by Tom Rich
“I just have the one thing.” Melvin turned from Diane. “Just this one thing.” He took his plate of fries into his den and closed the door. He set the plate on his desk and stared at the telephone.
The easiest thing Melvin had ever done was throw up the shot with four seconds left that eliminated the number two seed in the Indiana State High School Tournament. One of the most difficult things was getting open from the triple team guarding him. But once he got free, once Kurt fed him that pass, once the ball was in his hands, there was no effort involved: his elbows drew together, his feet rose off the floor, and the ball found the arc that had been waiting to guide it since the beginning of time. Northwest Gary Tech had just enough time to inbound the ball and throw up a Hail Mary from three-quarter court. Jacob Fairly, that year’s Mr. Basketball, didn’t find his arc.
Melvin hit the first speed dial button on his desk phone.
Kurtwood Franz answered after the first ring.
“Yeah, Mel.”
“Mike Spooner. You ever hear what happened with him?”
“What? He came after you for that money? If he did, I never heard about it.”
“Not that. I mean how he turned out after high school.”
“No. Can’t say I even remember him graduating with us.”
“Me neither. Just wondering.”
“Why not tell me what’s really on your mind.”
Weeks cleared his throat. “How you think it would’ve turned out for you if we hadn’t made that run in the state tournament? You didn’t have any colleges looking at you until then.”
“You had offers, Mel. More than me, as I recall. But you chose the Navy after graduation.”
“That comment you made at the diner.”
“Shit, Melvin. You’re not about to tell me there was something on your record about that money I took that kept you out of college.”
“Nothing like that.”
“Because if—”
“I said it was nothing like that.”
“Okay, Mel. Easy.”
“That comment about laws more binding than those made by modern nations. I want to know if you believe everyone is subject to the same set of laws.”
“Modern laws, or the other?” said Franz.
“Any law that two people live under together.”
“It’s a matter of one set of laws being more valid than another.”
“Yeah…yeah, what I thought.”
“Melvin, don’t get mad, but I have to ask this only because I’m not sure what you’re getting at. Do you feel your lot in life is to pay for my sins? Because the things you’ve accomplished are every bit as important as what I’ve done. More so.”
“I’ve had it with the whole retribution thing.”
“So you’ve said. Don’t tell me you’re thinking about siding with the thief over the carpenter.”
“Is that meant to be a joke?”
A long pause followed. Finally, Franz said, “No.”
“What I thought,” said Melvin quietly. He broke the connection.
Melvin thought back thirty years to the day he and Kurt set a precedent after their first practice with Coach Benders. Coach always had the stands rolled out during practice in the tiny gym because he wanted his players to sense the crowd; wanted the boys to know that the game was just as important to the cantaloupe farmers and distillery workers and shop clerks in the county as it was for them. The rule was the two players who hustled the least in practice had to roll the stands back to the wall to ready the gym for class the next morning. But Mel and Kurt, independent of each other, had the same idea that day they became lifelong friends. Kurt was already telling the two kids to hit the showers when Mel sneaked back in. They looked at each other, and without a word, bent down and drove hard with their legs until the first section of stands slowly folded in on itself and flattened against the wall. Coach Benders caught them at it a week later after having forgotten to turn out the lights. He managed to keep his famous temper in check, then brought the rest of his players back into the gym to run extra wind sprints while Kurt and Mel rolled up all eight sections.
Melvin pulled his plate of fries closer. He opened a drawer in his desk and took out the salt shaker.
Something wasn’t right. The shaker grew heavy. It pulled his hand to the desk. There was no feeling in his hand. Numbness traveled up his arm. Melvin felt the entire left side of his body shut down. The salt shaker tipped. He tried to stand.
“Stand to meet the challenge,” was how Coach Benders’ started his speech before every game. “Never turn away and you can slay giants.”
