Faith and Justice

by Peter O'Mahoney

  “I followed him yesterday afternoon—tailed him from when he left the house and watched him arrive at the home of Dennis Comity, a known mafia man, in the northern suburbs. These are dangerous people.”

  Hunter drew a long breath, humming the tune to the Billy Joel classic. “What else have you got?”

  “Chuck’s well connected. Really well connected.” Jones tapped his fingers on his thigh along to the tune. “I know because he seems to be a step ahead of everyone. After he walked out of the mafia house, the cops arrived only a few minutes later. He obviously knew the cops were coming and when to bail out of there.”

  “How many cops came to the house?”

  “I didn’t stick around to find out. I heard the sirens coming, saw the first car arrive, and then got out of there. It wouldn’t have looked too good if I was caught there. I checked the reports later—no arrests, but the word is that the cops roughed someone up.”

  “Any idea who he’s connected to?” Hunter asked the question, although he already had some idea of the answer.

  Hunter gritted his teeth; he was doing his best not to break out into the last chorus of the song.

  “Word on the street is that some detectives in the department want to make a bit of extra money on the side. Buy nice things. You can’t do that on a straight cop’s wage.”

  “No names?”

  “Not yet.” Jones looked out the window as a tourist group on Segways rolled past. He watched them get close to his truck, his fists clenching, ready to explode if one of them brushed it. “But I’ll tell you something, Tex. People are scared of this White Alliance Coalition. A lot of people, even my best informants, were reluctant to talk about Johnson and his band of merry racists. I didn’t get much information, but what I do know is that these men have hurt people before and won’t hesitate to do it again.”

  “I’m starting to get that impression.”

  “And if you think you’re going to pin the murder case on Johnson, then you better be prepared to be attacked. If anyone goes sniffing in their dirt, they usually end up with a few missing teeth. And the word is that Johnson and his men are on high alert at the moment.”

  “Sing us a song, you’re the piano man!” Hunter sang loudly. He had done his best to resist singing, but he couldn’t help belting out the last verse. “Sing us a song tonight.”

  “Well, we’re all in the mood for a melody,” Jones quickly joined in. He’d been called many things in his time, but Karaoke King was his favorite title. “And you got us feeling alright.”

  They smiled, looking out the window as the harmonica finished the song.

  In his teenage years, Hunter spent a lot of time alone in his bedroom, with the door locked and the curtains drawn closed. Music was his escape. Listening to his parents’ old records helped him disappear from the outside world, and many of the words to the seventies biggest songs were imprinted into his subconscious.

  In the comfort of his messy room, with posters of cars and girls on the walls, Billy Joel, Phil Collins, and Paul Simon became his friends, the people he could turn to when everything else was lost.

  “You have Van Gogh’s ear for tone, Tex.”

  “Thanks.” Hunter laughed. As much as he enjoyed it, singing was never his thing.

  “Do you know who they’re connected to on the inside?” Jones asked.

  “I tailed Bauer two days ago, and saw him talking to Browne.”

  “Your old pal, Detective Browne?”

  “The very one. They were talking quietly in a bar on the Mile. It was the perfect cover for an off-the-books chat.”

  “So he’s dirty?”

  “He’s always been dirty; the question is, how dirty? I’m digging around to try and find that out.”

  “Be very careful where you dig. These men have no issue with violence.”

  “Justice shouldn’t run away from danger.”

  “But this is next level, Tex. I know you love danger, I know you love a rush, but this is different. This is like going on a theme park ride and not buckling up.” Jones turned to face Hunter. “You might get more of a rush, but you might also end up flying into the crowd below. Be careful.”

  Hunter looked out to the view again, studying the distant horizon. A boat sailed towards the sunset, the glint of reflection shining off the water.

  “Tex, I would love nothing better than to take these guys down. The idea that Chuck is spreading hate due to someone’s skin color cuts me deeper than you could ever know. I would love nothing more than to beat the weary old man into the ground, but this is about more than that. Your case is taking you close to these guys. They’re going to come after you. Hard.”

