by Randy Alcorn
Jake felt guilty for lying but tried not to show it.
“Anyway, the clinic stories go on, and these are just cases that happened to be solved. Most we’ll never know what really happened. But here’s what’s really interesting on the home front. There have been four bombings or arsons at abortion clinics in this city the past ten years. All four are officially unsolved. I stress the word officially.”
“What’s your point, Ollie?”
“Officially a murder is unsolved until there’s a conviction, even if I really know who did it. Same with arson and bombing. Jeb says he’d bet the farm he knows who did two of the four unsolveds. Case number one, July 1991. It’s 5:00 A.M., an hour before anyone ever comes to this clinic. The owner of the clinic, the main abortionist, happens to be there. He smells something funny. He puts out the fire. It’s front page news—naturally, anti-abortionists get the blame.
“So Jeb goes in as the arson detective, finds the incendiary device, runs a fingerprint check, and guess what? The only fingerprints on it belong to the owner of the clinic—luckily his prints were on file. Jeb asks the owner if he ever touched it. The guys says no way’ Jeb says, ’So why is your fingerprint on it?’ and the guy just about loses his dentures. Then he says, ’Oh yeah, maybe I touched it after I put the fire out.’ Jeb asks why. I mean, people stay away from that sort of thing, besides it would still be hot. Why would you touch it, or if you did, why would you forget or lie and say you hadn’t? Well, Jeb’s conclusion was, it was insurance fraud. The guy got public sympathy, made his enemies look bad, and got a new roof, which he needed anyway.”
“No kidding?”
“No kidding.” Ollie was flipping through his notes again. “Then there’s the biggest clinic in town. May 1993, just after that abortionist was killed down in Pensacola. Some guy hears a ruckus and looks out his window and happens to see somebody throw something through a window of the clinic. He saw a long-haired man in a white shirt running from the clinic, but it was too dark for a positive ID. Those abortion protesters are the short-haired type, but naturally everybody assumed they did it. Know what Jeb says?”
“No, but I bet you’re going to tell me.”
“For a price.”
“Okay, I’ll buy you a hot dog next time we meet for lunch.”
“I was thinking a Häagen-Dazs from that vendor headin’ this way.”
Jake looked up and saw the vendor in the distance.
“Okay, okay It’s yours. What does Jeb say?”
“This guy called the fire department, they were there in three minutes, and there was only damage to one room and one machine in that room. The ultrasound.”
“So?”
“So, Jeb’s daughter is a nurse over at Lifeline. He had dinner at her place a week later and the fire comes up. He mentions the ultrasound, and she says, ’What a coincidence. They’ve been sending their patients over to us the last month because their ultra-sound doesn’t work.’ So, guess whose insurance company got them a new ultrasound?”
Jake shook his head in amazement. “What did Jeb do?’
“Nothing. Insurance companies have their own investigators. That’s not Jeb’s job.”
“So they got away with it?’
“As far as I know. Who can prove it? It could have been a coincidence. Any way you look at it they come out smellin’ like a rose.”
“You don’t sound too impressed with the abortion business.”
“I guess I see too much violence in my job. I have to look at bloody pictures every day. You get callous to it, you have to, but a few times it’s been babies. That’s the worst. And when I see those pictures the protesters show, I know they’re real. They look like things I’ve seen. And there’s something in me that always makes me want to get the jerks that kill little kids. Not that I have a lot of sympathy for these demonstrators either. The whole thing just bugs me, that’s all.”
“What about the other two cases?”
“One was a zero. No clues, no witnesses. Could have been an anti-abortionist, could have been another inside job, who knows? But the other was very interesting. It was at the Downtown Feminist Women’s Center. Four years ago.”
“That was the clinic Doc worked at. And I think that was about the time he quit. He might have still been there.”