Melvin felt himself rising, felt the ball leaving his hands and finding its arc. The ball rose up through everything good in his life. There was he and Kurt, their shoulders to the stands, pushing and pushing, a section of the stands slamming against the wall. Then there was Diane, flying in to Barcelona to meet him for shore leave, the two of them walking Las Ramblas and making a lifetime’s worth of plans. They walked and walked, talking about how many children they would have. A whole passel, they decided. No limits. Life is about not setting limits. “Life is about slaying giants,” Coach Benders said.
The ball arced like it was arcing into forever.
And the feeling of giants slain.
And he and Kurt pushing the stands—two good men with their shoulders to it can slay giants.
Melvin saw himself asking to be made deacon at Kent Street Baptist, inspired by Reverend Knox’s sermon about David slaying Goliath.
And Melvin’s faith grew and grew.
And Ila always made sure the salt shakers in the diner were full.
Melvin’s shot reached its apex and started its downward flight. Only now the ball found a different arc. In the brief moment before his desktop rushed up to meet him, Melvin saw the darker moments of his life. There was the stillborn child, and the doctors, three in succession, telling Diane there would never be children. And now there were children dead in wells, and a god who chose them to pay for other’s sins. There was he and Kurt pushing the stands for the last time in the empty gym. A rally had been planned to send the team off to the Final Four. But not one person showed when it became a consolation rally. There was only Mel and Kurt pushing the stands against the wall one final time. Coach Benders never said, “Good career,” or, “Good season,” or even, “Nice game.” He merely turned away in the empty gym. The final section slammed against the wall one last time, and the echo in the empty gym became the voice Reverend Knox: “And I saw, and behold, a pale horse, and its rider’s name was Death.”
Ila redrew the salt emblem of Omega Moon; the one God chose to do His work.
“Melvin?”
30: Message
One hundred and fifty uniformed policemen lined the pathway. As he passed through the gauntlet, Kurtwood Franz saw tribute in the numbers. Better still, he saw utter respect demonstrated by 150 rigid, unwavering postures.
Diane Weeks stood just inside the door of Bartlett and Haavers Funeral Home along with her sister and brother-in-law. Franz and Diane embraced before saying a word to each other.
“Look at you,” said Franz as they parted. “I thought I was going to be giving you strength today.” He wiped his eyes with a handkerchief.
“A time to weep, Kurt. I believe you know my sister, Shirley. Her husband, John.”
“Of course,” said Franz. “We’ve met several times.” He shook John’s hand.
“Mr. Franz,” said John.
Shirley nodded.
“Melvin considered Kurt to be his brother,” Diane said. “His only family. He will stand with us today.”
“Of course,” said John. “Of course. Glad to have you.” He patted Franz’s shoulder.
Shirley took Franz’s hand and smiled.
Diane straightened her shoulders. “I cooked Melvin a big roast with all the trimmings the night he passed,” she said to Franz. “But he wanted to sit alone in his den with those French fries of his. His last thoughts ha
d to be of you.”
“No,” said Franz, “His last thoughts would’ve been of you. I’m certain.”
John patted Franz on the back.
“It appears Melvin was trying to stand when he was touched,” Diane continued.
Franz wanted to bawl. He choked it back. Coach Benders’ “Stand to Meet the Challenge” speech flashed through his mind. Never turn away. “Sylvie wanted to be here. But we decided it would cause too much commotion.”
“I heard about her meltdown on live television,” said Diane.
Franz looked into the distance. “The entire country has. It’s on all the networks.”
“Good for her,” said Diane. “People who think Marva Jenkins is all that don’t realize what an affront she is to the dignity of certain people of color in this community. The way she trivialized the good work that young woman is working so hard to put together.”
Shirley shook her head. “An abomination,” she said. “That woman is an abomination.”
Franz wanted to let loose over how much these people were standing as one with him on this day. “Sylvie would love it if you’d work with her on her foundation,” he said to Diane. “She’d like to put Melvin’s name to it somewhere. Maybe on a treatment center. Something. It’s only in the planning stages yet.”
