Courageous: A Novel

by Randy Alcorn

  She slipped on her shoes and picked up her keys.

  Adam looked at her. “Where’s Dylan?”

  “In the shower. He just ran five miles. Says he needs new running shoes. I need to go to the store for a few things, okay?”

  Adam leaned back in his chair and stretched. “I don’t think I could run five miles.”

  “Who says you have to?”

  “I’ve been thinking about running with him.”

  Adam didn’t remember ever seeing Victoria’s jaw drop like it did then.

  “Really?”

  “I’m realizing that I have to learn to do the hard things. I’ve never enjoyed running. But it may be the best way to spend time with Dylan.”

  Victoria came back and looked at the computer screen. “How is your research going?”

  “Sobering. I’ve been doing about half of what I should have been doing as a dad. There is so much in Scripture about being a father. I never took time to look it up.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, here’s what I just read.” He flipped the pages of his Bible. “The last verse of the Old Testament, Malachi 4:6. It’s quoted in Luke 1 about the Messiah: ‘And he will turn the hearts of fathers to their children and the hearts of children to their fathers, lest I come and strike the land with a decree of utter destruction.’”

  “That’s solemn stuff.”

  “You’re telling me. Either God turns the hearts of fathers and children toward each other, or our culture will be destroyed! Politicians can’t change hearts. It all starts in the family.”

  Adam’s cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID. “It’s the sheriff. Hello, sir. Yes, sir, it’s good to be back. Will do. Thank you, sir.”

  Victoria kissed Adam on the head on her way out, whispering, “Love you.”

  Adam turned. The phone still pressed to his ear, he said to Victoria, “Love you. Bye.”

  He spoke into the phone. “Sir . . . Hello? Are you there?”

  Once again, Adam Mitchell had told the sheriff he loved him.

  He hit the table with his fist. “Adam!”

  Adam knocked on Dylan’s door. “Can I come in?”

  “Yeah.”

  Dylan sat on his bed, hair wet. He wore a T-shirt and blue jeans, homework on his lap, game controller nearby.

  Adam moved some clothes off a chair and sat down. “Got a lot of homework?”

  “Not a lot.”

  “Got your learner’s permit?”

  Dylan eyed his wallet on the dresser. “Why?”

  “’Cause I need you to drive me to the mall to get you some new running shoes. I may get a pair for myself.”

  Now Dylan’s jaw dropped, and Adam noticed how much he looked like his mother. I seem to be taking everyone by surprise today.

  “Are you serious?”

  Adam held out the keys. Dylan grabbed them as he vaulted off the bed.

  Ninety minutes later, when they returned home, Victoria stood in the living room, hands on her hips. “Where have my men been and why didn’t they answer their cells?”

  “Oops,” Adam said. “Guess mine was muted.”

  “You never mute it!”

  “I left mine home,” Dylan said.

  Victoria stared at them.

  “Well, Dad asked me to go with him to get running shoes. Guess I wasn’t thinking. Then we stopped at Starbucks.”

  Victoria grabbed the bag and opened a shoe box.

  Adam said, “They fit great. We’re going out for a run.”

  “A run?” Victoria looked at Dylan. “You already ran this afternoon!”

  “No problem. This isn’t going to wear me out.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Adam said. “I’ll find some shorts.”

  “Look deep in the bottom drawer,” Victoria called. “I think there’s a pair with an expandable waistband.”

  The next day, after their morning patrol rounds, Adam and Shane arrived at the Coats & Clark factory, where Javier waited outside.

  “Hey, Javy!” Adam called out. Javy climbed in, and they headed east on Clark.

  Javy examined the backseat. “I’ve never been in the back of a police car.”

  Shane smirked. “Yeah, that’s what they all say.”

  “We’ll have you back in an hour,” Adam said. “So what do you want for lunch?”

  “I’m thinkin’ Moe’s, partner,” Shane said. “You know what they say, ‘Seven days without a chicken burrito makes Juan weak.’”

  “Stick with the donut jokes,” Javy said.

  The dispatcher’s voice boomed over the radio: “SO to 693c.”

  “693c, go ahead.”

