by Jason Trevor
Joe squeezed himself into the tiny, cracked, smelly backseat of his bug once more, covered himself with a heavy wool blanket, and peered back up the street through a strategically placed hole in the blanket using a monocular. Just as he had suspected, Detective Cheap-Suit ran out of the house and looked around, breaking his promise to Joe. Had Joe jumped into the bug and took off, he would surely have lost the useful cover of a car that was otherwise unknown to anyone but Greenie. He would now have to wait out the inevitable flood of police cars, detectives, crime scene units, and so forth before he could drive away without being noticed.
Chapter 28
“You know, I thought the back seat of your Camaro was tiny, but this is ridiculous,” Rebecca rolled her eyes and struggled for space under the blanket with Joe. “Why are we hiding in this filthy little car, anyway? What’s wrong with the Camaro?”
Joe pondered, mainly to stall because he was enjoying the warmth of her body against him. “Because I don’t want you in the Camaro, that’s why,”
“Why on Earth not?”
“It’s not safe. You’re going to be ki-“ he cut himself off.
“What?” She sounded startled.
Joe sprang up under the blanket and looked around, confused. “Becky! What I meant to say was…” he trailed off, realizing he was alone in the car. It was now dark outside. Dozens of bubble-gum lights flashed on top of squad cars in the street ahead, behind a crime scene tape that completely blocked the road. A gaggle of news vans was crammed into the road between him and the yellow tape that sagged in the still night air. He couldn’t see any of the action ahead because of them. Then he realized that no one could see his little bug, or him. This was a good time to slip away.
◆◆◆
Cody sat on the curb, slouched. His little spiral was held in one hand so loosely that it barely escaped being dropped into the street. He felt humiliated, and even worse, angry because he had let Danton go and then lied about it to everyone. Le and Lakefield stood in the street in front of him.
“Just so we’re clear,” moaned Lakefield for the third time in as many hours as he rubbed the bald spot on his head. “You went in without calling for backup, the kid gets the drop on you, Danton shows up out of nowhere, shoots him, and runs off before you can react. Did I leave anything out?”
“Nope, same as the last few times I told you,” sighed Sims.
“Why do I get the feeling that you are leaving something out?” pushed the Lieutenant.
“I think Danton is done and permanently in the wind unless he decides to finish the job on the ones in the hospital, but I’ve already told you that,” Sims reminded himself that he wasn’t technically lying, but the phrase “lie of omission” kept resurfacing in his mind, like a pesky fly when one tries to enjoy a quiet lunch.
“Because all of the Blood Brothers are either dead or permanently crippled. Yeah, I get it. So, we need to find him before he can go underground or sneak into Ben Taub,” Wakefield scratched his head in the same spot he had just been rubbing. “Are you sure he didn’t save your hide and convince you to let him go because of it?” his stare at Sims was sideways, but solid, as he asked.
Cody gave him a cold, unblinking stare, as if to refuse to justify such a question. The truth was that he didn’t want to answer it and lie to his boss yet again.
“Where’s Lemond on the warrant for bulldozing the crack house at Scott and Tuam?” asked Le, trying to steer the discussion in a more productive direction.
“I talked to him an hour ago,” answered Lakefield. “He promised it by seven AM. That’s about four hours from now, so rest up and be at the ready.
“Did you get any clue about why it’s taking so long? We should have had that warrant within a few hours yesterday,”
“Clerical error. Lemond’s clerk pulled the warrant on another Joseph Danton in Houston, who just-so-happens to be a big-shot restaurateur. They were having to do political damage control while they fixed it, and the weekend made everything take extra time,”
“Good grief. As if saving some dude’s ego is even close to being as important as picking up a cold-blooded serial killer,”
“Crazy part is that the other Danton is a political player in city hall, and he’s been watching the news. He sympathizes with our Danton and he was trying to stop the warrant altogether. He even tried to turn himself in, as a way to slow down the process of getting it corrected,”
“Can we charge him with obstruction if Danton gets away?”
