Return of the Magi

by P. J. Tracy

  ‘Yeah, it bothers me. Unlike some POs I could mention, I actually believe in probation.’

  Foster grimaced. ‘You’re young yet, still plenty of time to get disillusioned.’ He scanned the first couple of pages. ‘Felony possession, theft, second-degree assault …’

  ‘It was his first time in. Everybody deserves a second chance. Besides, I think he really turned around. He hasn’t missed a day of work since he’s been out.’

  Foster closed the file and let out a world-weary sigh. ‘He skipped, Tucker. And he’s going to do crime. They all do. Number one clue is an out-of-service phone – remember that.’

  Tucker hesitated. ‘Maybe something happened to him. His car broke down, he got sick …’

  ‘And he forgot to pay his phone bill because his mom’s dying from eyelash cancer, his girlfriend stole his car, and his dog ate his wallet. I’ve heard it all. Get over it, Tucker, or you’re not going to last the year in this job. Call the sheriff and activate the warrant.’ He pushed speed-dial on his phone and handed over the receiver.

  Tucker took it reluctantly. ‘I don’t want to throw back somebody if there’s a legitimate reason. Especially this time of year.’

  ‘Do it.’

  ‘You got no heart, Foster. No trust, no humanity …’ He paused, held up a finger and spoke into the phone. ‘Good afternoon, Deputy, this is Caleb Tucker in Probation. I want to report a no-show on one Harlan Vestemeyer, doing five for two on assault and …’ He listened for a minute. ‘Oh. Okay. Thanks.’ He hung up the phone and sagged into a chair next to the desk, his face a mess of betrayal and misery. Foster almost felt sorry for the poor kid – the first con was always the hardest con.

  ‘They just picked him up on the Strip,’ Tucker finally said. ‘He rolled a Salvation Army Santa.’

  Foster shook his head in commiseration. ‘First offense, death penalty, that’s my plan.’

  ‘I trusted him. I believed in him.’

  Foster eased back into his own memory, trying to recall if he’d ever possessed the same kind of cock-eyed optimism early in his career. Probably. But that was decades past now and long forgotten. ‘Don’t ever do that, Tucker. Just remember, cynicism is the first line of defense against faith in your fellow man.’

  Tucker nodded and pushed himself up out of his seat like an old man, still unpracticed at carrying his new burden. ‘I guess.’

  ‘Listen, what do you say we grab a beer after we close this joint down? We can pontificate on the pitiable state of the human race.’

  ‘Wish I could, but it’s Christmas. Tons of family stuff going on, you know?’

  ‘Sure, of course.’

  ‘Sorry, any other time.’

  Foster closed the Vestemeyer file and handed it back to Tucker. ‘Hey, no problem. And sorry this one didn’t end so well for you. I’m not going to say it’ll get better, but I can tell you that it won’t get worse. You just walked through your first fire. It won’t burn so much the next time.’

  Tucker looked around aimlessly, like he was searching for an anchor he could pluck out of thin air to stabilize his floundering idealism. ‘So you’re saying I’ll get used to it, not that it will get better.’

  ‘It’s the job. You decide if it’s the right one for you. It isn’t for everybody.’

  He nodded dolefully. ‘Thanks, Foster. Have a good one. Catch you in the new year, yeah?’

  ‘You got it. Take care. And merry Christmas.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  Emil wended his way past an artificial tree and through a claustrophobic maze of tiny work cubicles in the most government-ugly office the Foley Federal Building offered up. Once he reached his destination in the back, he rapped on the only acoustic divider that didn’t have some kid’s crayon drawing of a Christmas tree pinned up on it. ‘Foster, my man! Merry Christmas.’

  Foster was the sorriest-looking haggard old coot Emil had ever laid eyes on, dragged down by droopy jowls and one bad attitude. He looked up from his desk with bleary blood-shot eyes and emitted a ragged, snuffling sound. ‘Oh, God. Has it been six months already?’

  Emil flashed a smile. ‘You know it has, to the very day. Didn’t they tell you I was coming?’

  Foster rolled his eyes. ‘Yeah, they told me. I’ve been trying to block it out.’

