Angels & Imperfection

by Dan Arnold

  I sighed.

  “He knows better now.”

  Forty-Two

  Tony came to pick me up from the hospital on Sunday morning.

  I felt silly being wheeled out of the hospital in a wheelchair, all decked out in camouflage on a Sunday morning. Maybe I was dressed to go to the church in the wild wood. Actually, that’s my favorite kind of church. I was holding my cap in my hands. My head hurt too much to consider wearing it, until the sun blazed into my eyes. I immediately draped the cap loosely over my eyes.

  “Thanks, for picking me up, Tony. Sorry you have to miss church to run this errand.”

  “No problem, J.W. I’m happy to do it. Your truck is still parked in the lot outside Christine’s apartment; do you feel up to driving?”

  “No, I barely got any sleep last night. They kept waking me up to check on me. They really didn’t want me to sleep at all, so much for my plans to enjoy a weekend of solitude in the wilderness. I’m ready for a hot shower, and a nap.”

  “At least now you can put all this Walter Farley business behind you.”

  “I never wanted it to end like this. I wish he would have made better choices.”

  “I know, J.W., me too. He was one twisted off individual. I guess I’ll have to put the Nordstrom case down as ‘unsolved’, even though we both know Walter probably did it.”

  “Walter told me he did it.”

  Yeah, so you and the women say, but there’s no way to prove it.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Where is my jacket?”

  “What jacket? You mean the camouflage jacket you were wearing in the parking lot? I forgot all about it. I guess it’s still at the crime scene. You weren’t wearing it when we came in.”

  “Yeah, that’s the one. I last saw it on a chair in Christine’s living room. In one of the pockets of my jacket, is my cell phone. I left it on, in the ‘record memo’ application. Odds are it will have recorded everything that happened in the room, including Walter admitting he killed Nordstrom.”

  Tony shook his head.

  “I don’t know, J.W. It seems unlikely. Wouldn’t Walter have noticed it?”

  “Maybe, maybe not, we’ll see. In the meantime, we should have some pretty interesting video.”

  “… Video?”

  “Yep, you see, it’s a process of recording events, using a motion picture video camera.”

  Tony scowled at me.

  “I know what it is, J.W. I just don’t know how there could be a video. There were no cameras in Christine’s apartment. When I asked her, she verified it.”

  I reached into my shirt pocket.

  “Write this down…” I said, trying to hand him my pen.

  “I’m driving, you numbskull. You write it down.”

  I chuckled, and it didn’t hurt too badly.

  “Tony this pen has a digital video camera built into it. I’ve had it clipped into my shirt pocket, and they didn’t take it away from me. It should have some pretty interesting footage. I’m afraid I don’t have a clear memory of exactly how well I used my body to frame the shots, but there will be something useful there.”

  “… No way!”

  “Way.”

  I spent the rest of Sunday watching football on TV and snoozing, off and on.

  Monday morning I arrived at work bright and early, at about ten o’clock. I figured it was pretty early, given the weekend I had.

  I was surprised to see Christine at her desk. She wasn’t surprised to see me. She saw me on the monitor as I was exiting the elevator.

  I was more surprised to see Mr. Tumescence in the office. He was curled up in my chair, behind my desk.

  I raised my eyebrows at Christine.

  “I just couldn’t stand the thought of Tummy being boarded with the vet for one more day. I’m staying at a motel that allows pets, but I didn’t expect to see you today, so I brought him with me.”

  “I thought I told you to take a few days off, while I recuperate,”

  “I know, but somebody has to deal with the phones. Do you plan to recuperate while you work?”

  “Uh, I just thought I would come in and check the answering machine.” I fibbed.

  “Yeah, right, we have an answering service. Have you seen the news?”

  “No, I pretty much only watch football, I watched enough TV yesterday to last me till tonight. Monday night football, you know!”

  “… Really? I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you watch CNN and the local news. I know you watch movies. I guess you haven’t seen a newspaper either.”

  I shook my head, carefully.

  Christine shook hers too. “As you may imagine, a SWAT team storming an apartment in Tyler, with shots fired, has gotten a lot of attention.”

  “Oh no,” I said.

  “Oh yes. You and Tony are famous again. The phone has been ringing off the hook.”

  The newspaper told the story of how on a tip from a citizen, the Tyler police SWAT team had stormed an apartment where two area women were being held hostage. In the carefully coordinated rescue, one armed suspect was killed and another seriously wounded. None of the hostages were harmed. The SWAT team was under the command of Detective Lieutenant Tony Escalante of the Tyler Police Department’s Robbery/Homicide Division.

  When asked for a comment, Lieutenant Escalante stated, “We are generally pleased at the outcome of this action, though we regret the loss of life.”

  The reporter had also learned one of the suspects was a man currently out on bail, awaiting trial on a previous burglary and home invasion charge, possession of controlled substances, and charges related to an assault on a police officer in College Station. The suspect who died was also a suspect in a homicide that had occurred in Tyler, earlier in the year. The citizen who alerted the police was the celebrated local private investigator, John Wesley Tucker.

