Devil Owns the Fence

Chapter 1 – Hot Sauced Eyes

June 2012

Back in high school, Jake Chambliss spiked our eyedrops with hot sauce.  My twin brother and I shared a lot of habits.  One was putting our eyedrops in at the same time each morning.  It was the last thing we did before we went downstairs.  Haste and muscle memory assured the hot sauce made it into both eyes before the burning pain had any chance to kick in.  Jake observed our habits and capitalized, but his cruelty didn’t end there.  My house only had one sink in the bathroom upstairs, and neither of us could see anything to make it downstairs safely.  Instead, we had Jake sitting on the toilet and laughing his butt off at our pain while we pounded on the locked door.  Once he finally let us in, he purposely didn’t flush the toilet as he stood there laughing at us fighting for the running water to rinse our eyes.

 Jake Chambliss’ methods of cruelty were second nature, even before he went into the service.  He spent the previous night at our house and exacted his revenge in the morning for whatever it was we might have done.  I don’t remember what that was.  We did a lot of things back then, but I will never forget the pain of hot pepper sauce in my eyes.  If a man would do that to his best friends, imagine what he would do to his enemies. 

I was trying to imagine just that on a warm Monday morning as I was filling in for Jake on a private detective case.  He had to leave the states after he got an emergency call from his military buddy.  Kenny regularly helped us get information that only he could get from government databases, but this time Kenny needed the favor.  Jake didn’t mind though.  It involved someone they served with years earlier.

Jake was on a secret mission.  That was about all I knew at the time.  He still hated the government, but not every part of the government hated him.  Just as there are two political parties, there are two warring factions in our government.  There was the side that wanted Jake dead and the side that wanted Jake working for it.  Kenny and this other guy were on the latter side.  Jake would humbly admit the world didn’t revolve around him, but sometimes, it sure felt like the government did.

Before he left in the dark of night, Jake said his buddy needed his help.  He was kidnapped by some terrorist group in Tanzania, and he was someone special upon whom the free world depended for its freedom.  This mission had to be a secret, or every nation that hated America would be doing anything possible to get a hold of this guy.  He was just that key.  Since Jake knew enough people in that area of the world, he was one of the few people who might be able to get the guy to freedom.  The call came, and he answered.

Tanzania was Jake’s old stomping ground while he was on the run from the rogue FBI agents that wanted him dead for what he knew about their Oklahoma City Bombing Coverup.  Jake spent a lot of time there with a man named Pastor Gabriel.  He was an African minister who would help the US missionaries get situated once they arrived in Africa.  He was also the man who put Jake on the path of reclaiming his own soul, a path from which Jake chose not to veer.  Pastor Gabriel was murdered by Muslims who had purposely lured Jake away, so they could slice their knives through the pastor’s throat.

With Jake on a secret mission, I was playing Private Investigator.  I still ran the bar back in Pendleton, NY, a small town just north of Buffalo, where we all grew up with the Oklahoma-City-Bomber Tim McVeigh, but in my free time, I was building up my apprentice hours by learning to be a Private Investigator with Jake.  Jake was even training me to fight in our down time.  His methods were more civilized than those of Zeth Rehnquist.  Zeth treated his time as my sensei as nothing more than an opportunity to beat the hell out of me – simply because he could. 

While I was on the job, Samantha, Chrissy and Pacho were taking care of the bar for me. 

I wasn’t supposed to be acting alone, but sometimes situations are what they are.  Jake was gone, and I needed to watch a guy named Lennie Wilkins.  His wife was sure he was cheating on her, and she wanted proof before she filed for divorce.  Jake didn’t think it was a big and dangerous case, so he didn’t mind leaving it to me.  He called it a piece of cake.  I had Jake’s phone to take calls from people that might need help, but I wasn’t supposed to take any other cases on my own.  Simple enough, one would think.

Jake put a tracker on Lennie’s truck.  It was a rusty old brown Ford pickup, the color of which was perfect enough to make it hard to determine where the rust spots began and where they ended.  Jake introduced me to Lennie’s wife the night before he left.  She was a piece of work, and that was my professional opinion, although I wasn’t yet a professional.  She was a heavy-set woman in a half shirt and overstretched leggings that lacked opaqueness in the stressed areas around her behind.  She chain-smoked the cheap and throat-burning Indian Reservation cigarettes and cursed enough to make a sailor blush.  Lennie was gone, and her kids were in bed when we stopped in at her house.  She had a hoarse voice and an innate anger that kept any bit of politeness she might have possessed locked up in chains.  Lennie might not have been a prize himself, but after meeting her, I wouldn’t be surprised if he were cheating on her.  No quicker way to make a woman leave, and if she wouldn’t leave, all the more reason to want her gone.  She was a peach.

Their house was the kind of mess that seemed to be perpetual.  There might have been a secret order to the mess that only the robe-donning doctrinaires of esoterica might be able to ascertain, but I shun the esoteric.  There were sheets trying to cover up the rips on the couch and chairs.  Diaper boxes, baby bottles, loaded ash trays, a three-foot living-room Graffix bong with a Terminator sticker on the red Plexiglas tube, dusty floors, stain-covered area rugs, a broken vacuum cleaner, boxes of empty Genessee Beer cans by the door, picture frames with cracked glass and many other signs of domestic chaos.  While she didn’t seem like the kind of lady that would have the retainer fee, she paid us with the cash she stored in her bra.

Lennie Wilkins was a tall skinny guy who liked to wear ripped jeans and faded T-shirts. He smoked just as many cigarettes as his wife Chareese.  Probably racing her to death.  They were the kind of people whose freezer contained multiple twenty-dollar cartons of Indian cigarettes instead of food.  He had a goatee that grew a couple of inches below his chin and a rusty blond ponytail.  He stored his cigarettes in the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt and looked like he was right out of the 70s.  His Led Zepplin T-shirt might actually have been from the 70s.  It was a faded black shirt with the Zoso symbol that Jimmy Page used to represent Saturn.  Lennie popped the Led Zepplin IV cassette into his old truck’s cassette deck and smoked his cigarette with a little electric-guitar-inspired snarl that involuntarily moved to the beat of John Bonham’s drums.  He liked his music loud.  I could hear it.

