The Heavenly Fugitive

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Yes, she does.” Dr. Locke nodded. “She wants to be with your grandfather and with the Lord.” He reached out and took her hand and held it for a moment. “You love her very much, don’t you?”

  “Not as much as I should have.” And then in a sudden burst of honesty, she said, “I haven’t been what I should, Dr. Locke. I haven’t brought her much happiness.”

  The doctor’s hand closed upon Amelia’s, and he said quietly, “She loves you very much. She told me just yesterday how she believed God was going to answer her prayers. She said that she and Mark used to pray for you every day, and now she has continued by herself.”

  “Thank you for being honest, Doctor. How much time do you think she has? I’d like to wire my father and my uncle Barney. They’d want to be here.”

  “I’ve already done that,” Dr. Locke said. “But unfortunately both of them are off on an extended journey into the interior. They’re not expected back for at least two weeks, and there’s no way to reach them. I think they are going to a tribe that has never heard the Gospel before.” He paused then and gnawed his lower lip. “I don’t want to be unduly pessimistic, but it could take them a month to get here, and it’s unlikely she will last out the week.”

  ****

  Phil was standing at the window looking out. For the past four days he and Amelia had lived at the Winslow house. Phil had simply told his professors and Lee Novak the circumstances, and they had all been quite considerate. Dr. Franz, his favorite professor, had put his hand on Phil’s shoulder, saying, “Go, my boy, be with your grandmother. I’ll help you when you come back.”

  Lee had been even gentler and more helpful. He had come himself twice a day to check on Lola and sit beside her. He had said to Phil, “I hope when I go, I can be as close to the Lord as she is. She loves Jesus more than any woman I ever saw, except maybe my mother.”

  Now Phil turned from the window and began pacing the floor. Amelia, sitting in a plush chair, watched him. She was very tired, yet it had still been difficult for her to sleep. She had not realized how deep her affection for her grandmother had become. She missed her grandfather, but with her grandmother nearing death, she felt that part of her world was being taken away, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it.

  The silence in the room lasted for a long time. Then Phil and Amelia heard the doorbell ring and someone opening the door.

  “Who can that be?” Phil murmured.

  “Maybe Dr. Locke.”

  It was not the doctor, however, but Lee Novak. He came into Lola’s room, shook hands with Phil, then put his arm around Amelia. “How is she?”

  “No better,” Amelia said, a barrenness in her voice.

  Novak squeezed her shoulder and then released her. They all sat down, and from time to time, one of them would speak. Finally Phil said with anguish, “I feel like I’m watching sand run out of an hourglass. We’re losing Grandmother, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

  Lee put his hand on the young man’s shoulder and squeezed it. “That’s the way it is, I suppose. When I lost my own parents, I wanted to grab them and keep them from going, but that would have been cruel. They were both devout followers of the Lord Jesus, and both were ready to go home. That’s the way it is with Lola. She’d be the last one to want to stay.”

  A half hour later Dr. Locke arrived. He spoke briefly to the family and then asked them to wait outside while he examined Lola. He came out quickly, his eyes disturbed. “You’d all better come back in. I think she’s going.”

  Amelia felt a cold hand close around her heart. She could not rise for a moment, and then Phil reached down, took her arm, and helped her as she stood up. He held on to her as they went into the room. Nurse Stockman stood off to one side, and at Dr. Locke’s nod, she left the room. “I’ll just leave you here with her,” the doctor murmured to the family, and then he too left.

  Phil went over to one side of his grandmother’s bed. Her eyes were closed, and at first he thought she was already gone. But then her eyelids fluttered, and she opened them. “Phillip?” she whispered.

  “Yes, Grandmother, it’s me. And here’s Amelia.”

  Amelia went to the other side of the bed, knelt down, and kissed her grandmother on the brow. “Lee’s here too, Grandmother.”

  “Dear Lee, how I loved your mother. She was the sweetest woman I ever knew, and your dear father—what a good man he was.” Lee came forward, and as Phil stepped back he leaned over and kissed the dying woman’s cheek. “Tell my parents I miss them, Lola.” He stroked her hair for a moment and then stepped back.

