.

  "What did you tell her?" asked Maria.

  "I'm sorry, Mom. She was white, and it made me mad. I never said," replied Hector shamefully.

  "I did that, didn't I, Hector? All my talk about rich white people and those white IRS agents?" It was Maria's turn to feel guilty. "Maybe she'll come back. If she does, maybe she can help."

  "You want a ghost to come back?" said Hector a little confused, not wanting to confess she was an angel quite yet, but feeling it.

  "Love, she came to you, to you. She didn't come to me. I've had my chance. God takes care of the children. She came to you and asked you the most important question of your life. She asked about your dad. She wasn't a ghost. She was an angel. Don't you think?"

  Her speech caught Hector off guard, and he felt his need for his dad hurting him inside. He was angry and sad at the same time.

      

  A Plan Of Action

  Grace asked Irish to help, "Can you do something for me?" She still felt awkward commanding Irish to do anything. It was her show, but she needed a grown-up to do this.

  "Those IRS agents? Can you show everyone what that's all about? Can you snag them, trick them, snare them, and expose them?"

  Irish thought for a moment, not whether she could, but how. "How much time can you give me?"

  "Less than a week. I want it on that thing humans call TV. In particular, what they call the TV news. I give you permission to make some of these decisions yourself. If you can’t, I’ll make them. After all, I’m responsible. Look into my mind and see an idea that may work. Oh, just a piece of advice. Don't make it too easy. Use several different players. I don't want Apollyon to figure out what's going on. Let me know if you hit a snag. If you do, I'll come up with something. Am I allowed to do it this way? Isn't this what business people call del-a-ga-tion?" she pronounced slowly so as not to get it wrong.

  Irish was pleased at the way Grace was taking charge. It seemed that she was the team captain and living up to all its expectations. Grace didn't have any illusions about who was ultimately responsible. Irish knew Grace was developing a savvy that was necessary to carry out her future heir-servant tasks.

      

  Tindell And Sherman

  After Irish passed through some metal detectors of the Federal Building, she made her way up to the agent offices. As she peeked her head in the door, she saw several people waiting in line. She asked for agent Tindell and Sherman by name. As they came to the front, she felt their souls. It was hard for her to remain calm. These two were wicked and evil, and their persona showed it. When they saw Irish, they felt the offensiveness of her holiness penetrating their hearts. They became almost sick and weak-kneed, but also, a terrible anger rolled up from in them full of defiance and rebellion. These two were in the right spot for the wrong reasons, to hurt people. They were carrying out their rebellion against the Lord on earth without due regard for any one's rights, just because they could, and worse, they enjoyed it.

  Irish thought, "I wish Aaron were here. These guys mak
e me sick."

  The two men approached the protective plexus-glass window at the same time. Tindell asked, "Can I help you, ma'am?" Their flesh was crawling and goose bumps popped up like a terrible rash.

  "Yes, you can. I'm going to get you some free advertisement from your admiring public."

  Irish took out a camera and flashed three times before they could move, then turned and hurriedly left. They scrambled out the swinging doors after her, not knowing exactly what was up; but knowing, it wasn’t good and not in their best interests.

  Irish walked almost running back past the gates and metal detectors with Federal Building police watching her suspiciously. Tindell and Sherman started yelling, "Stop that lady, stop her! She threatened a federal employee, stop her!"

  Irish was through the rotating doors and on the street before it registered with the police that they meant her. She said, "Aaron, I need you."

  The agents ran out onto the street and saw Irish a half block away. They almost caught up to her, only twenty feet away, yelling at her to stop when Aaron appeared in front of them. They both ran headlong into his massive frame. Tindell was thrown onto his back, the wind knocked out of him. Sherman was flung into a nearby street gutter.

  They yelled and cussed him in unison, "Get out of our way!"

  Aaron was not only stalling them but blocking them. Aaron didn't want them to see Irish disappear. He wanted them think she was human. They scrambled to their feet getting ready to be abusive to this wrong-placed person; but when they stood up, they were looking straight up at the Aaron tree. Tindell felt for his shoulder pistol, but it was left behind as was Sherman's. Aaron's size was terribly intimidating. Aaron stood in front of them, looking harmless but absolutely, horribly large. They pulled back and moved on either side of him while trying to edge their way past him. Aaron didn't move but laughed to himself as he watched them. They were like two men on a tightrope. As they got past him, they looked to see that Irish was long gone. They silently walked her direction anyway and felt paranoia about Irish that nagged at them. Their own fears of discovery made them quiet and nervous. They crossed the street while keeping an eye on Aaron. They were avoiding him while he watched them, and they walked back until they were directly across from the Federal Building, then they dashed across, practically pushing the guards aside to get to their offices.

  Tindell spoke first, "What do you think that was all about?"

  He lit a cigarette and from a corner of the blinds stared out the fifth-story window to the streets below. Sherman didn't say anything as he peeked around the other side of the blinds at Aaron.

  Sherman finally spoke, "That big guy is still here. Do you think he has something to do with that lady?"

  "How would I know? He sure was conveniently in the right place at the right time for her benefit. I just can't understand why she needed to take our pictures. There's something going on. It obviously has something to do with us. We've been careful, haven't we?"

  They saw Aaron standing below them with his hands folded across his chest, and then he looked up and waved at them. They pulled back from the window, then Aaron disappeared. "How could he see us? What's he got, x-ray vision?"

  Irish and Aaron appeared near each other several blocks away. Aaron asked, "Did you get the pictures?"

  "Yes, three. Did you get the lists?" she asked.

  "Yes, just like the doctor ordered."

  He held her hand as they walked along. He gave her a list and took the other two. "I'll get these pictures into the right hands. Give me a couple, will you? This wasn't such a bad plan. You said that it was Grace's idea?" He smiled affectionately at her; and realized, he'd been in the open too long. Before she could answer, he said, "I have to go. Love you, sweetie."

  "Remember, love, the pictures are the second round. The lists are the first." Aaron winked at her, blew a kiss, and disappeared.

      

  Mr. Samuels

  Grace was sixty miles away, walking unseen up to an isolated farmhouse south of Denver. As she approached the house up the long lane covered with a canopy of shading trees, she saw the owner, Mr. Samuels, preparing to pay his employees for their week’s worth of work, row-cropping watermelon and cantaloupes. The season was over, and the farm hands were moving on today. Grace walked behind Mr. Samuels as the farm hands lined up.

  Mr. Samuels was a big man with thick hands, broken with crevices and cracks across his fingers, who spoke with a gruff voice that cracked the air around him. He was shaped like a giant pear, covered with overalls that looked tailored made for him, but he'd only grown into them. His close-cut, white hair was accented by his almost square face, less the corners. He always sported a three-day beard, set off with a smile full of broken, heavily stained teeth from his chew days, which he gave up long ago. He was a deacon in a small Independent Baptist church only five miles down the road and was the mainstay for all the pastor’s vegetables (and certainly the melons).

  His warm ways, high wages, and excellent accommodations with full-size, three-bedroom cabins with central heat and air, including running water, made his farm more of a vacation place for the farmhands and their kids. The kids could play in a well-kept recreation area built by Mr. Samuels years ago: with slides, swings, a merry-go-round, a 20- by-20-foot sandbox, next to several different sized monkey bars and seesaws. He kept a five-acre pond stocked with catfish and crappie with no-limit fishing. He encouraged the hands to get together by providing food for fish fries or hogs for smoking. They would gather at least once a week under a picnic pavilion that held up to 500 picnickers.