I arrived at their house early that morning and followed him throughout the day.  His first stop was at an auto parts store.  He picked up some antifreeze and put it in the coolant reservoir.  Not all of it.  He put the unemptied jug in the truck bed.

I followed him to a diner where he met with two other guys.  I watched from the parking lot across the street with binoculars.  One of his buddies had thick brown mutton chops and was wearing a blue denim button down with the sleeves cut off.  He was showing off his tattoos more than his muscles.  The other had a grey brush cut and a thick beard.  He was wearing a white T-shirt with stains.  Both had grease marks on their jeans.  They were probably mechanics.  I was taking time-stamped notes and photos with a telephoto lens for Jake.  So far, no cheating on the wife, unless Mutton Chops was some butch chick showing up to breakfast with a bearded pimp.

When they were done, they left cash on the table and walked out.  Lennie covered it all, meaning he invited Mutton Chops and the Bearded Pimp to breakfast. 

I gave them plenty of time until I followed.  I had the tracker that showed up on Jake’s phone and could afford to follow at a nice distance.  We were on Main Street in Clarence at the time.  Lennie and Chareese lived in the village of Clarence, which is northeast of Buffalo, mostly east.  They drove towards Transit Road, took a left and then took a right onto Terrace Boulevard in Depew.  They took a left onto Bryant Street.  Lennie’s truck stopped, and before I turned onto that street, I waited to see if he really was stopped.  After five minutes of no movement, I made the turn.  They were parked about halfway up the side street in front of a boarded-up house.  The white paint was peeling, and the windows were covered with water-stained plywood.  I parked in a gravel lot outside an apartment building two doors before the house.  I wasn’t sure where they were.  I could see Lennie’s truck and the old rusty-blue Mustang the other guys were driving, but none of them were visible. 

I wasn’t positive they were in the boarded-up house until I heard the gunshots.  There were about fifteen, and the shots came from inside that house.  Lennie and his friends promptly ran out.  Lennie was carrying a black duffle bag I hadn’t seen before.  They took off in the opposite direction they came.  Lennie took a left on Broadway, heading east of Buffalo, and the other guys took a right heading towards the city.

What was I supposed to do?  I couldn’t follow both cars, but I did have Lennie tracked.  Lennie had the duffle bag.  I wanted to go inside the house and help anyone who might still be alive, but I was afraid of being caught there by the police.  It didn’t matter though.  If someone needed medical help, I had to check.  I figured if the cops were coming, I’d hear the sirens.  There were no sirens yet. 

I parked in front of the house and entered the door they left open.  I was wearing rubber gloves, so I didn’t become part of the crime scene.  I had a gun in my hand that I kept covered with my other hand.  Didn’t want to look like an overt hostile.  The door hadn’t been painted anytime recently.  The house was a mess.  The door opened into a wooden stairway to the apartments upstairs.  The door to the left on the ground floor was open.  I peeked in.  The boarded windows didn’t let in light, but there was a small battery-operated lantern on the end table.  I discovered three men covered in blood.  Two were at either end of the couch facing the boarded window at the front of the living room, and the other was on the floor in front of the couch.  They were armed, and their guns were left behind.

All three were white and wearing faded jeans.  One had a denim vest with biker patches, but I didn’t see any gang affiliation.

I walked through the living room, stepping around the blood puddle.  I moved into the dining room to check the kitchen to the right.  I didn’t find anyone else.  All three were dead.  I checked the room off the living room and still didn’t find anyone.  The bathroom was empty.

I was faced with a decision.  Should I call it in?  Should I call it in, anonymously?  Should I tell them who did it?  Would that then make me responsible for telling the police who did it?  What would I say if I did?  Was I willing to admit I was working as a PI without a license?  Or should I instead try to figure out what this was all about first?  Would that mean I’d later get in trouble for leaving the scene of the crime? 

I wanted to ask Jake what I should do, but he was incommunicado.  Kenny might be able to get ahold of him, but that would take too long.  The distant sirens in the background guaranteed my time to decide was coming like a freight train.

I stepped back into the hallway to take a quick look upstairs.  While I didn’t have time to go up there, a door opened from the apartment to the left and out came a warning bullet that tore into the wainscoting on the right side of the staircase.  Century-old wooden shards came tinkling down the steps.  I turned around quickly and ran for my truck.  Without waiting for the gunman, I took off towards Broadway and took a left to follow Lennie.  None of this would make sense until I knew what was in that duffle bag.  It wasn’t as if I needed to call it in.  The cops were coming from the other direction.

Chapter 2 – The Stink of Vengeance

Jake slept away the final leg of his trip in a red chair made of netting in the back of a C-130 Cargo plane.  There were only several large crates in the cargo hold and a couple of grunts to make sure they got to wherever they were going.  Jake wasn’t privy to where these crates were going or what was in them, but he didn’t care.  He was being dropped off near the village where he had once lived with Pastor Gabriel and his wife.  It was a bustling village on Lake Tanganyika, a lake that was four hundred and fifty miles long and thirty miles wide.  They landed on an airstrip outside the village that was surrounded by trees.  The grunts let Jake out of the cargo hold with his gear.  They saluted him, and Jake saluted them back.  Then the plane took off with no fanfare.  Jake was alone.  The way he liked it.

