Erik Handy (3 page)

For a moment, Jacoby thought the priest was going to reach across the desk and strike him.

Nolan thought the same thing, too.

Instead, Nolan told the fat man, "Constable, I will contact your superiors about this. No. Don't get up to see me out."

Jacoby watched the priest go in a huff, sighed, then got up to walk outside where he took in the sights of chickens clucking furiously at each other down one end of the street and kids playing in the dirt at the other.

At the end where the kids were playing was a two-story bar, a temple among these lowly buildings, a refuge from the misery. Jacoby strolled down there, ignoring a shouting match between a couple in the street. The man grabbed the woman's arm quite violently -- the woman yelped in pain -- but Jacoby kept walking, eyes forward, his mind filled with thoughts of anything but interference.

The priest didn't understand how things worked here. No one cared in this town. Hell, no one cared in this country! Or even the world! Unless money was involved, there was no benefit in helping anyone do anything. Jacoby knew this wasn't right, but when apathy reigned, right and wrong was a dull blur.

And no one cared where that blur lay.

The priest was just another in a long line of naive foreigners who sought to impose their ways upon others. Ah, the American way, Jacoby mused.

Jacoby wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He wished it would rain. He couldn't remember the last time it did.

Inside the empty bar -- it was too early for drinking, even for this town -- Jacoby barely lifted a hand in acknowledging the elderly bartender. Another person accustomed to the ways of life in this town.

The bartender wiped the dirty counter with an even dirtier rag. A demolition ball would have done this bar better. "Constable," he grunted.

Jacoby continued past the old man and upstairs. The old man never looked his way.

Just another day.

Upstairs, Jacoby found his way to the lone room there, a grimy bedroom that contained a weak-looking bed against one wall and a rickety vanity against the other.

Already laying on the bed was the constable's daily whore. She definitely wasn't a high-class escort he used to find in the city. He knew her name. Once. Now she was just a face and more often than not not even that.

The fat man flashed a sleazy smile at her. He went to her as she got up on her knees to unbutton his sweaty shirt.

They've been through this before. It was just her job. She didn't even look at him when he entered her, breathing heavy as he always did. She barely felt him anyway. His weight, that hot mass of flesh on top of her was all she registered. It didn't really matter.

Just another day.

Chapter 10

The grocer paced his empty store, occasionally stopping to glance out the window. Each time he hoped to see Nolan with the constable, even though he knew the constable wouldn't come. Luckily, he never had the need to seek Jacoby out. Despite the area, no one gave the grocer trouble. Everyone paid for goods with what the could scrounge up. No one stole from him. They needed him to run his store and they probably thought he would leave if criminal misfortune befell him.

He should have told the priest that going to Jacoby would end up being a huge waste of time and energy. He should have, but didn't because he wanted to think there would be a slight chance Jacoby would radio for help or at least free the grocer and his wife of their babysitting duty.

The grocer would have gladly handed his current burden over to anyone. Of course, observant townspeople would know the grocer helped the priest. Word could get back to those men from last night. And the grocer had a good idea who those men were and where they came from. He forced himself to not dwell on those details.

He peeked back through an open doorway into his family's living room and the small kitchen beyond. The small living area held a well-used couch, some photos of the family taped to the walls, and a television set that didn't work atop a stand to hold the entire barren room together. It was a pitiful facsimile of a better life, but it was Home.

The grocer's son and daughter, seven and five years old respectively, played together with some old action figures. They were having blissful fun.

The proud grocer grinned and returned to his pacing.

Maybe Nolan would return with help. Maybe the baby's mother would be taken to the city for proper care. Maybe things would turn out okay.

***

The grocer's pregnant wife looked in on their two children from the kitchen. She held Jean Paul close to her bosom as if he was one of her own. She felt his little warmth. Soon she'd have another one of her own. Despite all the evil out there in this hell of a world, she had a life growing in her and two growing in front of her very eyes. Nothing else mattered to her or to her kids right now.

Here was Hope. Hope that her children would do what their parents refused to do -- to pick themselves up and try for a better life elsewhere. Whether or not they succeeded or failed didn't matter as long as they tried.

Gazing at her children and feeling the warmth of her newest addition, she was oblivious to the world's woes and to the man with a machete lurking behind her.

Chapter 11

Nolan was pissed off. Pissed off at the constable's intolerable inaction. Pissed off at himself for taking the mission in this town. Pissed off at himself for even being pissed off.

But he couldn't help it. Here he was, his job accepted. He could leave at any time. His superiors made that very clear. During his interview, one even suggested he pass this one up. They would find somewhere else for him to go.

He had to insist on this position. Whether it was God urging him or an innate need to do good, he wanted to be here.

Now, though . . . .

Nolan grimaced as he realized he should have borrowed a vehicle from someone so he could take Marie to the city, to a hospital for proper help. He didn't want to entertain the notion that she was already dead in his church nor did he want to face the shame he caused himself by not going back to the church with the grocer last night.

No. It was too dangerous and the grocer's support probably only extended to keeping the baby safe. Going back to the church alone could have proved fatal. Besides, he doubted anyone had a working vehicle in this slum.

Nolan couldn't shake the feeling that his decision not to go back to the church placed him on the same level as the constable.

