“I suppose—”
The pantry door slammed open, and the teenage girl stood in the doorway, surrounded by kids.
“Where was Mom going? Who was that man?”
“That man was someone who came to the church for help, and your mom was helping him,” Sherry said.
“But what was she doing? They drove away together!”
“She’ll be right back. She was taking him to a nearby shelter for the night.”
“What on earth was she thinking? That has to be dangerous, and he has got to smell up our car!”
The other volunteer spoke up. “I’m sure she’s fine. Now why don’t you let the kids keep playing. We’re almost done here. Five more minutes, tops.”
The kids ran back to the darkening playground, followed closely by the frowning teenager.
The other volunteer turned back to Sherry. “You were saying …?”
“I guess I was just saying that although you’ve got a good point, how are we ever going to help anyone if they have to be cleaned up first?”
“I’m not saying they have to have their life totally in order first—”
“No, no, I know. But if we require them to be off drugs and straight first, don’t you think we’ll miss a lot of the people that Jesus would’ve helped when He was walking the earth?”
The other volunteer smiled. “You’ve got a good heart, but we need to be able to counsel and monitor the people who’re seeking help, and we’re just not equipped to do that kind of ministry here. It’s too complicated, and we could do more harm than good trying to find our way through the maze. We should leave it to the people who know what they’re doing.”
Sherry’s mind flickered again to the drive back from the airport; to the decrepit car and the strip club billboard. A well-known adage suddenly overtook her thoughts. There but for the grace of God go I …
After refereeing a lively, two-hour financial negotiation, Gil closed his briefing book.
“Well, we could go on for a couple hours, but I think we have a handle on the parameters. Doug, thanks for coming. I know this could be beneficial to both parties, and we’ve got hundreds of man-hours invested, so I hope we can make it work.”
“It would be nice.” Doug could feel Jordan’s frosty glance at his side, so he held up the briefing book. “I appreciate the tremendous effort you all have put into this. Now from our end, I’ll just have to take a couple of days and crunch the numbers a bit.”
Gil stood, and the others followed suit. He leaned to shake Doug’s hand. “Give us a call if you need to clarify something before our meeting on Friday. We’ve listed the phone numbers and e-mail addresses for each of the executives, so you can get back to them at any time.”
Doug nodded, forcing himself not to look down the table again. “Fine. I’ll also be busy on another deal in town, but I might be able to call a few people to nail down additional details. You all have my contact info as well.”
Gil glanced at his team, then back at their guest. “Well, Doug, what are your plans for dinner? We’d talked to Jordan about taking you both out to one of the local places. You’ve got to be starved by now.”
“Yeah … Okay, well—”
“Great, great.” Gil turned to his leadership team. “Who’s going?”
Before Doug knew it, he and Jordan were ushered out the door, heading to a local eatery.
As Gil led the way toward an empty table for eight at an upscale Tex-Mex restaurant, Doug felt his cell phone buzzing in his pocket.
He checked the display and gave a start. “I forgot to call my wife!” He grimaced at his forgetfulness and heard Gil and Jordan chuckling beside him, joking about pesky wives.
“I’m going to take this outside.” He turned to go, pressing the Receive button. “Hi, sweetheart.”
“Hey, honey, you didn’t call me! I was worried about you.”
Doug stepped outside the front door of the restaurant. “I’m sorry. I’ve been in one long meeting right up until a few minutes ago.”
“You could’ve called me as you were driving to the meeting.”
“Yeah.” Doug’s shoulders drooped with fatigue. “I’m sorry. I just forgot.”
“Don’t you care that I’m worried about you?”
“Sherry …” Doug closed his eyes, struggling for patience with the woman he loved, “of course I care. I’m just exhausted right now, honey. I’m not thinking all that clearly these days.”
“But—”
“Honey, I don’t mean to put you off, really I don’t, but I’m at a business dinner here. I just don’t have time to hash this out right now.”
He paused. No response.
“Honey?”
“I’m still here.”
“I want to talk to you but I just can’t right now. And I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier.”
“I don’t mean to bug you, honest.” Another pause. “I love you, Doug. Go back to your meeting.”
“Thanks for understanding. I’ll call you later.”
“It is later, Doug. It’s already ten o’clock here.”
“Of course. Sorry. I’ll call you in the morning, then.”
“That would be great. Since you’ll be out there all week, is there any way we could connect at least once a day?”
“I promise I will. I’m sorry. I love you, you know.”
“I know. I love you, too.”
Doug walked back toward the table, his steps heavy. Maybe he wasn’t so great a husband and father after all. Maybe he just wasn’t being to Sherry what she needed him to be. Did he even have it in him? She was acting so insecure these days, but she wasn’t naturally an anxious person. Maybe if he was a better man, she wouldn’t be—
“Doug?”
He turned his head to see Jill coming toward him, her gaze friendly. She raised her eyebrows. “Anything wrong?”
“No. Just tired.” Doug lifted his cell phone. “Missing my wife.”
“Of course.”
Jill wove her way toward their table, now full except for two adjacent seats. She pulled up one chair, and Doug slowly took the other.
