The Good Lady (Alice the Fallen Mystery Book 1)

by K. H. Pope

I’m surprised he answered. I decide to shoot another one at him. “Have you talked to them since then?”

  “No.”

  “And you’re convinced they’re okay, even though you haven’t seen them or talked to them?”

  “Yes, I am. Max is somewhere neck deep into his computers and like I said before, Lana is taking time off.”

  I know I’m about to ask for too much, but I must. “Father Paul, if you don’t mind, may I speak to the Sisters?”

  “No, you may not,” he solidly answers. “You’re not the police, and you don’t know what you’re doing. That’s all you’ll accomplish is instilling fear where it’s not needed or unwarranted, and I can’t allow it.”

  “Fine. Good-bye, Father Paul.” Why do I even bother?

  As I’m about to turn away, he says at the top of his voice, “Uh, before you leave! May I ask you a question?”

  “If I say no, you’re going to ask anyway.”

  “True. It’s important to me, this question.”

  “Okay.”

  “Maybe, I shouldn’t.” He looks perplexed.

  “I agree. You shouldn’t.” I turn to walk away.

  “Wait,” he says, running out the gate to catch up with me. I’m surprised by his reaction. “I have wanted to ask you this since the first time I was told you was a fallen angel.”

  I wait, impatiently. He swallows hard.

  “You’ve seen Heaven, been to Heaven, and you’ve probably been in the presence of the Holy Father. My question is about Catholicism.”

  “No,” I reply, shaking my head.

  “Hear me out first.”

  I sigh heavily.

  He continues, “I want to know which religion God favors.”

  “Why are you asking me?” I’m shocked by his question.

  “You would know.”

  “Father, are you questioning your faith?”

  “No, of course not. I’m only seeking the truth.”

  “I’m not the one to confirm your practice. You have faith. Do not question it.”

  “I’m not questioning my faith. Just tell me what I want to know, please.”

  Honestly, I’m floored by this. I shake my head and reply, “I can’t answer that for you.”

  “You can’t, or you won’t?”

  No matter what I say, he’ll want to know more. He’ll keep me here forever until he’s spent all of his questions. There is only one statement I can think of that might suffice.

  I make eye contact with him and say, “He loves us all.”

  Father Paul opens his mouth, but I leave before he can get a single syllable out. How I wish I never spoke to him in the first place.

  CHAPTER 5

  My next destination is Viking, previously known as West Viking Industrial Park. It’s a place created out of opportunity and necessity. According to Lana and those that live there, the industrial mecca started off with fourteen different companies in 2014, and it was projected to have twenty more fully operational businesses by the year 2020. But since the beginnings of the terrorist attacks by the Fellowship on American soil in 2016, progress in the park and many other places around the country have come to a complete standstill.

  The Fellowship is a group of Americans who no longer believe nor support the new American way of life. No one heard of them before they made their first attack, but many believe they were formed soon after Kita Gorou, a wealthy businessman from Osaka, Japan, started buying small towns in Alabama, Mississippi, Florida, and Louisiana. He fired mayors, city council members, and other local government officials, and brought in his own people. His company taxed the citizens and in return provided services such as fire, emergency transport to medical facilities, and police. If you did not pay, you were not privy to such services, and there were no exceptions to the rules. To ensure Mr. Kita’s interests were not in jeopardy or overruled, he dismissed local judges and placed his own. Police were tasked to arrest individuals that did not pay their taxes, and the judges saw to it that their wages were garnished, they were put in jail, and that their possessions were taken away. Possessions meant their homes and other high priced items. Of course, the taxes were crazy astronomical, and special prisons were built in the Southeast to house all of these people.

  When other companies in the states heard about this new money making opportunity, the rush to buy towns and cities were on, and now after three years, the United States is more of a corporate bureaucracy than a democracy. There’s even talk of selling entire states, since the Federal Government is all but crippled and unable to govern.

  These drastic changes brought about the Fellowship. It is believed, not confirmed, that they were formed in 2016 by an unknown individual by the name of Kahn. The Fellowship are not Muslim, Chinese, or North Koreans. They are homegrown, born and raised, ordinary Americans. They are housewives, cheerleaders, grandmothers and grandfathers, computer geeks, teachers, and yes, even children. Six and seven years old are the youngest I’ve seen. All of these people wholehearted believe in the Great Cause of the Fellowship, and when they are about to ignite their wrath, they yell their motto.

  We, the Fellowship, are here to stop the corporate takeover and to take back the land and government of the people by any and all means necessary.

  Not long after that is an explosion or gunfire, and of course, death. They focus their efforts mostly in America, near major cities, but the entire world is feeling the effects.

  The very first act of terrorism by the Fellowship happened on Tuesday, February 16, 2016, in Southeast Washington DC, on what the locals call the 11th Street Bridge. Two brothers drove separate cars. One going south. The other going north. Both stopped their vehicles on the bridge and maneuvered them to where most of the traffic was blocked. Minutes later, they set off their bombs. They took fifteen lives, including two babies, and they destroyed the bridge.