“You know what else? There was an incident at that clinic during business hours the same day it got torched. Besides a few people hanging around passing out literature, there was a guy, tall guy, marijuana tattoo on his right bicep, who just walked into the clinic and started yelling. I’ve got a copy of the police report right here. By the time the cops got there the guy was gone. Took off on foot. They couldn’t even book him, so we don’t even know if his fingerprints are on file. He definitely wasn’t with the protesters. His language was like a drunken sailor’s.” Ollie paused for effect. “I’ve saved the best for last, Jake. He came to blows with someone at the clinic.”
“Yeah?”
“One of the doctors came out of a back room and this guy was on him. Three guesses who the doctor was.”
“Doc?”
“You got it. Your friend got in a couple good licks on the guy, but not before he took him down and ripped up his clothes. The guy ran off, and Doc left for the day. The report says while the perp was in your friend’s face, he kept yelling ’You killed my baby’ I imagine the doctor was pretty shook.”
“Doc never told me that.” Jake wondered how many other things about that part of his life Doc never told him. “Are you saying that same night this guy came back and torched the clinic?”
“Somebody did. I’d lay money on him, wouldn’t you?”
“But what are the chances? I mean … this was over four years ago? You think this guy would wait this long if he was going to go after Doc?’
“Don’t know But it makes for an interesting thought, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, it does.” Jake hesitated a moment. “Ollie, do you think Jeb would talk to me about this stuff? I mean, if I wanted to use it for a column some time?”
Ollie gave Jake a measured stare, as if analyzing a machine that wasn’t working properly. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your columns. Is it my imagination, or are you going through some kind of change? Like male menopause or something?”
“Or something, Ollie. I’d like to talk to you about it, but first I’ve got to get some stuff worked out in my own head. Meanwhile, would Jeb talk to me?”
“Well, he’d have to downplay a lot of what he told me, especially his theories on the two incidents here in town, the ones he’s convinced were deliberate. The department would have his neck if that came out. But most of this stuff is public domain, newspaper articles and other stuff. If I asked him, vouched for you, I’ll bet he’d help you as much as he could, maybe be an anonymous police detective source.’ Want me to ask?”
“Yeah, I’d really appreciate that, Ollie. I’ve never heard this stuff before, and nothing like it has ever been in the Trib, that’s for sure. I’d like to tackle it, maybe after a few weeks of background research. Give Jeb my number, will you? Tell him there’s a hot dog with kraut in it for him.”
“In that case I may tag along.” Ollie stood up and waved his hand at a vendor coming his way. “Meanwhile, I hear a Coffee & Almond Crunch calling my name.”
“Sue? It’s Jake.”
“Hi, Jake! I’ve been thinking a lot about you lately. Haven’t talked to you since Christmas. How are you?”
“Okay. Listen, Little Finn’s not off to school yet, is he?”
“No. Want to talk to him?”
“No, that’s okay. You usually read my column after he goes off to school, don’t you?”
“Yep, every Tuesday and Thursday morning over coffee, like clockwork. And recently I can hardly wait to see what you’re going to shock me with next. I keep looking back at the byline to make sure it’s really your column.”
“You’re not the first person who’s mentioned that.”
&nb
sp; “The other day, though, I figured it all out.”
“What’s that?”
“I figured out your whole scam.”
“Scam?”
“Yeah. Suddenly it dawned on me. Finney didn’t really die. He’s holed up in Jake’s apartment as his ghostwriter!”
“Ghostwriter, huh?”
“Well, I didn’t mean it that way.” Sue laughed. “Seriously, Jake, I’ve been wanting to call you, but to be honest I didn’t want to say the wrong thing. I’m afraid if you keep hearing me say how pleased I am with your columns you’ll have to rethink them and maybe run a retraction or something! Anyway, I’m just so proud of you. I can’t wait to get together and talk.”
“Yeah, let’s do that. I’ve got a lot to tell you. Some of its good news. For now, I just want to be sure you read my column today. My phones already ringing, and there’s an uproar down here, and I thought … well, to be honest, I guess I wanted to ask you to pray for me.”