Gil caught the eye of a nearby waiter, then looked toward Doug and Jill. “We just put in our drink order. What do you two want?”
Jill pursed her lips as she scanned the drink card. Doug had to look away, the mental refrain starting all over again. He could feel the warmth of her arm next to his. As they gave their drink orders to the waiter—beer for her, soda for him—Doug scooted his chair sideways.
She was probably brushing up against me on purpose. I bet she’s attracted to me. Better let her down easy.
Jill leaned on the table and looked toward him. “So what’s your wife’s name?”
“Sherry. We have two kids.”
“Must be hard to be away.”
“It is.”
“Do you have a picture?”
“Sure.” Doug opened his wallet and showed her a snapshot of the family in front of a blazing fireplace. “This was just a few weeks ago.”
Jill’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s so sweet.”
She gave him a respectful smile, and he felt a warm glow. She’s impressed with what a good family man I am.
Doug started to slot the photo away, but the man on his other side looked interested. Before he knew it, the happy family picture was passed around the table. He spent the next hour comparing notes with the others about families and activities.
One of the thirty-something executives talked about a recent marathon he’d run.
Jill turned to him. “I didn’t know you were a runner. I ran that marathon, too.”
That accounts for those legs …
Doug wrenched his thoughts off that dangerous track and looked over at the other man. “Um, so how hard was it to get a spot in that marathon? I did my first one in Atlanta last year and was thinking of doing another.”
“Not too hard. So you’re a runner, too?”
When Doug nodded, Jill turned sideways. “I thoug
ht you looked like it. What was your time?”
“Three hours, thirty-nine minutes.”
“Wow.” The other guy sat back in his seat. “Three-thirty-nine for your first marathon? That rocks. I just got down to three-forty-five after seven tries.”
Doug gave a self-deprecating laugh. “There’s no way I’ll make that time again. I must’ve caught a good tailwind. Besides, anyone who can run seven marathons kicks my tail all over the road.”
As the other man shrugged, Doug caught a glimpse of Jill glancing at him in admiration.
Now she realizes I’m humble, too.
He batted the thought away, disgusted with himself. He turned to look down the table.
“So, Gil, how long has your company been around?”
Twenty minutes and another long battle later, Doug found himself yawning into the restaurant’s signature dessert of fried ice cream.
“Well, it’s been nice to meet you all.” The others stood as he rose to his feet. “I’m on Eastern time, so I better go or I won’t be any good for my meetings tomorrow.”
Gil came around the table and shook Doug’s hand. “Thanks for coming. We’ll see you Friday. Call us if you have questions.”
Doug kept his eyes turned away from Jill’s affirmative nod. “I’ll do that.” He smiled and turned to go. Out in the air, he let the chilly wind wash his face. Whew. Obstacle course completed.
He drove the short distance to his hotel with his mind on autopilot. For just a moment, he replayed his first glimpse of Jill’s sleek figure in that suit, then her admiring glance as he talked about his family, her respect for his marathon time. He straightened in his seat. Now that was affirmation.
He pulled up at the hotel, grabbed his suitcase from the trunk, and went to check in. Ten minutes later, he closed his room door behind him, hung up his garment bag, and pulled on a comfortable pair of sweats. He settled on the bed and grabbed the television remote. It was late, but he was too wired to sleep. He had to unwind.
That was another thing Sherry never wanted him to do. She wanted him to talk as soon as he got home from work or back from a meeting, when it was all he could do to form two coherent words in his own head, much less get them past his lips.
He clicked on the remote, and the television came to life with a scene from a recently released movie.
He and Sherry hadn’t seen the movie yet, and he hated starting in the middle. As he began to press the “change channel” button, the thought crept in: The reason they hadn’t seen the movie was Sherry’s concern about the amount of nudity, especially by the famous female star. Doug had agreed that it was best not to expose themselves to that, but now he held the remote in hand, wavering.
The movie had been wildly popular at the box office, and he’d talked to several friends from church who had liked it. One of the men had even joked about how hot the actress’s love scenes were.
I wonder what she looks like naked? Nah, I shouldn’t.
He pointed the remote at the television and changed to a sports channel, watching the evening’s NBA highlights, then the hockey scores. Yes! The Red Wings won again. He grinned. You can take the guy out of Michigan, but you can’t take Michigan out of the guy. When a commercial came on, he changed the channel again.
It’s been fifteen minutes, I wonder if one of those scenes is on yet.
Doug wavered, then clicked back to the original channel. The famous actress was giving the newcomer-hunk star a slow backrub. What timing.
He sank back into the pillows behind him and settled in for the rest of the movie. After all, it was only R-rated; how bad could it really be?
EIGHT
The palm trees swayed overhead as Tyson settled back into his beach chair.
He let out a satisfied sigh.
One of the others chuckled, a tall beer in his hand. “Sure beats that warehouse in Atlanta.”
