Callie's Redemption (Callie's Secret Book 3)

by T. Jones

  He knew he was fortunate, to be assigned as he was, east of the troubled ghettos. He had worked Trench town, and tried to help the poverty-stricken people living there, while sidestepping confrontation with the local Dons. They often patrolled the same neighborhoods, but the drug lords had more men and better weapons. Despite they're brutality, they were usually more popular than the Constabulary, offering occasional handouts of food and money. Trying to enforce the law in those situations had been perilous, and Lamar was more than happy to take the promotion, and his life, to a safer part of town. He was well aware of enormity of the problems facing his city, but he had made peace with the fact that he could only make small differences, and that that had to be enough. Most days it worked for him, today he was frustrated. Time for a cold one.

  He put his hat on and slipped his gun into its holster at his side, snapping it into place. It was a short walk to his favorite lunch spot. He stepped into the outer office and tipped his hat to the woman sitting at the desk. "I'm going to lunch, Bernice. Need a cold one too, okay?"

  "Don't get yourself drunk."

  "Just the two beers, maybe some Ackee and saltfish."

  "Bring me back an order, and don't be gone all afternoon, I'm hungry." Lamar smiled, sometimes he wondered who actually ran the office. He walked outside, into the sweltering heat. A breeze blew from the south, wicking some of the humidity away, and his shirt stayed dry as he walked the two blocks to the open restaurant that faced the busy street. Beyond the road, he could see the deep blue of the harbor, beyond that, the airport. He watched as an airplane lifted into the air, then slid onto a barstool.

  "How is it Eddie, that some people have so damn much, and two miles away, some have so damn little?" The bartender put a beer in front of him.

  "Philosophizing today, are we? Look around, Inspector, we have the sweet life. The sun, the beach, all the pretty girls. Enjoy my friend."

  "Here, it is like that, but I've seen all the other shit."

  "No worries, man. Drink your beer, everything is better with cold beer."

  "I suppose it is. I want the usual, and one to take back for Bernice." Eddie walked away to put in his order, and Lamar quickly drained half his beer, then sat staring across the harbor at the airport. He sat, pondering the state of the world, then looked down for the handle of his mug. Oddly, the beer in his mug was moving slightly, sliding from side to side, despite the fact that he hadn't touched it for a full minute. He watched it curiously. Perhaps that always happened, maybe he just hadn't noticed before. He looked down the bar. He was alone, and Eddie was under the canopy, serving people in chairs sitting in the sand. As he watched, the amber liquid stop moving, its white cap lying fat and even, half way up the mug. He was just ready to hoist it, his hand was reaching, when it began its slight motion again. He glanced out at the street, and saw a tanker truck rumbling by. He shrugged. It was a curious thing, that a truck passing would do that, but he hated warm beer.

  After eating, and two more beers, he waved to Eddie and walked back to the office. Bernice frowned at him.

  "You're not supposed to drink your lunch you know. Was it one, or four beers you had?"

  "Two, and a half." He laughed, handing her the bag of food. "At least I don't smoke the Ganja on my breaks."

  "Don't look at me! I do that and I'd be napping after this lunch. You had a call from the north, some young woman by the sound of her. I left her number on your desk." Lamar looked at the note and picked up his phone, smiling. Danielle answered on the second ring.

  "Constable Henry, no it's Inspector now, isn't it? It's so good to talk to you. Congratulations on the promotion."

  "It is good to hear from you too, Danielle. It's been years, right after your grandfather died, I think. How is life up there in the cold?"

  "It's great Lamar, summer here, nearly eighty degrees out."

  "A nice cool night, it sounds like to me. You sound all grown up, not the tough little girl I pulled out of Trench town, kicking and screaming."

  "I dare say, taller then you now, and you'd have a time, pulling me anywhere. But thank you for that, anyway. I never thanked you properly when we talked about my grandfather passing. Another couple of years and I'd have turned out like my mother."

