by Neta Jackson
The service was shorter than usual, probably in deference to the kids and leaders who hadn’t had much sleep the night before. “Come on, Mom, let’s go,” P.J. said for the third time, holding his sleeping bag, duffel slung over one shoulder.
“Hang on a couple minutes, kiddo. I have to talk to somebody. Look, here’re my keys. You and Paul go wait in the car.” I craned my neck, trying to find Denny Baxter in the crowd around the coffee pot. Not there. If he really wanted to go with me to talk to Philip, we needed to make plans—oh, there he was, talking to Harry Bentley over by the front windows. I threaded my way past the coffee klatch and headed their direction, hoping the men wouldn’t mind an interruption. I did need to get the boys home. Precious and Sabrina too.
“Look, it’s just a bad idea,” Mr. B was saying as I came up to them.
“Yeah, yeah, see what you mean.” Denny shook his head. “I just think we—oh, hey, Gabby.”
“Hi, guys. Sorry to interrupt, but can I talk to you for a minute, Denny? I’m going to go see Philip this afternoon, and last night you said—” Denny and Harry exchanged glances. “What?”
“That’s just what we were talking about,” Denny said. “Harry, here, reminded me that Matty Fagan—the rogue cop we all presume is behind this attack on your husband—lives here in Rogers Park. In fact, just one street over from our house. He’s just across the alley and one house down.”
“Fagan lives near you?” I frowned at Harry. “How do you know this?”
“Look, I worked with him on the force. I’ve been at his house before.” Harry looked uncomfortable. “It’s a long story. Tell you another time. But the fact is, Denny’s bright idea to move Philip in with him and Jodi would put Philip in Fagan’s backyard. Literally.”
“Oh.” For some reason I felt relieved. Bringing Denny Baxter with me to talk to Philip this afternoon had promised to be awkward at best. “Guess that puts the kibosh on—oh, sorry. That’s my cell.” I dug in my purse for the phone. If P.J. was calling from the car to bug me, I was going to—
The caller ID said Philip Fairbanks.
Startled, I looked at Harry, then Denny. “It’s Philip. Excuse me a minute.” I walked a few paces away, flipping the phone open. “Hello? Hello?”
I could hear voices on the other end, but they were in the background. Sticking a finger in my other ear, I said hello again, then strained to listen.
“—not smart, Fairbanks.” A voice I didn’t recognize. Who had Philip’s phone?
“Uhhh.” It sounded like a groan. “Look—Fagan. You’ll get your money, just call off your hooligans . . .” Philip’s voice! But not talking to me. He’d said Fagan! Turning toward my friends by the window, I tried to catch their eye.
“Fagan!” I mouthed at Harry, pointing frantically to the phone. Harry frowned and moved toward me. I pressed the phone to my ear, trying to hear the distant voices.
“You bet I will.” A sneering laugh.
A gasp from Philip. “Can’t if you shoot me. Please—put that gun away.”
My heart leaped into my throat. Pressing the mute button, I hissed at Harry, “He’s got a gun!”
“Oh, I won’t kill you, Fairbanks,” I heard in my ear. “But you won’t be much good if I shoot out both your knees—”
Harry snatched the phone and put it to his own ear. “Is it muted?” he mouthed at me. I nodded, aware that my heart was hammering triple time. Frowning in concentration, Harry pushed through the double doors to get outside, away from the noisy room.
“Gabby!” Denny grabbed my arm. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know! The phone rang, it was Philip’s ID, but he wasn’t talking to me—I think he’s talking to that Fagan guy in the background. And I heard Fagan say he was going to shoot Philip in the knees.” Suddenly my own knees felt weak and I groped for the nearest chair.
“What?!” Denny spun toward the wide windows, where we could see Harry pacing back and forth outside, my phone still to his ear. Through the windows we saw him suddenly pull his own cell out of his jacket pocket, punch in a number, then hold the second phone to his other ear. A moment later he was talking rapidly into the phone.
“What’s going on, Denny? What’s Harry doing?”
Denny shook his head. “Not sure—I think he’s calling for help.”
