Courageous: A Novel

by Randy Alcorn

  “Hey, Shane.”

  “Adam. Thanks for coming. I . . . can’t tell you what it’s like to be on this side of the glass.”

  “Shane, I’m sorry.”

  “You did the right thing. It took me a while to admit it, but I deserve this. I knew what I was doing. I guess I just thought I had a free pass.”

  “What happened, Shane?”

  His old partner, with whom he’d had a hundred adventures and a thousand laughs, looked him in the eyes. “I ask myself that every day. Remember when we talked about hanging on, not letting go of that steering wheel? I guess somewhere along the way I let go.” His voice cracked. “Now my life is over. I couldn’t get it back even if I wanted to.”

  “Your life doesn’t need to be over. But you’ve got to get right with God. Then you need to get right with your son.”

  “I’ve lost him, Adam.”

  “No. Tyler’s hurt, but you haven’t lost him. I’ve talked with him. It’s not too late.”

  Shane leaned forward. “You have to help me with Tyler. He needs someone to look out for him.”

  “Dylan and I discussed this. We’ll keep an eye on him. You have my word. In fact, we already invited him to run with us in the 5K.”

  “I was gonna do that with him. Thanks.”

  “Shane, can I ask you something?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why did you choose to tell the truth about not warning Jamar Holloman before you tased him?”

  Shane sighed. “I knew that if I claimed to have warned him before turning on the Taser, they’d go back and study the footage to determine whether that was possible. If they looked at it again, I was afraid they’d notice.”

  “Notice what?”

  “The bag of crack was right there. It had to be in the camera’s field of view. And while he was on his stomach, I grabbed it, poured half the rocks into a baggie, and stuffed it inside my shirt. Maybe fifty rocks, a thousand dollars. Internal affairs studied the film for the tasing, not the drugs. But if someone checked the report and looked back at the video, they could have seen there were twice as many rocks in Holloman’s bag as I turned in.”

  “So you took a reprimand rather than risk the felony.”

  Shane hung his head. “We were partners, friends. Please forgive me.”

  The guard stepped in behind Shane and nodded to Adam that their visit was over.

  “I forgive you, Shane.”

  Shane looked up with haunted eyes. “Adam, I’ve really let you down. Even worse than you know. I’m so sorry.”

  The guard took Shane’s arm.

  “Don’t let go of the wheel,” Shane said.

  Adam nodded. “Never.”

  Adam watched Shane as he was taken away and the door closed behind him.

  He walked out of the room and down the long hallway that separated the captives from the free. Yet, Adam pondered, some in prison were free in their hearts while many outside were slaves to their appetites.

  On his lonely walk from Echo building back to the free world, Adam asked himself, What did Shane mean when he said, “Even worse than you know”?

  Adam’s patrol car wouldn’t start, so Murphy assigned Adam to ride with Bronson. Neither was happy about it. Adam feared he’d be swallowed up in the black hole of Bronson’s infinite gravity. Since it was Bronson’s first day back after the shooting, Adam volunteered to drive. Bronson gave him a look that suggested he would die or kill before letting someone else drive his car.

  They parked a half block from a notorious drug house and watched customers go in and out. Bronson ate his second Jimmie’s hot dog, “all the way” with mustard, chili, and onions on a toasted bun, more slaw than you could shake a stick at, and some specialty sauerkraut Bronson kept in the car. The kraut was reason enough for Adam to keep his window rolled down.

  “Is this how you spend your lunch hour?” Adam asked him. “Have you ever considered reading a book or listening to the radio?”

  “Have you ever considered stoppin’ your yakkin’ and lettin’ a man eat in peace?”

  After ten minutes, a man carrying a blue lunch cooler climbed the steps to the porch and opened the door without knocking.

  “He’s carried that same cooler three days in a row. I don’t think he’s buying. I think he’s delivering.”

  Soon the man left again, cooler still in hand.

  “It frosts me, Mitchell. We know where the drug houses are, and we have to wait around until we get a warrant. I say we just go in and put them out of business today. We know what they’re doing. What’s to stop us?”