“I’ll give the matter some thought. I certainly will. And don’t you listen to what people say about her. She’s the best thing to happen to you in a long while. That girl is real. I can see that through all her storm and rage.”
“Any more word from the coroner?” asked Franz.
“Only that it was a massive stroke. Melvin knew the risks involved with the trivetazine. The list of possible side effects is longer than your arm. He thought the possibility of two more years worth the risk. But God had other plans.”
“Praise the Lord,” said Shirley.
“His will be done,” said John.
The funeral director approached. He announced that cars were filling the parking lot. Franz took his place at the side of John as the fourth in line.
The first mourners passed through, and the procession continued at a steady pace.
Franz observed that Diane remained strong, was more consoling than needing to be consoled, and that Shirley and John continued to be joyous, as if they firmly believed Melvin had gone to a better place.
But Franz saw Melvin as being cheated of his last months. Melvin saw his end approaching and was taking it like a man. Shouldn’t that have meant something to God? Yet God deprived Melvin of important last works, final victories, and immeasurable amounts of love.
Franz snapped out of his reverie when Mayor Abruzzo reached the line. That the mayor showed up was not what impressed Franz. It was the fact that he arrived neither first or last, nor with entourage, but merely as a man come to pay respects. “Melvin Weeks is the finest man I will ever know,” the mayor said to Diane.
“He’s found his reward,” said Diane.
Shirley and John both nodded and smiled at the mayor.
Mayor Abruzzo took Franz’s extended hand. Franz pulled him into an embrace, said very quietly, “Mel had had it with the whole retribution thing.”
The mayor broke the embrace, took half a step back. “Something you would know better than I, Kurt.”
“He called me,” said Franz, continuing to hold the mayor’s hand. “Last thing he did.”
“Oh?”
“At first I thought it was to question my morals.” The mayor tried to pull his hand away. Franz squeezed harder. “But he was on to something. Something more important.”
“Look, uh, Kurt,” said the mayor. “This isn’t a good time. You have my assistant’s number. If you want to—”
“Mel’s God is a jealous deity.”
“Why not just call me directly. After things settle down a bit.”
“He saw Mel slipping from his grasp.”
The mayor leaned in, said quietly, sternly, “This is not the time.”
Franz held the mayor’s hand with two hands. “Mel was nearly in the position to help me figure it all out.”
Mayor Abruzzo jerked his hand out of Franz’s grip and walked away.
“You think you know me? You think you know who I am? Chosen? Or self created? Tell me.”
The mayor shook his head without turning.
“If I could find a way,” Franz said more to himself than to the rapidly departing mayor, “I’d make this God pay for cutting Melvin down too soon.”
“Mr. Franz, you ah-ight?”
~ ~ ~
A man took his hand out of his hair and offered it to Diane. “Mrs. Weeks, I’m Jones Pelfry. I’d like to express my profoundest condolences on your loss.”
“Thank you, Detective Pelfry.” She touched his hand lightly. “I do know who you are. My husband mentioned you from time to time.”
“Captain Weeks was more than my boss,” said Pelfry. “He was a mentor. He had a way of making me feel special. But that was his way. He did his best to make everyone feel special.”
“You’re too kind, Detective.” Diane tilted away from Pelfry, then toward Shirley, as if Pelfry straddled a line she wanted to help him over. “This is my sister, Shirley.”
Pelfry leaned in close to Diane and whispered, “Did Melvin say anything to you about a special project we discussed?”
Diane stood taller, shook her head.
Pelfry leaned in closer. “About him contacting me. Sometime soon.”
Diane remained poised, but took on the tone of reprimanding a child. “My husband said you were flakier than a box of Ivory Snow, Mr. Pelfry. Melvin was a God fearing Christian man. He had no use for seances or any other of the nonsense that makes a mockery of respectable religion.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t realize… I stepped out of line and I apologize. My deepest sympathies.”
