“I asked how you like Fairbury.” A small smile played around the corners of her mouth as if not quite sure how he’d take it.
“It’s a nice place. My sentence provided for several places in the country where I could serve. Most were small towns, but Chief Varney sent a personal invitation to me, so I chose here.”
“He’s a good man.”
“Joe and Chad have been great, and my parole officer in Rockland doesn’t treat me like dirt. It’s as nice as can be expected for a wall-less prison sentence.”
Her hand reached instinctively across the table to rest on his arm. “Are you safe here?”
“Safer than most places.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t put you in Witness Protection or something.”
“I had a lousy lawyer. I found out after I got here that they would have probably accepted that in the plea bargain. I’m not a sitting target, but I am definitely vulnerable if the right people look in the right places. My court documents were sealed for my protection, but that’s about it. If a cop got careless and mentioned my name, it could easily get back to the wrong people.”
“You don’t trust law enforcement, do you?” Allison could hardly blame him, but it seemed odd to hear a Christian talking as if the police were the enemy.
“Habits are hard to break. The guys here are cool, though. Kind of prove that there are two sides to every group.”
He stood, rolled up the butcher’s paper that Mr. Goldberg had used to wrap his sandwich, and grabbed the basket The Deli used for a plate. “Thanks for eating with me, Miss Wahl. It—”
“Leo, my name is Allison.” She smiled at him, trying not to let the disappointment in his leaving show. Allison wanted to hear the story of his conversion. Adric had intrigued her with the idea.
“I’ll get to work on that car for you. After your Camry, that Focus must be driving you crazy.”
“Driving me to work and back, so yeah. Pretty much.” She winked at him and took another bite of her sandwich to hide the frown that she could feel growing on her face.
As he walked down the street toward Adric’s shop, Allison fought the temptation to chase after him. After all, he had her car; she’d see him again. She reached for her new book, but her hand grabbed the one she’d purchased for Leo instead. That’d do it. A blush tinged her cheeks as she realized just how happy having an excuse to stop by the shop made her.
Loud music nearly deafened Allison as she opened the office door to the bays. As she did, she saw a scene in her mind as if it played out before her. It would be too easy for men to walk in on a night like this, sneak up on Leo while his head was stuck under the hood of a car, and kill him before he knew they were there. It was dangerous—foolhardy. He needed to be more careful. For a moment, Allison was tempted to cover his eyes with her hands to show him, but a gesture like that held a feeling of intimacy that killed the notion.
Instead, she walked across the shop, advancing on him openly. Disappointment and a hint of fear washed over her when he didn’t look up from his work. She’d hoped to see the admiration in his eyes again, but instead, he didn’t take his eyes off the wrench and the hunk of metal he attacked with a gusto that surprised her. Muscles in his arm rippled, making the snake there look like it slithered. Allison barely suppressed a shudder.
She reached out to tap his arm and found her wrist encircled by a hand much stronger than anything she’d ever encountered. Leo’s face hovered over hers, contorted with a rage she couldn’t imagine. “Oh!” He dropped her wrist almost as quickly as he’d grabbed it. He snapped off the pulsating music, saying, “Sorry, Allison. I saw you out of the corner of my eye and just reacted.”
“I’m just glad you saw me. I pictured thugs sneaking in here and killing you before you knew what hit you.”
“That’s the way to die,” he muttered, wiping his greasy hands on a clean towel and passing one to Allison for her wrist. At the look of confusion on her face, he added, “The guys who would come in after me would make me suffer first.”
“I brought you that book I promised. I forgot to give it to you at The Deli.” She passed him the book and prayed it was the right choice.
“The Cross and the Switchblade. What’s it about?” Even as he asked, Leo turned the book over and read the back.
“It’s almost a Christian classic. It’s about a guy who moved to NYC to minister to street gangs in the sixties.”
“Fiction?”
“No, it’s supposed to be a factual account—”
Leo glanced up at her and smiled. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.” He glanced uncomfortably around the work bays before he pointed to a sign. “Technically, we could get in some serious insurance trouble for you being in here.”