  Lola, however, smiled, and her eyes seemed to gain light. “I’ll see them soon, and I’ll tell Thad and Patience how well their boy turned out.” She did not speak for a time, and then she looked first at Amelia and then at Phil. Amelia could not bear it, and she put her head down on the pillow beside her grandmother and began to weep. She felt her grandmother’s hand touch her hair, stroking it softly, and then she heard the faint voice begin to pray for her. She wished her grandmother would find fault with her, tell her how wrong she was, but not one word of condemnation came from Lola’s lips. Nothing but prayers of love and faith that this child would find her way, as had other members of her family. Phil leaned over the bed, and his grandmother turned to him. “Be faithful to Jesus, Phillip.”

  “I will, Grandmother. I promise.”

  The silence was thick in the room, and the three watched as Lola Winslow slipped away. She went so easily it was impossible to say at what exact moment she left this world and entered another. Finally Phil said huskily, “Good-bye, Grandmother, we’ll miss you. But you’re with the Lord now.”

  “And with Grandfather,” Amelia sobbed.

  Lee came forward and put his hand on Phil’s shoulder. “I can’t believe how well she endured her going forth,” he whispered. “That’s the way children of God ought to go. Knowing they’re stepping out of an evil world into one in which all is light and goodness.”

  At that moment the grandfather clock tolled once on the half hour. The sound seemed to echo down the corridors of eternity as Lola Winslow stepped out of time and into life without end.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Underside of New York

  “Hey, Lee, what do you want to do with Williamson?”

  The speaker was an undersized individual with large, flashing brown eyes. He seemed incapable of standing still as he waited for an answer. Snapping his fingers impatiently, he twisted his head from side to side and scooted his feet back and forth on the worn tile floor.

  “Hold him over for arraignment, Billy.”

  “I hope they throw the book at him.”

  “So do I, but they probably won’t. Now, get out of here and leave me alone for a while.”

  Lee Novak dismissed the younger agent with a wave of his hand and remained sitting at his desk with his elbows braced against the scarred walnut top, his hands supporting his chin. An enormous white cup sat before him, the hot coffee in it sending up a plume of steam like a signal, and for a while Novak stared into the cup as if it were a crystal ball. Finally he looked up and studied Phil Winslow, who was slouched on a couch flanked by stacks of paper on either side and two filing cabinets in front of him. Lee had become very fond of Phil during the time that the young man had been in the office, but now concern touched him as he noted the lines of weariness on Winslow’s face and how he had to blink his eyes to keep them open.

  “What are you working on now, Phil?”

  “The Penelli case.”

  “What do you make of it?”

  “I make of it he’s a crook.” Phil exchanged glances with his chief. “I didn’t like the looks of him. He’s like a cheerful embalmer—except that embalmers are respectable people. I never saw one of them get indicted like Penelli.”

  “I always thought he looked like a dishonest bank clerk myself, filling his pockets under the counter, but what do you think? Can we nail him?”

  “Give me another day
on this paper work. He’s pretty good at covering his tracks.”

  Novak lifted the coffee cup as if it were an enormous weight. He drank half of the steaming liquid with no sign of difficulty, then stared into the black depths again. Finally he looked up and snapped, “Go home, Phil, and get some sleep!”

  “I can sleep when I get old.” Phil grinned at Novak, noticing that his boss never looked tired. At his age he ought to be worn out, Phil thought. He’s fifty-seven and I’m twenty-one, and he’s about to run me to death. Aloud he said, “I’m okay, Lee.”

  “I’m not so sure of that. I think this job’s wearin’ you down. It’s a lot to take on.”

  “I like it, Lee.”

  “You don’t like going down to the jail, I noticed.”

  “No, I don’t. It’s really sad. All those faces seem so hopeless when they stare out of their cells—they have lost, old faces, no matter how young they are. You know what I see in them most of the time?”

  “What’s that?”

  “The same thing I see in the sad faces of cabdrivers and policemen and some of my professors. It seems like they’re all wishing they were somewhere else—maybe even dead.”

