For God and Country: Leona Foxx Suspense Thriller #1

by Ted Peters

  “Well, Leona, I ask again: what am I to do? Ask Elliott if he's a citizen of the world or only of his own country. This could be our only hope.”

  Silence intervened again.

  “I'll ask him,” interrupted Leona. “But I can't simply phone him or send him an email. I'll have to go to California and talk to him in private. Then I'll send what I get over our encrypted wireless.”

  “How soon can you do this, Khadijah?”

  “Next Monday at the very earliest. In the meantime I've got a mess here in Chicago to clean up.”

  “Monday it must be,” said Abu. “I thank you, Khadijah.”

  “It's me who should thank you, Abu. Actually, it's our planet who owes you thanks.”

  39 Friday, Chicago, 5:58 am

  Shortly before 6:00 am Leona’s iPhone rang. The kitten on her quilt looked up. Buck, sleeping on the floor, rose to his feet. When Leona answered she heard Hayim Levy talking rapidly. “Sorry to wake you, Lee, but I’m concerned. I needed to call somebody who’d know what to do in an emergency. There’s a man in our parking lot with a gun, a rather large pistol.”

  “Did you call 911?

  “Yes, first thing.” The rabbi stuttered but spoke again. “The police are on the way. Let me tell you. Our apartment intercom sounded a few minutes ago. A man’s voice said that my car had been broken into during the night. He said he was a maintenance man. He asked if I would come down the elevator and look at the damage with him. I agreed.”

  “Something’s fishy, Hy. More.”

  “Then I walked over to the picture window, the one that overlooks the lot. I looked down. A van pulled up. The driver got out, and from the seat he drew a large pistol. Then he put it under his sweatshirt to hide it. Another guy came out of our building and is now in the driver’s seat.”

  “The man with the gun, what does he look like?”

  “I can see him right now. Maybe twenty-five. Caucasian. Bearded. Overweight. Wearing a sweatsuit. Sneakers.”

  “What color is the sweatsuit?”

  “Gray and maroon.”

  “The van. What kind is it?”

  “A cleaner’s van.”

  “Can you see what it says on the side?”

  “I think so. Let me...yes. It says Evanston Cleaners.”

  “Hy, I’m coming over. Is Nancy there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Listen to me. Please lock the door to your apartment. Don’t go down. Stay where you are until I contact you. Remind me: how many flats on your floor?”

  “Only two. Doctor Max Samuelson lives next door. He’s your doctor, right?”

  “Yes. He’s my gynecologist. Do as I say. Stay inside. I’ll get there in minutes. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  Leona threw on her sweats and running shoes. She punched the code into her wall console. The weapons drawer popped out. Leona grabbed a Browning Buck Mark Lite and stuck it in the rear of her reinforced waistband. She flew two steps at a time down the stairs, with Buck running after her.

  Graham was sleeping soundly in the living room on the hide-a-bed. “Graham, wake up! You’re driving. Get those pants on!”

  Buck had taken a seat on the floor to watch the action. Leona opened the front door and Buck raced out, banging both Leona and the door. Holding the doors open, she called urgently into the living room: “Get going Graham. It’s an emergency.” Then turning to the dog who was lifting a leg against the fence post, she called, “Here Buck.” The husky loped up to the porch and back into the house, as if he’d been obeying this command for years. Leona slammed the house door and the two humans piled into Graham’s car. “Drive. I’ll tell you where. We’re going north on Lake Shore to Hyde Park, to 55th.”

  On her Droid Leona hit the speed dial. A groggy Everett answered. “Everett, this is Pastor Lee. Quickly. Where is the Evanston Cleaner’s van?”

  “Ah, it’s right here. In my backyard.”

  “Please be sure. Go and take a look.”

  “Okay.” Everett walked to his window. “Yep. It’s right where I left it.”

  “Thanks. Bye.”

  Leona dialed Hayim on her iPhone. “Hy, what’s happening?”