  For days, authorities were uncertain who was responsible and why. The experts had their opinions, their so-called educated guesses. They named all the possible culprits from the Muslims to the Russians. When Kahn, a shadowy figure, stacked the Fellowship’s claim to the destruction, it came as a surprise to everyone, including American intelligence agencies. This group, according to news reports back then, came out of nowhere. There was no hint of their existence before February 16th.

  A week later, there was another attack, several actually all at once. Three women walked into three separate grocery stores. They chanted the Fellowship’s mantra. One set off a bomb. The other two went on a shooting rampage. It was hard to believe. They were mothers with families, and they took the lives of hundreds.

  There were more attacks as time went on. Different landmarks and sites were targeted, nothing was off limits, and the time frame was random. Sometimes there would be nothing for months, and Americans would try to get back to normal. But then another attack would happen.

  To this day, the Fellowship still thrives. No one knows who Kahn is. No one knows where the Fellowship is based out of. A follower is only identified when they are about to blow something up or go on a shooting rampage, and then at the end of it all, they always end up dead. So there is no questioning them. And when it comes to asking family members or friends, they had no idea their loved one was in the Fellowship. It’s always a waiting game to see what will be attacked next, and who is the person that will do it?

  As for America as a whole, it’s in shambles. Some people, who are capable and can afford it, has moved to whatever country that allowed them entry. Those that can’t leave, remain in their homes if they haven’t been driven out by vagrants or arsonists, and they literally live the best they can with the little bit or nothing that they have. Americans don’t have to worry about the banks foreclosing on their homes or repossessing their cars because most banks have shut their doors for good.

  Shreveport and Bossier City have seen their fair share of rampage from the Fellowship. Viking Industrial Park, along with other abandoned commercial buildings in the cities, turned into hom
eless shelters when residential buildings and homes were bombed or set on fire.

  Lana first heard of Viking from her brother, Jeff. He told her that a family moved into that area because vagrants pushed them out of their own home. The family was given a threat: either they stay and die or walk away and live. Upon hearing about their plight, Lana found the family and moved them into her place. This was before I came along. After she was able to find them a new home out of the country, Lana continued going to Viking to help the homeless. Without fail, she went every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday with food to give, a listening ear, and a shoulder to cry on. Many of Viking’s residents called her the Good Lady.

  That old industrial park is where I’m going next, and I’m hoping someone there will show me the next step in Lana’s journey.

  CHAPTER 6

  When I step out of the Food Bank on Viking Drive, I see cars lined up, trying to get on an already congested Benton Road, and the ones already on that road are trying to get on Viking Drive as a bailout. Neither escape route is working out. People are standing outside of their vehicles, wondering why traffic isn’t moving. Others have resorted to laying on their horns. One to three things will happen here. These motorists are going to start fighting, walking away, or both. I’m not sticking around for any of it.

  Unfortunately, I have to cross Benton Road, and that means I have to climb over the hoods of four cars because every vehicle is bumper to bumper and the intersection is blocked. A guy in the driver’s seat of the last car curses at me for getting on his vehicle, but I ignore him. He shouldn’t be so close to the car in front of him, anyway. I keep right on going, not even looking back to acknowledge his existence.

  It’s not long before I reach Viking, and I’m surprised to see the only road in and out of that place is completely blocked with flattened cars piled ten feet high. The entire property is already surrounded by a brick wall.

  A reverberating sound of a click catches my attention, but I can’t see anyone beyond the pile of metal and the brick wall. Obviously, whoever it is can see me. I put my hands up to show that I’m unarmed.

  “You best get on back to where ya came from, girly,” a rough voice says.

  I know him. “Radayo, it’s me.”

  “Who’s me?”

  “The angel with no name.”

  I hear whispering from the other side of the metal mound, and then I hear what sounds like someone climbing down on the other side. A metal door between the brick wall and the metal blockade squeals open, and Radayo steps out onto the street in front of me. He’s still holding on to his rifle. Once he sees I am who I say I am, a big toothless smile appears on his face. He shoulders his weapon, opens his arms wide, and gives me a very stinky hug. I don’t dare pull away from him for fear I might hurt his feelings. He might be a big, burly guy, but he’s all mush inside. I glance around for Ray’s guardian angel. I’ve seen him before, and I’m hoping he’ll stay hidden. Much to my relief, he does.

  Ray is a middle-age, beer drinking-whenever he can find beer-cigarette smoking all the time, teddy bear. He likes to think he’s everyone’s father in Viking. When there’s a problem, everyone go to him because they know he’s the one that fixes everything. Ray has a heart of pure gold. Do anything he can for anyone that asks and will never ask anything in return.

  I step out of his hug and take a good look at him. He has on a plaid long sleeve shirt, a denim vest, and blue jeans. All of his clothing is muddy and in some degree of disrepair. His white beard needs trimming, and he has bald patches on his jaw. His lips are dry, and a blotchy red sore shows only when he speaks. Even though his exterior is rough, Ray has a handsome feature about him. He has the clearest grey eyes I’ve ever seen, and they’re big like the moon.

  “Well, look at you,” Ray says. “Still looking lovely as ever.”

  “Thanks. How have you been?”

  “I’m doing well. Come on in here. You home. Come on.”

