Faith and Justice

by Peter O'Mahoney

  Hunter found a spot further down the street to park his sedan and made his way back to the bar. He had no idea what he was going to find. More than likely, Bauer was looking to have his ego boosted by an attractive, young woman. Still, it was worth a shot to see the sort of circles that Bauer floated in.

  The bar was full, the crowd mingling freely, making it hard to spot Bauer.

  He looked through the crowd from inside the door, and couldn’t see Bauer on the first pass.

  Looking back down at his phone, he sat on one of the stools near the entrance. The server asked if he wanted a drink, but Hunter waved him away. When he gazed up from his phone, he caught sight of Bauer seated at the opposite end of the bar.

  He was discreetly talking to someone.

  Hunter moved between two women in red cocktail dresses to get a better vantage point.

  He moved to his left to get a better angle.

  Moving smoothly, he shot another glance at the end of the bar.

  What?

  He looked again.

  Hunter’s heart kicked into overdrive. He couldn’t believe it.

  Maybe it was the lighting. Maybe he was mistaken.

  He looked again, holding the stare.

  Dim lighting, and crowded or not, there was no mistake.

  Lucas Bauer was handing an envelope to a detective, followed by a brown paper bag.

  And it was a detective Hunter knew very well.

  CHAPTER 16

  “Detective Browne,” Hunter mumbled under his breath.

  He worked his way through the crowd, past the throng of people desperate to get noticed, and stepped out into the sudden cold, shocking his body.

  He pulled his collar up. The questions buzzed through his head.

  Hunter saw an envelope change hands, and then a brown paper bag. He would bet that it was money in the envelope, but he had no idea what was in the bag.

  Was Browne an inside man for Bauer, screwing the force? Screwing justice?

  Hunter walked back to his car in a fog of thoughts, sat in the driver’s seat, and drew a long deep breath. Was this why no charges had been filed in the Baptist church shooting? Was there a dirty cop protecting them all?

  It was the biggest public shooting of the year, and the Chicago PD hadn’t even made an arrest. They didn’t even have a lead. It was the lead story in most of the papers for a week, and that usually meant an arrest. Not this time. There was nothing, not even a hint that an arrest was going to be made.

  Something wasn’t right about the case.

  Hunter had known Browne for decades. He was the same cop that arrested his father. Hunter remembered the man that dragged his father off in handcuffs as a man with rippling muscles and a scowl on his face. The years had added more weight, perhaps doubling his size, but the scowl on his face remained the same. The smoking and alcohol abuse had wrinkled his skin, too, and his hair was long gone.

  Browne was old school, though he was even considered that when he started in the force almost forty years ago. His attitude about policing would have been more suited to the times of prohibition—when a cop could take money for looking the other way. Browne never had a problem with taking money; he thought of it as a bonus for the times he risked his life. He thought the city was indebted to him, and money was the best way to show that gratitude.

  If there was one thing that Hunter knew about Browne, it was that he was dirty.

  There was a rumor that he was about to be kicked off the force before his retirement. People had been pushing for it to happen for years, but it never came together. Browne always found a way to avoid what was coming for him. His ability to blackmail people, even those in his department, had made people cautious.

  Despite Hunter’s respect for the men and women in blue, most of the force hated him. That was understandable. His job was to make arrests look invalid, evidence look shoddy, and paperwork look incomplete. While they risked their lives to protect justice for a small income, he argued in a courtroom for a nice hefty wage. He understood their resentment.

  But Browne was different.

  Hunter always knew he was dirty.

  And now he had a chance to prove it.

  CHAPTER 17

  As Hunter walked to his apartment building in River North, he saw a man with a hood watching his every step.

  It was late on a Saturday afternoon, and Hunter had spent the last six hours at the office, but it wasn’t unusual for him to work weekends. The streets around his apartment complex were mostly safe; a place where tourists could comfortably walk the streets without the threat of gun violence. River North was mostly harmless, especially in the afternoon on a weekend.

  The man stood under a tree on the edge of the street, sheltered from sunshine, and he watched Hunter’s steps.

  Hunter was ready to fight.

  He knew that most people, even left-handers, shot a gun with their right hand. If he had to move quickly, he would stay at the man’s left. He tilted his head slightly, keeping the man in his peripheral vision.

  As Hunter got closer to his door, the hooded man stepped out of the shadows.

  Hunter’s shoulders tightened.

  It was clear the man was coming for him.

  Hunter turned and faced him. Attack was the best form of defense.

  He stepped closer.

  The man removed his hood.

  “Max.” Hunter exhaled, his shoulders dropping from their height of tension. “Max, you shouldn’t hide in the shadows like that.”

  “I’m sorry, Uncle T. It’s the way I do things now.”

  “It’s good to see you.” Hunter patted his nephew on the shoulder and drew him into an awkward hug. “Looks like you’re putting some muscle on.”

  “I’ve been hitting the gym. There’s a cheap gym next door to where I’m working.”

  “Where are you working now?”