That bastard.

The constable, Jacoby, sat across from Nolan, comfortably sunken in his office chair. A large, black man with deep creases in his face, Jacoby reclined as if at a beach enjoying the sunshine. And why wouldn't he? His appointed position held no expectations to no one, not even his superiors. Keep the order with minimal effort. And the definition of
order
was up to the constable. 

Nolan wanted to reach across the man's imposing, messy desk to slap him.

After he arrived in town, the priest had briefly met with the constable. Meeting the local law and possibly befriending him could have aided Nolan in his mission. His predecessor Father Bernard warned him not to count on it.

Nolan found a drunk Jacoby at the bar. He was playing backgammon with a local.

Introductions were curt. They exchanged names, no hand shakes -- Jacoby's hands were too busy holding a bottle of beer and a cup of dice-- and that was it. Jacoby didn't say anything else to Nolan. To him, Nolan and his predecessors were jokes and not worth his precious time. Nolan quickly took the hint and left. It was the last time both had seen each other until a few minutes ago.

That bastard.

Nolan passed several townspeople in the street who just kept going, not acknowledging his presence, him barely acknowledging theirs like shadows of their actual selves, shuffling through this town and life, only existing to allow Death to give them a long runaround.

Nolan felt a pang of hurt in his gut. He couldn't help everyone here. He hated to admit defeat, but he was starting to believe that even God could help everyone here. But if something good, no matter how minute, could infiltrate this piece of Hell, then Nolan could deem his mission a success and then go home.

Nolan was close to the store, just a few short blocks away.

Someone was trailing him from the next street over, noticeable at each intersection. One man with a discreet interest in the priest.

Nolan immediately saw him.

Chapter 12

Nolan tried to keep his cool. Whoever was following him could be one of the men from the night before. A killer. And having already tried to enlist the help from Constable Jacoby and failing, Nolan knew he was on his own.

Nolan slowed at an intersection and looked over at the next street.

No one appeared --

-- until after Nolan cleared the intersection.

A man entered the parallel intersection, looking in Nolan's direction. He was obviously following the priest.

Nolan sped up.

He passed another intersection with the man keeping the same pace, lagging just behind, a watchful eye on his quarry.

Nolan could think of only one thing to do.

He quickly backtracked and cut across to the street his pursuer was on.

Nolan only saw the back of the man, but no weapons were evident.

The man, a local, Nolan figured by his dark complexion and dirty clothes, still stood at the next intersection up, head bobbing side-to-side, trying to find the priest on the next road. When he couldn't, he turned around only to find the roles of hunter and prey reversed.

***

It was like a scene from a western: the good guy on one end of the street, the bad on the other. However, both men didn't expect such a face-to-face encounter. Nolan shook all over and the stunned look on his hunter's face told his own story. A story that ended with him turning tail and running away up the street.

Nolan considered giving chase, but ultimately thought against it. He had to stay on track and get back to the grocer and bring Marie and Jean Paul to safety. Plus he was woefully unprepared for any physical confrontation.

Nolan waited until his hunter was out of sight before pressing on. He still felt the paranoia of someone following him and was sure he'd bear that curse for a long time to come. He let that paranoia guide him cautiously to the grocery.

The store was a familiar place with friendly people inside. That's what Nolan needed right now, to feel safe. This terror would soon be over.

A few yards from the respite from all that had happened in the past twelve hours, Nolan watched the grocery door open.

The grocer stumbled out onto the street, clutching his stomach.

Nolan stopped in his tracks.

What had to be blood gushed from the spot beneath the grocer's hands.

Nolan rushed to the wounded man just as the latter fell to his knees. The grocer looked up in Nolan's direction, but not at the priest.

"Father," he started. He couldn't continue. He could only manage to point at the store before he went limp.

Nolan hurried inside.

Chapter 13

The store didn't show any evident signs of danger or distress. Nonetheless, that safety Nolan yearned for out in the humid street was washed away. By the time he made it to the back where the grocer and his family lived, there was not even an iota of thought that he would ever be safe, here or elsewhere.

Nolan saw the grocer's young son and daughter first. They were huddled in the corner of the room, half-hiding and half-looking at the body in the middle of the room. He caught a whiff of feces from their direction. At least they were alive.

Then he saw --

-- their pregnant mother.

She was face down among the pieces of coffee table. Her blood pooled out from her. Nolan never knew someone could have that much blood.

He felt a pang of remorse when he realized he didn't know their names or the names of the grocer and wife.

Through tears from fear, the two children looked at Nolan, then at their mother. Nolan didn't know what to do. He needed to do something. Anything. All he could think of was to squat next to the dead woman and touch her shoulder.

He almost vomited when her body moved away from her head.

Chapter 14

Six men trudged up through the thick green, effortlessly, deeper into the jungle, back to their secluded village. Over the shoulder of the one in the lead was an unconscious Marie. Medical tape had been wrapped around her chest and back, holding gauze to her grievous wound. It was soaked through, but still fulfilled its purpose.

She was being kept alive for a reason.

The second man in the procession, Rosalo. He held his son in a blanket. Jean Paul. Getting him back was easy. Same with Marie. He should have let her bleed to death in the church. He knew that. But what he had in store for her would be worse than a simple death.