Sue’s coffee cup dropped to its saucer, and coffee lapped over on her blouse. “Jake, are you all right? Well, of course you’re all right, I didn’t mean to imply … Jake, really, are you all right?’
Jake laughed. Sue could hear the strain in his voice, but also a strange calm.
“Its that shocking, huh? You pray for me all these years and maybe it starts to have just a little effect and you can’t believe it. You think I’ve gone off the deep end. You’re a real woman of faith, Sue!”
“Jake, I don’t know what to say.”
“Obviously. Just read the column. But don’t get your hopes up. It’s not The Confessions of St. Augustine or anything. I have to deal with issues in the column—there’s nothing spiritual in it, not directly anyway. Just something that Carly and I experienced last week when we spent the day together. But please. I was serious. Do pray for me. I need it, Sue. I’ve got an important meeting this afternoon, and I’m … nervous. Rome is burning around me down here, and I’m not sure whether to turn on the fire extinguishers or just sit back and fiddle.”
“I will pray, Jake. But first I’m reading this column! I’ll call you back.”
Sue tore open the Trib to the Forum section and went straight to Jake’s picture and column:
Last week I went into the local county library with my seventeen-year-old daughter, Carly. As we walked in the front door, there in the free literature rack were multiple copies of two homosexual newspapers. In addition to their schedules of gay activities, these newspapers are filled with homo-erotic pictures and advertisements of people seeking sexual partners. The ads often state a preference for “young” partners.
The newspapers also contain various 800 numbers to “get you in touch with other hot guys.” They contain pay-by-the-minute sex simulation 900 numbers. They tell you where you can go to see homosexual X-rated movies right here in town, and “meet new friends.” “All Boy’s Company,” advertised with a bare-chested young man, is billed as our state’s “largest male escort service.” It promises to provide you with “stunning guys as young as eighteen.” (Am I missing something, or is this not-so-thinly-veiled prostitution—which is illegal?)
I went to the librarian and nicely pointed out these materials to her. I explained I didn’t think the library was the place to distribute them. I’m a journalist—nobody’s bigger on the first amendment than I am. But when it comes to distributing phone numbers and addresses of those soliciting sex, it just seemed a bit outside the scope of services of a tax-funded public library.
The librarian seemed uneasy, but assured me “we have to carry these newspapers.” She gave me a complaint form to fill out and mail to the main library, which I did. Just yesterday I got my reply from Linda Colter, the director of libraries for Lytle County. Ms. Colter assures me “these publications provide important information for members of the gay and lesbian community and others interested in that community.” She points out, “A library’s collection mirrors society.” They will continue to make these newspapers available, in multiple quantities, at all our county libraries.
I’m delighted our libraries carry a diversity of opinions, including many with which I disagree. This is America. But the director’s statement, “A library’s collection mirrors society” isn’t entirely accurate. Society contains racism, but the library doesn’t mirror it by circulating the Skinhead Monthly. Society has organizations of pedophiles, but the library doesn’t pass out child molesting literature with phone numbers of available children. Society has drugs, but the library doesn’t pass out information on where to buy drugs in this city. Society has a lot of people, both heterosexual and homosexual, looking for younger and more attractive sex partners, but our libraries have never felt compelled to assist them in linking up. Not until now.
I think back to myself and my two best friends, growing up thirty-five or forty years ago, dropped off by our parents at the town library. I suppose they knew we could sneak a look at naked pygmies in National Geographic, but what would they have thought—what would we have thought—if the library put into our hands printed materials containing sensuous pictures and specific sexual propositions from men in the area, complete with phone numbers and mail boxes?
Carly, from whom I’ve learned a lot the last few months, helped me think this through. We talked about all the lonely confused young people looking for love and attention, paging through these newspapers. Flattered they’re “wanted,” or just curious, how many young people might go ahead and call one of these numbers? Carly thinks some will.