  “Deputies need assistance in reference to a 10-95 at the intersection of Plantation and Foxfire.”

  “10-4,” Shane responded. He turned to Adam. “That’s gonna be gang related.”

  “Javy, we’ll do lunch after this. If I tell you to get down, then get down, all right?” Adam turned the car around sharply and stepped on it, flipping on the lights without turning on the siren.

  “What kind of gang?” Javier asked.

  Shane shrugged. “Not much difference. They’re all just jail prep programs.”

  “I started a gang once,” Javy said.

  “What? You were in a gang?”

  “We were the Snake Kings.”

  “The Snake Kings?”

  “Yeah, we had lots of snakes in our neighborhood, so we would throw rocks and try to kill them.” They laughed.

  “How many were in your gang?” Adam asked.

  “Three. My brothers and I.”

  “So you killed a lot of snakes?”

  “Just one. But it was a big one. We thought we were heroes.”

  Within two minutes they pulled up to the curb behind another squad car, where two officers escorted three guys in handcuffs out of the house.

  “Javy,” Adam said, “I need you to stay in the car. Back in a minute.”

  Adam and Shane walked to the other officers.

  “Whaddya got?”

  “Three. Possession with intent to distribute. Possession. Possession,” Deputy Craig Dodson said, pointing to each suspect in turn. “We need y’all to go 10-95 to jail with one of them. Got to separate ’em. Can you swing it?”

  Shane looked at Adam and whispered, “Not with Javy in the back.”

  “Wait here; I’ve got an idea.”

  Adam walked to the car and opened the back door. “Javy, I need a favor.”

  They talked quietly; then Adam returned to Shane, and the two of them brought the ’banger to the car.

  Lamont was taller than Adam and wore a blue plaid cap cocked to one side. He tried hard to look like none of this bothered him.

  Adam turned to him before opening the patrol car door. “You heard of the Snake Kings?”

  “The who?”

  “The Snake Kings. You ever crossed them?”

  “I ain’t heard of no Snake Kings,” Lamont said with a tone that suggested, And if I ain’t heard of them, they ain’t nuthin’.

  “Well, we got the leader in the back. If he tries to go for your throat, you yell and I’ll stop the car.”

  “Wait. Hold on. I ain’t gettin’ in the back with no killer.”

  “Just stay on your side. Don’t look at him. Don’t talk to him and you’ll be fine.”

  Adam opened the door and looked at Javy, who had his hands behind his back as if handcuffed. His hard and distant face surprised Adam. This hombre took his job seriously.

  “Martinez, you hurt this guy, I’ll put you under the jail. You got it? Don’t touch him! All right, get in.”

  “Hold on, man. I ain’t gettin’ in the car with no Snake King.”

  “Get in the car. Stay on your side. You’ll be fine,” Shane announced.

  Adam pushed Lamont down and shut the door. The perp peered at Javy, who gave him a cold, menacing look. Lamont fixed his eyes straight ahead, swallowing hard.

  Adam and Shane got in the front seat, ba
rely maintaining their composure. As Adam started the engine, Shane got on the radio. “Dispatch, this is 693c. We’re 10-95 en route to the jail. ETA ten to twelve minutes.”

  “10-4, 693c.”

  Javy turned toward Lamont and began to snarl in Spanish. “Vamos a almorzar.”

  Adam’s high school Spanish was rusty, but he recognized the word lunch. Lamont clearly didn’t understand a word because he just trembled.

  Javy made each innocuous syllable sound as menacing as he could. “Voy a comprar un bocadillo de pollo . . . y una limonada.”

  Adam smiled. I am getting a chicken sandwich and a lemonade!

  Lamont squirmed. “Hey, man, what’s he saying?”

  “Don’t talk to him!” Adam said. “Just stay on your side.”

  Javy shot Lamont an intense look. “Quizás papas fritas . . . y un batido!”

  Fries and a shake? Javy, you are too much!

  “He’s threatening me! I think he wants to kill me. I can see it in his eyes!”

  “Calm down!” Shane said. “If he wanted to kill you, you’d be dead by now!”