  "Don't go lookin' down on your mama, little girl. She was the one gave me your grandparent's number should something happen to her. She loved you a lot, she just had too much sorrow in her."

  "I wondered how you knew how to find them. I loved her, it's just that she was always gone. And I knew she used the needle."

  "Water gone under the bridge, they say. What can I do for you Danielle? Do they need a good Constable in Minnesota?"

  "Probably, but I might be coming down there. I was hoping you could help me find a couple people, some relatives of my grandfather's, some of the guys I used to run with."

  "Maybe, the relatives for sure. The boys, the street gang you ran with, that might be hard. You were younger, and they kept you from the trouble. The Trench is a dangerous place, better the last few years, but most of them fell into bad company. They can make good money working for the Dons, and there aren't many other options. There are few Constables there, they shy away from it."

  "I remember it was rough, but they were like my family. I'd like to help them, if I can. It might be a couple of weeks before I come, I have to work out some details, but I'm hoping to bring someone along."

  "Boyfriend then, or husband?"

  "No Lamar, don't have either one of those. This would be a business associate."

  "It's a woman then? Don't be angry, I would not judge Danielle, but I always wondered if maybe you were a batty girl."

  "That matters a lot less up here Lamar, for the most part I can be with whoever I want. But I know it can get me in trouble on the island."

  "Not with the law, not generally speaking, but it's not something I'd show around. There are bad-minded men, would mess you up for it."

  "It really is a business associate, I haven't met her yet. God, I'm going to sound like a tourist. I spent a lot of time learning to talk like a Minnesotan, my street speech will be rusty."

  "Jamaica is a friendly place, but some places, tourists aren't welcome. I'll take you around, you'll be safe with me." There was a long pause.

  "Safe as anyone can be Lamar, with what's coming. I'll be in touch, okay?"

  ***

  Filipe Eklund pulled hard on the wheel of the big sailboat, driving it into the wind slightly and relishing the acceleration as the big sail caught the wind. The boat leaned over for a moment, not dangerously so, but too much for polite conversation, and he eased back on the wheel. He laughed at the look his father sent him, then grinned at the owner of the boat, who gave him a high sign. Saul Delgado laughed at his friend.

  "Jon, let him be, he is a wonderful sailor, he will not put us over, relax."

  "He is a good sailor, but the young, they push too hard some times."

  "Like his father, I could say. You still push, only now it is with the League."

  "There is so much we could do, Saul. We know things no one else does. Information is power my friend. I don't want to rule the world, but we could make it a much better place."

  "First we need to agree on how to do that. I am like you, I think we have to find others. There have to be thousands, if they are spread across the globe as we think."

  "When I go to Madeline, and my daughter, that will be a start. We study, yet we find no answers. Why can we not feel the others, if they exist? I knew you were like me the first time we met. I felt I knew you before that. And, I can feel my daughter, even though we have never met. Why can't I feel the others, if there they are."

  "If they are there, you mean. You said I should correct your English."

  "Yes, thank you. If there are others, all around the world, we should feel them, no?"

  "No one is an expert on this. I'm sure they are like us. The psychics of the world are smart and cautious enough not to expose themselves. Like your cas
e, when it runs in a family, the government would lock your children away, try to breed armies with their abilities. Filipe is young, most don't realize the gift at his age. It is fortunate he is mature for his age, he doesn't try to show it off, it is a lot of responsibility."

  "He has his mother's heart, I miss her much."

  "She was a fine woman, Jon. But you are still not so old, you should not stop living. Perhaps you will find someone again, no?"

  "I don't think so Saul, I have not the time. I would just be happy to find my daughter and her mother."

  "How is it you don't know Madeline's last name? No psychic search then, you could find her on the Facebook."

  "We were young, Saul, and busy. That is why I have a daughter, no?" They both laughed for a bit. "We talked, Madeline and I, and she was an amazing girl." Jon said wistfully. "But we were worlds apart, we knew this. Better the memory than not at all, yes?"