  ‘So how you been, old friend? You’re looking a little ripped up, you ask me. Whaddaya say we blow this place and get you over to the clinic for a B-12 shot, maybe plug some slots at the Bellagio, long as we’re out and about?’

  ‘You’re banned from every casino in this town, you know that, so shut up, Emil, and sit down.’ He jabbed a prematurely arthritic forefinger at a bent-up metal folding chair.

  ‘Thanks, Foster, but I think I’d rather stand up. You get that thing out of a dungeon somewhere? I mean, who does the decorating around here? A little upholstery might be a nice touch.’

  ‘I see your mouth is still running faster than your legs.’ He gave Emil and his suit a quick once-over. ‘You’re going to be the best dressed worker at McDonald’s.’

  ‘Funny, Foster.’

  ‘Not funny.’

  ‘Are you serious? No way you can be serious. You’re yanking my chain, right?’

  Foster’s mouth curled into a wicked Grinch smile.

  ‘No wa-ay, man, McDonald’s? Again? For real?’

  ‘You know the routine. Halfway house and a really crappy job. You start tomorrow, five a.m. They don’t even bother to call you in for orientation anymore, you’ve been there so many times, and they still have a uniform for you. Keep up this frequent-flyer crap and they’ll probably embroider your name on it with French fries.’

  Emil folded his arms across his chest with well-practiced indignation. ‘A man cannot make a living flipping burgers and dropping fries. A man cannot support a family working at some –’

  ‘Family?’

  ‘Well, yeah. Fact is, I’ve been thinking about settling down.’

  Foster’s eyes narrowed. ‘Yeah, right. The longest relationship you ever had in your life is with me.’

  ‘I’ll have you know I just met a fine lady downstairs, and I want to tell you she was very receptive.’

  ‘What’d you take her for, Emil? Twenty? Fifty?’

  ‘Foster, you’re hurting my feelings. No reason to be so mean-spirited during such a blessed time of the year.’

  He grunted. ‘And you’re breaking my heart. Park it.’

  Emil sat down reluctantly, careful to smooth the back of his suit before he did. Foster pulled out a pair of reading glasses and squinted at the paperwork in front of him. ‘Halfway house is over on Custer. You got a month to find your own place. Not that you’re going to last a month.’

  Emil decided it was time to change strategies. ‘You don’t see the changes, do you?’ he asked, with quiet sincerity.

  Foster cocked a brow at him. ‘I see a nice new suit, and I suppose that means there’s a man somewhere in this city walking around naked.’

  ‘Hey, hey, now, back off, Foster. I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve strayed from the path these past couple years –’

  ‘Past couple years?’

  ‘But I’m a whole new man now. You’re looking at a brand new edition of Emil Rice. I had a lot of time to think during the past six months, you know what I’m saying? Time to look deep inside, regroup, reassess, rehabilitate. I saw my future in that cold, barren cell and, let me tell you, it gave me a new perspective.’

  Foster laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. ‘Me and the cops, we got a pool going, how long it’s going to take Emil Rice to screw up this time. I got the twenty-four-hour time slot.’

  ‘Oh, that’s nice, Foster, real nice. I’m here on my back, belly-up, sharing my rebirth, my renaissance as a human being –’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, whatever. It’s late, I’m tired, so listen up, buttkiss. Every Tuesday, five o’clock, right here. You’re a minute late, I call a no-show and you go back and do the rest of your time. Got it? And when that
happens, I’m going to set your very thick file on fire and dance around it in my birthday suit, because by the time you get out of the can, I’ll be retired.’

  Emil cringed at the prospect of Foster nude, even more than the prospect of more jail time. ‘You are one unforgiving man, you know that? Yes, sir, one hard and unforgiving man.’

  Foster shoved a piece of paper across the desk. ‘Sign this. Conditions of your probation. Pick one. Violate it. Please.’

  Emil sighed. ‘Well, I guess you’re just never going to believe a man can change until someone proves it to you. I’m going to do that, Foster. I’m going to restore your faith in humanity.’