The government offered to send him with a four-man support team, but Jake declined.  The instructions were for one man to make the exchange, specifically Jake Chambliss.  They asked for him by name.  If anyone was with him, it would guarantee they’d all be slaughtered before they even reached the coordinates for the meeting.  At least the other men would be slaughtered – Jake would probably make it.  While he didn’t like agreeing to the terms of terrorists, he figured he was better off with the support of the Tanzanians.  Their military guys were big and feared, and they knew the terrain.  The cave dwellers wouldn’t think twice about wasting five Americans, but they would think twice about messing with the Tanzanians.  Unlike the paper-tiger Americans, the Tanzanians were unencumbered by the rules of engagement drawn up by civilian Generals who had to answer to the soft Muslim-sympathizer in the White House.  The Commander in Chief did nothing without the mandatory input of feminist diversity coaches, handpicked by the same coven of les-bionic witches that ran the White House.  Granted, this op was off the books, but the red tape was too thick and gnarly for even the sharpest chainsaw.  Jake wanted none of it and declined the help of anyone enlisted.  He was better off alone.  Sadly, he trusted the Tanzanians more than those in his own government.  Lord knows, they’d given him enough reasons.

Jake was nine clicks northeast of where he wanted to be and five clicks east of the coordinates.  Much of the terrain was on hills, so the walking distances were technically longer.  He figured he was already being watched.  The C-130 wasn’t famous for its stealthy arrivals. 

The government armed him with two Glock 19 sidearms and an M21.  They wanted to send him with an M16, but he made a good point.  The wetlands at the foot of the mountainous terrain were loaded with wild animals that would laugh at the little M16 NATO rounds.  He wanted the .308 in case he ran into any leopards, warthogs, hippos, crocks or whatever else.  Surprisingly, they dug out an M21 for him.  It was essentially an old automatic M14 with a scope that allowed it to be a sniper rifle as well.  While a scope can get jarred in the field, the one they gave him had iron sites that could be used if he needed to ditch the scope.  It was kind of a special gun, and Jake knew it and appreciated it.  He could snipe and strafe with the same rifle.  What more could he ask for?  They’d already denied his request for tactical nukes.

They gave him enough ammo that a normal man would need a donkey to carry it, but Jake Chambliss was far from a normal man.  He kept the rifle in an aluminum case inside the duffle bag slung over his shoulder.  His ammo was in his pack.  He also had a small pup tent, a SAT phone, some MREs, water, a water filtration system, a change of clothes and several pairs of socks.  He was equipped enough to avoid all civilians, but he needed to go to the village. 

While he hadn’t been there in a long time, he was sure some of the Tanzanian peacekeepers would remember him.  They shared a mutual respect with him during the time he spent protecting Pastor Gabriel.  Though he was never quite sure what side of the religious coin they were on, they offered him enough respect to get some back.  Their job was to keep the peace between the oftentimes volatile Muslim population and everybody else.  Pastor Gabriel, while small in stature, had no fear of reprisals.  His faith was so strong, it was as if he led a million-man army wherever he roamed.  He walked like a general with a protective force field that no one else could see.  That’s the only way Jake could describe it.  It’s what made him love the pastor so much.  While he was killed eventually, Jake kept him alive longer than would be expected by any objective observer.

Jake no longer looked like he did when he left Tanzania.  Then, his hair was thick and somewhat long in the back and on the sides.  A mullet with a thick beard that reached his chest.  This time, his brown hair was short, and he had no beard to hide his strong jaw, the dimple in his chin or his high cheekbones.  All his facial scars were there to see.  He was no longer the wild American in the jungle.

Pastor Gabriel lived in a small village located between Kigoma and Karago, just north of Muyobozi in the Kigoma region.  It was a fishing village, far from civilization for those without a vehicle, which was most.  Jake loved nothing more than watching the sunset on the lake while listening to the fishermen banging oars.  Some were unloading the day’s catch, while others were leaving to fish through the night.  The excitement about the incoming food was palpable.  Little kids gutting fish under the tutelage of their elders speaking in harsh Swahili.  The bustle of a simple life in a village free from the constraints of civilization.  With barely any cell phones, the people were unburdened by the screen crack to which so many Americans were addicted.  They did what they had to do without wasting time with nonsense on their phones.  Ignorance of cell-phone life must have been blissful.

Jake longed for a moment of reflection in Pastor Gabriel’s village before he would set out to make the exchange for his old buddy Sawyer Gaines.  Sawyer was from Georgia and had developed an irreplaceable talent for developing weapons.  Jake wasn’t privy to any of the details, but neither was the rest of America.  Suffice it to say, he was important.  Apparently, he was on safari when he was captured.  While there was no telling if his captors had any idea how important he was, they must have known he was in the American military.  As well, they must have known he knew Jake, meaning Jake was about to meet some of his old enemies.  How that would go, he had no clue.  He wasn’t optimistic.

The captors weren’t even asking for much.  Only fifty thousand in cash, some specialized antibiotics and pain meds.  Obviously, one or more of their men were wounded.  The small dollar figure suggested they really wanted Jake, but he decided to play it as though that were unthinkable.  He’d give them the benefit of doubt until they forced him to kill them, but he hoped he wouldn’t have to.

There was a specific reason Kenny came to Jake with the job, in addition to the fact that they asked for him by name.  Timothy McVeigh’s fingerprints were on the letter that was hand delivered to the American embassy by a young page boy on a bicycle.  It wasn’t signed by Tim McVeigh, but his fingerprints were all over the paper.  Jake was obviously intrigued and chomping at the bit to find out why and how. 