Tyson smiled, his eyes closed behind his sunglasses. “Yes, but the warehouse does serve a purpose. We’re sure it’s clean, which your homes and offices may not be. However, there’s always the chance that one of the larger group would stumble into something if we were nearby. I think it’s safe to set up the staff in the building, but I don’t want the principals there. I figured if we had to meet off site, it might as well be offshore. No American police here.”
“Any police at all?”
“Only those loyal to us. We pay them more than the local government does.” He shrugged. “And since the local government wants our business, they’re willing to see nothing, hear nothing, and conveniently forget our presence when working with the state department. And if they don’t want to forget, then the fish get another meal.”
He paused. “After lunch we have some business to attend to. I need to brief you on my last instructions from Proxy. He has an ‘in’ to a top defense manufacturer. We’ve already got one likely target in the works, so we need to analyze their product lines and prioritize our opportunities.”
He looked beyond the circle, catching sight of his local chief of staff hovering nearby. “Ah, Manuel, lunch is ready?”
The little group relaxed through a leisurely lunch, served to them on the beach by the local discreet staff. One of the young women—no more than sixteen—had smooth bronze skin and long hair falling to her waist.
At the end of lunch, Tyson pulled the chief of staff aside and whispered something. A few minutes later, Tyson watched as Manuel approached the girl and spoke in low tones. There was some sort of an argument. When she tried to jerk away, the man grabbed her arm. The girl began to cry, and she was yanked inside a small hut, out of sight.
A smile played on Tyson’s lips. The others would like this impromptu show. And if they were pleased with her, with what came after.
“No … no … don’t. Please … you can’t.…”
Ronnie thrashed in bed, whimpering, her eyelids flickering. She curled up into a tight ball against the images that played in her mind. It never worked. She could always feel the groping hands, the secret shame.
If she told, he would take her away from her mother. Or she would be put in jail. Or worse would be done to her. Her childhood brain rang with the reasons, all the reasons for her silence.
As always, he stood from her bed and gave her a warning lash—a single lash—from his belt. The first time, she had cried out, and her mother had come running. And had been beaten unconscious. Ronnie never cried out again.
“No … NO …!”
There was pounding this time as he lay down beside her, a pounding on the door.
“Ronnie? Ronnie?”
She bolted awake, aware of a voice in the dark. She sat up, panting, as the voice called out again.
“Ronnie?” Tiffany’s worried face peeped in at her. “You okay?”
“I’m sorry.” Ronnie looked at the clock on her nightstand. 4:13. They’d been asleep only an hour.
“The same dream again?”
Ronnie could only nod.
Tiffany gave her a long hug. “I’m sorry. Life stinks, doesn’t it?”
“Thanks, Tiff. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Sorry I woke you up.”
“No problem.” She stood. “You okay?”
“I’m okay. It won’t come back tonight.”
“Good. And if it tries to, you just flip your stepfather off for me.”
Ronnie had to chuckle. “I’ll try to remember that.”
She settled back into the bed as Tiffany slipped out the door. She pulled the covers up to her chin, clutching them like a frightened eight-year-old-girl. She closed her eyes, hoping she could sleep, hoping she wouldn’t be yawning at work all the next night.
Ronnie hurried out to her largest table, balancing her laden tray on her shoulder.
She laid down the final steak platter, and waited while the customer cut into it.
“Is that acceptable, sir?”
The man’s words were slurred. “It’s acceptable, sweetcheeks. And so are you. I’ll give you a hundred bucks if
you dance for me.”
Ronnie crossed to the other side of the table and filled a few water glasses. “I’m just a waitress, honey, but thanks for the compliment.” She forced herself to give a saucy grin. “But I’ll take whatever tip you want to give me.”
The other men at the table laughed as she turned away. The sloppy man raised his voice.
“The names Ron, sweetcheeks! And I’ll keep tipping you until I get a dance. One of these days!”
Ronnie saw a new group sit by a table against the wall and hurried over, muttering, “Don’t hold your breath, sweetheart.”
Farther along the wall, behind a one-way mirror, several men sat in a room resembling a television production booth. Electrical equipment and control boards formed a horseshoe around them. One ran the many cameras, the other the control boards and computers. The third stood behind them, arms crossed, giving direction as the cameras scanned the room from all angles.
After a few minutes of silence, something on the control panel beeped, and the camera operator focused in tighter.
The man standing, uncrossed his arms and leaned forward. “Right there—who just sat down?”
“Hold on.” The computer operator tapped a few keys and waited while several face-prints and paragraphs of text flashed across the screen. “Name of Wayne Jackson. The other man is … wait … Darrell Hardy.” A few more clicks, and then a slow sound of satisfaction. “Ah … They’re both with that big electronics manufacturer Marco mentioned yesterday. The one Proxy’s looking at as a possible target.”
“Good. Good.” The first man nodded, pleased. “Are their positions helpful?”
More clicking on the keyboard, then the computer operator raised an eyebrow. “Jackson is just a midlevel manager, but … Hardy is apparently the chief operating officer.”
“Excellent. Tab those, get the necessary data, and notify Marco right away.” He straightened and his eyes turned to the next table along. “Let’s see if we can make this night a two-fer, shall we?”
The Lights of Tenth Street Page 8