  “On one of the tourist boats. It’s only a cleaning job, I get to scrub the decks, but it’s a start. It’s something to keep money coming in.”

  Hunter drew him back into another hug. After a battle with drug addiction, Max was getting back on his feet.

  At fourteen, Max found a white powder that provided him with relief from the stresses of life, a powder that took him away from reality. When he was offered a hit of heroin from some of the older kids at school, Max found his escape; his haven. He thought it was so cool, so rebellious, but rarely does a person escape the grip of heroin without addiction. He became a slave to the powers of the powder, addicted to a world that wasn’t real.

  Throughout his school years, he was always known as the grandson of a serial killer, the kid from the killer family, and he had to uphold his reputation.

  Drugs made him cool.

  But quickly, like most people, drugs also made him a mess.

  “You could’ve called.” Hunter smiled.

  “I don’t have your number.”

  At twenty-one, Maxwell Hunter was starting to rebuild his life. He had finally kicked the drugs, landed a job, and was now working hard. He was finally able to afford a shared room in an apartment, new clothes, and a phone.

  He always knew that he could call his father, or Uncle Tex, for monetary support, but that would take away something he was not willing to give up—his pride.

  “Come up to my apartment, Max. I’ll make you a coffee.”

  Max shook his head. “Not today, Uncle T. I’ve got to get back so I can sleep before work tomorrow. Early morning start.”

  “Have you spoken to your father yet?”

  “On the phone.” He looked away. “It’s all I’m ready for. I haven’t seen him in person yet.”

  “Then how can I help you, Max? What are you doing here, hiding in the shadows?”

  “I’ve heard that you’re defending Amos Anderson.”

  Hunter sighed. The first time he heard the name Amos Anderson was when his nephew told him that the faith healer had cured him of his drug addiction. “That’s true. I’m defending him a
gainst a murder charge.”

  “He cured me, Uncle T. He was the only reason I was able to get off the drugs.” Max scratched his arm. “About a year ago, I saw this guy struggling to change a tire on his car, so I helped him. I didn’t want anything from him; I just wanted to help him change his tire. He could tell I was an addict and then asked me if I wanted to kick the habit. Of course, I said yes, and then he said that I needed to pay him all my money. I did it because all I wanted, more than anything, was to stop taking drugs. I was willing to try anything.”

  “He cured you with his hands?”

  “I gave him all the money I had, and then he drove me back to his house, fed me, gave me clothes, told me to lie down on the floor, and then waved his hands over me. It was like I was hypnotized. And after that, I’ve never wanted to touch drugs again. Not once. Not even the smallest craving. I still go to see Amos once every few months to help me stay off the drugs. He heals me, and makes sure I don’t go back to that life.”

  “And you pay him?”

  “I’d pay anything to stay off the drugs, but we have a deal. I pay him twenty percent of my wage. That’s our deal. Usually, he charges people thousands of dollars just to meet him, but he did the deal for me. He says that after two years on his course of faith healing, I’ll be cured for life. I believe in him, and I need him to stay out of prison. Without him, I don’t know if I can stay off the drugs.”

  Hunter wiped his brow and almost told Max that it was all a fraud, an act, and the cure was all in his mind. But this was neither the time or the place to make that statement.

  “You have to keep him out of prison, Uncle T.”

  Hunter watched his nephew closely. He looked so much like his mother—the soft eyes, that gentle and vulnerable look. He was tall, but he also weighed a lot less than a man his height should.

  “I know that you can’t talk about the case, Uncle T. I don’t want you to either. But I want you to know that you have to get Amos off this charge. He would never kill anyone. I know that. I know that in my heart. He helps people; he doesn’t kill them. And that should be enough for you to get him off.”

  “The law isn’t that simple.”

  “That man changed my life. I can’t lose him. Without his sessions, I feel like I could fall back into the darkness. I could never live like that again. I couldn’t do it. I can never go back to the darkness.” His eyes were jumpy, never quite focusing on one thing.

  “I’m sure that you can find another faith healer elsewhere. Someone else will help you. That’s how business works. If there’s a gap in the market, someone else will fill it, and I’m sure that Lucas Bauer will help you find the right healer.”

  “I don’t want to take that risk, Uncle T. The ability is very rare, and Amos has this specialized skill; it’s a movement of faith healing that works for drug addicts. I know that Amos’ movements work and I don’t want to risk losing them. You can’t let me go back to the drugs,” Max pleaded with his uncle. “You can’t let him go behind bars. That man makes my life worth living. Promise me that you will get him off the charges.”

  “You know I can’t promise that.”

  “There will be so many people impacted if he doesn’t get off the charges. Nancy is saying that he’ll get life in prison if he’s convicted, but you can’t let that happen. He does more good in the world than bad.”

  “You know Nancy Bleathman?”

  “I do.”

  “How passionate is Nancy about the Faith Healing Project? Would you say that she would do anything to make sure the business is protected?”

  “Nancy is one of the backers for the business. She’s one of the silent business partners. She’s as passionate about faith healing as anyone. I met her after I started going to sessions with Amos, and we’ve stayed in contact.”