  “That’s because they live in a world where everything’s always breaking down,” Novak said mildly. “Everything always needs fixing—yet it can’t be fixed. We have to deal with the same problems over and over. Only God can truly fix what ails us all.” Then he laughed and said, “I had a strange dream about God the other night. I dreamed He was on His back under the world, holding it up, and I wanted to see Him, but I could only see the soles of His shoes. I woke up crying because even the soles of His shoes shone with His glory.”

  Phil stared at Novak in astonishment. From time to time this hard man would come out with a statement that shocked him. “You should have been a poet, Lee.”

  “Doesn’t pay enough.”

  Phil laughed and shook his head. “I guess you’re right.”

  Novak sat quietly sipping his coffee, and when he struck bottom he rose, marched over to the table where a blackened coffeepot sat on a hot plate, and put the cup down. He set the coffeepot on the table next to the hot plate, then crossed the room in spare, economical movements. Opening the door of a cabinet, he reached inside and pulled out a shoulder holster, then yanked the snub-nosed gun free of it and checked the loads. Turning, he walked over to Phil and said, “Let’s get you out of those files.”

  Surprised, Phil looked up. “What’s the gun for?”

  “For you. Put it on.”

  Phil frowned. “What for?”

  “You’re not going to do files. You’re going out to make an arrest with me.”

  Phil carefully put the papers he was holding on top of the filing cabinet and came to his feet. He took the shoulder holster, struggling for a moment to figure it out. Slipping his arm in one side and then the other, he finally fastened it. Novak handed him the pistol.

  “That’s a thirty-eight. Don’t shoot yourself with it. It’s loaded.”

  Taking the gun, Phil stared at it. Back in Africa he had become an expert hunter and had carried a side arm, but there the pistols had long barrels for accuracy. He looked at the small handgun and shook his head. “I wouldn’t think it’d be very accurate, Lee.”

  “Get up close, and you don’t have to be accurate.” Novak suddenly shook his head. “Maybe you’re not ready for this.”

  Phil lifted his gaze. “Why not?”

  “It’s one thing going over files and doing the paper work. Something else when you have to come up against what we’re liable to find.”

  “I guess I’d better go with you, Lee. If I’m going to be of any help, I need to see all of it.”

  Novak stared at his young friend and shrugged. “All right. Put your coat on. It’s not real cold out, but you need to cover up that rod.”

  Phil plucked his trench coat off the rack, slipped into it, then pulled his brown fedora from the hat rack and donned it. “Who is it we’re going after?”

  “Jackie Low.”

  “I don’t know him.”

  “He’s not one of the big fish, but he’s got his finger in a lot of pies. We got a tip that he’s going to be meeting with some people we’ve been trying to get for a long time. Jackie’s a small fry, but if we can get the guys over him, I’ll be satisfied. Come on.”

  The two left the office, and Phil was conscious of the thirty-eight and its dragging weight under his arm. It gave him an odd feeling, and he wondered if he could ever bring himself to shoot another human being. He had even had trouble at times shooting game and more than once had missed a shot on purpose simply because the animal was so beautiful. He had never confessed this to anyone, but now as the possibility rose of actually firing on a flesh-and-blood human being with a mind and heart, a peculiar feeling settled on him. He was uneasy but tried not to show it as they got into the unmarked black car.

  Novak started the engine and pulled out from the curb. Phil sat silently as Novak traversed the city streets and explained what they were going to do. Looking up in the rearview mirror, Novak suddenly said, “You didn’t notice those two cars right behind us.”

  Phil swiveled around and saw that two black sedans were indeed following very closely. “Who are they?” he asked with some alarm.

  “They’re our men. When we get there we’ll surround the building. It’s like hunting rats—you send one dog inside, but you keep more outside. The one inside chases the rats out, and the dogs outside wait for them.”

  Phil asked no more questions, and finally, twenty minutes later, Novak pulled over to the side of the street. Phil noted that the other cars did the same. When Novak got out, Phil got out too. He waited as six men came to join them, all of them armed. Two of them held lethal-looking shotguns.