  His workers kidded him about being a Baptist deacon. They kept telling him it was his picnic facilities and the fishing pond that the church members wanted to use, being the deacon just came with it. He’d laugh and agree, but never took them seriously. He knew his love for the Lord was the driving force in his life. He was saved and wanted everyone to know it, every chance he got.

  "Come on folks. Let's get this finished. This will be your final cash with me, and I hope you'll come back next year.”

  The farm hands' children and wives were piling personals into pickup trucks and vans, some pulling flat-bed wagons. Some would go back to Mexico. Others had ideas of new work but wouldn't share them with the others, wanting the jobs themselves.

  Grace stood directly behind Mr. Samuels. Without anyone seeing, her wings extended and wrapped her while keeping her from the morning chill. He waved his hands in the air while he talked and let them pass right through her.

  Grace knew only the little children could see her. The tenth in line had a little five-year-old girl in his arms who pointed towards Mr. Samuels shouting, "Look Daddy, look at the girl angel, look!" as she slipped from her dad's arms and ran towards Grace.

  Grace put her finger to her lips to be quiet and motioned her to come closer. The little girl, without fear, went behind Mr. Samuels. Grace reached out to brush the hair from her face and bent down to kiss her. Mr. Samuels watched the little girl running behind him and turned with ridicule until he saw the girl’s hair being brushed back several times by an unseen hand and the sound of a kiss on the girl's cheek.

  Cold chills ran all over him, and he moved to the other side of the card table, not knowing exactly what to think. Others who saw it crossed themselves religiously, and her father beckoned for her to return, too scared to go closer until he heard Mr. Samuels call out his name for his final pay. He moved cautiously to Mr. Samuel's side of the table.

  Grace spoke to the girl in a whisper only she could hear. The little girl nodded and ran over to Mr. Samuels and tugged on his overalls to get his attention. She spoke rapidly in Spanish, "Mr. Samuels, the little angel asked that you keep some hands around for some special work. She said the first shall be last and the last shall be first."

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Samuels," said her father while picking her up. "I'll make sure she doesn't bother you anymore."

  "Jose, you know I don't take stock in
a lot of things little kids say; but if your little Marcy sees an angel and hears one, well, who am I to say it isn't so?"

  He was still nervous with cold chills shuddering him. He didn't say another word; but when the last two hands came up, he looked at them, then at the little girl climbing into the truck, waving, not at him, but at someone near him, and he couldn't stand it.

  "Miguel and Instan, can either or both of you stay on to do some private chores for me?"

  Instan reluctantly and politely shook his head "no," looking back at his pregnant wife already in the truck with his little boy. "Mr. Samuels, I've have to get my wife back to Mexico before the baby is born. She wants to be with her mother when she delivers."

  "Well, Miguel, how about you?" he said smiling.

  If the angel was right, Miguel would have to say "yes." Anyway, he did have some things to take care of. He needed to go into Denver for some kitchen equipment and a load of pickling jars. His wife Erma would be back from her sisters and wouldn’t ever forgive him if he didn't get that shipment, which arrived in Denver a week ago.

  Miguel smiled having been chosen, being special, "Yes, Mr. Samuels, I would like that very much. I have no place to go this time. I'll work as long as you need me if you pay me cash." Miguel didn't need the IRS following him again. Cash was the only way he could keep out of their way.

  Mr. Samuels shook Miguel's hand, and Miguel went to get his belongings from his ride. He heard Mr. Samuels say, "Take whatever cabin you want and plan to join me for supper tonight. I'll cook you some favorite eats of mine. Hey, little angel, if you're around, see. I did what you asked, didn't I?"

  He was speaking to where the little girl was looking; and when he turned around, a white lily was on his payroll book. He stared speechless, then shouted, "Praise the Lord! I really believe we had a special guest today!"

  No one saw anything and wrote him off as that crazy Baptist farmer while waving at him as they left. "Don't forget me next year!" he shouted loudly.

      

  The Park Angel

  Hector stayed near the van for the next week being too nervous from what his mother said about the angel. He could handle ghosts, but angels were a different matter. He thought, "Didn't angels carry swords and kill the bad guys?"

  He sneaked off around middle week to listen to the mission singing Gospel songs on Wednesday afternoon services. He didn't go in, but he wanted to. He felt they had something he wanted, but he just didn't know what it was.

  Maria kept thinking about Miguel and prayed even more earnestly that he’d come back. On Thursday morning, she was making her regular can stops at nearby stop-sign ditches when she passed a little girl on a bench in the nearby park. She felt terribly tired all of a sudden; and after getting a drink from the park fountain, she turned back to go sit down for a rest. The little girl looked harmless, but it was too early in the morning.

  "Little girl, why are you in this park by yourself?" She was amazed at how tired she felt as if a heavy weight was dragging her down. She breathed heavily as if she had been running a 5K, and rested hard against the bench.

  "Alone, is that what you think. No, I'm not alone, but you are, aren't you?" Grace looked at her, and her pinpoint star eyes were a brittle white against her deep blues.

  Maria started to say something like, "It's you," when Grace put her finger to her lips. Grace reached up and gently touched Maria's face and brow. Immediately, Maria felt much better, fully rested, and a great sense of peace came over her.

  "You miss Miguel, don't you?" asked Grace, then disappeared.

  Maria didn't move for a long time. Finally, she reached up feeling her face where Grace touched her. She knew God had heard her prayers. She started getting excited about Miguel coming back. It had to mean that. "Miguel, her love, her boy’s father, her childhood sweetheart, sweet Miguel," she thought, then, "my rings are gone, the one thing that tore us apart. How will I explain it?"

  Hector noticed the difference in his mother. She seemed more like her old self, chatting away about how things needed to be cleaned up and even cleaning up the alley where they were parked. She flitted around smashing up cans and singing some old songs that he hadn't heard since his dad left.

  He finally turned to her, "You saw her, didn't you?"

  Maria turned to him and winked, "Yes, I did, my love. I really believe your dad is coming home. I believe that angel is helping him find his way to us, right now." They both ran towards each other and held each other for a long time. They just knew the long night was almost over.

  Hector prayed in silence that night, "Please Lord, bring my daddy back, please. Give us our life back, please." He felt a burning in his chest that he couldn't explain. All he could think about was the mission, the singing. He made up his mind that he was going inside the next time.

      

  Setting The Trap

  Irish moved unseen down the hall of the Denver TV News Station, watching the flurry of activity getting ready for the evening news. She walked into the office of Bob Craighead, a local news reporter, and laid a list on his desk. He walked right through her on his way into his office. Bob went to pick up his new assignment and spotted the list.

  "What's this?" he asked out loud. In front of him was a long list of names, and beside each entry, were different notes: suicide, bankruptcy, homeless, bankruptcy, homeless, and suicide, and he briefly counted the list and quit at a hundred, then he folded it up neatly and stuck it in his coat pocket. He had to go out on a story. He'd figure it out later. He stopped and took out the list again. He noticed the names: Chang Ching; Hosea Istanbul; Abraham Sciatic; Lo Nee; Pedro Alverez. Everyone on the list had distinctly foreign, ethnic names. Beside them were addresses in the Denver area. He shrugged in confusion and put the list back in his pocket.

  Caleb walked into a downtown, commercial real-estate office. He presented himself to the secretary, who fell back into her chair in a long sigh at his good looks and intoxicating, wonderful beauty.

  "I've got something for Mr. Robert Christendom, ma'am." He handed the secretary an envelope with Christendom's name on it and turned to leave.