  “Well, there’s the law. And the Bill of Rights. And also the fact that you’re asking for someone to blow your head off.”

  “They’re not blowin’ my head off.”

  Adam sighed, remembering what Dylan said about opportunities to speak up. “Look, we deal constantly with death. It should make us more aware of our mortality, not less. Even if we retire and live another twenty years—which, despite our stellar dietary habits, most of us won’t—we’ll all die. You know that, right?”

  Adam studied Bronson’s profile, searching for a way to penetrate that thick skull.

  “I’ve cheated death dozens of times.”

  “Brad, come on, you want lightning to strike you? Do you know how close to death you’ve come in the last couple of months? Especially at Harveys Supermarket.”

  “Marciano saved me.”

  “Yeah, he did. Then they opened fire on you, and one round hit you in the shoulder. Could have been your heart. That’s twice you could have died that day.”

  “Okay, I’m gonna die. There, I said it. Happy?”

  “Then doesn’t it make sense to be prepared for it?”

  “Prepared for what? Being eaten by worms? How much planning does that require?”

  “You’re created in God’s image, Sarge. You will exist someplace forever.”

  “Do I look stupid?”

  Adam wisely withheld his answer.

  “Because I don’t believe that for a minute.”

  “Your disbelief doesn’t change reality. You are who you are, and God is who He is. And Jesus did what He did for you on the cross. Nothing you think or say will ever change that. You and I don’t get a vote.”

  Bronson stared at him like a wolverine at a rabbit. “I pay my own way. I don’t want your religion; it’s for thumb-sucking fools who need a crutch. Do I make myself clear, Corporal?”

  Adam returned Bronson’s stare. “You know, Brad, I’d rather be judged a fool by you for the moment than be judged a fool by God forever. And please don’t say you’d rather pay your own way. You may get your wish. It’s called hell.”

  “Mitchell, get your mind off that hocus-pocus and do your job. Otherwise while you see visions, some street punk’s gonna blow you to heaven sooner than you intended to go.”

  “I do my job fine. But life is more than the job. And if someone does blow me away, I’d rather be blown to heaven than to hell. How about you?”

  Adam squared off with Bronson eye to eye, awaiting the next eruption of belittling sarcasm.

  Bronson blinked first.

  “You know, Mitchell, I don’t agree with you. But I’ll say this for you—you must really believe this nonsense to fight for it when you knew I’d fight back on every point. I always thought you were a wimp. You showed me somethin’ today.”

  Bronson started the car.

  They pulled very slowly toward the drug house. Bronson flipped on his lights, no siren. Adam watched several people turn and head the opposite direction or walk right past as if they hadn’t planned to stop. He saw someone peek through the blinds.

  Bronson spoke over the loudspeaker, the cement mixer coming through loud and clear. “I know who you are, Gerald Ellis. There’s a bed with your name on it at the Georgia State Pen. Flush those drugs. Burn them now while you got a chance. I’m comin’ back for you.”

  He finally turned off the lights and headed toward Jackson Street.

/>   “Where we going?” Adam asked.

  “I could use one more hot dog from Jimmie’s. Watching drug dealers gives me an appetite.”

  At the end of an eight-hour shift that felt like two days in a jail that smelled like sauerkraut, Adam marched straight to Sergeant Murphy’s office.

  “Tell me you’re not going to make me Bronson’s partner.”

  “That’s not your call, is it?”

  “I just spent one day with him. I couldn’t handle five days a week.”

  “Maybe he’d grow on you.”

  Bronson grow? That was a scary thought.

  “Please, Sarge.” Adam hoped he didn’t look as pathetic as he sounded.

  “Sorry you feel that way, Adam. I’m surprised you have less consideration for Bronson than he has for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you know those thirty days of paid leave donated to you after Emily died?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Ten of them came from Brad Bronson.”

  Chapter Forty-three

  This was one trip Nathan Hayes knew he had to make alone.