Chagrined, she took a step backward. “Sorry. Forgot about that.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
Allison watched as he laid the book on the counter before he followed her to the office door. Something about the book bothered Leo, she was sure of it, but he also acted interested. At the door, she glanced at her car. “I really wish you’d give up on that thing and go home. It’s the weekend. You should relax, take some time off, go see a movie, read that book, invite friends over for cards—something.”
Laughing, he ticked off a finger for each rebuttal. “Working on engines is relaxing for me, taking time off means filling that time with other things that I don’t enjoy doing, there are no good movies playing—and it’s a drag to go by yourself anyway—” Leo winked before continuing. “I probably will read that book, I don’t have any friends or any cards, and something is usually another word for me getting into trouble.” He smiled, a genuine heartfelt smile, and shrugged. “I’d rather get that engine out of there before the Monday workload starts.”
She stepped out into the night and turned to smile at him. “You know I appreciate it, don’t you?”
“Well, I do now. Happy to do it.”
Allison hadn’t taken three steps before she heard the bolt click in the lock. Her heart breaking at the thought, she whispered, “No friends, Lord?”
Chapter Four
The apartment, even more silent than usual, added to his emptiness that evening. No run for him. He hadn’t returned home until well after midnight, tired and grateful for a sleepy town. There would be no gunshots, no obscenities flying between rival street gangs bent on proving their superiority, no rumbling motorcycles beckoning him to come feel the purr of their engines beneath him. On nights like that, the lure of the past grew so strong he almost forgot about the turmoil, the danger, the death. Yes, on nights such as those, the acrid taste of evil evaporated, and in its place, the thrill of adrenaline taunted him.
His nightly routine tugged him back to his new reality. In the old days, he’d had no routine. Now, he dropped his keys in the bowl on the counter, dropped the single letter and Wal-Mart flyer next to it, and fished the change from his pockets. He kept an old pickle jar with the lid super-glued shut and a slit in it. Every quarter, nickel, dime, penny, or coin dollar that he received dropped into the jar nightly. Living on a cash basis gave him ample opportunity to fill it. Living on little made those opportunities small in value.
Though not hungry, Leo did have a craving for something to crunch, so he tossed a bag of popcorn in the microwave and punched the handy little picture of a popped kernel on the touch pad. That had amused him the first time he saw it, but popcorn came out perfect when you punched that little button. He grabbed a paper towel, the popped bag, and his new book and collapsed on the couch without bothering to change. He kicked off his shoes, opened the book, and thrust his hand into the popcorn bag. Frowning, Leo looked at the overhead light and made a mental notation. Go to Ferndale or Brunswick and get a lamp from a thrift store.
From David Wilkerson’s first prompting to “go to New York and help those boys,” Leo prickled. How convenient for the preacher from the sticks to find a nice high profile case that the Lord just happened to call him to “minister” to.
Yeah. Convenient. As he continued to read, the idea of a man like Wilkerson considering life without a TV hardly registered, but a momentary curiosity of what it would be like if he tried to pray more and read less crossed his mind. Adric had suggested the fifteen chapters, but maybe prayer—he’d ask. Yep, he’d ask. It wouldn’t hurt.
He shook his head at the naïveté of the country preacher who thought he could waltz into a NYC courtroom and have an audience with the judge—as if ordination meant anything to the courts. As the Pentecostal flair of Wilkerson’s theology took root in the story, Leo squirmed as he’d never squirmed before. He’d heard the gospel. He’d heard it taught with power and glory, but he’d never seen or felt the kind of raw emotion flowing from worship specifically designed to produce that very emotion.
He’d experienced the overflowing of a heart overwhelmed with love and gratitude for his salvation—repeatedly. However, in his experience, emotion was a byproduct of worship, not the design. Reading about it made him miserable. He didn’t know what to think about it or do with it, so he stuffed it down as he read on, learning about the life of a man anxious to try to help seven boys in New York City.