  The secretary exclaimed, "Oh, don't leave! I don't even know your name." She was getting dizzy and terribly excited about Caleb being there. She got so out of breath that she stood up but had to sit back down again, overcome by his appearance.

  "Caleb, just Caleb. You're quite beautiful for a human," answered Caleb. She turned away blushing but puzzled by "human."

  The intercom buzzed her from Christendom's office. When she turned back around, Caleb was gone. After recovering from the disappointment, she took the envelope back to Robert. He opened it and found a list. On the list were the addresses in Denver and dates of over a hundred properties that were sold. They spanned a ten-year period.

  Joseph walked along towards the Problem Resolution Division of the IRS. It was in a separate building than the Federal Building by design. It was necessary for them to keep a distance from the IRS in order to defend the public and act as mediators on behalf of taxpayers without prejudice. Joseph was dressed in an impressive marine uniform decorated appropriately as a major. He passed the metal detectors without incident and several recruitment officers saluted him as he walked down the hall.

  He said to the receptionist, "Ma'am, I need to give this list to the director of this division."

  The receptionist took the letter and said, "You mean Agent Johnson, don't you?"

  "Yes, thank you." He turned to leave, then said as he left, "Tell Agent Johnson that he needs to clean up his own mess before someone else does it for him."

  Mr. Johnson opened the list and read entries of IRS seizures, with addresses, and the dates of each one in the Denver area. He didn't understand and set it aside for further review.

  "Mrs. Calvin, did you say this was delivered by a marine officer?"

  She answered curtly, "Yes, with that extra message about cleaning up our o
wn mess before someone else does. Does it mean something?"

  "I don't know. I just don't know," replied Mr. Johnson.

      

  God’s Grace For Miguel

  Mr. Samuels woke feeling a special excitement today. He didn't know why, but his heart burned with a need to go to town, just like he promised himself he would. He planned to wait a couple of days, but he felt he couldn't. He just had to go today and felt driven to it. He walked over to the first cabin, as he called it, his best; he let his supervisor live in it each season.

  With a large cup of coffee in hand, he moved with small steps on purpose. He learned a long time ago not to be in a hurry. When his son was small, all grown up now and gone, he would say to him, "Slow down, Hunter, walk slow. There's nothing wrong in being slow. Enjoy the walk. There's no reason to rush."

  He laughed to himself, "Unless, it's getting you to school in the morning. That's different."

  Miguel saw him coming and was just slipping into a fresh pair of work jeans. He often wondered about Maria and Hector. The guilt he carried was like a huge anvil weighing on his heart. He wondered about going back to her; and if, Maria would ever forgive him. It was too much, too much pain, and too much crushing defeat. He was broken and knew it. He liked being out here with Mr. Samuels. Here and other places that he worked he was just a hand with no demands, especially no IRS. He wondered how many others were abused by those two agents. He knew that no one would listen to him. After all, they were the government. What could he do or say? Accuse, and then be abused. He couldn't stop it. Why try?

  Miguel felt different today. Not having anyone around was almost comforting. He felt like he was on a true vacation. He waved at Mr. Samuels as he appeared at the front door of the cabin. Mr. Samuels talked to all the hands, including Miguel, about the Lord. Miguel listened every time, and his heart was pulled and drawn by his words, especially, when he quoted or read scriptures. Most of the hands were Catholic and ignored him, but some like himself, found those times special. Mr. Samuels wasn't interested in anyone becoming a Baptist but getting saved, reborn, as Mr. Samuels called it. He thought about it a lot lately.

  He thought, "What if there was something to it? What if Jesus really could come into my heart? Could a Jesus like that bring his family back together? Could this Jesus help them get back a life, a home?" He couldn't shake his thoughts; and he knew, Mr. Samuels would talk about the Lord on the trip to Denver. He would be a captive audience and looked forward to it.

  "Miguel, put on your best jeans and take this new shirt that my wife bought for me. She must have been dreaming. I haven't worn a size fifteen in twenty years. I always tell Erma not to buy my clothes. I think she got it out of a J.C. Penny's catalog. It looks to be about your size. It looks like what Navy guys wear. We're going into town this morning." He handed Miguel the shirt still tightly wrapped in a plastic package.

  Miguel smiled gratefully, and without a word, other than a low nod, went back into the cabin to change out of his torn t-shirt and put on a pair of almost new jeans. He stopped in panic, "Oh no," he thought, "I'm going to Denver (Maria, Hector). He broke out in a heavy sweat. "What if I run into them? Oh, no, please." He was shaking all over as he came back out. Mr. Samuels was already pulled up in front of the cabin in his pickup truck waiting for him, then Miguel climbed in and smiled weakly.

  "You okay, Miguel? You afraid of immigration or being harassed about your green card? I know you're not an illegal. I've seen your papers. Wouldn't have let you work for me otherwise. Just relax and enjoy the ride. I don't bite." Mr. Samuels slapped him on his shoulder and laughed.

  They went no more than twenty miles before Mr. Samuels started talking about the Lord. He asked Miguel directly, "Miguel, I sense that you really listened to me when I talked about the Lord. Have you been thinking about giving your life to Jesus?"

  Miguel felt the burning in his chest and heart, and answered, "Yes, Mr. Samuels, a little. No, Mr. Samuels, a lot. Mr. Samuels, do you think that Jesus can put broken things back together?" Miguel felt that pulling at his heart again, and his lips trembled with emotion when he talked.

  Mr. Samuels felt the Lord affirming that Miguel really was close to surrendering his life to Him. He stopped the truck and pulled off the dirt road of his shortcut; he hated interstates. "Miguel, Jesus can put it all back together. That's why He died for us. He knows we're all messed up, including me. You wouldn't believe what a wreck I was before I got saved. He gave me back my family and put me back together. He brought Erma back to me after she walked out on me for my drinking. He put all the pieces back together."

  "I'd like that," replied Miguel.

  "Do you remember how I told you to do it, don't you?" Mr. Samuels asked. He put his hand on Miguel's shoulder and knew that Miguel was close to making that decision.

  "Yes, I must repent and ask Jesus to come into my heart, right?" asked Miguel.

  Mr. Samuels felt a need not to push, although he knew what was happening, "Miguel, it's up to you. It's your decision."

  He put his truck in gear and moved back onto the road. He would be on the interstate soon with only fifteen miles of his back road left to enjoy before connecting. "Mr. Samuels, do you think that Jesus can protect someone from the IRS?" Miguel was closing the issues for his decision, checking off the last "yes" and "no" boxes.

  Mr. Samuels hesitated a little. He had some battles with the IRS himself in times past. He knew that His God was bigger than they were. He also knew that this question was a deal breaker. "Actually, I believe that God can not only handle those guys, but give you favor with them. He can give us just the right person at the IRS to treat us right and fair. I think that's what grace is all about. I bet Jesus can get you to a saved IRS agent if He has to. Don't you think?" He held out the olive branch of hope to Miguel, and Miguel smiled slightly as a single tear trickled down his cheek.

  In a whisper barely audible, Miguel said, "I need a Jesus like that."

  Mr. Samuels finally got to the interstate and thought that Miguel was dozing off. Miguel was lying down on the seat curled in an almost fetal position. He wasn't sleeping but praying. Miguel fingered his crucifix as he prayed, and his sobbing came in waves. Mr. Samuels reached over, placed a hand on his shoulder, and prayed for him as they sped towards Denver.

  Minutes later, Miguel sat up with a big smile on his face. "Mr. Samuels, can you pull off the road a minute?"

  He pulled off quickly, not knowing exactly what Miguel had in mind. Miguel jumped out and turned towards him, "Thank you so much."