  “The girl in the hospital, Eva, she’s still in an induced coma, and she deserves justice.” Hunter tapped his finger on the steering wheel. “I’m sure that the two incidents are connected—it’s the murder of a minister, and then a drive-by of the same community only weeks later. They have to be connected, and I’m sure that Chuck is at the center of it all. I can’t trust the PD on this one.”

  “Just… be careful.” There was a level of fear in Jones’ voice that Hunter hadn’t heard before.

  And that alarmed him.

  A lot.

  CHAPTER 22

  The walk up the stairs took longer than expected. The elevator was being repaired in the old building, and the stairs were uneven, worn, and slightly sticky. Tex Hunter held onto the handrail tightly, almost expecting to go through one of the steps.

  The building was built in the late 1920s when Chicago started to rebuild after the great fire. Its exterior was well maintained, and its interior was kept as close to the original as possible. Over the years, there had been ten murders in the building, earning it the reputation as the “supernatural hub” of Downtown Chicago. There was a chill in the building, and Hunter wasn’t sure if it was from the ghosts or the lack of daylight. He didn’t want to think about it too much.

  When he reached the third floor, Hunter knocked twice on apartment 305 and waited in the dim hallway. The shabby red carpet in the hallway was spooky enough for him. Hunter heard someone check the peephole.

  “Hello?” the voice called out. “How can I help you?”

  “Mrs. Nelson?”

  “Yes.”

  “My name is Tex Hunter, and I’m a lawyer. I would like to have a word with you about the Baptist church in Grand Crossing.”

  She unbolted the door, unlocking at least three locks before the door creaked open. In front of him was a short African American woman, but despite her height, she looked tough. She had forearms that most grandchildren would be scared of.

  The woman looked over the top of her glasses at Hunter. “You’re the killer’s son?”

  “I’m a lawyer,” Hunter replied. “I had nothing to do with my father’s actions.”

  She hesitated. Most people did. He was a physically imposing character with a family history of murder. That usually scared most people.

  “You can only come in if you’re not going to murder me.” She was only half-joking. “I was there on the day of the church shooting. What you did saved those children’s lives. Even if you’re the son of a killer, you deserve my time.”

  Inside the apartment was cute. The furnishings looked like they had been there for decades, as had the décor. The room smelled like a fresh breeze hadn’t blown through in months, but the scent of the lavender candle was overwhelming any potential mothball smell.

  The rooms were tight but homey. There were children’s picture books on the bookshelf in the living room, and toys sitting in a red box in the corner, tucked away next to the fabric upholstered couch.

  Mrs. Nelson and her apartment weren’t hard to find, but then, most people aren’t. In the age of the Internet, unless a person has made a deliberate attempt to hide, an address can be located within an hour.

  “May I pour you a coffee?” she asked.

  “Please.” Hunter smiled as she offered him a seat on the sofa that looked like
it could be folded out into a bed for guests.

  She turned on the coffee pot in the narrow kitchen and then turned back to the lawyer. “How can I help you?”

  “I was talking with Reverend Darcy recently, and he mentioned your name. He said that you’re now back within the Baptist church community, but I’m interested as to why you left the church in the first place. I understand that you were quite an active member of that community before you left?”

  She sighed and then reached for the coffee machine as it finished brewing. She walked into the living room with two fancy china mugs, the ones she saved for visitors. “You’re defending Reverend Green’s killer, yes?”

  “I am.” Hunter brought the mug to his lips and blew on the steaming liquid.