  ‘Be my guest. I’m just waiting for a Christmas miracle.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The halfway house was maybe a half-step up from prison as far as creature comforts went, but at least there weren’t any bars on the windows, so for now, Emil would take it. His new housemates were the usual motley crew of hard-luck losers and reforming psychos, whose personality disorders had found fervent new focus in trying to assimilate into society as opposed to destroying it. Fifty percent would make it to the next step. The other fifty would end up back in the system in less than a year.

  Orientation was long and painfully boring, given by an earnest old ex-con, who was now a social worker, and a second-year seminary student. He called himself Brother Ray, called everybody else Brother this or that, and praised God at every opportunity. His face was scarred badly, probably the result of a few shanking incidents on the inside and a long-term diet of drugs. But he seemed like a decent, straight-up dude now, so Emil loitered in the orientation room after the meeting had adjourned and everybody else had scattered to ponder their new life beyond the bars.

  Ray seemed grateful for the lingering company. ‘Is there something more I can help you with, Brother Emil? We could go to the common area and have a cup of coffee, if you want to talk some more.’

  ‘Thanks, Brother Ray, but I just wanted to tell you what an inspiring orientation that was. The point you made about us all needing shepherds to guide us on our life’s journey really hit home with me.’

  Ray’s eyes lit up. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. And it got me to thinking, why not start my new journey right away, maybe even tonight? You know, go to church, sing a few carols to celebrate the birth of our Lord, get into the whole fellowship thing. I’ve been walking alone most of my life, Brother Ray, and I believe now is the time for me to embrace those shepherds you were talking about.’

  Ray nodded enthusiastically. ‘Absolutely. The sooner the better. My church is just two blocks away, and they have Advent services every night at seven, if you’re interested.’

  Emil gave him a warm, heartfelt smile and folded his hands together, like a grateful supplicant. ‘That sounds just perfect. And with a seven o’clock start time, I’ll be able to get back here in plenty of time for curfew.’

  Ray’s smile faltered a little. ‘I just wish I could take you there myself tonight, but I have a community outreach on the other side of town.’

  ‘No kidding! You got yourself working community outreach? That’s just fantastic.’ Emil gave him a conspiratorial wink. ‘So who’s the shepherd now, Brother Ray?’

  Ray bobbed his head modestly, and his smile returned to full beam. He grabbed his notes off the podium and scribbled down an address. ‘Two blocks north, on the corner of Custer and Langley, you can’t miss it. Pastor Leslie leads our flock and he gives powerful sermons. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. Tell him I sent you, and make sure you get there early, because it’s usually standing room only.’

  ‘I’ll make a point of it, Brother Ray.’

  ‘Excellent. And don’t forget, communal dinner is at five. I believe that breaking bread together every night is an important part of the experience here and helps form a healthy community bond.’

  Emil wasn’t too keen on forming a bond with anybody here, but he nodded enthusiastically to keep Brother Ray happy. ‘Wouldn’t miss it. So, what’s on the menu tonight?’

  ‘Cook’s choice. Tonight it’s Dom’s turn to prepare the meal, and he’s always full of surprises.’

  Emil did not like the sound of that. He also didn’t like the sound of Dominic Beauchamp anywhere near the kitchen, because he’d been introduced to him earlier and he looked like a stone killer, a fried-chicken-with-a-side-of-cyanide kind of guy. ‘You mean … you let them cook?’

  ‘Don’t forget you’re one of “them” now, Brother Emil, and yes, we all take turns and do our part. Once you settle into your routine here, we’ll ask you to do the same.’

  Emil cleared his throat uncomfortably. ‘Is this a mandatory thing?’

  ‘Not mandatory, but I highly encourage it.’

  ‘I hope everybody likes peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.’

  Ray gave him a polite smile. ‘The food isn’t really the important part. The fellowship is. A lot of our residents find comfort in preparing meals and sharing with others. It brings them back to a happier time in their lives.’

  Emil unconsciously twisted the gold band on his right ring finger.

  ‘Of course, some have never even had a family meal before. Either way, it seems to be an affirmative experience.’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, I can imagine. One happy family, right?’

  ‘Exactly! That’s the spirit of it. And you’ll be surprised by the quality of the food that comes out of our kitchen. Dom and many of the others you met today have found meaningful, rewarding jobs in the food-service industry and are quite skilled in the kitchen. Positive focus is the key to success on the outside, remember that.’

