by Rick Polad
Benny turned to me and said, “I’m Benny Landez. Can I help you?”
“I’m told you can.” I introduced myself and handed her my card. “I met with Detective Bast this morning, and he gave me your name. If you have time to chat for a few minutes, I’d appreciate it.”
If I had been her I would have asked what it was about. She didn’t. I assumed mentioning Bast’s name told her all she needed to know for starters.
She waited until the ball rolled out of bounds, blew her whistle again, and announced she’d be back in a bit and to carry on without her.
“My office is just down the hall. Please come with me, Spencer.”
***
Her office was across from the kitchen. It was spotless and empty. As I walked into her office, I couldn’t help noticing the walls that were covered with the pictures of kids of all ages. She sat at one of the functional wooden chairs on the door side of her old wooden desk and motioned me into the other.
“So what brings you to our little corner of the world, Spencer?”
Up close she didn’t look quite as tough as she had in the gym. There was a welcoming look to her face, and her eyes, as dark as her hair, sparkled. I wondered about the stories hidden behind those eyes.
I took a deep breath and sagged back into the chair. “A young man was killed this morning. His body was found in an alley on Madison Avenue.”
She sighed and shook her head. “I’m sorry. Unfortunately, that’s not something new around here. But why are you involved?”
“This may be something new. He was from Kenilworth.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Someone you knew?”
“Reynolds Margot. I’ve been working with Detective Bast and his mother on a drug charge against him. He was arrested a while back for possession and distributing.”
“How did this end up on Madison Avenue if he was selling drugs up in the suburbs?”
“He had been arrested on Madison Avenue. His body was found in the same place where he was arrested.”
She shook her head. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised anymore by things that happen on the streets, but I am. How sad. My life is spent with kids who have nothing and are looking for a way out of the hole they’re growing up in, through no fault of their own. I try and show them a way out. It’s so sad sometimes that I can’t even cry anymore. But it may be even sadder when a kid who has everything ends up down here.”
“Well, not quite everything.”
She looked thoughtful, then said, “No, I guess not. I’ll tell you his story. A kid whose parents shower him with money and a fancy car but can’t spare the time to pay attention to him… a kid whose friends get the same… a kid who is looking for thrills and excitement… and a kid who has everything but the only thing that matters—someone to care.”
I folded my hands in my lap and said, “Sounds like you knew him.”
She nodded. “I’ve heard enough stories. But usually the suburbs stay out of this neighborhood. I—”
“Excuse me, Miss Benny.” A boy of about twelve had peeked into the room.
She smiled at him. “Yes, Scotty.”
“We’re done with the game, Miss Benny. Can we have snacks?”
“You certainly can. They’re all ready on the table. Just start without me, and I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Thank you, Miss Benny.”
I marveled at Scotty as he grinned and waved.
I shook my head. “That’s the most polite boy I’ve ever met. Are they all that polite?”
“They are,” she said with a proud look.
“Parents… or you?”
“Well, usually not parents, and not really me anymore either. It was me in the beginning, but the older kids who have been here a while set a good example.”
“I’m amazed. You’ve worked a miracle.”
“I’ve had help, and it’s really not that hard. Everyone needs someone to look up to… to feel important. And if they don’t have anyone, and a lot of these kids don’t, the gangs fill that need. We just give them someone to look up to. The older kids give them that role model.”
“And so do you.”
She nodded. “To a certain extent, but it means a lot more coming from someone their own age.”
“So if this is so successful why is there a gang problem?”
“Because it’s not that successful.”
“But if all the kids in that room—”
She held up her hand. “Yes, a 100 percent success rate with the kids in that room. But look at how many kids are on the street.”
“So where’s the problem?”
“Getting them in here. What the gangs offer is a lot more exciting.”
“So how do you deal with that?”
“One step at a time, one kid at a time, Spencer. I take great joy in the fifteen kids who are in that room… and every new kid who comes in the door.”
I let out a long breath. “One kid at a time.” I shook my head slowly. “There are fifteen kids in that room and so many more out on the streets. It just…”
My dejection must have showed, because she said, “I learned a long time ago that if I didn’t accept that I couldn’t solve all the problems, I wouldn’t be able to solve any. Those fifteen are my miracles.”
“You’re quite a person, Miss Benny.”
She laughed. “Like I said, I have help. So, you still haven’t told me why you’re here.”
I sat up in the chair and stretched my back. “I started out trying to help with the drug charge.”
“There was some question as to his guilt?”
“No. None. But as a favor to his mother, I said I would look into it. She just wanted to make sure he would get everything that was due him as far as the system was concerned.”
“Understandable. So…?”
“So, now it’s murder, and she’d like to know who did it.”
“And Detective Bast?”
“We’re working together.”