Leo growled, “Did it ever occur to you to seek the boys who aren’t that far gone yet? Why go after the ones with publicity? Pride? Have ya heard of it?” just before he read nearly the same words from Wilkerson’s grandfather. Seconds later, he muttered, “You tell him, Grandpa.”
Though much of what he read was foreign to him, even more was familiar. No, the boys in the books roamed different streets, employed different methods, but Leo recognized the same sense of desperation in the people that Wilkerson tried to minister to, and it revolted him. He wanted to feel compassion—to remember just how far he’d come, but memories, still too raw, prevented it. The lack of help for heroin addicts sent him over the edge, and his book sailed across the room and crashed against the closet door.
“Self-righteous drivel.”
Wilkerson’s idea of prayer wouldn’t leave him alone. He stood at the counter, twiddling his keys, hesitant. Walk to work or drive out to Adric’s for a talk. Leo dropped the keys in the bowl and grabbed his jacket. He’d call Adric from there and save the gas.
Trisha stood in the alley directing the delivery guy where to put the day’s order. “Hey, Leo. Whatcha doin’ today?”
From the first, he’d tried to ignore her. Trisha dressed just close enough to the edge of risqué as to make it difficult on a guy. She never quite crossed the line to skanky, but her dance along it made him uncomfortable. He’d never seen her at the Community Church, and her overt flirtation told him he could have her in his room anytime he wanted. Up until Thursday, there’d been times he’d wanted—almost desperately. He waited for it, but it never came. Perhaps that struggle had ended too. Now, the way she practically invited him to grope her revolted him.
With stiff politeness, he waved and turned the corner toward the street. How had he ever thought she was cute? The girl had no sense of—the word eluded him until he reached the street. Allure—she had no sense of allure. She displayed every single one of her so-called charms for the world to see, ogle, and enjoy. No wonder Wayne was such a stickler about that smock.
The moment he stepped foot on the sidewalk, a tourist nearly screamed. He heard the gasp from ten feet away and watched as the woman clutched her purse and ducked into the children’s boutique. This time, it made sense. He did look like a thug; he did just step from between two buildings and startle her; what did he expect? In his peripheral vision, he saw Joe cross the street at a brisk jog. Great. Annoying the local cops meant nothing but trouble.
“Hey, Leo. How’s it going? Let me buy you a coffee and a pastry.”
“Not necessary, Joe, but thanks.”
Under his breath, Joe muttered, “But it is. We need the tourists and townspeople alike to see that we don’t see you as a threat. Come on.”
Talking about the weather, his work, Aiden Cox’s latest foray onto Fairbury streets sans helmet, and a few other things that made no sense to Leo, Joe Freidan sauntered down the sidewalk, nodding to everyone they met. “Mornin’, Mr. Janiver.” He held the door to The Grind open and gestured for Leo to enter. “Come on, I only get ten minutes.”
Fairbury hadn’t embraced the urban street look, and it showed in the collective middle-class stares of disapproval as Leo ordered coffee—black—and a cream cheese Danish. “Give him an apple too,” Joe insisted. “The guy needs meat on his bones.”
“He probably does drugs,” a voice whispered near them. Leo stiffened but tried to ignore it. Joe had other plans.
“The last time I looked, the criminals from this town all looked like everyone in this room, except for Leo. He’s my friend. If you have trouble with that, take it up with me.”
“Name a criminal from this town, Joe?” The man at their right scowled. “Look at the tattoos on that guy. You can’t tell me they aren’t gang.”
“Are there gangs in Fairbury?” Joe’s voice neared a menacing level.
“No, but—”
“Then he’s in no gang here, is he? I can tell you now; there are no gangs in Rockland that use any of the tattoos on Leo’s body.” Just before the man could respond, Joe seemed to remember the first question. “As for local criminals, may I remind you of our own personal serial killer? No one thought it was possible, and yet…”
“Fine.” The man wasn’t fine, and Leo knew it.
“Can I go now, Joe?” Leo wanted nothing more than to help the guy swallow his teeth but resisted the inclination.