  ‘I won’t forget it, Brother Ray,’ Emil mumbled painfully, reminded of his own meaningful, rewarding job in the food-service industry, which started at five a.m. tomorrow at McDonald’s. There was just no way to put a positive spin on that.

  Ray put a hand on his shoulder and smiled beneficently. ‘I have a feeling you’re going to be a shining star here, a role model for everybody. You’re on the right path, I can tell you that. See you at dinner, Brother Emil.’

  ***

  Emil learned that Dom was a Cajun from Louisiana and he turned out to be a great cook. He made gumbo, cornbread, sweet tea, and something called boudin. Real down-home stuff, the genuine article, which meant that at one point in Dom’s life, he’d had a mother or father or some other relative who had taught him the family recipes. He still looked like a homicidal maniac to Emil, but as long as Dom didn’t poison anybody, he thought he could get along with him okay.

  Dinner wasn’t exactly the affirmative group experience Ray had advertised. Nobody said much. A few grunted their approval as they shoveled food into their mouths, but mostly it was a gathering of sullen, withdrawn ex-cons whose minds were far away from the halfway house and communal dinner. Emil had a strong feeling that Social Skills 101 wasn’t on the curriculum here, so he kept his mouth shut, too – standing out in a crowd like this could end badly.

  Ray carried the conversation single-handedly, mostly trotting out generic inspirational chestnuts in an attempt to engage his unresponsive audience. Emil had to give him credit for patience and perseverance – he never stopped trying.

  The one real horror of the evening was when Ray announced: ‘Our newest member, Brother Emil, is attending Advent Services tonight at Our Lady of Perpetual Peace, and I encourage anyone who is able to join him in fellowship, please do so.’ Et cetera. Emil cringed, he hoped not noticeably, because the last thing he wanted was company tonight.

  Sorry, Brother Ray, but I got my group therapy session tonight.

  Me, too.

  AA meeting.

  Narc Anonymous.

  Visitation with my kids.

  The litany of valid excuses ended with Dom, who gave Emil a curious, steady look with flat, dead eyes. ‘I’d come with you, but I have my anger-management class tonight.’

  Emil felt a chill reverberate down his spine. Dom was definitely a killer and he w
as coming for him next.

  Dom held his gaze for a moment, then let out a hearty laugh. ‘Just messing with you. My anger management is playing accordion in a Zydeco band once a week. You should come see us sometime.’

  Emil felt the blood slowly return to his face. ‘I’ll definitely do that, Dom. By the way, I just have to tell you that your boudin was one of the best things I’ve ever eaten. What is it?’

  ‘Blood and guts stuffed in intestine.’

  ‘Ha! That’s a good one! You are one funny man.’

  ‘I’m serious. It’s sausage.’

  Emil swallowed. ‘Are we talking human or animal here?’

  Dom let out another gut-buster and slapped Emil on the shoulder. ‘Whatever’s available at the time.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Emil stood outside the very crowded Our Lady of Perpetual Peace, his head bobbing like a metronome as he listened to ‘We Three Kings’ waft out of the open doors and into the cool desert night. That was one big congregation in there, standing room only, as Ray had promised, and the parking lot was filled to overflowing, which was why he was so pleased with this recommended house of worship.

  They also had one very badass Nativity scene on the lawn that reminded him of the one in the town where Gram and Gramps had lived. But this one was pure Vegas, larger than life and all lit up with multi-colored floods that made it look very nightclub, which Emil kind of liked. The three wise men mannequins were a foot taller than he was, wearing real velvet robes and pretty decent paint jobs on the parts that weren’t covered with fabric and gold braiding. Mary and Joseph were there, too, and of course, baby Jesus in a manger, plus a camel, a donkey, and a few fleece-covered lambs for good measure.

  It was pretty impressive theater, and if it hadn’t been for the fake snow sprinkled all around, it would have been perfect. Why would you throw fake snow around a Nativity scene in Vegas? They were in the middle of a desert, which is exactly where this whole Jesus-wise-man thing supposedly happened in the first place. The wise men didn’t follow the Star of Bethlehem on snowmobiles, now, did they?