“He’s a good man. He’s sent several kids our way whose alternative was jail. He thinks I can help somehow.”
“The Prophets gang sign was painted on the wall where Reynolds’ body was found. Bast suggested I talk to you.”
“I see. But what can I do?”
“Just keep your ears open. If you hear anything call one of us.”
She smiled. “Which one?”
I smiled back. “I guess that depends. I’m a lot better at things that don’t have to follow the rules, and I can poke into places Bast can’t.” I didn’t know how she would take my admission… we were in a church after all.
She smiled. “I’ve been known to break a few rules myself, Spencer. Sometimes it’s the best way to get things done.”
Another kid peered into the room.
“I’ll be there in two minutes, Jaimie.”
“Okay, Miss Benny. I just wanted you to know we saved you a snack.”
Benny beamed at her. “Thank you!”
“I need to get back, Spencer. I’ll certainly keep my ears open and get ahold of you if need be. But I’m not out on the street much. I spend most of my time in here with the kids. But there is someone else you should talk to.”
“Who would that be?”
“Sister Katherine.”
“Sister…?”
She smiled. “Katherine.”
“Yes… I just… A nun?”
“Most sisters are.”
I smiled. “How is she connected to you?”
“Well, we are in a church, Spencer. She appeared here soon after Father Brown agreed to let me use this space in the basement.”
I nodded and then gave her a puzzled look. “Appeared?”
She laughed. “Yes, it was all quite mysterious. I’ve learned not to question
the workings of Sister Katherine. About six months ago she just kind of started showing up where kids needed her and bringing them to me. I consider her a gift from God. She knows a lot more about what happens out on the street than I do… perhaps more than anyone.”
I shrugged. Who was I to argue? “And where do I find this miracle?”
She smiled as if she were forgiving me. “If you need her, she’ll find you.”
I opened my mouth to say something but quickly realized I didn’t know what to say. I slowly closed it.
“I need to get back to the kids, Spencer. I enjoyed meeting you. I hope you find who killed Reynolds. I’ll say a prayer for his soul and his mother.”
We both stood, and she shook my hand.
“It was a pleasure meeting you also, Benny. But I leave with more questions than I came with.”
Her eyes sparkled with mischief and wonder. “That’s not uncommon here. I hope you find the answers. And remember… one step at a time.”
“Thank you.”
I watched her walk away as she headed back to the gym, then turned and walked in the opposite direction, wondering what had happened and how I was going to find Sister Katherine. And as I got to the stairs I remembered one step at a time.
Chapter 8
The organist had left, and the church was quiet enough to hear scurrying mice. I was sure there were some in there somewhere seeking refuge from the chilly early-spring nights. When I was a kid I had spent many hours just sitting in our empty church. I enjoyed that alone time more than when the church was full of people. The late afternoon light was dimming, and the effect on the stained glass was subdued. But the atmosphere was as ethereal as I remembered it. There was still something peaceful and magical about an empty church.
I headed for the door but stopped and took a seat on the aisle in the second pew and thought about Mrs. Margot and her son and the sadness of the world Benny was trying to fix. I didn’t understand drugs… I had never tried them and had no desire to. I did understand the escape drugs and alcohol provided, but at what expense? What I knew nothing about was the addiction. What was there that made someone willing to steal from their friends and families and even kill to get that next fix?
I knew the problems were nothing new… they just changed over the years with new drugs of choice. And maybe they’d never be fixed. But that wasn’t going to stop me from trying. Benny welcomed one kid at a time, and I could only fix one thing at a time. One step would turn into two, and maybe two would turn into three.
I didn’t know how long I had been there and realized I may have dozed off when a voice from behind woke me. It was calm and soft, like the coo of a dove.
“Can I help you?”
Only half awake, I at first wondered if it was an angel. I didn’t know then that I would find myself wondering that for a long time.
I turned and found a petite woman with short brown hair, bright blue eyes, and a cherubic face lit up with an endearing smile. She was wearing a white cotton blouse and faded jeans and looked like she was about sixteen.
“I’m looking for Sister Katherine. Would you know where she is?”
She sat in the pew in front of me. “I would.” She reached over the back of the pew, and I took her hand.
“What is it you need from me?” she asked.
I dropped her hand and said, “Me? You’re Sister Katherine?”
She laughed, a soft musical sound like muffled bells. “I am.”
I was flustered. “I’m so sorry… Sister, I…”
“No need to be sorry. I surprise a lot of people.”
I smiled back. “Well, you did do that.” I looked at her with my head cocked.
“What?” she asked.
“I’m pretty sure I’ve never shaken hands with a nun before.”
“Well I’m happy to be your first, but I’m sorry to hear that.”
“The nuns I grew up with were not exactly like you. The closest I ever came to a nun’s hand was when she had a ruler in it.”
She laughed. “And how many times did that happen?”