I felt faint. Oh God, oh God! Don’t let that mad man shoot Philip! Please, please.
That’s all I could think to pray.
chapter 6
Five minutes ticked by. Harry was still outside, pacing back and forth with my phone. I looked beyond him to the red Subaru in the parking lot. The car door on the driver’s side stood open and P.J. was sitting glumly behind the wheel, as if toying with the idea of driving away. Paul was leaning against the back of the small SUV, talking to Sabrina and Precious, who cast impatient looks in our direction.
I glanced back at Harry, who was yelling into the phone. Yelling at who? Fagan? Somebody else on the other phone? What was happening?
I suddenly gasped for air, realizing I’d been holding my breath. Standing up shakily, I started for the door. I had to know what was going on! Denny put a hand on my arm. “Don’t, Gabby. Let Harry handle it. He knows what he’s doing.”
But I pulled my arm away and marched outside. “Harry, what—?!”
Harry waved me off and turned his back. “The alley!” he said into his phone. “Behind the store . . . Yeah, yeah, the guy with the gun . . . he’s going to tell you he’s a cop and give you a cock-and-bull story about the other guy . . . just arrest him! . . . Yeah, Matty Fagan . . . Yeah, he is a cop, but he’s on suspension . . . Okay, I’m still on . . .”
I backed off a few steps, hesitated, then headed for the Subaru. “Finally!” P.J. moaned, climbing out of the driver’s seat. “Can we go now?”
“Sorry, guys. Uh . . .” What should I say? “We can’t leave just yet. Mr. Bentley has an emergency and had to borrow my phone. Just be patient. It won’t be long.”
I started back toward the church and then realized Precious had run to catch up. “Emergency? What up? Ain’t DaShawn, is it? Gotta be Harry’s mother.”
I shook my head and kept walking. “Just stay with the kids, okay, Precious? I’ll tell you later.”
Harry still had both phones, one to each ear, so I went back inside. Estelle and Jodi had joined Denny and the three were talking in low intense tones, but I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to pray! I found a chair off to the side where I could keep an eye on Mr. Bentley. Dear God, I don’t know what’s happening. But please protect Philip. The boys need their dad! And I haven’t . . . we haven’t . . . I stopped. I didn’t know how to pray. I just knew that Philip and I had unfinished business and we needed more time. Lots more time.
The glass doors opened and closed as the large room emptied of SouledOut worshipers. But finally Harry Bentley came back inside and handed me my phone. Sweat glistened on his shaved head and trickled down the side of his face. He looked exhausted. I stood up as Denny, Jodi, and Estelle quickly joined us, and the four of us stared at him expectantly.
“It’s over. I called for a squad car and they’ve arrested Fagan and another guy with him, but . . .” Harry sank into a chair, pulled out a handkerchief, and mopped his face. “I need to go down to the station to make sure the arrest sticks.”
“But what about Philip?” I asked anxiously. “Is he all right? Did they hurt him?”
“I think he’s all right. At least he wouldn’t let the officer call an ambulance. So they’re taking him down to the station to make a statement and then they’ll drive him home.”
“But—where was he? When I saw him yesterday, he could barely walk! He shouldn’t have even been out!”
Harry shrugged. “Don’t know how he got there or why, but they were in the alley near the Dominick’s store on Sheridan.”
“How—?!” sputtered Denny.
“How did I know that?” Harry allowed a tired grin. “I heard a bus in the background announcing the
stop at Sheridan and Berwyn. That’s when I called for a squad car. Turned out I was right.”
“Amazing,” Denny muttered in disbelief. “Absolutely unbelievable.”
“But . . . but Philip’s phone. Did he call me? I don’t understand.”
Harry shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Philip. They’ll take him to the police station to make a statement—might take awhile. But my guess is that the phone was in one of his pockets and somehow got turned on in their confrontation. Does he have your number on a speed dial? That might explain it.”
I threw my hands open. “I have no idea. But I’ve got to go. Got to get the boys home, go see Philip as soon as he’s done at the station.” I gathered up my coat, purse, and Bible and started for the door.
“Wait, Gabby,” Denny said. “Do you still want me to go with you?”