  "Well, my friend, unless your sight has failed you, you have more than a memory, somewhere in the Americas." Jon stared into his glass.

  "Some where north. She said it was very cold there, I remember that. And I can see it in my mind. I can see my daughter, walking into a warm kitchen, kicking the ice and snow from her boots, looking at her mother, and another woman."

  "It will come to you my friend, and it will be in time to make her safe, I know it." Saul raised his glass, laughing, as the boat tipped suddenly, then righted itself.

  Chapter Six

  Fatty Carson leaned against the cart he was pushing, trying to overcome the drag of wheels too long without oil. Contrary to what his moniker implied, he was not overweight. Quite the opposite. He had picked up the nickname in fourth grade, in a shirts and skins basketball game in gym, when he had the bad luck of being picked as a skin. Despite his love of pancakes and ice cream, Fatty never could gain a pound back then, or now for that matter. But his classmates took one look at his emaciated form, all ribs and elbows, and started calling him Fatty. The name stuck. It wasn't considered cruel or bullying back then, it was just ribbing, the way kids do. Got to where he liked the name. He even put it on his cards, Ethen "Fatty" Carson.

  He had checked himself out in the bathroom mirror, and he looked pretty good in a uniform, even if it was the one the janitorial service employees had to wear. It was baggy, like most of his clothes, but it came with a nice hat. The hat was new, the uniform was borrowed, or rented for a damn good price, he mused. Contrary to what he had insisted upon in their first meeting, Fatty had let the Blackburn kid talk him into bugging the State office of the Ethics lawyer he was keeping tabs on. He couldn't really remember why he had given in, but the kid and his money were pretty persuasive. It took some time to track down the night janitor of the building, and a considerable bribe to talk him into taking a night off. Worse, Fatty actually had to do some cleaning while he was there. Hopefully it would be worth it.

  Fatty knew proving somebody was a psychic wasn't possible, obviously. He'd seen the schtick on TV before, even got talked into going to a live show once. It was just another con, like professional wrestling. Not that he wanted one of those guys body slamming him. But it didn't matter if he, or anybody believed this woman was a psychic, it only mattered that she believed it. And he might be able to get some evidence of that. If she spent all day on the Psychic Hotline, or told somebody about talking to Lincoln or some shit like that, maybe that would be enough to make the client happy. It seemed like Blackburn just wanted to make her look bad, discredit her, maybe get her fired from her low paying State job. Seemed like he was spending a lot of money, if that's all it was. But at least Fatty was getting most of it, that was a plus.

  He had learned years ago not to ask too many questions. As long as it was legal, or the odds of getting caught were low, Fatty Carson was in. Of course, the better the money, the less legal it had to be. He took pride in the fact that he was careful to never hurt anyone, physically, at least. Cheating husbands had it coming, just like insurance scammers. He didn't mind hitting them in the pocketbook, but he wasn't built for violence. If the lawyer lady thought she really was a mind reader, better she wasn't in a position like she was, right?

  Fatty had been a cop when he was younger, but he never cared for it. He didn't like having to tell people what to do, or trying to make them, if it came to that. Then he was an insurance investigator. But often as not, the insurance companies were as dishonest as some of the people trying to cheat them. He'd quit that ten years ago and hung out his shingle. He liked to think that even when he had to cross the line, bend the law a little, he usually came down on the right side. But sometimes he just needed the money, and he took on something like this, cases where he had to work a little to convince himself that he wasn't the bad guy.

  He parked the cart in front of the door to the service closet and fumbled through the keys. He pulled out the mop bucket and the mop, and a big broom, filled the bucket with warm water and rolled it down the hall part of the way. If someone showed up, he was probably screwed, but maybe he'd look legit if he was actually mopping. And he had seen some dirt scuffs, might as well hit them with a little soap, long as he was here.

  The light was poor in the hallways, only every third light was on, but he threw some sweeping powder down and walked around with the big broom, killing time. It was early, and he didn't want to start on the office until after ten. By then, the odds of anyone stopping by for a last look at paperwork would be negligible. He could lock himself in the office, but if the lawyer lady showed up, it would be tough to explain.