  I was thankful the women had not been named at all in the story.

  The next story on the front page, below the fold, was about the noted Tyler oil and gas magnate and entrepreneur, Ted Simpson. He was announcing his intention to run for the office of Governor of the State of Texas.

  Forty-Three

  “Do you have an appointment, Mr. Tucker?”

  The Simpson Oil and Gas Company now had a receptionist on the ground floor. There was also a security stop with a baggage scanner and a metal detector. It looked like what you might expect to see at any corporate headquarters.

  “No, ma’am, I don’t. However, if he’s in, I expect he’ll want to see me. Otherwise, I’ll make an appointment.”

  She picked up the phone and talked for a moment.

  “He’s in a meeting this morning. We’ll have to contact you with an appointment time. Do you have a card?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I do.”

  I gave her my card and left the building. Just as well, I would have had to leave my gun in the truck anyway.

  The call came in about thirty minutes later.

  “Tucker, can you come down here? I need to talk to you privately. I’ll buy you lunch.”

  “Yes sir. I can meet you for lunch. Where would you like to meet?”

  “Come on down here to the Simpson building. We’ll talk first, and then we’ll eat.”

  He hung up.

  When I met him in his office, he was seated at his desk.

  “Sit down, Tucker, I don’t have time for small talk, so I’ll get to the point. I guess you know I’ve announced my bid for Governor.”

  “Yes sir. The timing of your announcement was… interesting.”

  “What I do and when I do it, is none of your damn business. That’s the point. I expect you to keep your mouth shut. You’ve hurt me bad enough, but I’m willing to let bygones be bygones, if you are?”

  “What do you have in mind?” I asked.

  He leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling.

  “Would a hundred thousand dollars buy your silence?”

&
nbsp; I sighed.

  “No sir.”

  He shot me an angry look.

  I held my hands up.

  “Hear me out, Mr. Simpson. I don’t want your money. I have no intention of telling anyone about your relationship with Walter Farley. I’m a private investigator; I don’t divulge anything about my client’s. Not even former clients like yourself. I consider the matter closed. However, sir; the thing is this, if I found out about Walter and his relationship to you, someone else can do the same work I did, and reach the same conclusions.”

  He shook his head. “Nope, I don’t expect that will happen. As far as the whole world knows, Walter was just my personal assistant. He had some kind of weird attraction to a former employee, but I had no knowledge of it. I’ll see to it the few people who know any different are paid to keep their mouths shut.”

  I gave him a skeptical look.

  “Walter owned World Wide Security Agency outright. There is no connection to me personally, nothing of record about me providing the start-up capital. Sure, Simpson Oil and Gas hired WWSA to provide some security services, but I’ll swear we didn’t know Walter owned that outfit. I’ll just claim he tricked us, the same way he tricked everybody else.” He said smugly.

  “Mr. Simpson, I don’t think there is any chance you’ll get away with this. I think it will stick to you like a bad smell. Your son isn’t even buried yet, and you’re acting as if you never knew him. Walter stole industrial technology for you. He killed at least one man, for nothing more than disloyalty. If Walter was loyal to you, and you value loyalty so much, where is your loyalty to him?”

  “That’s water under the bridge. He’s gone and that’s that.”

  “Do you really believe you can become Governor through deception and bribery?

  He chuckled. “Hell yes, boy! Don’t you know anything about politics?”

  I was shielding my eyes from the overhead lights.

  “You alright, Tucker? You don’t look too good.”

  “It’s just a headache, sir. This whole business makes me sick.”

  “Well, how do you think I feel? My only son was killed, because of you.”

  I took a deep breath. “No sir, that’s not true. Your son Walter died because of the choices he made. He could have chosen differently. He just wanted to be big and powerful. Like his father.”

  That silenced him, for a moment.

  “OK, boy, here’s the deal. I have a non-disclosure document our attorneys drew up. I want you to sign it. It basically states if you ever divulge any of this to anyone, or if we even think you might have, we’ll own you, your business, and your future, forever. You sign it, and I’ll cut you a check for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

  I sat thoughtfully for a moment. Then I stood up.

  “Mr. Simpson, when I came in here, I told you I didn’t want your money, and I had no intention of talking about this to anyone. Now you’ve offered me a quarter of a million dollars to buy my silence. It’s something to think about. Let me think about this deal for an hour or so. OK?”

  He narrowed his eyes at me.

  “Fine, I’ll give you one hour, but the price is non-negotiable. Let’s get us some lunch.”

  He stood up.

  “No thank you, sir, I really do have a headache and I don’t feel well. I need to take a walk and get some air.”

  “Fine, it’s a beautiful fall day in East Texas. I’ll see you when you get back. Believe me, boy; this is good business, good for both of us. If you don’t take the deal, it will be very bad for you.”