  “Oh, Lee, something’s not right. Max Samuelson is walking out of the building toward the parking lot. He goes to the hospital early to make rounds. I’m watching while I’m talking.” There was a pause. Leona could hear his breathing. Hayim continued, “The guy with the gun is tracking Max. He’s following Max. Why is he following Max?” Hayim’s voice was growing louder. “Oh, no!”

  “Hy, what’s going on?”

  “He’s approaching Max with the gun. Max doesn’t see him yet.”

  “Hy...?”

  “He’s firing. Max is down. Oh, God! Max has been shot.”

  “Graham, faster.”

  Graham grimaced.

  Leona turned again to the phone. “Those bullets were meant for you, Hy. What’s happening now?”

  “The gunman is in the van. He’s pulling away. Oh, God, I can’t believe this. The police aren’t here yet. Max is helpless on the pavement.”

  “They’ll be there soon,” said Leona.

  “Oh, now I see a squad roll coming from the other direction. It’s stopping in the parking lot. The police don’t see Max yet. They don’t know what happened.”

  “Stay where you are, Hy. I’ll call you in a few minutes.”

  As Graham’s tires screeched to a halt in the apartment parking lot, they were assaulted by a cacophony of sirens. Rhythmic red and blue lights flashed. Detective Ragland was kneeling over the still warm body of a doctor who would never again make his morning rounds.

  “Hello, David,” greeted Leona. “Is he dead?”

  Ragland looked up. “Yes, unfortunately. Remind me, how do I know you?”

  “I’m Pastor Leona Foxx. You met me after the hostage situation on Marquette.”

  “Oh, yes. You’re the one who.... I shouldn’t have forgotten this soon.” His eyes surveyed her figure like a tourist gawking at the Taj Mahal.

  “Should I turn around so you can see my ass too, Detective Ragland?”

  He coughed into his hand. “What brings you here?”

  “This hit was on my doctor, Max Samuelson. He was such a dear man. He loved me, as he loved all of his patients. But we’ve got a murder here that demands immediate attention.”

  “You seem to be unusually knowledgeable about a murder so soon after it was committed. Did you pull the trigger?’

  “No, of course not. But I can give you the name of an eyewitness. I want you to be discreet, however. By interrogating him you could put him in danger. Promise?”

  “Promise. Who is the witness?”

  “His name is Hayim Levy, Apartment 1220 in that building over there. I’ll call him and tell him you’re on the way up. Again, please do not expose his name to the public, because this might bring the killer back for a second shooting. Got me?”

  Ragland nodded. Leona dialed the Levy number and alerted the rabbi that the detective would soon be calling on him.

  “One more thing,” the pastor said to the detective; “where will you be midday today?”

  “How would I know? I simply go from felony to felony, from murder to murder.”

  “Can I call you if I need you?”

  “Sweetie, you can call me any time. Here’s my card with my cell on it.”

  Leona turned, “Come on, Graham. We’ve gotta go.”

  “Oh, one more thing,” said Ragland. “I can see a slight bulge in your sweat pants. Just above your derrier. Now, you’re not a pistol pack’n pastor, are you?”

  “Want to search me? Or, do you want to interview a murder witness?”

  Ragland grinned. “Bye, Pastor.”

  40 Friday, Chicago, 7:36 am

  Back at the parsonage they found Hillar sitting on the front porch. The forlorn expression on his face was intentional.

  “Why aren’t you in school, Hillar?” scolded Leona.

  “I want t
o spend the day with you guys,” pleaded Hillar.

  “No. Absolutely not. Get to school,” demanded Leona. “We’ll tell you what happened when we see you later.”

  Hillar complied, but with a sulk. Inside the parsonage, Midnight and Buck were waiting for their breakfast. Leona obliged, each receiving dried food in their bowls.

  “Graham, would you please clean the litter box?”

  “What? Clean the litter box? This is an outrageous example of chauvinism—female chauvinism!” Graham could hardly control his laughter.

  “Look, I’m going to make you some breakfast. If I’m going to cook for a male chauvinist, then I’m practicing co-dependent chauvinism.” Leona chuckled. Then she turned toward the kitchen, speaking over her shoulder. “The pooper scooper is behind the litter box. Get to work or you’ll starve.”