I turned back. “I don’t know. If Fagan got arrested, maybe there’s no danger now. I don’t know what to think, I don’t know what to do . . .” To my embarrassment, I started to cry and a moment later felt Jodi’s arms around me.
“It’s okay, Gabby. We don’t have to do anything right now. Go pull yourself together, go check on Philip if that feels right to you. We can talk about this other stuff another time.”
I took the tissue she handed me and blew my nose. “Thanks, Jodi. I’ll . . . I’ll call you later.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Harry stand up and realized I’d forgotten something. I scurried over and gave him a hug. “Thanks, Mr. B,” I whispered in his ear. “Don’t know what magic you worked with those two cell phones, but thank you. You probably saved Philip’s life. He owes you big time.”
He awkwardly unhooked my arms from around his neck. “Just doin’ my job, Firecracker. Once a cop, always a cop. Didn’t you say you had to get those boys home? Go on, go on now. I gotta get down to the station and make sure Fagan doesn’t weasel out of this one. This oughta keep him behind bars till his trial.”
I quickly pecked him on the cheek and headed again for the door, but not before I heard Estelle say, “I’m going with you to the station, Harry.”
“No, no, better if I go alone.”
“Did you hear me, Harry Bentley? I’m going with you.”
“And I said you’re not. Now listen to me, Estelle Williams . . .”
The door closed behind me, but by now I was chuckling. Those two were starting to sound like an old married couple. Why in the world didn’t he just up and marry her?
“Mr. Gomez!” It was comforting to see a familiar face at the lobby desk when I came through the revolving doors of Richmond Towers a few hours later. “I wasn’t sure if you were still working here since Mr. Bentley quit the job. Don’t have my ‘inside informant’ anymore.” I tried to laugh lightly.
“Sí, sí, Señora Fairbanks! Working overtime now. It is good to see you too. How is my man Harry? He doesn’t come by much anymore now that he’s raising that muchacho.”
“They’re both good, Mr. Gomez. I’ll tell Mr. B you asked about him. Um, could you ring Mr. Fairbanks in the penthouse and tell him that I’m coming up? He wanted to know when I got here.”
“Oh, sí, Mrs. Fairbanks. Very sorry to hear what happened to your husband.” The doorman reached for the desk phone as I headed for the security door leading into the elevator lobby and swiped my card through the keypad.
As the elevator rose floor after floor, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and blew it out slowly. Oh God, I don’t know what to expect when I see Philip . . . just help me say the right things. I hadn’t told the boys what happened to their father—both because I didn’t really know what had happened, and because I didn’t want to upset them—though I’d been tempted to dump it on them to shut up their complaints about me taking so long to leave church. But I chalked up their crabbiness to a night without much sleep and swung through a McDonald’s drive-through to get hamburgers and shakes for everyone.
Precious, on the other hand, hadn’t been as easy to brush off. “You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on, Gabby Fairbanks?” she’d hissed at me when I finally pulled up in front of the six-flat and the kids had piled out.
“I will, Precious. Just not now.” The all-too-familiar headache had started again at the back of my head. “I’ve got to get the boys settled, then I have to check on Philip, but we’ll talk later. I promise.”
“Humph. Okay, you do that. I’m gonna talk to the Baby Baxters and Tanya to see when we can have a house meeting this week. Any nights better for you?”
“Uh, Monday, Tuesday . . . any day is okay.” At the moment I couldn’t remember whether I had anything on my calendar that week or not. “Just try for early in the week. Then we might have time to plan a house blessing for next Saturday—”
“I know, I know. I’m on it.” But the look she gave me let me know she was going to hold me to my promise to tell her what went down back at the church.
With lunch eaten in the car, both boys crashed on their beds before we’d been home even ten minutes, but not before I made it clear they had to do their homework before turning on the TV or playing any video games later on. And, I’d told them, hopefully I’d be home in an hour or so.
The elevator door slid open. For a moment my feet wouldn’t move. This was the first time I’d been back to the penthouse without someone else with me. Maybe I should’ve had Denny come with me . . . or Jodi . . . or the boys. Of course, the boys! I could’ve waited until they’d had a nap and come later. What had I been thinking?