  I left his office, without shaking his hand.

  When I got outside on the side walk, I looked around the square. It really was a beautiful day in East Texas. The sun was shining through the brightly colored leaves that still remained on the trees, and the fountain was splashing and twinkling in the light. I took a deep breath and turned my face up toward the sun.

  I enjoyed my walk across the square, to the building that housed the local ABC network television affiliate.

  Ten minutes later, I was showing the video of my meeting with Ted Simpson, which I had filmed with my new “pen cam” firmly clipped into my shirt pocket, to the news director and others. They seemed to think it was newsworthy. We discussed the possibility of me giving an on-camera interview, which I declined. I insisted I not be named as the source of the video, and that my name be edited out. I knew it was possible someone might recognize my voice, but there would be no way to positively identify me. The media circus would be focused on Ted Simpson. It might even be a pretty entertaining circus.

  Exactly one hour after I had left his office, I called Mr. Simpson on his private line and rejected his offer.

  His disappointment was as palpable as his avarice and ambition.

  Epilogue

  Most people lead lives of solitary anxiety, solitary, because they don’t talk about their fears with anyone. They don’t even want to admit that they have them.

  They don’t know who they are, or why they are on the earth.

  Introspection only brings more doubts and fears, so they seek solace from science.

  Science tells them that they are just biological organisms, evolved from muck, eking out a brief existence at the expense of a doomed planet. Science tells them that life is random, meaningless and pointless. Take another pill, and try not to think about it.

  The clock is ticking.

  Many, wander through life aimlessly waiting for the clock to run out. Some are seeking to find something that makes them feel as if their life matters in some way. They mostly want to “do the right thing,” but violently disagree on what “right” is, because, “Every way of a man is right, in his own eyes.”

  The clock is ticking.

  People know that from the moment of birth, they are doomed. They know that life is short and uncertain. It may end at any time. The best of them ask “why”?

  Why do we exist? Why are we the way we are? Why do bad things happen? Why is there suffering and death? What happens after we die? Do we just cease to exist? When we die, will it be as if we had never existed at all? Why?

  The world offers many different and conflicting answers. Most of them are lies.

  So, most people everywhere, in every walk of life, are as lost as sheep without a shepherd, stumbling blindly through however many days that remain to them, silently screaming in desperation.

  The clock is ticking.

  I know why I get up in the morning. I know what I’m supposed to do and how I should do it. I live to serve, but I don’t serve the planet earth, the government, or myself.

  I serve the holy God; the creator of all things. I am appointed as one of His ambassadors in this place.

  I serve The Good Shepherd.

  He alone is perfect.

  His sheep are imperfect, but His sheep know His voice when they hear it.

  Other sheep wander around lost, following whatever voice sounds most pleasant to them at the moment, even the voices that lead them to slaughter.

  Sheep without a shepherd are helpless against the predators.

  I am appointed as a Shepherd of His sheep, to seek the lost sheep, and to stand against the wolves.

  We who serve as Shepherds are also imperfect, but we are empowered and equipped for service.

  I have the sword of Truth, the message of glorious hope.

  I have work to do.

  I wish I were a better Shepherd.

  The clock is ticking.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to Liz Quinn, for being my beta reader and first editor. In addition to the usual copy editing, she suggested some changes that were spot on. Thank you, Liz.

  I want to thank Carol Cassella, author of Gemini, Healer, and Oxygen. Carol encouraged me and advised me on matters related to publishing. Thank you, Carol.

  May God bless all of you.

  A Look at Special Agent (Angels & Imperfection 2)

  HIS SERVICE TO OTHERS IS NOT JUST WORK, BUT A CALLING, AND
NO PRICE IS TOO HIGH.

  When a young man is forced into hiding after rescuing a helpless woman from the leader of a vicious street gang, private investigator John Wesley Tucker is sent to find him.

  Tucker finds himself in need of help from an old friend, who also has need of John’s help. The two friends work together to save the young man from the hit squad sent to kill him, culminating in a firefight in the belly of a cypress bayou. The young man learns there is more to life than just living.

  Tucker’s other cases include attempting to apprehend the killer of an undocumented immigrant, investigating the hidden agenda of a federal agent, and attempting to thwart a domestic terrorist attack. Soon he learns these cases are all connected. When the FBI raids an old farmhouse, many people die in the flames.

  Only Tucker knows what really happened, will he stay alive long enough to expose the secret?

  “This was absolutely edge of your seat entertainment at its finest.”

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  Thank you.

  Dan Arnold

  About the Author

  Born in Bakersfield, California and abandoned by his parents in Seattle, Washington. After living in the foster care system for some years, Dan Arnold was eventually adopted. He’s traveled internationally, lived in Idaho, Washington, California, Virginia, and now makes his home in Texas with his wife Lora. They have four grown children and three grandchildren of whom they are justifiably proud, not because they are such good parents, but because God is good.