Shirley held up her hands and passed Pelfry along with a shake of her head. John had been too busy chatting to hear the exchange. He reached out and took Pelfry’s hand.
“Young man,” said Diane. Pelfry turned. “My husband also said he’d never seen a man more natural born to criminal investigation than yourself. He said if anyone were capable of bringing in that child killer, you would be that man. You find that child killer, Detective Pelfry. You bring that Godless, soulless person in to face justice. That would be a greater tribute to my husband than anyone here today could ever give.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
John heard that. He pumped Pelfry’s hand vigorously. “John Quince. John Quince. How do you do, sir. I am pleased to meet you. I’m Melvin’s brother-in-law.” He patted Pelfry’s shoulder and continued pumping his hand. “John Quince. Pleased to meet you. Pleased to meet you, sir.”
“Mr. Quince. Your brother-in-law was one fine man.”
“Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Glad to meet you. That he was. That he was.”
“Better circumstances next time.”
“Yessir. You continue Melvin’s fiiiiine work now.”
Pelfry didn’t hear the last comment. He was preparing himself for when Kurtwood Franz broke his embrace with the tall boy just ahead in line.
~ ~ ~
Several of the boys from Helping Handz had passed through the line, each one accompanied by at least one parent or guardian, and each time Franz found himself choking back tears. But when he suddenly found Antony Phillips standing before him—alone—he saw something of young Melvin.
“Mr. Franz? Antony Phillips. You know, from the club.”
“I know, Antony. I know.” Franz embraced the boy.
Antony remained rigid in the embrace. When Franz let go, Antony said, “I know Mr. Weeks never thought I appreciated all the time he put in.”
“Wherever Melvin is right now, son, he’s smiling.”
“I’m gonna do better from now on, Mr. Franz. That’s a promise.”
“Only you know what you have to do, Antony.”
“I’m gonna get a job. I’m gonna study. I got one day left
on my school suspension. After that? Sure would go a lot better if I had some help.”
“I hear you, son. I’ll be there soon. I’m going to be spending a lot more time at the club. That’s my promise.” He embraced the boy again. “You take care, Antony. I’ll see you at the club. Soon.” Franz patted the boy’s back then let him go. “Antony. Wait.”
Antony turned. “Yessir, Mr. Franz.”
“You’re serious about that job, Pistol Pete is here somewhere. Tell him I said to hook you up. Start tomorrow if you want. Something in security at my building.”
Antony thumped his chest twice and flashed the V sign. “Ah-ight, Mr. Franz. Lookin’ out. Lookin’ out.” He ambled toward the next room.
“Mr. Franz.” A hand was offered. “My name is Jones Pelfry.”
“Uh, Detective Pelfry. Am I correct?” Franz wiped his eyes.
“Yes, sir.”
“Melvin spoke about you. He was proud of you. He and I were like brothers, you know.”
Pelfry leaned in close and whispered, “Ukit Took sends his regards. He says not to use the wells for communication anymore.” He looked Franz in the eyes, then turned to find a seat for the eulogies.
Kurtwood Franz barely noticed the rest of the hands he shook.
31: WHITE BIRD
“She’s back! Damn, girl, gone five months, in town twelve hours, then gone three more days. What gives? You allergic to this city?”
Aly tossed her key ring onto the bar and took a stool. “Something like that.”
“Youch.” Trish considered herself an expert at adjusting moods. For clients who were painfully honest with themselves, fanning the flames before applying the wet stuff worked best. “Well, how’d you like your all expenses treat on the city of Indian-no-place?”
Aly drummed her fingers on the bar top. “Three days in a chintzy motel? What do you think?”
“Yeah. Jones called and said you got caught in the flux when the big boss man died.”
Aly folded her hands. “Three days of staring at walls gives you plenty of time to think.”