  “I loved that community. There are so many churches between here and there, but that was where I grew up. I only moved Downtown fifteen years ago, but I always made an effort to get to Grand Crossing each Sunday. It was my community; it was everything to me. But…” She paused as she sat down. Her body sunk into the cushions, shaped after many years of use. “But Reverend Green didn’t like that I was going to see Amos Anderson to heal my back problems. For Reverend Green, it was blasphemous to suggest that faith healing worked. He said it was the work of the Devil and that I had to choose between going to church or going to see the Devil. As you can understand, I wanted my back healed. And Amos did that. He healed decades of pain within a few weeks. It was magic, almost like the work of the Devil, I guess.”

  “Have you been back often since he passed?”

  “Oh yes,” she replied quickly. “I’ve been going to each Sunday service since he passed. I went to Reverend Green’s funeral, and I was impressed with the way Reverend Darcy conducted himself. He recognized me and said that I should come back to the church. I’m so glad I did. The church community has been so important to me for so many years. They’re my family.” She smiled. “Reverend Darcy is much more forward-thinking than his predecessors, and he doesn’t mind that I’ve seen Amos to heal my back. He knows that there are many things in the world that we don’t understand, such as the faith healing. He’s a lovely man. He’s really brought the community back together, especially after Green forced a lot of us away.”

  Hunter never found it hard to convince an elderly member of the community to talk about a case. Mrs. Nelson was no different—she had almost eighty years of experience, and she longed to share it.

  “He forced a lot of people away?” Hunter encouraged her to continue.

  “I hate to speak ill of the dead, but Reverend Green was divisive. He was a loud voice against so many things—faith healing, the decay of the community, the lack of religion in schools, and that drove many people away from the church. I could see how that hurt Reverend Darcy.” She paused, a sad look across her face. She opened her hands and looked to the ceiling, saying a quiet prayer, before she continued. “Reverend Green asked me directly not to come back to the church, and that hurt so much. I had back problems for many, many years, and it stopped me from doing anything. I couldn’t even play with my grandchildren, and when you get to be my age, young man, one of the greatest joys in the world is watching little children play. There were days that I was in so much pain that I could barely walk out the door, and I couldn’t keep asking my son to look after me. He had already done enough. And if the elevator broke in this building, which it often does, there was no way I could use the stairs. I was really struggling to find a way to deal with the pain. I had tried everything before then—praying, chiropractors, acupuncture, drugs, doctors, physiotherapists—everything. But then a friend suggested this faith healer, and I had to try it. I had nothing to lose.”

  “And it worked?”

  “Almost instantly. I saw Amos weekly for two months, and the pain was gone. Completely gone. And the amazing thing is that I’ve never had a problem since. I even ran to catch my grandson last week in the playground. What a beautiful feeling that was. I went from not being able to walk on the bad days, to being pain free and chasing a six-year-old around the playground. I don’t know what Amos did, or how he did it, or even how to explain it, but I will tell you that it worked. It was almost magic, and perhaps it was the Devil’s work, but I would sell my soul to chase my grandson around.”

  Hunter sipped his hot coffee. There was no doubt that she believed in the faith healing. There was no doubt that it changed her life.

  The pictures of Mrs. Nelson’s family sat proudly on the bookshelf, and the black and white pictures of her parents hung proudly above them.

  But the most prominent possession on top of the bookshelf was the Bible—well used and well read.

  “Did Reverend Darcy ever suggest that he wanted to get rid of Reverend Green?”

  She didn’t answer immediately.

  She stood, walked into the kitchen, and turned on the coffee pot again, even though her cup wasn’t even half finished.

  She leaned against the bench, looked to the ceiling, said something softly, and then peered back at Hunter.

  “A week before Reverend Green’s death, I went to the church and saw Reverend Darcy. I asked what my chances were of coming back to the church. He told me to have faith. He said that he was working on getting Reverend Green out of the community.”

  “Did he say how?”

  “No.” Mrs. Nelson shook her head.

  She poured her coffee down the sink, washed her cup out with water, and then filled it up again. Once she did that, she walked back into the living room.