But here I was. Trust in the Lord . . . don’t lean on my own understanding.
I kept that verse running through my head as I crossed the marble foyer and pushed the doorbell, which chimed on the other side. Somewhere inside I heard Philip’s muffled voice call out, “It’s open!”
Sure enough, the door was unlocked. I stepped inside the cool gallery and walked slowly toward the bright living room. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end, I could see patches of blue sky between the migrating clouds and sunlight sparkling on the wide expanse of Lake Michigan. Beautiful—as long as I didn’t get too close to the windows and look straight down.
Caught up by the view, it took me a moment to realize the room was empty. “Philip?” I called.
“In here.”
I followed his voice into the wood-paneled study, which was just off the living room. He sat at his desk, half leaning sideways in his chair, his free hand manipulating the mouse as he shut down his computer. Then he turned—and I was taken aback by the lines of pain in his face.
“Philip, what—? You’re hurting!” I hustled to his side as he struggled to get out of the chair, trying to push up on the armrest with his broken arm as his other hand clutched his gut. But he waved me off.
“I’m . . . okay. Once I get up.” He finally stood, slowly straightened, and took a few shallow breaths. Then he headed slowly for the living room and sank into the recliner. “Thanks for coming. Wasn’t sure if you would.”
An irritated retort sprang to my lips, but I bit it back. Pulling the hassock closer to the recliner, I sat down and leaned forward. “Philip. What happened this morning? My cell phone rang, the caller ID flashed your name, but all I heard was you and this Fagan person arguing. He threatened to shoot you!”
Philip looked at me strangely. “Your phone rang? You heard all that?” He looked dazed. “But I didn’t call you. I don’t know how . . .” His eyes left mine and he stared out the window for a long moment. “Must’ve been when that thug who was with him slugged me in the stomach. I had the phone here.” He patted his chest. “In the inside pocket of my sport coat.”
“He slugged you? Is that why you’re hurting? Why didn’t you go to the ER and get checked out?”
Philip shook his head. “Don’t want to go back to the hospital. I’ll be all right.”
I felt exasperated. “But, Philip. What were you doing out there anyway? You just got out of the hospital! If you needed something, I was coming back this afternoon and could have gotten it for
you.”
He winced slightly and tried to smile. “Just needed to get out, get some coffee and a paper. Don’t want to be cooped up here like a prisoner. Thought I could walk down to the grocery store if I took it slow.” The smile disappeared. “Didn’t know Fagan’s goons were still out there watching for me. They must’ve called him when I first came out, because when I got near the store, he drove up and cut me off at the alley. If those cops hadn’t come—” Philip suddenly looked at me strangely. “You said you could hear us talking? Did you call the cops?”
“Not me. Harry did.”
“Harry?”
“Harry Bentley. Our former doorman, Philip. He’s a retired Chicago cop—I told you.”
“Yeah, yeah, right. I forgot. But—” Philip looked totally confused. “How did he know where to find us? I thought those squad cars just happened to come by that alley and saw what was going down. Decided I was one lucky guy.”
I shook my head. “Not luck, Philip. God was protecting you. Mr. B stayed on the phone—two phones, actually, mine and his— for maybe fifteen minutes, telling the police where to find you.”
Philip stared at me. He seemed stunned.
I watched him as he sat there. He was still hurting, I could tell. His ragged breathing, the way he winced whenever he moved, his good hand holding his stomach. “Philip, you said one of those guys slugged you, and maybe that’s what turned the phone on. You need to see a doctor, go to the ER, something! Please, I’ll take you. You’re obviously in pain. You need to get it checked out.”
There was no way he could deny it. Still, he shook his head. “I’ll be all right.”
“You’re not all right! Please. I said I’ll take you.” Then I added, “For the boys.”
He considered that. Finally he nodded. “Okay, okay. I’m supposed to make an appointment with my doctor this week anyway. If I can get in tomorrow, I’ll call you, tell you when.”
Tomorrow! I’d meant today. Now. This afternoon. But tomorrow was Monday. I had to work! Maybe I should tell him to call a cab.