He had heard the rumors that Tim McVeigh was still breathing after he was put to death on June 11, 2001.  In other terms, he was put to death on 611, three months to the day before 911, but Jake figured that McVeigh being alive was just conspiracy theory nonsense.  Granted, many conspiracy theories are founded in truth, but this one seemed far out there and hard to corroborate.  He’d also heard about an empty hearse that was supposedly just a decoy, but again, he didn’t believe McVeigh wasn’t executed.  Never once.  The government needed and wanted him dead quickly.  He was put to death only six years after blowing up the federal building in Oklahoma City.  With all the sycophant criminal-loving lawyers in America, that meant they blazed through hoops and jumped hurdles like Superman to kill him off.  They needed to make sure he didn’t grow a conscience and snitch on whoever put him up to it.  Jake was pretty sure the whole thing was a government op, but Jake didn’t believe for a second that Timmy was alive.  McVeigh was not Elvis or JFK, Jr., and both those guys were probably dead too.

That left the question, how did terrorists get paper with the fingerprints of someone who blew up a building in Oklahoma City seventeen years earlier?  Might it have been a mistake?  That’s what Jake figured, but still.  If Timmy was alive, Jake had to know.  Could he be some sort of Kurtz character, from Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, who had spent so much time hiding out in the jungles with the natives that he was finally ready to tell Jake about, “The horror, the horror?”  Heh. 

He remembered reading the book in Mr. Tracy’s senior-year AP English class and then watching the movie Apocalypse Now, which was based on the book, in Mr. Tracy’s Cinema class.  The skills Jake learned in those classes would last him a lifetime – both the skill to read and understand a book, and the skill of understanding how to watch a movie and understand it the way the director hoped he would.  Those interpretive skills surely helped when he got around to reading the Bible. 

Without the foundation of American Literature and Cinema, Jake wasn’t surprised that so many people were completely lost intellectually.  For a vast majority in America, life went right over their heads, and that made sense since they always had their faces glued to their “smart” phones.  Without understanding how the history in those stories holds America together, its people were sure to learn to hate their country and let it slip away into tyranny.  Jake realized this early and used the talents he learned in Mr. Tracy’s classes to further educate himself in the world of American Literature.  And the Bible, of course.

If Timmy were a Kurtz character, it would explain so much, and Kenny knew right away that this was a job for Jake.  When Kenny told him about it, Jake laughed, but Kenny was sure the fingerprints were McVeigh’s.  They’d run the prints several times, and it was more than just one finger.  It was as if they’d been placed there on purpose.  There were fingers and thumbs from both hands, and no one else’s fingerprints were on it.  Kenny wasn’t some crackpot either.  Jake had the utmost trust in the man.  So, he took the mission seriously.

With the plane gone, Jake made his way to the wood line and found a trail opening that looked to be heading in the right direction.  He wasn’t the first person who needed to get to this village from the airstrip.  Supplies had to be delivered somehow.  There was probably a road for trucks further south, but Jake was more interested in staying away from the main thoroughfares.

The trail was well beaten and took him west.  At some point he’d need to go south as well, but he’d climb the hill first.  The Trail uphill was through thick forest, and the trees were buzzing with birds and bugs and animals scampering anytime he’d get near them.  Different sounds than back home, but ones he was quite familiar with from the many years he spent in Africa.  At the top of the first hill, the trail split.  He took the southwest fork lower, but he could see another hill ahead of him through an opening in the trees.  He expected to be able to see the lake from the top of the next hill.  He walked on. 

At the bottom of the hill, there was a small stream he had to cross.  He thought about walking through it in his boots, but he wasn’t sure how much further he’d have to walk afterwards.  Wasn’t looking forward to getting blisters, especially before the trek he had the next day.  He walked barefoot with a walking stick.  The stream didn’t get deeper than a couple of feet.  The water was moving fast, and the rocks were slippery.  The walking stick saved him from falling a couple of times.

Feet dry, he put his socks and boots back on and climbed the next hill on a trail that headed west.  At the top, he was still unable to see the lake.  Not without climbing a tree, and he didn’t feel the need.  He walked down.  The land was flatter at the foot of the hill, but the tree cover prevented him from seeing any distance.  He followed the trail west, hoping to get a chance to turn south at some point.  He was getting too close to the place where he was supposed to make the exchange.  So close, he considered doing the exchange first, but he wasn’t ready.  He wanted to gather intel, maybe from the Tanzanian peacekeepers if they had any, and he wanted a chance to see Pastor Gabriel’s village.  That’s what he was most looking forward to when he agreed to take this mission.  It was a chance to go back to a place he loved but felt he left on extremely bad terms.  Maybe even a chance to make amends.  Though he doubted that would be possible.

On his last day in this village, the pastor asked Jake to help Ali after hearing the boy had been taken.  He was a little boy who took a little too much interest in what Pastor Gabriel was offering.  The pastor would often tell the Muslims about Jesus at a tent where strong coffee would be served to the Muslim men that sat around and talked politics and religion while their wives harvested food – apparently, there is no word for chivalry in the Islamic world.  A gang of older boys cut Ali’s gut open and left him for dead.  Jake was led to where they left the body, and while he was away from the Pastor, they beheaded Pastor Gabriel, as well as the father and mother who were mourning their recently lost son.  Jake found the pastor’s head resting upon his opened Bible with a knife sticking out of his skull.  Then he found three men trying to rape the pastor’s wife in her bed, but she had already passed.  Their depravity was sickening.

Jake went red, something he started doing as a teenager.  When confronted with such vile injustice, his world would turn red, and the enemies in front of him would most likely end up dead.  That’s what happened to the three men trying to rape the dead pastor’s wife.  Then he found the men who’d made the order to kill Ali and killed them all as well.  He lost control and turned back into the remorseless killing machine the government had trained him to be.  The help and guidance that Pastor Gabriel had been giving him seemed as muted as the murdered pastor.  Jake had enemies to kill and enough unbridled fury that his enemies never had a chance.  Vengeance was served, even though Jake had only recently accepted that vengeance was God’s.  Jake would later consider this the moment in his life when he reached the rock bottom of the deepest ocean upon which he kicked as hard as he could to return to the surface to keep from drowning mentally.