  Hunter looked up at his apartment building, the revelation pounding through his head.

  “What if I look into this case and find that Amos is guilty?”

  Max took a moment and then shrugged. “Don’t tell me that you have grown a conscience, Uncle T? You’d be the first one in our family to do that.”

  “Maybe.” Hunter stepped closer to his nephew and rested a consoling hand on his shoulder. “I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise anything because I don’t make promises that I can’t keep.”

  “Thanks for listening, Uncle T. It’s good to see you,” Max said softly before he began to walk away, pulling the hood back over his head before stepping back into the shadows. “Get Amos off for me,” he added over his shoulder.

  Hunter ran his fingers through his hair.

  He would do almost anything for his nephew, but a scam was a scam, and at the right time, the truth had to be revealed.

  He couldn’t be a part of the lie.

  No matter the cost.

  CHAPTER 18

  Caylee sat on the hill looking out at the sunset.

  She loved watching a winter sunset, the day slowly turning into night, the colors gradually changing in the sky. She found calm in the slow-moving clouds, tranquility in the soft glow of colors. Watching the sunset provided her time for reflection, time to consider everything that was happening.

  She understood her father’s racism. She understood his hatred for people of color.

  He often told her how unsafe they had made the world.

  ‘All the violence in Chicago is their fault,’ he told her constantly. ‘Without them, Chicago would be heaven on earth.’

  But as she grew older, she was beginning to realize that life was more complicated than that.

  When her elementary school teacher tried to tell her that human life had originated in Africa, she refused to accept it. Even at eight years old, she had enough fire in her to kick the male teacher in the groin when he wouldn’t accept her arguments.

  That was the first of her expulsions from different schools.

  She learned that hate from her father. The hate her father had for the man that broke into their home and killed her mother was palpable. The day that man was sentenced to life in prison was etched into her memory as one of the clearest memories of her childhood; her father was in the front row of the courtroom, her uncle beside him, shouting racist comments for all to hear.

  That crime fueled their hate. It grew and grew until it became an organized group that brought the hatred of others together.

  Her father formed the White Alliance Coalition to protect his family. That’s what he always said. They needed the segregation for protection. That was his experience.

  She was raised in a world of hate, violence, and racism.

  Despite the hate that bubbled inside of her, she was a good learner. She studied hard and found her calling in Earth Sciences. There were no lines to blur in geology. The answers were either right or wrong. It was that simple.

  No gray in the world of rocks.

  Growing up, she was surrounded by white people; all hardworking, all family-orientated, all somewhat racist. Once, when she was eleven, and starting to ask questions about her father’s ideology, Chuck got fed up and threw her in the back seat of their pickup truck. He drove for two hours, to the suburb of Englewood, as the night began. The suburb was predominately African American, poor, and violent. He checked that his handgun was loaded, placed it under his sweater, and then took her out of the truck to go for a walk.

  They hadn’t even made it to the end of the street when the abuse started.

  Cars driving past shouted at her, sexualized her, and screamed racist comments as they went past.

  By the time that they had reached the end of the residential block of flats, people started coming up to them and demanding that they leave the neighborhood. She couldn’t understand some of the words that were said to her father, but it was probably better that she didn’t.

  She pleaded with her father to leave.

  He dragged her another block down the road before he turned back.

  The abuse followed them the whole way.

  That was h
er first experience in an African American suburb, and it was her last for many years. Everything that her father told her about them seemed true—in her experience, they were rude, violent, and determined to cause trouble.

  And after that day, she had believed every word that came out of her father’s mouth for years.

  The first time she met an African American girl at college, she was terrified. She sat in the lecture hall scared she was about to get shot the entire time. She wondered where the girl was carrying her gun, constantly keeping an eye on the girl’s hands to ensure she wasn’t reaching under her sweater for the weapon.

  It wasn’t until she was paired up with Maria in Geology 101 that Caylee saw her as a person. She was kind, sweet, and fun. It was the beginning of a friendship that grew stronger every day.

  Her experience changed her opinion. Suddenly, the group of people that she feared, the people that terrified her, became her friends. She loved that experience.

  But she loved her father more; more than anything in the world.

  As the sun finished setting over the hill, Caylee smiled.

  She had to make a decision: her father, her family, or her friends.

  She knew she couldn’t have it all.

  She had spent a year thinking about the best time to do it. She would have liked to finish college first, but her father’s cancer had pushed the decision closer.

  Caylee had to decide.

  Either way, she would end it.

  Once and for all.

  CHAPTER 19

  “You still taking those?” Hunter asked, his voice louder than usual. His brother, Patrick Hunter, downed another pill, followed by a large gulp of water.

  “It helps with…” Patrick looked down the almost glowing green fairway of the Evanston Golf Club, thought for a moment, and then turned back to his brother. “Well, it helps with everything. Life, really.”

  Hunter didn’t respond.

  “What? Do you think I should be drinking whiskey instead?” Patrick turned to play his ball, sitting on the edge of the fairway, 100 yards from the flag. “Would that be better for me?”