  “I believe in a lot of things, Mr. Hunter. One, I believe in the scripture. Two, I wholly believe in coincidences. I think they’re the Lord’s way of telling you that He’s looking after you. And it was a coincidence, nothing more. A word from the Lord.”

  “You hope.”

  She shot a glare at Hunter.

  Hunter averted his eyes, almost feeling like she was about to walk back into the kitchen to retrieve a wooden spoon.

  “Did you ever meet Lucas Bauer, the manager and promoter of the Faith Healing Project?”

  “Almost everything about the experience with the Faith Healing Project was positive. Amos’ office was lovely—he’s a lovely man himself, and the results were beyond belief. The only thing that put a dampener on the whole experience was the manager, Lucas Bauer. He was very rude to me, and Amos apologized every time I saw him. I don’t know what his problem was, but if I didn’t know any better, I would’ve said that my skin color was the reason he was so rude. When you’ve been through as much as I have, when you’ve seen as much racism as I have, you learn a thing or two about a person’s reaction to your skin color.”

  “You’re saying that Lucas Bauer is racist?”

  “I am.” Mrs. Nelson’s voice was sure. “Amos told me that Lucas wanted to expand the business to include other faith healers, but Amos didn’t agree. Amos wanted the community to stay small. After I was forced out of the church, I volunteered to help Amos’ operations because I loved what he did for me, and I had the time to do it. I wanted to spread that love to the world. But volunteering at the office also meant that I had to deal with Lucas Bauer occasionally. He hated that I came to the office, and I was the only black person there. Everyone else was as white as they come. I only lasted a month in his office before I left. I couldn’t stand the way that Lucas glared at me.”

  Hunter looked around the room. “How long ago was this?”

  “Around two months ago—that’s when I left the organization.” She paused, looking glum while she stared into her coffee. “May I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you believe he’s innocent? Do you really believe that Amos is innocent? Because that’s what he’s saying, isn’t he? He’s saying he didn’t do it.”

  Her eyes were almost pleading with Hunter.

  Hunter sighed, looking at the threadbare carpet, and then gazed back at her.

  “Yes, Mrs. Nelson. I do.” He stood and placed his mug down gently on the ta
ble. “I believe Amos Anderson is innocent.”

  CHAPTER 23

  The sweat started to build under Tex Hunter’s shirt.

  The more he thought about sweat, the more it built. The sweat was a reaction to walking through the busy halls of the prosecutor’s floor; so many people hurried past him, filling the air with tension, desperate to get somewhere, to tell someone something that they obviously thought was critical, maybe even life or death.

  The staff moved like they were the only ones wearing the white hat, like they were the only ones that were virtuous. That annoyed Hunter. He knew what their job entailed, he knew how much they sacrificed to bring justice to the community, but he also knew they got things wrong.

  That was when he felt like he was wearing the white hat.

  The halls were narrow and dimly lit. He could barely see the people pushing past him, but when he reached the main office, the light flooded in from the tall windows. There were too many office cubicles to count, filled with junior lawyers filing paperwork, and at the end of the floor, the offices of the senior prosecutors.

  He walked through the cubicles and was surprised to see the name of the opposing lawyer still on the door. He thought that her life would’ve fallen apart after he found information about her mother being a murderer.

  He had underestimated her strength.

  “Mr. Tex Hunter, it’s been a while.” The prosecutor stood at the door, welcoming him into her spacious office. “And I can’t say that I’m happy to see you after what you told me last time we saw each other.”

  “Michelle Law.” He drew a breath. “I must admit that I was surprised to see your name on the file. I didn’t think that you would continue practicing law after what happened.”

  “I’ve got nothing else, Tex.” She shrugged. “I took a four-month sabbatical after the Sulzberger case. I took time out to go and sit in the sun in the Bahamas, but I’ve never been so bored in my entire life. What a horrible, boring experience. I was sipping Mojitos, but I had nothing else to do. I ended up researching local cases and sitting in the courthouse. I’ve been back at work here two months now, and I’m in the swing of things.”