“No. Let’s eat.”
The moment they sat, he bowed his head, prayed a brief, silent prayer, and raised his eyes to Joe’s smug face. Understanding dawned. This was about reminding the town that they had condemned a Christian for the remnants of his past. “That was low.”
“But necessary. Eat.” Joe smiled. “You didn’t even hesitate. It’s such a part of who you are. I trusted that.”
“I don’t pray to be on display.”
“Anyone watching would know you did it out of habit, not show.” Joe took a bite of his muffin and sighed. “These things should be a sin, but man, I’m glad they aren’t.”
“I haven’t had a good muffin in months.”
“You should try one. So, what’s on the agenda this weekend?” Joe pinched a bite of his muffin from the top and dropped it on Leo’s napkin.
“Workin’ on an engine replace and reading a stupid book.”
“What book?” Joe’s face and tone said what he didn’t. “Why read a book if it’s no good?”
“The Cross and the Switchblade.”
“David Wilkerson and Nicky Cruz?”
“Well, the guys it’s about so far are Wilkerson and his friend Miles. I don’t know about a Cruz.”
Joe frowned. “Ok, I’ll bite. Why are you reading a book that you don’t want to read?”
“Someone bought it for me. I guess she thought I’d relate or something.”
As if unaware that he pried, Joe asked, “Who?”
“The woman with the car—Allison.”
“Adric’s girl from last year?” Joe whistled low. “That was one woman I hoped he’d choose. She was just—”
“Yeah, I don’t get it. I mean, Jael is great and all, but—”
“So why’d she give you the book? What prompted her to do that?”
Leo explained the visit to the bookstore and the scene he’d witnessed. “She was really great, so I kind of felt obligated to read it. I’m sure I’m supposed to get it, but a lot of what it describes is just dumb kids doing dumb stuff. We didn’t wander around parks looking for ways to hurt people for the joy of it. We had rules, discipline. We were a business. These kids in that book are just aimless.”
“It might be a good topic of discussion for you guys then.”
“I won’t be discussing it, Joe. I’ll thank her when I see her, but that’s about it.” He chugged the last of his coffee. “Thanks for the breakfast. I’ve g
otta go.”
People gave Leo a wide berth on the sidewalk and nearly ignored him while crossing the street. He walked briskly toward the shop, let himself in the office door, and locked it behind him. There’d be no more surprise visits from unsettling women. He sat behind Adric’s desk, grabbed the phone, and dialed his boss’s cell number. First things first.
“Hey, it’s Leo. I had a question for you.” Adric promised an answer, even if was the wrong one, and Leo laughed. “Well, it’s about prayer.”
Adric’s tone indicated surprise. “I don’t know what I can tell you, but I’ll try.”
“Well, I was reading this book, and in it, the guy sold his TV set and decided to spend his TV watching time in prayer.”
“Oh.” The reply held all of the excitement of a fizzled firecracker. “I didn’t know you’d bought one.”
“I didn’t. I just realized that I only do the basic prayer thing. I wouldn’t know how to pray for two hours once, much less every night.”
“Well, you do know that not a lot of Christians spend that much time in prayer, don’t you?”
“Adric,” Leo began hesitantly, “I don’t think most people need to develop these kinds of skills and this kind of relationship like I do. I have the time at this point in my life. That could change. So, if I have the time, why not use it this way?”
“Well, I can’t argue with that. What do you need me for?”
“Well,” Leo’s chagrin became audible, but he couldn’t control it. “It’s about the chapters. I can’t give up jogging yet, and by the time I get done reading fifteen chapters, eat dinner, jog, shower, I’m ready for bed. I don’t see how I can add more. What do you think of cutting the reading down to maybe ten chapters a day or something?”
“Fifteen chapters! Why are you reading so many? You must have gone through the whole thing already!”
“Twice.”
“I don’t understand,” Adric began.
Leo cut him off nearly immediately. “You told me fifteen chapters a day. It takes a long time, but I am learning a lot—I think.
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