  Javy quieted a moment, then looked at Lamont. Javy acted like he was pulling at his cuffs, then suddenly exposed his left hand, holding it up threateningly and hissing the words “Snake Kings!”

  Lamont twisted frantically. “He’s free! He’s free! He’s gonna kill me! Stop the car!”

  It was all Adam and Shane could do to keep themselves from busting up. But they had to keep the facade up for Lamont, who couldn’t get to jail fast enough.

  Chapter Nineteen

  That evening, Adam, Victoria, and Dylan sat around the dinner table. Adam told them Javy’s story. “It was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. But it gets better. Javier pulls one hand out from behind as if he got out of the cuffs, and I thought Lamont was gonna wet his pants. He says, ‘He’s gonna kill me!’”

  Adam laughed so hard he had to hold his stomach. Each person’s laughter was contagious, every outburst leading to another. Slowly they quieted down. Adam wiped his eyes.

  “Lamont keeps begging me to stop the car. So I say, ‘Give me some names of who’s been supplying the drugs, and I’ll stop the car.’ So he rattles off three names, and Shane writes them down.”

  “Did you stop the car?”

  “Yeah, thirty seconds later when we arrived at the station!”

  “Did he figure out it was staged?” Dylan asked.

  “No way. He’s probably telling guys in jail about the Snake Kings right now. I only asked Javy to pretend he was a gang leader. The rest was his idea.” Adam smiled broadly. “I’ve never seen anybody so anxious to get to jail!”

  “Javy’s got a crazy side,” Victoria said. “Once he gets comfortable around you.”

  Adam paused. “The guys like Javy. We’ve kind of adopted him into our group. And that’s good for cops. I mean to have a noncop in the mix.”

  Victoria toyed with her dinner. “I still can’t believe Carmen brought us those three meals after the funeral. That was so sweet.”

  Adam looked at Victoria and set down his fork. “You know, I just realized something. I had a good day today.”

  Victoria studied his face. She realized her day hadn’t been bad, and it had just gotten better.

  “We’re gonna be okay, aren’t we?” Adam went on. “I mean, this family’s going to be all right.”

  Adam turned to Dylan. “You doin’ all right, buddy?”

  Dylan stared, then nodded. He pushed his food around the plate. His face reddened. Finally, as if out of nowhere, he said, “I wish I’d been a better brother.”

  Suddenly the dam broke; tears fell from Dylan’s eyes. Adam and Victoria found themselves crying too. Adam got up, moved around behind Dylan, then embraced him with a strong right arm. Victoria joined them.

  Adam held Dylan and talked into his ear, feeling a closeness and commitment to his son stronger than anything in recent years. “I love you, buddy. You are my son and I’m proud of you. Don’t you ever forget that, okay? Don’t you ever forget that.”

  Adam looked up. “What’s wrong with us? We’re laughing our heads off one second and bawling the next. Are we all basket cases?”

  Victoria said, “As long as we’re in the basket together, I don’t care.”

  Adam looked at his wife and son, feeling a surge of fresh hope. He hadn’t recognized each milestone of his life as it came. But this one seemed unmistakable. When he wasn’t looking, the healing had begun.

  After work Adam entered the Whispering Pines Retirement Center, still in uniform. Many places he preferred civilian dress, but elderly folk respected the badge. Why do the very young and the very old love cops, while the people in between often can’t stand us?

  No sooner did he walk in the door than he heard a voice call, “Adam, over here!” It was Tom Lyman. Tom was stationed in his wheelchair, enjoying the sunshine in the atrium, surrounded by plants and flowers.

  Adam shook Tom’s hand and gave him a gentle hug. This was the sixth time they’d met. He’d come almost every week since Pastor Rogers introduced them. At first, Adam thought the pastor had just wanted to keep him busy serving others so he’d forget his own pain. At eighty-one years old, Tom could use some encouragement. But Adam had no clue then how the tables would turn.

  “You look good, today, Adam!”

  “Thanks, Tom. You too.”

  The man’s ruddy complexion radiated life. A smile was his mouth’s default position. “Ready to tell me what you’ve learned?”

  “I printed out some of my notes.” Adam handed a half-dozen typed pages to Tom.