“Not if you want to stay a cop. He’s too well-connected, and you’ve already pissed off enough politicians with that stunt at the Steamboat. It’s a wonder that your task force hasn’t been disbanded. Some powerful people are pushing on us now because of you interrupting their high-society lunch. I’m sick to death of haughty assholes calling me with questions I can’t answer and orders I can’t follow,”
Cody rolled his eyes and groaned to his feet. “I’ll be at my apartment. Call me when the warrant drops,”
◆◆◆
Joe’s Charger was once again backed into the driveway of his burned-out house and he was once again in the crawl space above the garage. Dawn was still a few hours off, so it was as dark as black velvet in the attic. Without even clicking on his tiny flashlight, Joe was able to feel around and find the dusty hiking backpack he had purchased from REI some decades earlier for the month he spent on the Appalachian Trail. He had mainly done it to demonstrate to himself that his ankle was healed up and could handle anything, even if the Air Force didn’t think so. Tossing the chunky backpack to the garage floor below, Joe followed it down and sifted through the contents with his flashlight. He found homemade wax campfire starters that he had made out of paraffin and dryer lint, a water purifier, a tightly rolled mummy-type sleeping bag, a cooking grate, a roll of toilet paper, matches, an empty canteen, a couple of tiny camping pots and dishes, a bar of soap in a plastic travel case, an ancient can of Spaghetti-o's, and a money belt. That was a good enough start. After tossing the expired Spaghetti-o’s into a pile of rubble in the dog-run, he threw the backpack into the passenger seat of his Charger, jumped in, and headed back toward his hotel for some clothes and some cash for the money belt.
◆◆◆
Unable to find the few hours of sleep he had been blessed with, Le paced the floor behind his couch, sipping on a Red Bull and watching overnight news coverage of the most recent shooting by Danton in Third Ward, pre-empting the usual programming. They didn’t know that it was Danton, but they had labeled him “The Gang-Buster”, at least on this channel. Public opinion and the media were very strongly sympathetic to Danton because he was cleaning up the streets in a tough neighborhood and doing a better job than the police. Even rival gangs of the Blood Brothers’ were noticeably less active, presumably afraid to draw Danton’s ire. Sure, thought Johnny. He doesn’t have to follow the same rules as the police. He just gets to be judge, jury, and executioner.
“The jury pool in Harris county is so tainted that there’s no way he’ll be convicted. Everyone loves him!” he thought aloud. “I guess it will be up to the prosecutor to push for a change of venue, but that may not do any good. He’s on the national news and everyone in the world loves the sonofabitch,”
◆◆◆
Cody lay flat on top of the covers of his bed, hands clasped on his stomach, and stared at the ceiling. He had not even bothered to remove his suit or shoes, save for the coat that was draped on the back of his dressing chair. That warrant was sure to be ready at any moment and he did not want to waste even a single second getting dressed. His tie was loosened and he flipped it back and forth with his fingers, wishing he could find sleep. He needed the rest.
This guy was just so calculated and specific! Cody thought as his ceiling fan blades whirled above. Not one person who wasn’t a Blood Brother had been harmed. Not even a little bit. He had a chance to kill me and escape scot-free. But he hadn’t. Every tiny bit of violence had been precisely directed at truly terrible
people who deserved it. Well, maybe not the ice cream parlor, but it turned out they were heavily insured and back in business in a matter of days with no losses. The insurance had even covered lost revenues for the time they were closed. No harm, no foul.
“I almost don’t want to catch the guy!” Cody said to no one. He thought more about it. Better not to let that sentiment leave the confines of his mind. “But what about due process?” he continued to consider aloud. “Bad as those thugs were, everyone is entitled to a fast and fair trial in front of a jury of their peers. What about that?” He dropped an arm to his side and drummed his fingers on the bedspread under him. “Who am I kidding? Those creeps got away with major felonies all the time, with no chance of us catching them,” Le, the rest of the gang squad, and all of the patrol units in the city can’t be everywhere at once and they took full advantage of that. Why shouldn’t Danton?