  He did a little spin and jumped up and down on the side pavement shouting, "Yes! Yes! Yes! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" then climbed back into the truck.

  "Well," said Mr. Samuels, "I'll take that as a big ten-four that you gave your life to Jesus!" Mr. Samuels held out his hand to shake Miguel’s and was immediately pulled into a warm hug.

  "Yes, it is!" answered Miguel.

  Mr. Samuels looked up and down the interstate for traffic and started to pull out then stopped, "What in the heck is that?" he asked as he pointed down the road to a box laying upright thirty feet away. He put the truck in gear and moved up next to it. "Check it out, Miguel."

  Miguel jumped out; and after examining the box labels, kicking it gently at first, then tore the cardboard off the top while one flap went whisking away in the wind. He bent down carefully and strained as he picked up the box to put it in the back of the truck.

  As he got in, he said, "It's a color TV, Mr. Samuels."

  "Is it broke?" he asked.

  "No, it's perfect and has a VCR built into it, too."

  "Well, how about that! Do you need a TV? I don't. I got five of them, now."

  "Not me. I'd just sell it," answered Miguel.

  "Well, new brother in Christ, do it. When we get to Denver, I'll stop at a pawnshop I know. It's all yours." They both did a high-five and laughed about their good fortune.

  Grace got in the back of t
he truck unseen by them and gently held the box so it didn’t knock into the sides and break. She thought, "I love it when a plan comes together," (an A-Team quote).

      

  Newsman, Newsman

  Bob Craighead was returning from a story when his secretary approached him with a small envelope. "This just came for you. A very pretty lady brought it by." She asked, "Your secret love?"

  "I don't need more than one of those. You're the only secret love I have, Susan," he whispered. "If it wasn't for that lousy rule of employees not fraternizing, I wouldn't care." She calmed down but took the envelope and opened it herself.

  "A picture of two guys? What's that all about?" she asked, defusing slightly.

  "I don't have a clue," he replied. "Susan, let's get a bite of lunch. What do you say?"

  She smiled lovingly, "Sure babe, how about Chinese?"

  "Give me a second," he replied.

  He went over and pulled the list from his coat pocket laying across the back of his desk chair. When Susan said "Chinese," it reminded him.

  He picked up the phone and called the editor. "Did you want me to do a report on something concerning a list of foreigners? No? That's strange. Well, I got a list. I might check it out. Obviously, someone thinks there's a story. Do you mind? Okay, I'll fit it in between. No problem."

  As they entered the Chinese restaurant, they sat near the kitchen. Susan always liked that so she could smell all the food cooking. One of those personal habits he didn't know whether he enjoyed or not.

  The waitress was an elderly Chinese lady with a heavy accent, "Yo bill, sur," she replied.

  He reached in his back pocket and realized his wallet was gone. He took it out when he got out his debit card for the ATM machine earlier and left it in the car wrapped in a twenty. "Man, oh man, it's in the car!"

  Susan said, "Don't worry, honey. I'll get this one."

  She opened her purse; and as she pulled out her wallet, the Tindell-Sherman picture dropped to the floor. The polite waitress picked it up and started to hand it to her. Susan reached out for it, but the waitress wouldn't let it go.

  She turned red-faced and flustered, "Yo no come back here! Yo go away, now! Yo bad people! Yo ave bad friends!" she said, shaking the picture at them.

  The manager came running over to the table and snatched it from her and handed it to Susan as the waitress went running back into the kitchen.

  "I so sorry, so sorry," the manager exclaimed. She also recognized Tindell and Sherman. "Are you from the IRS?"

  Susan laughed embarrassed, "Oh, my no, we're from the TV news."

  The manager very evenly replied, "You don't pay. I'm sorry, Miss Lo Nee thought you were with the IRS." As they left, they both didn't say anything, then he opened the list from his pocket before unlocking the car, "Did she say that lady's name was Lo Nee?"

  "I believe so, why?" asked Susan.

  When they were in the car, he handed Susan the list after he circled the name Lo Nee. Beside it was the note, "suicide." He spoke like someone who had discovered gold, "This picture has something to do with this list."

      

  Hector’s Surrender

  Hector stood outside the mission listening to the homeless singing. The pastor finished leading the song, then felt God speaking to him. "Hold on a second, will you all?" He walked towards the door and slowly opened it. Hector was surprised to be found so close to the door with his ear against the wood door panels.

  "Come on in, son. Come on in," he replied, holding out an open hand.

  With manners taught by Miguel years before, he politely answered, "Yes, sir. Can I?"

  The pastor, Juan Lorenzo, was a small Spanish gentleman, standing only several inches above Hector but with a presence about him that was confident and filled Hector with a sense of the pastor's holiness. He went in with him but wouldn't go to the front and sat down on the back row. Juan smiled knowingly and went back to the front.

  His preaching wasn't with fire and brimstone but with a persuasion and the anointing. Hector felt the strings of his heart being pulled in all directions. When he heard the altar call, he felt the power of God so much he didn't walk down, but found himself crawling on his hands and knees. Two teenagers came to help him to the front. He was knocked down by the presence of God and didn't sit up until he heard his own voice surrendering to God.

  When he left the Mission, he ran as fast as he could to their alley and jumped into his mother's arms. He couldn't wait to tell her what happened. At first, Maria was angry that he disobeyed her, then her heart softened when she saw an almost physical change in Hector, including a light in his eyes that gave her hope, especially, when he spoke about Miguel coming home. That night Maria thought about how Hector talked about the Lord, about giving his life to Jesus. She envied him, and the desire to have what he had was calling her towards the Lord.

  She prayed, "Lord, if you bring my Miguel back to me, I'll give my life to you like Hector did."

      

  Pieces Of The Puzzle

  Robert Christendom stepped out of the court record’s office holding a piece of paper gripped tightly in his hands, almost crushing it. He couldn't sleep last night. He tried, but every time he started to doze off, he thought about that stupid list. It drove him crazy. The next morning, he was standing outside the record’s office before they opened.

  He was recognized by the office manager, "Mr. Christendom, kind of early, isn't it?"

  The manager never saw him down here but once. He always let his staff do all the grunt work. At first, he didn't think anything about the information, then a pattern started developing. Here was a list of properties that showed IRS involvement. The properties were bought by five different corporations over the last ten years. The names of the corporations were ridiculously alike, not showing very much innovation.

  The Capture Realty Consortium

  The Get Real Estate Corporation

  Hooks Real Estate Association

  Catchers Buyers Group

  The Nailing Land Trust

  Someone was being cute. He didn't have all the details about who made up these buyers' groups, but he bet they were the same people. He made it to his office in the afternoon, having missed several meetings, and his staff was frantic about it.

  His secretary stopped him as he came through the door, "Mr. Christendom, I've got an envelope for you. It was the same man that came by before." She handed it to him and inside was a picture of Tindell and Sherman. He didn't have a clue who they were. He stuck the picture back into his suit pocket and went to meet with his attorney about some personal business.

  When Robert sat in the attorney's waiting room, a group of men in black suits with standard-white, (IBM) shirts and ties arrived, and carried black briefcases. It was obvious that one of them was in charge. He was older and very professional looking with the younger associates giving way to him in respect, not saying anything unless he asked. Behind them came a haggard-looking gentleman wearing blue jeans without a belt and a starched, white, long-sleeved shirt and a Bugs Bunny tie. Robert recognized him. He was a well-known Nashville musician, but Robert didn't follow country, only recognizing his face. With him was his accountant hauling three boxes of files on a plastic dolly. He could spot an accountant a mile away.