As things settled down, Ali’s mother confronted him in anger that he killed her husband.  She didn’t care one bit that Ali was dead because her husband made the call to kill him for apostasy.  She was only mad that Jake killed her husband, who had just honor-killed their very own son.  Jake threw his blood covered shirt at the angry woman and let her live.  He left the village for what he thought was forever, but forever was about to end.

Stomach tingles developed as he neared the village.  How would they receive him?  Would they even recognize him?  Would the village still be mostly peaceful, or would all the inhabitants who weren’t Muslim be converted?  He wanted to know.  Would the village without Pastor Gabriel still have Christians?  So many questions.  This was why he wanted to go there first.  If things went sideways at the meet, he feared he might have to get out of Tanzania right away.  He was sure he was meeting someone looking for revenge for those he killed out of vengeance for the lives of Ali, Pastor Gabriel, his wife, and the innocent couple being comforted over the death of their young boy.  Jake hadn’t lived a day since without finding the pastor and his wife in his thoughts.  They were so kind to him, and he lived with them for many seasons.  In that time, he learned a tremendous amount that changed his life forever – the kind of forever that wouldn’t end.  They gave him the keys to understanding his own life, much of which he was never able to comprehend.  With that came a better understanding of the world as well.  It wasn’t an enlightenment he sought.  It was one that found him, and he was wholeheartedly grateful for it.  Since he never saw it coming, he considered it meant to be.  For that reason, he needed to see what had happened to the village after they’d lost the most important man in it.

The trail through the lowlands was dry for the most part, and the village was eventually in his sight.  The tingles in his stomach grew even more aggressive.

Entering the outskirts of the village, he saw more color on the people’s clothing than he remembered.  Maybe because he was used to it while he was there and then got used to the simple clothing in America.  The clothes were brightly colored with intricate designs.  Except for those on the workers, which were dirty from dawn to dusk.  There was a happiness in the children and women he saw.  He’d forgotten about that.  These people, who had so little, seemed happier at times than the people who had so much in America.  It was odd and comforting.  Some looked at him as though they recognized him but were afraid to be noticed doing so.  He walked to the compound where he had lived with Pastor Gabriel and his wife.  The wooden gate was locked, and the brick walls around the house were still covered in glass shards to prevent hoodlums from climbing over them.

“Hodi,” he said, “hodi.”  It was the term used for knock-knock.  A large black man in a brown robe came out and looked at Jake with a questioning face that seemed to be self-castigating for maybe having forgotten an appointment.  Jake didn’t recognize him, nor did he have an appointment.

“My name is Jacob Chambliss.  I used to know Pastor Gabriel.”

An immediate smile of bright teeth grew upon the man’s deeply black face.  He opened the gate.  “Ah, yes, Jacob.  Come in.  I am Pastor Mosi.  I know who you are.  I am Pastor Gabriel’s replacement.”  Jake did not expect such an excited greeting.

“Nice to meet you.”

“No, no, it is nice to meet you.  I have heard much about you.  Never thought I would be blessed by your presence.”

“You speak English well.”

“Yes.  Is my second language.  Second of many.  You hungry?”

“Sure,” Jake said.

Over a delicious meal of Chipsi Mayai, which is best described as an egg omelet with French fries, peppers and onions, Jake and Pastor Mosi introduced themselves in more depth.

“What brings you back?  Never thought I would see you.  Not here.”

“I really can’t talk about that.”

“Oh.  Ok.  Does this have something to do with the captured American?”

“What captured American?” Jake asked.

Pastor Mosi squinted his eyes, trying to figure out why Jake would ask such a question.  “The captured American.  Is being held for ransom.”  The pastor nodded his head with a look of concern.

“By whom?”

“By some local, how do you say in American, ruffians.”  He smiled, not at the thought but at his ability to recall the word.

“They’re young?”

The pastor nodded his head.

“Who do they work for?”

He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

“Are they Muslim?”

“Yes.  I am sure of it.”

“Does everyone know about this?”

“Of course not.  American representatives have contacted me to see if I can facilitate their surrender.  I have told no one who did not know, I assure you.”

“Are you helping the Americans?”

“I told them I would not know how to help them.  Since that conversation, I have spoken to some of their people, but none are willing to help.  Still much tension.”

“Tension, why?”

“You know.”  He nodded his head to suggest it was everything Jake worried it might be.  “Still many angry feelings over the slaying of their elders.”

“They did that.  They killed Pastor Gabriel,” Jake said in defense.

“Yes, but you killed some of their elders.”  He shrugged.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know, I can see that.  While it is unfortunate, you are also revered by many.  Not the Muslims, but those in the congregation.”

“Pastor Gabriel’s congregation?”

“No.  It is mine.  Much of it is Pastor Gabriel’s, but once you left, the congregation grew.  It is now more than twice the size.”

“Why?  Are you that convincing?”

“No, I am sorry to say, I am not.  I do what I can, but filling giant shoes takes much energy.  And much humility.”

“Pastor Gabriel’s shoes?  He was a tiny man.”  Jake offered a smirk.  “His shoes couldn’t have been that large.”

“Indeed, he was small, but his shoes are giant.  In death, he is more legend than he was in life.  His giant shoes are made of gold.  It is not easy to walk in them.  Big and heavy.  I know.”  The pastor offered his white smile.

“Indeed,” Jake said, “but tell me why.”

“This is tricky question.  I think this is how you might describe it.”

“Can you answer it though?” Jake asked.

“I will try.  Put it this way.  The main reason many are fearful of becoming Christians – one of the main reasons might be fear of the Muslims – but the other one is people no longer have faith that there is a God Who makes things right.  There is no justice.  They believe what they see and have not developed the faith that justice comes in the end.  They witness evil every day and consider it a part of life.  When the Muslims killed Gabriel, many saw it as a repudiation of our God.  Just another day of evil on its winning side.”

“That’s sad.”