It was also hard not to feel ingratiated to Danton for saving his life, professional responsibilities be damned. “That kid was ready and able to shoot me dead, right on the spot. If Joe had not shown up…” he didn’t want to ponder how that would have worked out.
Cody jumped up and strode across the floor to find his conscience… the bathroom mirror. He would have to look at that every day for the rest of his life and needed to make sure he was okay with the man who looked back at him.
He stared into the mirror, scratched the few days of beard that needed shaving, and stared some more.
“If I do everything in my power to catch this guy and he still gets away, will you lose sleep, or will you be ok with that?” he asked the reflection and then pondered. “What if I wasn’t a cop?”
He hadn’t thought about that before, and stared at himself, scratching the beard once more.
“If I wasn’t a cop, I would be trying to give the guy a medal. I think I will sleep perfectly soundly if I can’t catch him, but I’m going to sure as hell try,”
Chapter 29
As Joe wound his way out of the neighborhood, he passed Saint Martha’s Catholic church. On a whim, he turned suddenly and swept into the parking lot, finding a parking space close to the sanctuary for his obnoxious blue Charger. He had no idea if it would be unlocked at this hour, but this was a nice, low-crime neighborhood at the wee hours of a Sunday morning. He figured that the odds were in his favor that it was.
He found the door open and slowly trod to the second pew in the dim sanctuary. Sinking into the pew with his hands folded, he stared at the giant crucifix hanging over the altar for a moment, then lowered his head. He pored over everything he had done since Foster’s murder and wondered how on Earth to pray about it. Although he was convinced his mission was righteous, at this moment in time he felt awful.
Those guys were monsters, unrepentant robbers, drug dealers, and killers… but they had mothers. They had fathers. They were people’s sons and daughter. A lot of them probably had brothers and sisters. Two of them had been brothers, and one was even a teenager. People cared about them, and those people probably hated the lives that they lived, fearing that it would get them killed. They had been killed or permanently injured, by Joe, and those people who cared about them were now undoubtedly grieving. Even though the streets of Third Ward were now unarguably safer, there were consequences. There was a lot of unseen gnashing, wailing, and wrent hearts. Was it worth the price? Was it worth the pain to so many innocent strangers? Joe now found himself pondering that question and helplessly trying to find the words to pray about it.
“Good morning,” the quiet voice startled Joe, which seldom happened due to his normal habit of being strictly aware of his surroundings. A short, black, grey-haired, and bearded priest stood halfway between the first pew and the communion rail, looking softly at Joe. “Mass isn’t until sunrise,”
“Good morning, Padre,” Joe murmured.
“What brings you here at this hour? Is something troubling you?”
Joe sighed and felt the sting of his eyes getting glassy. “I’ve done a lot of awful things recently, Father. Really awful things. I feel completely justified in my actions in my heart and my mind, but I can’t seem to reconcile them in my soul. If I don’t set myself straight spiritually, I’m afraid that it will haunt me for the rest of my life, and I already have some things tormenting my soul from earlier days in my life,” Joe referred to his days in the Balkans and some of the horrors he had seen and caused there.
“It sounds like a confession may do you good,”
“I’m not Catholic. Is a confession allowed?” he sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
“In the Catholic church, confession is sacramental and all baptized Christians are allowed,”
“Of course. I was raised Episcopalian, a pretty close cousin to Catholicism,” Joe wiped a tear from rolling off of the end of his nose with a finger that was attached to a shaking hand.
“All men and women are loved children of God,” he continued to speak softly and soothingly. “The rite of confession is a valuable part of the path to salvation, no matter how you conduct it, sacramentally or not. Would you like to step into the confessional and unburden yourself?”
“Is it legally privileged?”