  They waited together for their appointments for about thirty minutes. A secretary came out and introduced herself to each group, then handed Mr. Johnson's group an envelope. Mr. Johnson accepted it and opened it, then pulled out a photo. Robert watched as Mr. Johnson handled the picture with a blank stare. He felt in his pocket for his picture and in his brief case, then fingered the crumbled up papers with the buyers' information. He couldn't help it, but for some reason he thought from the puzzled look on this man's face that it was the same picture. He was getting consumed by it and boldly took a chance. He turned his picture towards the other man hoping he would see it and make a comment. His intuiti
on was keenly electric. He thought this was crazy, but he just knew that it was the same picture.

  Mr. Johnson passed the picture among his counterparts, and they all shook their heads "no." None of them, including Mr. Johnson, knew them. Still, Mr. Johnson thought there was something familiar about them. He kept thinking about the comment," Cleaning up his mess before someone else did."

  Mr. Johnson looked around the room, avoiding the stares of the other team. His group was here at the request of the accountant to intervene on behalf of the musician. He was here to help keep the IRS honest; but could tell that the two across from him didn't believe it.

  He saw Robert’s picture, and it shocked and startled him so much that he got his out again. He held it towards Robert while everyone watched. Robert got up and walked over to Mr. Johnson, handed him his picture, and firmly but politely took his from him. The room was so quiet a pin dropping would have been shattering. Everyone knew something important was happening. Robert stood before him not saying a word, and they handed the pictures back to each other.

  Robert went back to his briefcase and pulled out his list, the list of sold real estate matched with the buyer's corporate names. He felt drawn to this event as if he was out of control. Mr. Johnson seemed to know exactly what he was doing. He reached into the side pocket of his own and pulled out his list, the list of IRS seizures and locations. Robert walked slowly back and handed him the list while Mr. Johnson did the same. They didn't move, only read. Mr. Johnson recognized the addresses of the seizures, and Robert recognized the addresses of sold real estate.

  There was more silence, then Mr. Johnson stood up and finally said, "What's going on, sir?"

  Robert said, "I don't know. I don't believe this meeting is by chance, do you?"

  "Are you saying that someone planned for us to meet this way?" He was completely mystified.

  "As a believer, I believe I know who that someone is," replied Robert."

  “Are you saying that God did this?" and he started to laugh, until he heard a whisper in his ear from Irish unseen, "yes," but so loud they all heard it.

  "Mary, Mary," exclaimed Robert, "can you get us copies of these two lists?"

  "Yes, yes, please," agreed Mr. Johnson, shaking from the thoughts going on in his mind, especially since the voice kissed him on his ear after saying it.

      

  The Final Touches

  Bob walked silently into the newsroom with Susan. Susan turned to him and asked, "Are you going to check it out, or what?" She stood staring at him with the challenge flung like a knuckleball at his newshound senses.

  "You’re goading me, aren’t you?"

  He actually liked the idea. Here was this list full of wrecked lives and a very upset Chinese lady concerning the IRS. He had a picture, a list, but no crime, just a distraught taxpayer. Not exactly, what he would call a news breaker, though sad, but it wasn’t there, yet. What would it take to get it there? He remembered that his dad's ex-partner worked at the IRS. He wondered what this kind of information would stir up how much of a reaction would the list, the picture, and Lo Nee's story get. He had to try.

  "Okay Susan, you’re on. I’ll do a little digging and see what I can find out. If the boss asks about it, tell him I’m checking out at the new war-monument ceremony. I will, but only for about five, then I want you to schedule me lunch with this guy at the IRS. He was a buddy of my dad’s. He used to come over and play canasta with my family for years. Had a cute daughter too."

  He watched her flinch at his comment, and then laughed, "For an eight-year-old."

  She punched his arm and finally said, "Thanks for lunch, next time you pick the place." Before he left, Susan already made him the luncheon appointment.

  The next day after the monument dedication, with fast pictures, and quickly trading business cards with honorees for some phone-call reporting later; he was off for lunch. O’ Charlie's wasn’t crowded, having gotten there rather early. Ed shook his hand but couldn’t resist embracing him.

  They ordered quickly, and Ed asked, "What’s up, Bob? Is this business or pleasure? I hope your mom is well. I can’t imagine your dad being dead. I’ve had some canasta games since then, but they just weren't the same."

  Ed fingered his glass rim nervously, his lips shaking. He spent the better part of his youth bumming around with Bob’s dad in the Navy; and with both of them coming back from the war, they became CPA’s and practiced together. Those were the best times of their lives. Ed didn’t go to work for the IRS until after he died. He just didn’t have the energy to take on the old clients like his partner did. It was too much, and he wouldn’t hear of partnering with someone else.

  "Both," replied Bob quietly almost whispering. "How’s Becky?" He wanted to change the subject.

  "Becky is great. You know how hung up she is on causes. She’s working for the Peace Corp now. I think she had a crush on you when she was nine,"

  "Eight through seventeen," Bob replied, smiling with his secret.

  "I should have known," said Ed. "She was just too happy anytime we wanted to play cards, too eager. She’d ask every week when were going to go over to your house. I remember that we thought we forced you two to go out on a date when you were both fourteen. So, we didn’t force you two, did we? No wonder you two hung out so much together. Her move to college must have been hard on you. You didn’t say if you had a crush on her?" Ed smiled and leaned back in his chair while thinking he had snaked his old friend.

  "Not had, have. I’d never tell my new girlfriend, but I always hoped that Becky and I could be a serious item. Guess we’ll never know with her so far away all the time."

  "Maybe, she’ll be back in town next week for the summer. Come on, Bob. Make an old IRS agent happy. Settle down and stay in the family. Go for it! How’s that for matchmaking?" Ed laughed at his own enthusiasm.

  "Persuasive, very persuasive!" Bob was excited at the prospect. "Since you brought it up, how are things at the IRS? Anything exciting happening lately?"

  "No, same old stuff, a couple mysteries, a couple bumps, but nothing exciting."

  "What could cause a mystery at the IRS, missing some taxpayers or something?"

  "Got me, but you’re the reporter, the due-diligence guy."

  Ed Johnson pulled out two lists and a familiar picture, then laid them on the table before Bob. Bob froze instantly, not saying a word. He grabbed at the picture, put it down, and turned the lists towards him.

  Ed asked, "Are you okay? You're flushed. You sick?" Ed couldn’t imagine what would make Bob jump so much.

  "No," he said, "just someone with another list and the same picture. They each took turns comparing the lists. "Look at the parallels—names—addresses. Quick, put numbers on these as I read them out."

  They took the entries one at a time. When they added the end-result of each of the seizures, the only thing missing was knowing who all the players were. Bob briefly told him about the Lo Nee incident.

  "This is quite a dark list," said Ed. "I’ll bet these two are some of my guys from what Lo Nee said. If that’s the case, they've been responsible for hurting a lot of people—to the extreme. I need to find out if it was intentional. But, who are these entities buying up the properties? No, the better question is who are the principals? Are they connected?"

  "I’ll find out about the connection if you can put names on the faces. Ed, if they’re dirty, are you going to let me throw them to the wolves or are you going to whitewash this?"

  Ed was indignant saying, "I’ve never whitewashed anything in my life. I’m going to make sure of everything first, but you’ll get an exclusive interview and footage. If they're dirty, we’ll nail them to the wall together. Let’s face it, if these two agents are just being opportunist, that’s one thing, but if they're the same agents involved in our seizures, the foreclosures, and purchases, they've got a big problem. I’ll have them locked away."