  Ray leads the way back through the entrance. He hands a young man his rifle before he locks up the metal door again.

  Viking used to be halfway clean, but now, it’s all the way dirty. The half mile long cul-de-sac has huge potholes. Two of the buildings have been gutted out by fire. Only the shells remain with burned bricks left behind. Trash is everywhere. Unknown contents are burning in a barrel on the sidewalk not too far from where Ray and I are standing. No one is watching it or hovering by it to keep their hands and bodies warm.

  “Sorry about the gun,” Ray says. “We have to protect what we have now and days, keep folks out of here. We just put this wall of cars up today. That car collision junk yard came in handy.”

  “Has it been that bad?” I ask.

  “Naw, not really, but we still trying to be vigilant, you know. Can’t be too careful.”

  I nod in agreement.

  “So you still haven’t given yourself a name? How long since I last saw you?”

  “June of last year, and I do have a name.”

  “What is it?” Ray’s eyebrows lift with expectation.

  “Alice.”

  “Alice,” he repeats with an approving nod. “That’s right nice. What’s your last name?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Waiting to get married?”

  “No,” I answer with a chuckle. “I don’t think that’ll ever happen.”

  He nods and pulls out cigarette. “So why Alice?”

  “I had four charges in the past that saw me, and they all called me Alice. I don’t know why, or how they all came to the same name. Maybe, I looked like an Alice. Who knows? Anyway, I decided to go with that.”

  “It’s a great name,” he says. “I even like saying it. Alice.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Most certainly. So, now to get to the real business at hand. What brings you back to Viking? This ain’t a resort in the Bahamas.”

  “I’m looking for Lana. She’s missing.”

  “Oh yeah?” Ray frowns. “Since when?”

  “Friday.”

  “Well, she was here Friday afternoon, doing her usual thang. Didn’t see her yesterday. Well, I wasn’t really expecting to see her because of the attacks.”

  “When she was here, did anybody give her a hard time?”

  “Nobody gives the Good Lady a hard time...ever. I won’t tolerate it. Everybody that lives in Viking know the rules, and now and days, no rule is broken.”

  “Did you see her leave when she finished?”

  “Naw, when she left the old fulfillment warehouse and went on to the pool supply building next door, I went back to my cot, ate my sandwich, and took a nap. I wasn’t feeling too good that day.”

  “Was Max with her?”

  “Yeah, he was with her. He drove, like always. The Sisters weren’t with them. I was kind of surprised by that. They always come out.”

  I’m not sure if the Sisters not coming to Viking is an important detail, but I will keep that in mind. “Did you speak to Lana? Did she seem preoccupied or not herself?”

  “She seemed fine to me,” Ray answers as he takes out matches from his mud covered pockets.

  “Did you talk to her or Max?”

  “Sure did.” He lights his cigarette and throws the matchstick in the ground. “She talked to me about the usual things. I need to call my daughter. I need to stop smoking. She’ll pray for me. But I don’t think I spoke to Max. He was on his cell phone, and he was fussing at whoever he was talking to.”

  “What did he say?”

  “I can’t really remember. He spit so much hot vinegar that I tried to tune him out. He was carrying on so bad that the Good Lady made him go back to the van to finish his call.”

  “Do you know who he was talking to? Did he happen to say someone’s name?”

  “If he did, I don’t remember.” Ray flicks the ashes on the ground.

  “I was told that Lana was worried about a woman that lives here. I think her name is Fannie or Fawn. Do you happen to know who that might be?”


  “Name is Francine. The Good Lady did ask about her.”

  “Do you think Lana went looking for her?”

  “She doesn’t have to go look for her. Francine stays right in Viking, but she moves from one building to the next, depending on what’s going on in her head. The Good Lady probably found her Friday. They probably talked, too.”

  “Which building Francine calls home now?”

  “She’s in that building where the heating and air conditioning business used to be. I’ll take you over there.”

  Ray and I start walking. This is his opportunity to tell me everything about the businesses that used to be in Viking. He doesn’t remember that he’s given me an education on this place the last time I was here, but I listen and look to whatever building he points out. He’s being a gracious host. At least, I can be a gracious guest in return.

  The first building we walk by on my right once housed three spaces for businesses. The first was a travel agency. A lawyer’s office was in the middle, and the last space was always empty. The lawyer killed himself, according to Ray. I nod, remembering he told me that once, too. Next to that building is what used to be the dairy factory. It’s burned down. Ray thinks someone set it on fire intentionally, but he can’t prove it. Next to that is the fencing company. Then there is the heating and air conditioning building, where Francine lives. That small structure appears to be made out of cement and solidly built, better than most buildings on the street.

  Beside that building is an old ice cream factory. It’s actually a warehouse with ice cream trucks parked beside it and behind it. Crowning the cul-de-sac is some kind of technology firm. Ray couldn’t remember what kind of technology back when I got the first tour in 2018, and he still doesn’t know today. On the other side of the street is a gym, an insurance company, a pool supply store, a magazine fulfillment house or warehouse, two fast food restaurants, and a huge collision center and car junkyard. Only their individual signs remain. Every window is boarded up. It’s a safe haven, or an imagined one, for the homeless.