I smiled at her and asked, “You think the Cubs have a shot at the pennant this year?”
“Ah, you seem to have lost your train of thought. After what they did last year, they’re going to need to convince me.”
We commiserated about last year’s playoffs. The ’84 Cubs had made it into their first postseason game since the World Series in 1945. They played the Padres, who were in their first series since the team’s inception in ’69. The Cubs, highly favored, won the first game 13-0. They won the second 4-2. They just needed to win one more game out of the next three to make it back to the series. After losing the next two games, Cubs fans were wondering if the curse of the goat was rearing its ugly head. But no National League team had ever recovered from being down two to nothing, so we were optimistic. That optimism proved valid as Leon Durham hit a two-run homer in the first. But it fizzled in the seventh as an easy grounder to first went under Durham’s glove, scoring the tying run. Two batters later a ball bounced over Sandberg’s head. We all knew the goat was alive and well.
“Do you believe in curses, Sister?”
She laughed. “What I believe doesn’t matter. It only matters what others believe.”
I thought that was wise, then realized she hadn’t answered my question. Then I realized she hadn’t directly answered any of my other questions either.
“You have me at a disadvantage,” she said. “I don’t know your name.”
“My apologies, Sister. I’m Spencer Manning.”
She nodded. “A pleasure to meet you, Spencer. What can I do for you?”
“I was talking with Benny, who told me you’d be the one to talk to. I’m a private investigator. I’m looking into the murder of a young man on Madison Avenue this morning.”
She sighed and shook her head. “Yes… Reynolds.”
“You know his name?”
“I make a point of it. That’s at least a little bit of respect I can give them. They’re not just statistics. How are you involved?”
I told her about the drugs and Mrs. Margot and asked about her relationship with Benny.
“We do what we can for the neighborhood. She runs the program here at the church. I talk with the kids and the families and help wherever I can.”
She got up and moved to my pew. I slid over.
“The church already had a neighborhood program for the kids, but it wasn’t very popular. With the help of the police and Benny, it expanded.”
“Benny says your role is getting the kids on the street to come in here.”
“Yes. But there are many who don’t. But whether they do or not, I help where I can.”
“Benny also wasn’t real clear about where you came from.”
She tilted her head back and smiled. “She’s not sure at all.”
“And that doesn’t seem to bother her,” I said.
Her head cocked to the side, and she raised her eyebrows. “Should it?”
I laughed. “No, I guess not. But given what I do, I can’t help my curiosity. How did you end up here?”
She showed the slightest of cherubic smiles and said, “The Lord works in mysterious ways, Spencer.”
I knew I wasn’t going to get any more than that. I also knew it didn’t matter. So I went back to the case.
“And what do you know about the Prophets?”
She shrugged. “Not much more than you, probably.”
“Have you ever met any of them?”
“Several, including Renald Williams. We try to keep a conversation going and get them involved somehow. Renald has spent time talking to me about violence. He says he is just a simple businessman, and violence is bad for business.”
I had never had the occasion to meet Renald, the leader of the Prophets.
&n
bsp; “Pardon me for being cynical, but keeping the neighborhood safe so he can run his drug business doesn’t exactly seem to have the right ring to it.”
She nodded slowly. “I know. But I do what I can. Mr. Williams brings food to our food kitchen. He doesn’t send it… he brings it himself.”
I pursed my lips and shook my head. “Sounds like you’re making a saint out of this guy. Capone gave turkeys to the neighborhood at Christmas.”
“Would I like things to be perfect? Sure. But I take help where I can get it… without making judgment. A lot of these kids only get one meal a day, Spencer. There are so many battles. Winning some, or even one, is a good thing. If we can keep the people safe and fed, then we can get a better handle on the drugs.”
“And how’s that going?”
“Actually, we were seeing some progress last year… that is until his brother was convicted of murder. The violence escalated quite a bit after that.”
“I know. A friend of mine was the witness.” I told her about Stosh.
A man in street clothes came in through a door behind the choir area and began turning on lights. I glanced at my watch. It was a little before six.
“There’s a choir rehearsal tonight at seven thirty,” she said, anticipating my question.
“Are you hungry? I’m buying.”
“I am. That would be lovely. There’s a diner in the next block. The food is simple, but it’s homemade and tasty.”
We made our way out of the church, and I pushed open the door. As we walked down the steps she glanced at the homeless man on the parapet. He was still asleep. When we were two houses away, I asked about the man.
“He’s a neighborhood fixture.”
“What do you know about him?”
She shrugged. “Not much. He just appeared a few weeks ago. He’s there every day… gone after dark. People leave money.”
“You talk to him?”
“I approached him once, and he gave no indication that he cared I was there. I blessed him and walked away.” She paused to wave and say hello to some kids. “I leave him food.”