  "I’m going to make you keep you
r word. If and when you bust them, I want to be there with the cameras rolling, promise me." Bob grabbed Ed’s hand to force the issue, and Ed put his other hand on top of Bob’s.

  "I promise," he replied.

  Later, at Ed Johnson’s office, he viewed the 110 names on the lists in front of him. Ed called his own team in to talk. "I got a funny feeling that these two guys in this picture are our agents, probably right here in Denver. I need someone to volunteer to get the information on all these files. Try to pull as much information from archives and other places without getting too many involved. Keep a low profile. If getting a file sends out an alarm, then back off. That's why I suggested going to the archives. We keep a couple of archivists on site, but normally no one else is around. All I need is a connection to the cases. I've got a friend checking out the real estate corporations. He’s an outsider so he’ll not rattle anyone. He'll be probing outside of us in the public domain, court records, and such. In the next several hours, he'll have every officer of each of the real estate holding companies by name. How soon can we have our information?"

  Sally was a new girl in the department with a great idealistic mindset who relished getting to some of the "old boys" in their group. She couldn’t stand the old-codger attitudes, especially how they treated people. She hired onto the IRS with the full intentions with "Problem Resolution" of delivering, protecting, and defending the people from the rouges. It was her secret mission and passion.

  She volunteered answering, "I bet I'll have a profile on all 110 by tomorrow afternoon at 1 p.m." She swung her hair from her head in a cocky manner, proudly feeling and hearing the gasps from others. No one challenged her, hoping she’d fail—she wouldn’t.

  Ed nodded in approval, loving the enthusiasm, and called IRS human resources. "I want a Denver employee roster on my desk in no less than three hours with every employee working for us inside and out. I want their positions, complaint files, and any other pertinent records." He just let it fall like that hearing a high-pitched whine coming from the Director of HR. He didn’t care, and his voice showed it. He had it all in less than an hour.

  Bob was already making the inquiries about the corporations. It sent a flurry of activity all over the records department. Something was going on, but they couldn't imagine what. There were heads peeking around corners as the news of the information gathering rippled through the boring lives of the clerks helping him get it. Bob sat quietly staring at his list. He may have stumbled on one of the biggest stories of his short reporter life. He had the corporate paperwork handed to him in less than twenty minutes. He couldn’t wait to open up the manila envelope to read the names. He readied himself for a varied list of officers; but upon review, he stuck his pen back into his shirt pocket saying out loud, "Got you!"

  Only two names appeared: sometimes Tindell was the president, then other times, Sherman. They moved back and forth from president and vice-president. They mixed up the secretary with whoever was the vice-president.

  Bob called Ed, "Ed, do you have anyone by the name of Tindell Estell and Sherman Lockheed?" Bob held his breath.

  "Hold on a second." Ed ran his pencil down the list arranged by last name. "Got an Estell, revenue officer of the Eastern sector, and a S. Lockheed from the same place. Yep, got both of them. Hold on a second, let me pull their files." Ed held up a long fax transmittal that was about sixty-feet long. With scissors, he clipped their sections out and pushed the others into a pile on the floor. "Bob, it looks like they’ve been with us a long time. Man, they're clean as whistles, except for one complaint eight years ago. There’s your Lo Nee."

  "What now?" asked Bob.

  "Tomorrow at 2 p.m. be at my office. I'll have a report on all the cases in file about 1 p.m. I’ll have a judge on tap ready for a formal inquiry, except I'll have the inquiry finished before we start. We’ll have some help, but I have to check out the connection to all 110 cases first. If they were the officers on them, we’ll swoop; if not, we’ll walk a lot slower."

  "I bet we’ll swoop!" replied Bob.

  "I bet we do, too!" answered Ed.

      

  The Pawnshop

  Mr. Samuels and Miguel made a happy drive into Denver. At first, Mr. Samuels wanted to do his shopping first, then changed his mind. He turned seriously to Miguel, "Miguel, I want to be honest with you. I don’t have much work left around the farm. You might want use this time to check on a more permanent job. There’s a job security bureau a block from the pawnshop. Why don’t you go down and check it out. Ask the man who owns the pawnshop about work. Tell him you're with me. I’ll be about two hours."

  Miguel got out with his TV in his arms, then turned to Mr. Samuels, "Thanks for helping me out and being honest like that. Who knows, the Lord might give me a job today."

  Miguel headed for the pawnshop, proudly sporting his prize. As he entered the store, he noticed no one was there. The cowbell hanging from the door handle didn’t bring anyone so he set the box down and waited. He was there about thirty minutes when some young kids came in hauling some stereo speakers.

  They looked around, noticing no one but Miguel and asked, "Where’s Bobby at, man?"

  The other kid, no older than fifteen, exclaimed, "Bobby must have walked out again. This place is empty. We can clean the old man out, Bosco! Go get some trash bags!"

  Miguel panicked. If he let these kids rip the "old man" off, he would be involved in the theft. He moved quickly to the back of the counter, noticing a large nightstick near the cash register.

  "I’m sorry, guys, but I took Bobby’s place. There’s not going to be any stealing here today, not as long as I and my equalizer have anything to do about it!" Miguel pulled out the nightstick and brought it down on the countertop almost breaking the glass.

  "You can't jack us around like that! You’re in here like we are to unload some goods. Who do you take us for some kind of idiots? Get out of here before we both whip your butt."

  Miguel made his second prayer of the day, "Lord, please, send me some help. I don’t think I can handle this."

  A voice from behind the kids rocked them with surprise from its deep baritone, "Miguel, do you have a problem here that I can help you with?"

  Aaron towered over them. Miguel felt his knees shaking because he actually saw Aaron appear, not walk in, but appear behind the kids. They turned and fell back towards the counter. They looked at Miguel and up at Aaron, standing with his hands on his hips waiting for Miguel’s instructions.

  "Yes, I do need some help. Did you come because I called?" asked Miguel shaking, but knowing that was why Aaron was here.

  They interrupted, "You don’t need no help. We’re out of here. I promise. We’re gone, history," and they sped past Aaron while clinging as close to the counters and walls as possible, then ran out the door.

  "Are you what I think you are?" asked Miguel, crossing his fingers behind him.

  "Of course, you’re a child of the King, now, aren’t you?" asked Aaron.

  "Yes, a brand new one," said Miguel, hardly believing his eyes.

  "We’re always here for you, always," then he disappeared.

  Miguel couldn’t move for the longest time. Suddenly, a car screeched up to the curb. A white-haired old man jumped out and ran into the shop, "Get away from my cash register, mister." He had a gun, and Miguel’s hands shot into the air with one hand dragging the nightstick with it.

  "What are you doing with my nightstick?" asked the man getting closer.

  "I’m Miguel, sir. Some kids said they were going to steal your stuff. I pretended I took Bobby’s place. Told them, I’d bust them up if they tried. I prayed for help, and God sent me an angel. He scared them away."

  The man laughed riotously putting down his gun, "I really think you’re telling the truth. So, you prayed for God to help, huh? Well, I prayed for God to send me someone to take Bobby’s place, but I didn’t expect him to leave before his replacement got here. I guess it’s too much to a
sk if you need a job, right?" The man had soft, gentle features, not at all as intimidating as he seemed moments ago.

  Miguel couldn’t believe what he heard, "I do need a job after I pawn the TV Mr. Samuels and I found on the interstate."