“Yes, but many others saw how you killed those responsible within minutes.  They are not used to justice.  It was eye-catching.”

“I’m not sure I see it as justice,” Jake admitted.  “Sadly, I’m sorry to say, it was more like vengeance.”  Jake felt the sadness he carried all over again.

“And that is why this is tricky,” the pastor said.

“I can imagine.”

“Yes, but God does not give us a problem we cannot handle.”

“Meaning?”

“While yes, many wrongly see your vengeance and perceive it as justice meted out by God, I cannot close the church doors to them.  That is not why I was brought here.  Those deaths have been much talked about.  Still, many see you as a messenger of God.  The Muslims see you as messenger of Satan.  It’s not perfect situation, but many have chosen to take sides because of what you did.”

“You mean the ones on the fence?” Jake asked.

“Devil owns the fence,” Pastor Mosi responded quickly.

“That’s what Pastor Gabriel used to say.”

“I know, and he was right.  Many of the meek on the fence decided to take sides.  What you did somehow inspired them.  They grew brave enough to follow the true God.  They picked up a Bible and came to learn about it.  This is because of you.”

“That’s great I guess, but all I did was sin.  It was my actions out of anger that deprived God of his own vengeance.”

“I am so happy to hear that you understand that.  I would love for my congregation to hear that you have repented.  Alas, this can never happen.”  His face went sad.

“Why not?” Jake asked.  He would be more than willing to offer his repentance before the congregation.  He hoped for the opportunity.  Confessing the sin that weighed him down would be ideal, especially before those who lived through that horrendous day.

“Because,” Pastor Mosi thought for a moment, “if you were ever to do so, the Muslims would burn the church with the congregation in it.  They despise you.  If I were to give you the altar, they’d unleash their own kind of vengeance.”

“Pastor Gabriel would never refrain from doing something out of fear.  That was one of the reasons I loved that man.”

“Pastor Gabriel is dead,” he let that thought hang.  “While I would readily give my own life to spread the truth, I have no right to endanger the Lord’s flock.”  He was shaking his head as though it were unthinkable.

“You really think they’d kill everyone?”

He nodded emphatically and continued, “Even if I thought they might only kill one follower, I could not do it.  There is still much tension.”

“I’m sorry for that,” Jake said.  “Truly sorry.”

“It is not your fault.  Is the way it is.  You did what you were taught to do.  They would only do what they have been taught to do.  They do not worship the same God as you and I.”

“Yes,” Jake said, “but what I did was wrong.”

“Do you really believe it?”  Pastor Mosi’s demand for sincerity was explicit.

Jake wanted to say yes and leave it at that, but the look on Mosi’s face wouldn’t let him, “I believe it was wrong, but I can never figure out how to genuinely regret it.  I can’t regret it.  I don’t know how to get to that point.  I regret that I don’t regret it, but sadly, I do not fully regret doing what I did.  This is my problem.  It weighs heavy.”

Pastor Mosi smiled a laugh, “You are merely a human Jacob.  You are not perfect, nor are you expected to be.  Understanding the truth is the first step.  The rest will come with wisdom.  You must have patience.  Even Jacob, the son of Isaac, wrestled with God, and because he overcame, God named him Israel.  The truth will reveal itself.  Eventually.  Until then, you must have patience.  And faith.  You must have faith.”

“Patience won’t help me if I die tomorrow.”

“You mean, when you go to retrieve the American?”

“M-hmm,” Jake admitted.

“You have much to fear.  If those boys know who you are, they will want to kill you.”

“They asked for me by name.”

“And you came anyway?”  He sounded surprised.

“Yes.  The man they have is a man I served with.  A man I’d be more than happy to lay down my life for.  Especially if he’s being held captive due to what I’ve done.”

“You need not do that.”

“How do you figure?”

“I can get you reinforcements.  I am close with peacekeepers.  They would be willing to help you.”

“I’ve thought of that, but the kidnappers demand I come alone.  I’m sure they will monitor my trek.  They said if I wasn’t alone, they’d kill us all.  That includes Sawyer.  Are you really willing to risk your relationship with the peacekeepers, knowing that?”

“I would surely warn them of risks.  I doubt very much they might be unwilling to help.  Is not their way.”

“Even to help an American?”

“The last thing they would ever want to do is make Americans afraid of coming here.  The Americans give us much, and the peacekeepers know that.”

“Hmm,” Jake thought, “they’d probably have to follow behind me and stealthily.”

“I am sure they would fight over which of them would get to join you.  They would likely see it as a break in their monotony.  On top of that, they know these boys.”

“How many boys are there?”

“I have not a clue, but they might know.”

“If they know about it, why don’t they take care of it?”

“I have not that clue.  Come, let me show you the sanctuary.”

The pastor locked the gate behind him and led Jake through the village to where Pastor Gabriel used to hold services.  During their walk, numerous people waved and nodded to the pastor, but they all stayed away because of Jake.  At least that was what Jake figured.  Their hands would lift to wave and then fall back down quickly.

The sanctuary was bigger due to additions, and it was subtlety named for Pastor Gabriel.  While he may have helped create strife in the village, they did not forget him.

“Is much bigger now, and many times, it is still not big enough.  A problem I do not mind having.”  He showed Jake his bright smile.  “Good can come from just about anything.  It is our job to make sure it is good.”

“That’s what Pastor Gabriel used to say.”

“And he was right.  Will you be staying with us this night?”

“Umm,” Jake thought, “umm, no, I think I want to focus and spend time in prayer.”

“This makes sense.  Where will you rest?”

“I’m not sure.  Probably in the hills, but there are some things I want to see before I go.  I’m sure you understand.”

“Sunset on the lake,” the pastor suggested.

“Yes, but still other things before that.”

“Would you like me to get you help from the peacekeepers.”

“I’ve thought about that, but I think it might be best if I go alone.”