  From what he'd seen of her, she took her work pretty seriously. If anyone was going to burn the midnight oil, it would be Madeline Rice. He felt a twinge of guilt, leaning on his mop. So far, she seemed like a class act, clear through. Not the least bit of a whack job. He wasn't so sure about his client. Kind of a self-entitled little prick, if he were being honest, which right now, he couldn't afford to be. He sighed, thinking about all the bills that were getting paid, compliments of Derrick Blackburn. He would just do his job, not judge. Not like he would find anything anyway, maybe just enough to get a nice bonus, but not enough to hurt anybody.

  He did a good job on the floor, actually was pretty proud of himself. He opened all the offices on the floor, then started going around emptying the trash cans and vacuuming a bit when they needed it. Worst of it was he had to do the third floor too, as if the bribe hadn't been generous enough. He went up and did a quick job, just light sweeping. By then it was eleven, and he was sure it would be safe to spend some time in the Ethics lawyer's office.

  He had two bugs. One for the phone and one for under the desk. They were expensive, but Blackburn was paying. The disc he put under the desk would pick up cellphone conversations, maybe even both sides if they talked loud enough. He walked over to the door, listened, and heard nothing but his own heartbeat. The big old building was all his, quiet, and a little creepy. He swung the door shut, turned the dead bolt, and started looking through the file drawers. He didn't have a purpose, but you never knew what you might find, if you didn't look. He smiled at himself, looked through a drawer marked P, hoping for a big fat file full of shit about psychics, but of course found nothing. He checked all the office cabinets quickly, skimming, looking through the thicker files. He shuddered, wondering how long he'd be in jail if anybody caught him snooping. It wouldn't be pretty, best to finish up and go, hope the bugs did their job.

  He checked the big desk, surprised that it wasn't locked. Most people seemed to worry more about their personal shit, than a room full of private papers belonging to someone else. He sat down quickly and turned on the desk lamp. In the bottom drawer, under a spiral binder that was empty, he finally found something of interest. There was another small notebook, curled a little from the rubber binder wrapped loosely around it. Fatty put it down on the desk, and opened it.

  There were a few notes, scribbled in handwriting only a doctor or Madeline Rice could have discerned. He pulled out his phone and took a picture, hoping to
decipher it later, then flipped the page. There were dates written on the next page, all labeled. First words, first steps, first day of school, confirmation. A small history of someone's child, it would seem. Fatty took another picture. There was only one more page, and behind it Fatty found a small collection of pictures. They were older, prints from a photo store, even a couple of Polaroids.

  The oldest of the pictures had been taken at the beach, a beautiful white sand beach. A tall, good looking blond boy stood with his arm around a young girl with short brown hair, distinguishable by the size of her trademark ears. Fatty squinted a little, yeah, that was Madeline Rice. The other photos, six in all, were of a blond girl, at varying stages of growth. Someone had chronicled her progress, the pictures were all marked. Age three, six, and so on. The last one, a graduation picture, showed the same girl with her arms wrapped tightly around a smiling redhead. The blonde's eyes were almost translucent, a shade of blue Fatty had never seen before. He glanced at the other photo. Same eyes as the young man with his arm draped around Madeline Rice's shoulder. Didn't take much of a detective to know what he was looking at. Derrick had supplied pictures of all the people he was interested in, and the blond girl was Callie Fisher, supposed to be the daughter of Bob and Bess Fisher. Fatty lifted his phone and started taking more pictures.

  Chapter Seven

  Deeann Long looked across the table at Danielle and Callie. This was what she enjoyed, making a difference in the world. She had always been a philanthropist. It was the greatest advantage of having so much. A car was just a car, and a house could only be so grand, but those weren't the things that brought her pleasure. Saving a life, or putting a smile on the face of a poor child, those were the things that mattered to her.