  "You mean Mr. Samuels from Constant Springs? You should've said so earlier. He’s married to my wife's youngest sister. Is he coming back here later? I’ve not seen that old goat in years. Do you need a job or not? Got a neat place in the back so you can hang out here at night, but it's real nice. I’ve been living here myself."

  "Yes, I do. Mr. Samuels will be right back. I would like to check it out, Mr…"

  "George Barnfield," replied the man as he reached out to shake Miguel’s hand. "Come on, and I’ll show you."

  "Wait a minute. Lock the front door for me, will you?" he said, throwing him the keys. "Just put a lock on the jewelry case up front for extra measure. I’ll open back up in a minute."

  Miguel locked the front door and bent over the jewelry case while locking it with a miniature skeleton key. As he stood up, he stopped. "This can’t be true. It’s Mary’s rings," he said to himself. In the case were the unmistakable diamond rings he bought Mary fourteen years ago. The second band was a small heart-shaped clasp, locked them together with a small ruby set in the middle.

  "Mr. Barnfield, can I look at something?"

  George turned to see Miguel peering into the case and asked, "Found something you like?"

  "Do you remember who sold you that ring set?" he asked excitedly.

  "Well, let’s see," replied George as he pulled out his ledger, then he got into the case to look up the inventory number and handed the ring set to Miguel. "No last name, only Maria. I put a little note that said she had a son named Hector in case she lost her slip, like a secret code name to get it. Interested in it?"

  "Yes, can I buy it back in installments from my pay?" asked Miguel. "It’s my wife’s wedding rings. She sold them so she could take care of my little boy."

  "This day is getting more interesting all the time. God is really putting the puzzle together for you, young man."

  Miguel thought so too. He missed his wife and son. He prayed another prayer, "Lord, bring my family back, please Lord!"

      

  Maria’s Answered Prayers

  "Hector do you really think your dad is coming back?" she asked Hector, hoping for another confirming answer.

  She got one, "Yes, Mom, I’ve been praying about it."

  "You know something, Hector. I prayed something too. I prayed that if God would bring Miguel back to us, I’d do what you did. I'd give my life to Him. But, I’m going to make it harder. I want justice. I want to see with my own eyes those IRS guys locked up for what they did to us. I don’t know if God can handle all that. Some things are just too hard."

  Hector was happy, then filled with doubt from his mom’s challenge. He turned to a corner of the van to pray about it. "Please, Lord, help my mom get her prayers answered."

  Grace showed up beside him for only an instant and whispered, "Nothing is too hard for God, Hector," then disappeared.

  Hector gasped in surprise and whispered back, "Thanks."

      

  Reunion

  Mr. Samuels came back to the pawnshop as promised. It was fun thought Miguel to see these two guys reunited. They talked by phone several times a year on Christmas and Thanksgiving, but it wasn't the same.

  "George," said Mr. Samuels, "you look like a hundred miles of bad road. What happened to the skinny kid that used to help me practice my football throws? You’re a wreck."

  Mr. Samuels laughed and shoved at George lovingly. "Not as much as my Sis Erma's cooking has made of you. What is she feeding you on that farm? Maybe she’s turning you out to graze like your beef cattle, huh? Like getting you fattened up for someone’s supper?" George was beaming, having missed seeing his friend for so long.

  "Yeah, well you know what they say. Heaven is for immortals; and when I get my new body, I've got to give them something to work with." He winked at Miguel, who was sitting on a tall stool behind the cash register.

  "That doesn’t mean you got to make them work overtime trying to make the new body fit, does it?" George reached out to Mr. Samuels, and they hugged again.

  George released him, turning towards Miguel, "This young man says he’s with you. I figured, if he were, I’d just snatch him away from you, Jonah. He says you suggested he find a job anyway, do you mind?" George saw Miguel roll his eyes when he heard "Jonah." It was the first time he ever heard Mr. Samuel’s first name. Miguel thought it was funny, thinking of the childhood story of Jonah and the whale. Except this time, Jonah was the whale shoved neatly into crisp, new overalls put on especially for going to town.

  "As long as you don’t call me by my first name again," replied Mr. Samuels, almost serious.

  "Are you kidding? The Jonah kid wants to be respectable, now. When did this all take place? You’ll always be Jonah to me. If you want to be called Mr. Samuels, you can call me Sir George of South Denver." They both laughed together, tickled with their own wit

  "Sure, I want Miguel to have a good job. Especially, from family and a believer all rolled into one."

  Mr. Samuels smiled at Miguel, who was very self-conscious, being present during such personal word sparring and reunion mixed together. He missed his family and looked behind him to the shelf where he put Mary’s rings. George told him he would take fifty dollars a month until it was paid for, with a 50-percent discount.

  "I’ve got to run back to the farm, Sir George. Take care of my Miguel, will you? Miguel, I’ll get your stuff together and have UPS send it to the store, okay? Here you go, Miguel. I bought you a Bible written in Spanish to help you speed through it faster."

  Miguel was deeply touched, and he felt God’s presence confirming his new life and pushing at his emotions. The Bible was just another great present in a day full of life-altering presents.

      

  Sound Of The Trap

  Ed Johnson sat silently in his office as the deadline approached. It was now 12:30 p.m., and others in the office smirked, thinking that the ambitious little upstart had failed and overloaded her mouth. Finally, Sally came walking through the door, pushing a small, red, plastic cart. She looked worn-out but excited, and she didn’t stop to exchange greetings but made a bee-line for Ed’s office. She stopped just before entering, almost pushing his secretary aside, and reached, taking over her computer mouse, minimizing her programs and clicking on the Excel icon. She pulled a flash-drive from the side pocket of her laptop case, and within seconds had a detailed report printing out information and notes on all 110 cases. She grabbed the report from the printer and quickly closed the program, getting her drive back like it was a treasure.

  She knocked brashly on Ed’s office door and heard his "come-in" with a sigh of relief. Ed couldn’t sleep last night thinking about this case. He kept wondering what the result of such a bust might mean if it were true. In his heart, he knew it must be. There were too many coincidences, too many what seemed like well-planned events. He knew that God had sent messengers to each of them to force them to put it all together. He agreed with Joseph's statement. He really did need to clean up his own mess. He'd keep his promise to Bob but wondered if this could have been handled a little quieter, less dramatic. A promise is a promise, though.

  "Come on in!" said Ed, almost shouting.

  He could tell that this little girl had the goods. The look on her face was too readable. She did a little bow spreading her hands out to her side in a dramatic fashion. She was announcing the files’ arrivals as well as her success, pointing towards the cart loaded with documents. She was able to get to archives and pull detailed information without anyone noticing. It was part of the nails-in-the-coffins; she figured.

  She handed him the list and commented, "No need to read the files. I’ve prepared a report on each o
ne with notes. Here's the drive, the only one, and the printed reports.

  "Just tell me one thing without me reading a single note. Who were the revenue officers on these cases? Give me their names." He closed his eyes and waited to hear what he knew was the answer.

  "Tindell and Sherman," she replied. She felt the moment. This was victory for her. She was swinging the axe over these old cronies' heads and knew it. She breathed deeply at her success.

  Ed never opened his eyes but reached out and picked up the phone and pressed the first speed-dial number of his best friend in the justice department, "Hank, yeah, it’s Ed. It’s them, alright. Are my warrants ready? How do I feel right now? Like a janitor getting ready to throw out the garbage. Thanks."

  Still, without opening his eyes, he dialed Bob only saying, "Change of plans. Just meet me at the Federal Building in an hour. Yep, it's them. Oh, they're there. I’ve got surveillance tracking them. We sent in pizzas to their department so they’d not go out for lunch. It worked. Do they suspect anything? They're probably too arrogant in their sin to ever think they’d get caught."