“They will most likely try to kill you.  But you must know this.”

“I do.  But maybe I can talk some sense into them.  They’ll surely want me to know why they’re killing me before they do it.  That’s when I will be given the chance.  At least I hope.”

“What if they do not speak English?  Do you speak their language?”

“I know some of it, but they wrote the letter in English.  There is at least one of them that speaks it.  I’m sure.”

“Be careful then.”

“I will.  I do appreciate your time, and if you decide to relate my sorrow over what happened years back to your congregation, please do.  I’d hate to see my anger-inspired spree of vengeance as a spark that unleashed more vengeance.”

“I will use those words, in particular.  Fear not Jacob.  Pastor Gabriel has done much good here, and I plan to carry it on, but you were the one who put truth to his words.  Maybe it was out of vengeance, but God has not yet punished you for your disobedience.  Perhaps you were a messenger from God, as many already consider you.  It is not as though there have not been many messengers before you.  Many of those were far from perfect too.  Please, never forget this.”

“Why do they seem to fear me?”

“Because the Muslims are still perceived as the strong horse.  You might be here now, but you will soon be gone.  They fear retribution from the god that inspires violence.  That fear is real, whether it is prayed away or not.  For many, their faith is still in the seedling form.  It takes much nurturing before that faith is in full bloom.  That is my job, and my only weapons are patience and faith.  For many, their faith only extends to what they can see.  Before they die, it is my hope they will see much more than they do now.  First and foremost, they must stay alive.  Part of staying alive is not falling victim to retribution at the hands of a god whose inferiority complex drives his or her followers into madness.” 

“Heh,” Jake said, “her inferiority complex.”  Jake shared the pastor’s smile.

“The battle between good and evil would make a great psychological study if the psychologists could ever learn to admit that evil really exists.  Since they are not allowed to acknowledge the existence of evil, they never really solve the problem of evil.  They might medicate it into a closet, but it will always be scheming to get out.  Evil never sleeps.  Is the way of the world, Jacob, but you know that.  Go with God.”

“I will.  Thank you, pastor.  Please pray that my prayers be heard.”

“They will be, and I believe they will be answered.  Godspeed.”

Jacob and Pastor Mosi parted ways.  Jake’s spirit was more renewed than he thought it might be.  Still, he had to know what he left behind on the day they killed Gabriel.

Chapter 3 – What, You Think We’re Rich?

I wanted to call Lennie’s wife Chareese, but telling her Lennie was a murderer seemed like something I should do in person and only while she was sitting down. 

Instead, I followed the tracker.  Lennie might be cheating on his wife, as she feared, but the black duffle bag would seem to tell me a lot more.  It must be important, or why else would he have killed three people to get it?  And who were those three people?  Why were they hanging out in a boarded-up house?  

I felt bad that I didn’t immediately tell the police about who did it, but they would surely catch up eventually.  I had to know what was in the duffle bag.

Lennie drove home.  His truck was parked in front of his house, and his shades were down.  He’d already gone into the house before I was able to see whether he took the bag with him.  There was a chance it was still in his truck.  I sat there trying to get the courage to check.  It wasn’t that I was afraid of Lennie so much.  More that I’d blow the gig if he saw me snooping through his truck.  Then again, maybe he would shoot me for it.  It wasn’t as if he hadn’t killed three people to get it.

I finally walked up the sidewalk and checked the passenger’s side.  The driver’s door was visible from the house.  If he came out, I could duck.  As I neared his truck, I could hear yelling and screaming in the house.  It wasn’t a set of well-thought-out sentences.  Just a bunch of two- and three-muffled-grunt accusations that I couldn’t put into context.  I snuck off the sidewalk and tried to open the truck door.  It was locked, but the bag was on the front seat.  The driver’s door was locked as well.  As I was trying to jimmy the door open, the yelling grew louder.  The front door opened with a sucking sound, and then the screen door opened. 

I ducked down and booked towards his garage set back behind the house on the right.  There were some overgrown bushes on the left side of the neighbor’s house.  I ducked into the open section next to the chimney and squatted with my back against the front section of the bushes.  Lennie didn’t bother to check to make sure I wasn’t there.  He got in his truck, pulled out and left the way he came.  His music was still loud.  I monitored his movement on Jake’s phone, and once he was on Main Street, I called Chareese.

“Is he cheating on me?” she demanded in an angry voice that could have used a good coughing to get the smoke-yellowed phlegm out of her lungs.

“Umm, I’m not sure.  What was your fight about?”

“What fight?  Which one?” she clarified.

“The one you just had with him?”

“You spying on me?  Listening to our fights?”

“No, I just happened to hear some of it.  Don’t know what it’s about.”

“Where are you?” she demanded.

“Outside your house.  I was following your husband.”

“He won’t be my husband for long.”

“What if he’s not cheating on you?  That isn’t what the fight was about, is it?”

“No, just get in here.”  I could hear her at the front door and on my phone with a half-second lag.  I walked around to the front where she was holding the door for me.  Not politely though.  She looked impatient.

“Where are your children?” I asked.

“Napping.”  She was drinking a beer and holding the door with her cigarette hand.  “Get in here before the neighbors think I’m the one cheatin’.”

The smell of smoke in the house helped to mask any of the other odors I was sure were trying to make the place stink in earnest.  The good thing about smoking is you don’t need expensive air fresheners.  Not only because they wouldn’t work against smoke, but also because you have no idea they’re even needed – other than the sight of dirty dishes, the used diapers and the moldy food left on the plate that was still sitting on the TV stand in hopes of being carried to the kitchen one of these weeks.  Her house was still a mess.  She might better have spent her money on a house cleaner than a PI.  Maybe Lennie wouldn’t act like he was cheating.

I wanted to say, “Ah, I see you’ve cleaned up.”  But I was on a job.  Instead, I pretended not to notice.