I understand, of course, that such newspapers exist, and anyone can pick one up in a gay bar. Fine. But most of us don’t send our children to gay bars. We do send them to the county library. As far as I know, the library doesn’t carry Hustler and child pornography, so perhaps this same responsible willingness to self-censor could be applied to these newspapers without fatally wounding the first amendment.
This isn’t just a homosexual issue. I would also object to the library passing out newspapers full of heteroerotic pictures, advertisements for escorts, 900 sex lines, and want-ad solicitations for heterosexual sex partners. Surely sexual propositions geared to the young aren’t appropriate just because they’re made by homosexuals, are they?
Realistic parents know that in a free society there will be any number of people wanting to sway and seduce our children. Many of us, though, will not think it unreasonable that our tax-funded county library refrain from serving as their distribution arm.
I realize that in the shadow of the political correctness that substitutes labeling and name-calling for intelligent dialogue, I will be dismissed by many as a homophobic puritanical bigot, or a religious nut. To be honest, that’s exactly how I’ve labeled people many times myself in this very column. I hope to refrain from such labeling in the future.
I finish with just one question for those determined to take the path of political correctness to its ultimate embrace of any and all forms of diversity. If today our tax-funded libraries say they must provide our children with newspapers containing erotic pictures, prostitution services and solicitations for sex partners, what will they feel they must provide for our children tomorrow?
Sue set down the newspaper, folding it almost reverently, then quietly got down on her knees.
The stocky man walked by Jake Woods’s car on Morrison, nonchalantly staking it out, watching who might be watching him. The steady foot traffic served more as a cover for his actions than a deterrent to them. The modern mind-your-own-business city people focused on their own concerns, and really didn’t care about the man leaning down to pick up a quarter he’d dropped. While he picked up the quarter with his left hand, his right hand slipped under the side of the Mustang, moving the device in his palm until it attached securely to the undercarriage. He put the quarter in his pocket and disappeared into the flow of pedestrians.
* * *
Three o’clock. Time for the multiculturalism committee meeting. Jake was nervous. This time he had a few things for the ag
enda. He came at the last moment and sat by Clarence. There always seemed to be a seat or two open by Clarence.
Jess Foley started the meeting.
“We’ve gotten a number of letters saying we’re not being fair and balanced in our treatment of both sides of the so-called ’No Special Rights for Homosexuals’ campaign.” Jess waved his hand. “I know, I know, a lot of us object to the terminology. We’ve made that clear in our coverage, I think. When we ran that front page letter from the publisher against the proposal last week, it made some waves. We’d never done anything like that before, and a lot of people seem to have resented it, think it demonstrates a lack of objectivity on our part. My question is, can we find any good points made by the other side without compromising how deeply we feel about it? Anything to make us come across a bit more objective and balanced?”
There was an awkward silence, until Pamela said, “That’s like asking for a balanced view of the holocaust.”
Jake took a deep breath and jumped in.
“I’m glad you raised this issue, Jess. I agree we should try to be more objective on this thing. As for comparisons to the holocaust, don’t they trivialize the real holocaust? I mean, the holocaust wasn’t about whether those who do certain sexual acts deserve preference in employment and housing. It was about herding people into rail cars, dumping them at death camps, stripping them naked, and murdering them with poison gas. Am I missing something, or is this comparison totally out of line? If we stigmatize people as Nazis just because they don’t want to be forced to hire a homosexual as their church choir director, is that objective journalism?”
Several started to respond at once.
“Hold it, hold it.” Jess stuck his finger in the dam. “This issue has dominated our discussion the last two meetings, and I don’t want to get into it again. Most of us, myself included, have deep feelings against this piece of legislation. Fine. Let’s just try to get a little balanced coverage in there, if possible. Now let’s move on. What else have we got today?”
“Sorry, Jess,” Peter Sallant said, “but in the last month homosexual has appeared on the Forum page nearly a dozen times. The correct term is gay. That’s what the movement calls itself and that’s what we need to call it. Somebody over in Forum needs to watch it more carefully.”