  He stood with the warm sun on his back. A light breeze rustled the leaves of the oak trees that dotted the serene landscape. The grass beneath his feet smelled freshly mowed. He looked at a card in his hand and read aloud:

  “‘My name is Nathan Hayes, and I am your son. I’ve wasted too much time being angry with you, asking why you were never there for me. I’ve always felt that I needed to prove myself to you, wondering if I was worth being loved. I now realize I have a heavenly Father who loves me, even though my earthly father did not, and that has made all the difference. My Father God is more than enough. Because of Him, I have forgiven you. He is your judge, not me. I live with the hope that you gave your life to Him while you still could so that one day I will finally meet you face-to-face.’”

  Nathan placed the letter next to a small, neglected tombstone etched with the name Clinton Brown. He walked away and never looked back.

  Three days after Adam’s stint in Brad Bronson’s patrol car, Bronson approached him at the end of their shift. Adam noticed something was different. His usual intensity seemed ratcheted down.

  The cement mixer cleared his throat. “We found out about Shane Fuller’s middle man.”

  “Shane told who he sold the drugs to?”

  “No. The buyer confessed. We knew he was a dealer; we just didn’t know he sold stolen police evidence. We already had the guy—bound for jail on another charge.”

  “What charge?”

  “Vehicular manslaughter. Under the influence. Alcohol and cocaine.”

  Adam stared at him. “Are you telling me . . . Shane sold evidence room crack to Mike Hollis?”

  “Yeah.”

  Adam pondered it. “So Shane sold to Hollis, knowing Hollis would deal it on the streets. To kids. But where did Shane pass the dope to Hollis?”

  Bronson growled, “You won’t believe it. The All American Fun Park.”

  “You’re kidding. I dropped him off there one day when his car was in the shop. It was the same day I drove him to the bank with Emily.” The day she danced.

  Adam smashed fist into palm. “That’s when Mike Hollis saw me in the parking lot at the Fun Park!”

  “What are you talking about, Mitchell?”

  “Shane brought a bag of stuff that day. Said he’d bought a couple of Bulldogs T-shirts for Tyler. I asked to see them; he didn’t let me. He was taking cocaine to Mike Hollis in my truck with Emily there. Maybe the same stuff Hollis was on when he . . .”

  Adam turned and walked away.

  After dinner, Adam and Caleb sat in the Holt’s family room while the women remained in the dining room, talking.

  “I saw Dylan run past the fire station one day and waved him down. He tells me the two of you run together.”

  “It’s been awesome. A great way to spend time with my son. We talk about everything.”

  Catherine and Victoria joined them, coffee in hand. A knowing glance passed between Catherine and Caleb. He said, “Catherine and I have something to ask you and a few things to tell you.”

  “You planning to move a trailer into our backyard?” Adam asked.

  “No, but thanks for the offer,” Caleb said. “We’ll consider it.”

  Victoria looked at the guys with mock disapproval. “What did you want to say, Catherine?”

  “Well, it’s official—we’re adopting a little girl from China!”

  Victoria got up and hugged Catherine. “That’s wonderful news!”

  Caleb grinned. “She’s three years old. It’ll probably be another few months before we can fly over and get her.”

  Catherine said, “What we want to ask you is this. I hope you don’t mind, but . . . well, how would you feel if we named our little girl . . . Emily?”

  Victoria stared at Catherine, then covered her face with both hands.

  “I’m sorry,” Catherine said.

  Victoria shook her head. “No. I’m just . . . We would be honored, wouldn’t we, Adam?”

  Adam looked at Caleb and Catherine. “Yes, we would.”

  They celebrated this for several minutes. Then Caleb smiled at Catherine. “Now, we have something else to tell you. We just found out today. Except for family, you’re the first to know.”

  “Know what?” Victoria asked.

  Catherine smiled. “It turns out we’ll get two children!”

  Victoria clapped her hands. “Siblings?”

  “We’re just adopting one. The other one is already with us.”