“If I violate the seal of confession I can be excommunicated from the church, no matter what you say. It’s strictly between you, me, and God,”
“Then let’s give it a try. I need to settle my soul before I move on with my life,”
“Follow me,”
Joe stood slowly and followed the priest around a corner at the edge of the sanctuary into a tiny hall with the confessionals on one side. The old man ushered Joe into a cramped space and closed the curtain for him, then stepped into the one next to him.
Joe knelt on the cushioned step and folded his hands as the priest slid open the tiny door over the latticed opening between them. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” Joe began. “I cannot tell you how long it’s been since my last confession, because I have never participated in the sacrament of confession, but I frequently confess my sins to God in prayer. I do not believe that recitations of the Hail Mary or the Lord’s prayer, or time outside of a structure built by the hands of men will earn me penance. My penance comes from regret for my sins and the blood of Jesus,”
“Very well, young man. Please go ahead,”
Joe took a deep breath, debating where to begin. “There was a group of very horrible people, far inside the city. They believed that they were above the law in every way. There was no right or wrong in their minds. They were willing and able to commit any crime that suited them, from shoplifting up to carjacking and murder,”
“A gang?”
“Yes, Padre. They were a very small and very vicious gang who didn’t care who they harmed, or how,”
“Praying for them to find Jesus and turn from their evil ways would be a valuable course of action,”
“Yes, Father. I agree. But they killed a very dear friend of mine for no purpose but to steal his truck. I have very few friends and they took one away from me in the most senseless way,”
“That’s terrible, and I am very sorry. I will pray for you and the soul of your departed friend,”
“Thank you, but I found the police to be powerless and I could not let them continue to hurt innocent people with no consequences,”
“You took matters into your own hands?”
“Yes. I made it a personal mission. I have killed or permanently disabled every last one of them. The gang does not exist anymore,”
Joe started with cornering Biggie and shooting off his toes. He continued in vivid and precise detail how he had battered or killed each one of them, including his effort to leave survivors and force them to live in fear before he turned his fury on them. He ended with his calculated execution of Bullet, who was barely more than a child, the day before. He included his rationale that Bullet’s death had been mercifully quick instead of making him die slowly.
“What’s torturing me now,” Joe continued, �
�is the innocent people who loved those monsters. Their parents, siblings, and whatever family surely did not want them to be horrible criminals and unrepentant sinners, and now they are grieving terribly because they were unable to pull their loved ones out of a life that got them killed,” Joe paused. “by me,”
“You are the mysterious vigilante that I have seen on the news for the last few weeks, aren’t you?”
“Yes. My greatest spiritual conflict right now is that I do not feel sorry for making the city streets safer for children to play and families to walk down,”
“Son, within the boundaries of human justice, your actions are righteous and justified. You provided safety and justice to many, many people who would otherwise never have seen it.”
Joe was surprised to hear that the priest was sympathetic to his efforts.
“But,” the old man continued, “you have committed an innumerable number of sins, with full knowledge of their sinful nature as you committed them. Penance will be difficult for you. There is no number of times you could recite the Hail Mary or Our Father, or time you could spend outside of ‘a structure built by the hands of men’…” he deliberately repeated Joe’s words back to him. “You must spend a lot of time focusing on your good works and being very intimate in your conversations with God. You must find a way to remind yourself that no sin is beyond the forgiveness of Jesus’ blood. Spend the rest of your days remembering that Jesus’ blood separates your sins from you as far as the east is from the west, as it is told in Psalm 103, and that God’s forgiveness is unconditional, as we are told in the Gospels. Do your good works without hurting people from now on, even if you think they deserve it,”
“You don’t want me to turn myself in to the authorities?” Joe was surprised.
“How will spending the rest of your days in a cage, and very likely put to death, contribute to earthly justice as it was sought and provided to evil men? It certainly will not aid in the spiritual reconciliation that you seek. That being said, I have no idea how you will be able to evade the police for the rest of your life, especially if you continue to go to such lengths to avoid harming innocent people, which is truly difficult and admirable in light of the violent means to your end,”