  “You know the drill,” Lee said briefly. “We’ve been here before. Adams, you and Jacobs and Markowitz take the back. The rest of you take the sides. I don’t think they’ll be coming out the front.”

  Markowitz, a burly man with black eyebrows and a heavy shadow of a beard, spoke up at once. “Let me go in with you, Chief.”

  “I’ll be all right. You just don’t let anybody get away. And watch it. If they do come out, they’ll probably be shooting. Now, get on with it.”

  Phil watched as the men surrounded the building. It was a little after six o’clock now, and the shadows had grown long, but there was still some daylight. He saw the men blend into the scenery, and then he heard Novak say, “You wait outside, Phil.”

  “Nothing doing. I’m going in with you.”

  Novak turned and put his hand on Phil’s chest. “Not this time. You stay here.”

  Phil opened his mouth to speak, but Novak cut him off. “Mind what I say.”

  Phil knew it was useless to argue. He had discovered that a certain tone in Lee Novak’s voice meant, It’s all over. He caught this tone now, and he stayed in front of the leading car as Novak crossed the street. Lee walked as casually as if he were on his way to a ball game. He was even whistling a little, a habit he had when a situation got tense. Phil admired Novak’s cool courage and wondered if he would ever achieve such confidence himself.

  Novak went to the front door of the building, which appeared to be abandoned. A corrugated steel garage door was shut tight. No lights were showing from the windows on either the first or the second story, but Phil tensed up, suspecting that they were being watched from the recesses of the seemingly empty building. Overhead the sky was growing darker by the minute. A slight milky area hovered in the western sky, but darkness was closing in fast. In a few moments the street itself would be a gloomy and dusky spot. Phil edged forward, staying across the street. He watched as Lee went up to the door and jimmied the lock. The door opened and Novak stepped inside, closing it behind him quickly.

  Phil’s heart beat faster and the blood throbbed in his ears. He remembered the same sensation from big game hunts when he’d been faced with a charging lion. Danger lurked inside that darkene
d building, and he wished Lee had allowed him to go inside too.

  No more than two or three minutes had passed when suddenly a shot rang out. The sound penetrated Phil’s brain and pulsed down his body like an electric charge. “He’s in trouble!” he gasped. Even as this thought passed through his mind, a barrage of shots exploded inside the building. Some of them were obviously from weapons of heavier caliber than the thirty-eight Novak carried.

  Bent over and keeping his head down, Phil pulled his gun from the holster and cautiously inched closer. He was holding the gun down at his side when suddenly he heard shots coming from somewhere other than inside. They rang sharper and clearer, as if they were coming from the back of the building. They’re trying to get away, he thought. The guys must have caught them.

  Phil Winslow was not always so impulsive, but now, almost without thinking, just knowing that his friend was inside and the shots were still echoing, he dashed across the street, opened the door, and stepped inside. At the same time he heard one of Novak’s men shouting, “There’s another one! Get him—!”

  The interior was like a large warehouse, with a catwalk running around the entire area. A single light dangled from a cord, shedding a feeble gleam over the setting. Shadows blotted out almost everything, but then he heard Novak’s voice. “Heads up, Phil! Up there!”

  Phil looked up and saw the dim form of a man on the catwalk. A sudden burst of light hit his eyes, and he knew it was the reflection of the light bulb on the barrel of a revolver. Almost at the same instant, a shot rang out. The bullet plucked at his sleeve, and he lifted his gun. He caught the man’s shadowy figure dead center in the sights, but—he could not pull the trigger!

  Another shot rang out. He saw the explosion of the gun and at the same moment felt his hat fly off. “Drop your gun!” he yelled and lifted his revolver, putting a shot over the man’s head.

  The man bent over, and Phil saw that he had either a rifle or a shotgun in his hand, pointing directly at him. In his imagination, the muzzle of that gun was the beginning of a dark tunnel, and Phil considered himself a dead man. He fired again over the man’s head, yelling and throwing himself to one side, but it was too late to get out of the way.