  “Lots of Scripture, I see,” Tom said, adjusting his glasses. “Could you grab us some coffee while I start reading?”

  Adam walked around the corner, smiling at several of the workers, and helped himself to the coffee. Black for him, lots of cream for Tom. He felt like he’d known Tom twenty years and wished he had. Tom had introduced him to World War II veterans, men who told him stories about another time. They were old as bronze statues, part of history. Often they’d talk about whatever they happened to remember. Yanked out of the present, Adam discovered the richness of the past in people’s stories. One man in his nineties told him about the “old sheriff,” by which he meant Albany’s sheriff in the 1930s.

  Adam took his time, visiting with a few residents, because Tom liked to read Adam’s reflections before they talked.

  He returned with coffee just as Tom finished the last page.

  “Thank you, Adam.” Tom sipped it and smiled. “Just how I like it.”

  “I’ve read a couple of those books you gave me.” Adam pulled out a battered volume that he’d borrowed from Tom. “The Knowledge of the Holy is really something: ‘What comes into our minds when we think about God is the most important thing about us.’”

  “Very good. You see how it feeds your mind and heart in ways the newspaper and television never will?”

  Adam nodded. “But I’m no theologian.”

  “We’re all theologians, Adam. Either good ones or bad ones. I’d rather be a good one, wouldn’t you?”

  “Do you know how long it took me to memorize that one line from Knowledge of the Holy, just so I could impress you? I’ve tried memorizing Scripture, but I don’t think I’ll ever be good at it. I don’t have the kind of mind that memorizes.”

  “Name the starting defensive line for the Falcons last year.”

  Adam rattled off names, position by position, including two guys who replaced injured starters.

  “How many home runs did Hank Aaron hit?”

  “755.”

  “Sing me the words to Gilligan’s Island.”

  “What?”

  “I’m serious.”

  After Adam made sure his shoulder mic was off, he sang all the words, and Tom joined for the last verse. They both laughed.

  “See? Your brain can remember far more than you realize. The point is, you’re not used to memorizing Scripture, but the more you do it,
the easier it will be.”

  Tom leaned over and placed a hand on Adam’s arm. “Adam, I think you and Victoria should consider taking a grief class. I went through one three months after Marianne died. I was skeptical. At first, I did it for my daughter’s sake. But she was right. I needed it. Talk to Pastor Rogers.”

  “He mentioned one, but I didn’t think it was right for us.”

  “It could be a big help. One couple from that class still comes and visits me, and they bring their children. One of them, Kyle, is in high school now. He and I have a weekly Bible study.”

  “You study with a high school boy?”

  “Absolutely. We memorize Scripture.”

  “So I’m not the only one you keep busy!”

  Tom chuckled. “I don’t view this retirement center as a place to watch TV and play bingo until I die. I view it as a center of operation from which I can touch the world for eternity through my prayers and conversations. My role model is Caleb in Joshua 14. At age eighty-five he asked God to give him the hill country in the Promised Land, and he would drive out the giants who lived there. Well, he was four years older than I am! If he was fighting giants, I can sure meet with you. And Kyle, my high school friend. And George, Bruce, Benny, Nick. And Javier.”

  “Javier? What’s he look like?”

  “Average height and weight. He’s seventeen. Why do you ask?”

  “Never mind. Listen, Tom, I’ve got to get to Dylan’s track meet. But remember, next Thursday I’ll pick you up to meet Victoria and Dylan.”

  “Looking forward to it. It’ll beat the dickens out of bingo!” He laughed. Adam put his arm around Tom’s shoulder, smelling Old Spice and feeling the frail body that surrounded that big heart.

  When Adam walked out the door, his steps were lighter than when he’d arrived.

  Tom Lyman, eighty-one and confined to a wheelchair, was genuinely happy and content. And he was one of the most intentional people Adam had ever met. Tom did far more of consequence in this rest home than 95 percent of men did outside it. And at least until recently, Adam had been part of that 95 percent.

  Adam Mitchell supposed he might be halfway through his life in this world. He wanted the remaining half to look more like Tom Lyman’s.