  Ed opened his eyes and without hesitation said to Sally, "Don’t move. Agent Conrad, come in here!" Conrad was head of administration for their division and was just outside the door, one of the skeptics.

  "I want this young lady to get a two-level pay raise, and I want her as the new manager of the conflict division. Tell everyone else that the next time they bet on someone in our division to fail rather than succeed that they can be looking for new jobs, probably in archive filing. I’m not stupid about office politics. Do you understand?" Conrad ran off, not saying a word to anyone; his face was bright red from the outcome.

  "Well, ma'am, are you ready to accompany me to the Federal Building?" he asked as he stood up. He reached down into his desk drawer and pulled out his holstered pistol, then stopped a second. He went to another drawer and pulled out another one. "Here, you might need this." She was shocked and pleased. She was actually going to get to wear a holstered gun, and she tingled all over with excitement.

  She thought, "All this for doing what’s right. Life is good."

      

  Nothing Too Hard

  Hector watched his mom closely the next morning. He was praying for her throughout the night the best he could. He was just too new to this God thing to use experience so he used common sense and just talked to God. Several times in the night, he thought he felt someone gently patting his shoulder. He’d turn around, and no one was there, but he knew it was Grace. Other times, he thought he saw flashes of light from his peripheral vision, and then, they were gone. When he closed his eyes, he would get images of feathers or glimpses of shadows flying across his mind. He felt a deep peace that he couldn’t explain.

  Maria felt the pressure on her heart about Hector’s newfound faith. She was drawn towards it; but after all, she made a deal with God. She felt it was up to Him now, not her. She thought that if Miguel is coming home, and she thought he was; he would leave again when he found out about her selling the rings. She blamed herself for him leaving because she refused to sell them before, then she goes out after he leaves and does it on her own. The guilt pressed on her so badly that she felt grieved and depressed.

  They both slept late or pretended to. Finally, Maria stirred Hector awake, "Hector, go with me, will you? I got to check on something."

  Hector got out of his sleeping bag, stretched, grabbed a slice of bread for breakfast; and after locking up the van, followed her obediently. They made their way past staggering drunks and the homeless who were barely able to sit up as they leaned against the curbs, building crevices, and basement stairways. The smell of the streets seemed excessive this morning. Hector moved in front of his mother and tried to figure out which direction she was heading but wanting everyone to know that she was with him. He walked confidently and strode in a manly, deliberate fashion that caused others to move aside for them. Maria smiled at Hector seeing the proud Miguel coming out in him. Miguel used to walk that way too—before he was broken.

  After thirty minutes, they had walked some twenty blocks, and the character of the downtown changed. More storefronts were appearing, spruced up by the urban renewal, and the streets weren’t littered but swept and decorated with newly planted trees in concrete boxes with very few homeless; even the street smells were disappearing. Maria moved in front of Hector this time. As they came around a corner near a quiet intersection, there was an electronics store with its TV screens on. Local passer-byes watched the morning news. Maria stopped suddenly, and her mouth dropped open in amazement.

  "What’s wrong, Mom?" asked Hector when he caught up with her and took her hand in concern.

  "It’s them. It’s the IRS guys who hurt us. Look, yesterday they got in big-time trouble, warrants, and handcuffs! You see? They're putting them in handcuffs. That guy is saying they are cleaning up their own mess. They found out that there are 110 people forced from their homes by these guys, just like us. People have committed suicide, gone bankrupt, and are homeless. They’re talking about us. The government is going to review each

  case and make restitution. Hector, they are talking about us! Oh, Lord, if only Miguel could see this! If he only knew! Miguel must be coming home, Hector, he must! God is doing this, isn’t He, Hector?" she said, with tears rolling down her face as she grabbed his hand and started running down the street towards her destination.

  Only two blocks down, Grace stood beside a light pole; and as they passed, she nodded politely at them both. They recognized her, and Hector waved slightly, then turned back towards her mouthing, "Thanks."

  Maria noticed but was too intent on making it to the next block. Soon, Hector knew exactly where they were going. He saw the sign, “George’s Pawnshop.” He saw a little paper stub that his mom carried with the pawnshop name on it that had been stuck in the glove compartment of the van, which she now pulled from her jean pocket.

  "It has to still be there, Hector! It has to be! If God is real, it has to be!"

  George was at the counter, and Miguel was in the back sorting through the inventory list while getting ready to put out some of the day's specials. George immediately recognized Maria. He didn’t say anything, wanting to make sure. She didn’t speak to anyone but went to the jewelry display while feverishly looking for her rings. Hector saw her face trembling and knew that she was getting ready to breakdown.

  "It must be gone," he thought.

  "Ma'am, are you looking for these?" George held out the ring set in his open palm, and she rushed to him, staring at them in relief, but wondering why he had them. He must be holding them for someone; they’re sold.

  "Maria," he said, "someone has me holding these for them. If you want to work out something with them, he’s in the back." He turned and walked back to Miguel, not wanting to say his name.

  Hector asked, "Mom, what are you going to do? You can’t work out anything with anyone! We don’t have any money!"

  "I know, I know, but I have to try! I got too!" she answered as she wrung her hands and bit her lower lip in frustration.

  George told Miguel before he came out who was there. He didn’t want a family crisis on his hands, just being careful. Miguel’s eyes filled with tears, and he deliberately slowed himself down and peeked around the corner at Maria and Hector. He heard her talking about working something out.

  He spoke to Maria without showing himself, "We can work something out if you’re willing to wear them."

  Maria recognized his voice and screamed a high shriek of joy and excitement while running past the counter, almost tackling Miguel as he came in plain view. They didn’t let each other go for a long time, and then Hector realized what happened.

  He purposely held back and slowly made his way towards them, "Saying, thank you, Lord. Thank you."

  Miguel and Maria still weren’t saying anything but reached out together for Hector. The embrace was full of healing; and when Miguel t
ouched Hector, he knew that he was a believer. Hector sensed the same from Miguel. George went to the back of his store and knelt before his office chair as he cried in his prayers, caught and overwhelmed by the emotion of the moment and thanking and praising God.

  Finally Maria spoke, "I’m so sorry…"

  Miguel put his finger to her lips, then kissed her saying, "I am too. It doesn’t matter, now. We’re together, all of us. Did you know about those…men?"

  She didn’t let him finish this time, "Yes, I saw it a minute ago."

  Hector finally spoke, "Mom, you promised."

  Maria didn’t speak for a minute, remembering her prayer. "Yes, I did. Can you help me do it?"

  Still, without letting go of each other, Hector said, "You need to repent of your sins and ask the Lord to come into your heart."

  Miguel interrupted, "I did that two days ago, Maria."

  Maria spoke, barely able to get the words out from the power of the moment. She finally finished, and they all kept their family hug, not wanting to let each other go. Maria felt the newness saturating her heart. She felt the pain and burden of the hardness flowing away, leaving her, and she breathed deeply, knowing God was in her heart.

  A voice came from the front of the shop, "Now, that’s what I call a family!" announced Grace as she smiled tearfully at them. Only Hector and Maria recognized her, but she made it easy by bringing her wings around her and gloriously draped herself.

  Aaron walked through the front door and did the same, then Irish appeared to George and reached down to help him up and led him out to the front.

  "Who are you? I know what your are," asked Miguel, recognizing Aaron.

  Grace came towards them and said, "We’re God’s team; but more importantly, we’re God’s team for your family." No one said a word, and then all the angels disappeared.

      