  “What does that mean?” Adam asked.

  Victoria looked at Catherine. “You’re pregnant?”

  “Yes!”

  Victoria shrieked and threw her arms around Catherine a second time.

  Adam laughed. “I haven’t seen Victoria so excited since Dylan finished second in the big race! But I thought you guys couldn’t . . .”

  Caleb shrugged. “Apparently the doctors were wrong!”

  “Wow.”

  “So it’s like we’re having twins. Except one’s from China and three years older! I’m sure glad we didn’t know Catherine would get pregnant.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we wouldn’t have adopted Emily. God wants us to have both children, and He worked the timing so it would happen.”

  Adam nodded. “Sometimes we’re better off not knowing His plan in advance, aren’t we?”

  Adam scanned the group in his living room, meeting there because some items of conversation might be too private for Pearly’s. Five men. Shane was gone, but his place had been taken by a figure of immense proportions.

  While Adam knew Bronson’s opinion about everything, he’d begun to realize he knew little about the man behind the opinions. For reasons Adam didn’t grasp, Brad Bronson had invited himself to this meeting.

  Since their conversation in Bronson’s car outside the drug house, Bronson had made occasional references to his mortality. Though Adam knew Bronson thoroughly disliked everyone, it occurred to him for the first time that maybe the sergeant hadn’t granted himself an exemption. Maybe someplace below the surface—even if way below it—he knew that he needed to make some changes before he left this world.

  The pervasive scent of a burning tobacco plantation was not Adam’s main concern, though he wondered what Victoria would say about the smell on the couch. Bronson looked around sullenly at the other men while Adam handed him a Bible. Touching it only with his fingertips, he muttered, “I feel like a pork chop at a bar mitzvah.”

  “Guys, Brad and I agreed that we’ll do things just like we would if he wasn’t here. He can listen and participate when and if he wants.”

  “Good to have you, Sarge.” Nathan extended his hand, as did the others.

  Bronson didn’t actually touch anyone, but he nodded, an unusually effusive display of warmth.

  “An honor to meet you, sir,” Javier said.

  Bronson looked at Javy. His
voice boomed, “Are you legal?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.”

  “You don’t have to call him sir, Javy,” Adam said. “Sergeant Bronson will be fine, but actually we’ve said rank doesn’t matter here, so Brad or Bronson is better. That okay with you, Brad?”

  “I don’t care if you call me Little Bo Peep. I just hope we’re not gonna sit around and whine about the stork dropping us down the wrong chimney.”

  “Well, we normally don’t whine, and we believe in God, not the stork, and God knows His chimneys pretty well. But other than that . . . we’re on the same page.”

  Adam studied the guys’ uncertain faces a moment, then jumped in. “First, I wrote down something Tom Lyman said to me the other day.” Adam opened the flyleaf of his Bible and read: “‘At the end of his life, no man says, “I wish I had spent less time with my children.”’”

  Nathan nodded. “The regret is always the opposite, isn’t it? Wishing they’d given less time to work or golf or projects or a dozen other things and more to their children.”

  Adam said, “I want to read something from Charles Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening. Spurgeon was a nineteenth-century British pastor. It’s old-fashioned English, but it’s still relevant:

  “Fearless of all consequences, you must do the right. You will need the courage of a lion unhesitatingly to pursue a course which shall turn your best friend into your fiercest foe; but for the love of Jesus you must thus be courageous. For the truth’s sake to hazard reputation and affection, is such a deed that to do it constantly you will need a degree of moral principle which only the Spirit of God can work in you; yet turn not your back like a coward, but play the man. Follow right manfully in your Master’s steps, for he has traversed this rough way before you. Better a brief warfare and eternal rest, than false peace and everlasting torment.”

  Bronson leaned forward. “This guy Sturgeon was a preacher?”

  “Spurgeon. Yeah.”

  Bronson propped his chin on a fist. “Always thought church was for women and sissies. Fearless? Courage of a lion? Be a man? I like this guy. Even if he is named after a fish.”