  Leona prepared bacon and eggs and served breakfast. “We’ll need protein when the big action begins later.”

  Following breakfast both registered a need for their morning routine. “You can take the first shower, Graham,” said Leona.

  “Oh, no. Ladies first!”

  “Okay, I’ll holler when I’m done and you can have the bathroom.”

  Graham had read fourteen emails and responded to three on his Droid by the time he heard a voice from upstairs, “The bathroom’s free now, Graham.”

  “Got towels?” Graham hollered up the stairwell.

  The upstairs voice responded. “I don’t like hollering, Graham. If you’ve got something to say, then come and say it in a normal voice.”

  “But you hollered at me,” he screamed.

  “That doesn’t matter. I still don’t like it.”

  Graham trudged up the stairs. At the top he found Leona in her vanilla colored fleece robe with her hair wrapped in a large white bath towel. “Here’s your towel and washcloth,” she said, handing him an armful. Graham grabbed the gift, winked, and closed the bathroom door behind him. The latch failed to secure the door, so unobserved it popped ajar.

  Leona waltzed down the hall to her bedroom, leaving the bedroom door half open. She dropped her fleece robe on the floor and flung her head towel across the room. She stood naked in front of her closet door mirror. She combed her wet hair back to facilitate drying. She was in no hurry. She brushed slowly.

  Is that Graham singing in the shower? She walked to her own door. Yes. It’s Graham singing to himself. She listened.”

  “Night time...”

  Andrew Lloyd Webber? Phantom of the Opera?

  “Silently the senses abandon their defenses, helpless to resist the notes I write; for I compose the music of the night.”

  Yes, it’s Phantom! It sounds like Graham’s baritone voice is pushing tenor. Actually, he adds resonance and strength to what could be weak if sung by a lonely tenor. Leona slipped into her fleece robe and crept silently like a Winnebago in moccasins to the bathroom door. She opened the door to a twelve-inch margin, just glimpsing a human form behind the steamy glass shower panel. She listened while she watched.

  Graham transitioned into another Phantom strain, the duet between Raoul and Christine. “No more talk of darkness...I'm here, nothing can harm you...Love me. That’s all I ask of you.” He sang with such compelling resonance that Leona found herself dramatically moved. The male solo was nearing the point where the female solo would join. Leona entered the bathroom proper and approached the shower door. She readied herself. At the precise moment, when Graham paused for a breath, she interjected at three-quarters volume. “Say you love me every waking moment...Promise me that all you say is true. That's all I ask of you.”

  Graham was startled. He was startled that Leona’s voice was so close. He was startled also because this lyric soprano hit the high notes. As if he were Raoul, he responded, “Let me be your shelter. Let me be your light..”

  Leona responded: “All I want is freedom, a world with no more night; and you, always beside me, to hold me and to hide me...”

  Graham: “Then say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime...that's all I ask of you...”

  Leona: “Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime...say the word and I will follow you...”

  At this point both Graham and Leona sang in unison. “Share each day with me, each night, each morning...”

  Leona’s fleece robe dropped to the bathroom floor. She stood for a moment next to the shower. Both were silent. Graham opened the shower door, and his eyes just caught Leona’s naked backside departing. The bathroom door closed behind her. It latched.

  41 Friday, Chicago, 10:45 am

  Earlier Graham had parked his silver Honda CR-V over on 80th, so it would not be visible during the departure. This was a precaution, in case the parsonage was under surveillance. By 10:45 am the Evanston Cleaner’s van was parked at the parsonage gate. Scorp and Quint rang the doorbell. Leona opened the door. All stood around for a few moments to greet Buck and pet Midnight. “What are your instructions from the white guy?” Leona asked.

  Scorp responded. “We’re supposed to tie your hands and remove all your identification. Then, we deliver you to somebody at Wrigley at 11:45. We’re supposed to park and then our guy will make contact.”

  “OK. I’ll empty my pockets and leave my ID at home,” Leona said. “I’ll keep my Droid. It’s my link to Graham. You can tie my hands with plastic cord. I’ve got some in the kitchen, but we’ll make it easy for me to break loose. Are you carrying heat?”