“So, what ya got?”  She went right to business.

“Nothing yet,” I said, “where’d he just come from?”

“Didn’t ask,” she said, “figured he was working.”

“Ok, does he normally come home in the early afternoon?”

“No.  He wanted money.  Needed some cash.”

“Did you give it to him?”

“Heck no.  So, he can take his tramp out to eat?  Why’d I do that?”

“You accused him of cheating?  Didn’t know he knew you suspected him.”

“I didn’t accuse him of anything.  Just told him I needed that money.  For the babies.  Diapers and formula ain’t free.”

“How much did he want?” I asked.

“All of it.  That’s why I couldn’t give it to him.  I gave your friend most of it the other night.  Remember?”

“So, you fought.”

“Yeah, of course we fought.  We always fight.  I have no idea what he’s up to, and now, I’m starting to regret hiring you guys.  You don’t seem to know anything either.  What good are you all?

After some hesitation, I admitted a little to set her mind at ease, even though I shouldn’t have, “Well, he’s up to something, but it doesn’t seem to be cheating.”  Killing people might seem like a little worse to some wives, but not for all of them, so I had no idea how she might take that.

“Well, that’s good then.  Maybe he’s not cheating on me.”

“No, not good,” I said and shook my head, “he and two of his buddies robbed three guys.”

“You talking about those punks in Depew?”

“Maybe them.  I was in Depew, yes.  What about them?”

“Those guys had it coming.  Lennie did a job for them, and they stiffed him.  He said they still don’t have the money, and that’s why Lennie came at me for it.  I don’t have it either, but I’m not about to tell him why.  That’s for sure.  Where is your friend anyway?  When’s he coming back?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted.  “It’s a secret.”

“Yeah, well, if you guys don’t figure out what’s going on soon, I might have to tell Lennie how you guys ripped me off.  He ain’t gonna like that any.”

“We didn’t rip you off ma’am.  There was no guarantee we’d find him cheating on you.  You paid us regardless of what we found.  It’s in the contract you signed.  And so far, all I’ve discovered is that Lennie is a robber.”

“That’s not a robbery.  It’s just him getting back what they stole from us.  It’s perfectly legal.”  She said it as if she were positive that it was legal.

I shook my head with a squinched face, “I’m not sure that’s perfectly legal Chareese.  Robbing someone is still illegal.  They have small claims courts to settle theft-of-service issues.”

“Small claims courts are useless when the job’s under the table.”  Duh.  What was I thinking?

“Yeah,” I admitted, “they’re probably not going to be much help without receipts and contracts.”

“Receipts and contracts,” she scoffed, “What, you think we’re rich?”

“No ma’am.  That’s not what I’m suggesting.”  I looked around her living room.  “I’m just saying without them, taking the case to court might get you laughed out of court.”

“Now you’re getting it college boy.  That’s why robbing ain’t illegal.  Those guys are just as guilty of paying Lennie under the table as Lennie is for working under the table.  It’s called a gentleman’s agreement.  The court has no business in that.  See?”

“Ok, I see your point,” and for some reason, I got honest.  Wasn’t planning on mentioning this, but I wanted to know if she knew what he was up to.  So, I let it rip, “Lennie and his buddies killed those three men in Depew.”

She looked at me as if she thought I might be joking.  She tilted her head and gave me the side eye with a cracked smile that might have turned into a laugh in the event I admitted I was joking.  Convinced my admission wasn’t coming, she asked, “How?”

“Guns,” I said.

“Impossible.  My husband didn’t have a gun on him.  His guns are still here.”  She looked back into the hallway.  “I checked.”

“Why’d you check?”

“To make sure he didn’t take them to the meeting this morning.”

“Does your husband have a handgun?”

“No.  Just a shotgun and a rifle.  That’s all.  They’re both here.  You can check.”

“I didn’t see them with any long guns.  I’m assuming it was a handgun.  Do his friends have handguns?”

She shrugged her shoulders, “Probably.  But it wasn’t my husband.  He’d never do anything like that.  They must have done it.”  She was referring to him as her husband again.  Maybe marriage counselor was my calling.

“Hold on a second,” I said, “you thought he was cheating on you.  What makes you think he wouldn’t kill a man?”

“That’s two different things,” she said and shrugged her shoulders again.

“How?” I asked.

“Wait a minute, I don’t need to answer these questions.  I want you to leave.  You’re fired.  And forget about the rest of the money.  You’ll be lucky if Lennie doesn’t come and get all that money, I already gave you.”

“Is that a threat, ma’am?”

“A threat?”

“That kind of sounds like a threat.”

“Yeah, well, you go spoutin’ your mouth off about what you think my husband might-a done.  Which he didn’t.  Yes, there might be some hell to pay.  So, maybe it is a threat.”

“Do you know the names of your husband’s friends?  I’d like to check them out too.”

“No, no, no.  Your job is done.  You were supposed to find out if my husband’s cheating.  He’s not.  Your job is done.  Just forget you ever heard of us.”

“I can’t do that ma’am.  I’m obligated by the State of New York to let the proper authorities know what I know.”  I don’t know why I said that.

She scowled and then started spitting obscenities at me through her bared vampire teeth.  Her eyes were red with rage and so was her face.  The string of curses was followed by a “Get the f#$# out of here and don’t ever let me see your face again.  If you rat on my husband, you’ll end up just like those dumba$$es in Depew.”

So, she fired me with a threat on my life.  I left calmly and walked down the street to my truck.  It was time to find out what was in that duffle bag.  It may not be the key to the whole thing, but it sure would be a start.  The authorities would have to wait.  Not because I was afraid of her threats.  More so because I had stumbled onto something much larger than I expected.  The police would be more interested in who killed the three punks from Depew than why.  The why of the whole thing was sitting in that duffle bag.  I already knew the who.  I needed to know the why.  At least I fixed their marriage.