  “Each of us has a rod,” said Scorp.

  “I pray that the three of you will not have to use them. If you’re not killers now, I don’t want to be the one who starts you down that road. The heat is just in case something goes wrong. Use bullets only if you need to defend yourselves. Got it?”

  “Sure.”

  “Here’s my Kimber,” said Leona. The eyes of Scorp and Quint opened wide at the site of the gun. Leona proceeded as if all this was usual. “Please leave it in the van. I just might have use for it. Now, I want you guys to understand something. Your job is to put me in the hands of the white guy. Nothing else. Use the heat only if something goes wrong. As soon as I’m dropped off, I want you guys to leave. Graham and I will take it from that point. If any trouble breaks out, I want you gone. If the police get involved they’ll only blame you gangbangers. Are we clear?”

  All nodded.

  “Graham, you can leave by the side door to get your car. We should go to the north side on the Kennedy Expressway and take Halstad further north. Downtown might be jammed because of the president’s lunch speech at Buckingham. Got gas?”

  “Yeah. We got enough gas,” said Quint. Graham nodded a yes.

  “Let’s roll,” said Leona leaning down to hug the two animals goodbye.

  The two Stoners exited the parsonage with Leona, whose hands were bound in plastic clothesline. All climbed into the van. Everett drove out of the parking lot onto South Burnham. Graham followed. The dashboard of Graham’s car included a modified GPS, tuned to Leona’s Droid. Graham could watch both the van and the GPS arrow.

  In the van, Leona provided her three Woodlawn accomplices with more detail; and they to her. Had Hillar communicated with Owl? Yes. Had Owl passed on the information to Scorp?

  Yes. Was the white guy on board with the plan? Yes. Graham heard every word.

  At a quarter before noon the van passed the Wrigley field parking lot. The gates would not open until the night game scheduled for 7:05 pm. Everett pulled into the designated driveway and parked in front of a closed gate. He shut off the engine. Shmoo and the cops-for-hire were nowhere in sight. Nor was Graham anywhere to be seen. Leona hoped they were invisibly present. The waiting began.

  Noon came. No action. Leona asked Quint to check his iPad to see if he could get a livestream of the Buckingham Fountain festivities. They could. They watched as the mayor and president with his first lady stepped up to the platform. A band was playing “Hail to the Chief.”

  Their concentration was interrupted by a vehicle pulling into
the driveway alongside their van. It had backed in so its right side paralleled their right side. The arriving vehicle was another Evanston Cleaner’s van, identical to the one they were in. With the engine still running, a man threw open the sliding door and stepped out. He looked familiar to Leona. Did I see him while jogging home from the Levys’? Does he fit the description Hy gave me of this morning’s murderer?

  “Is this the white guy?” she asked Scorp.

  “Yeah. That’s him.” Scorp opened the panel door. Leona stepped out with her hands tied in front. The white guy said nothing. He gripped Leona’s upper arm and forcefully shoved her into the adjacent van. Scorp spoke. “What now?” He received no reply. The van door slammed shut. The white guy ran around and got in the rear seat next to Leona. The kidnappers’ van immediately raced out into the street and drove off north on Halstad.

  Scorp and his two friends were dazed. Everything had happened so quickly. They frantically discussed what they should do.

  “Pastor Lee told us to do nuth’n,” exclaimed Quint with a tremor in his voice.

  “But maybe they’re gonna hurt her,” said Everett.

  “They shoved her,” said Scorp. “I don’t see Graham or anybody else. No cops. No backup. Maybe there’s more danger here than the pastor thought there’d be.”

  “What should we do?” asked Quint.

  Everett said, “Close the doors!” He rammed the van into drive and sped up Halstad in the same direction as the first van. Scorp and Quint were thrust back into their seats as Everett accelerated.

  In the kidnapper’s van, Leona was belted into a back seat. She found herself in the company of three men. The so-called “white guy” sat in the back next to her. In the front were two others, both in their thirties, Caucasian, and dressed in athletic clothes. The driver sported a White Sox cap, much too small for his wide head. This was just the situation she had hoped would develop. Now it was her turn to get some information.