Violence (26 page)

“Aren’t you angry about what those men…” Kari asked, then corrected herself. “…or rather this particular man did to your wife?”

“No amount of anger is going to bring my wife back.” Noel replied, his voice remaining dispassionate. “Do I feel pain? You bet. But I try to transform that energy to a positive place. The world is as you perceive it. Good or evil will expand in your life dependent on your thoughts. Forgiveness is the surest path to divinity, so I pray for this man who actually committed the murder, and the men who were with him when this horrible event took place. It can’t be easy for them, either. In God’s eyes their lives are just as precious as my wife’s life or even my daughter’s life…”

The studio audience grew increasingly belligerent with every passing utterance of beliefs which Anderson professed.

Even Kari herself, the normally expressive host, was dumbstruck at the moment and just stared blankly at Anderson.

“I just pray that maybe something someone says or that I say will touch their hearts and souls in some way.” Anderson declared as many audience members hooted and hollered.

Derek, for his part, continued to gape open-mouthed at the TV screen in his cell, like a catatonic ape.

At the same time, 40 miles away, in a seedy bar on the South Side of Chicago, Gabriel Lysander was deep in a game of pool. He took a slug off his beer bottle and was lining up a bank shot when his gaze shifted to the TV that was playing over the bar. He almost dropped his cue stick as he gazed entranced at the Kari Show that was currently being broadcast over the TV screen and where Noel Anderson was in attendance as Kari’s guest.

“I just want to make sure of something…” Kari said, holding her hand up to Anderson to stop him as she looked for confirmation. “…’touch their hearts’? You’re talking about the men who were involved in your wife’s murder?”

“Yes.” Anderson answered earnestly.

“Wow, Noel, this is incredible stuff!” Kari gushed as she turned to the boisterous studio audience behind her. “And as you can see, the natives are getting restless!”

Kari stepped quickly up a center aisle and put the microphone in front of a fist-waving burly male member of the audience who sprang to his feet.

“I’m sorry about what happened to your family…” The burly man said as he angrily spoke into the mic while fixing on Anderson. “…but if that happened to me I’d kill those guys!”

The studio audience erupted into raucous cheers and collective applause.

Gabriel Lysander, mesmerized, never took his gaze off the screen as he walked around the pool table and stood right under the TV to get a better look.

Kari Taylor, on the TV, moved across the studio aisle and held the microphone in front of a wild-eyed female audience member who jumped up, eager to get a turn at the mic.

“So, if they were here right now…” The female audience member incredulously asked Anderson. “…you’d tell ‘em you forgive them?”

“As much as it is in my power I forgive them, yes.” Anderson confirmed and voiced an entreaty. “I would hope they’ve seen the wrong they’ve done. I would hope that they’re sorry, and I would ask how I could help them.”

“Help how?” Kari asked, truly puzzled.

“Whatever way I could.” Anderson answered, searching for the correct words to convey his message. “Spiritually. Emotionally. Financially-”

“Give them money?” Kari interjected.

“Possibly, sure…” Anderson tolerantly explained as the audience grew even more unrestrained. “…as long as they were trying to do something positive with their lives. As long as they would put it to productive use.”

“I’ll be damned.” Gabriel muttered to himself as he grinned up at the TV screen.

Meanwhile, inside the Rave Vintage Record Store, Jeannie had been watching in rapt amazement the same Kari Show on a TV behind the counter. Jeannie, at the moment, was absently folding and sorting some second-hand clothing while a quivering, bone-thin woman in the studio audience fiercely put her mouth right up to the mic Kari Taylor was holding:

“You’re really stupid!” The bone-thin woman shouted, throwing back her stringy hair.

The studio audience exploded into a foot stomping frenzy.

“People like you give them scum more power!” The woman continued. “You acting this way makes these creeps just run rampant!”

Kari shrugged in Anderson’s direction and nodded in agreement with the woman if only to remind the screaming audience members that she was merely a conduit for his controversial message.

“We need to look at the larger picture.” Anderson calmly stated. “Instead of just asking
why
, maybe the question we should ask is
did we need it?
Maybe life is a school. Maybe I wanted this to happen for my personal growth. Maybe my wife and daughter reached perfection and were ready to go to the next realm. Maybe they learned everything they needed to learn in this life and possibly left to teach me something.”

Lyndsey, a fellow young Rave employee, adjusted the position of a small Christmas tree on the counter and moved up to the spellbound Jeannie who continued to watch the Kari Show in stunned amazement.

“What’s with you, you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Lyndsey asked, pushing her tongue through a wad of gum in her mouth.

“He goes to my church!” Jeannie said as she pointed to Anderson on the TV screen.

“Really? Wow. Cool.” Lyndsey grinned, impressed.

Kari hustled around the front of the studio audience and climbed the steps of a side aisle where she put the microphone in front of an older man.

“I just want to say…” The older man deliberately poked his finger at Anderson for emphasis as he spoke. “…your wife deserved to live and your daughter deserved to live!”

The studio audience wildly applauded the older man’s impassioned statement.

“I believe they do live.” Anderson proselytized. “I am confident that they rest with God.”

The image of Noel Anderson was frozen on the TV monitor inside the office of detective Wayne Crotty who was staring at the screen with his feet up on the desk. Crotty had been watching a downloaded copy of the Kari Show that featured Anderson.

Detective Gene Peterson, Crotty’s partner, entered the office with some reports in his hand.

“You watchin’ that crap again?” Peterson good-naturedly scolded Crotty about his repeated viewing of the ‘Kari’ Show. “I’m starting to worry about you.”

Crotty threw his hands up as if to say “you caught me.”

“Going to have to drop your boy from the list of candidates for that arson.” Peterson matter-of-factly informed Crotty as he gestured at the image of Anderson on the TV. “It’ll be hard proving a financial motive. He donated all the insurance proceeds and the land to the city. They’re going to make a children’s park out of it.”

“I still got a feeling about this one.” Crotty held up a mug shot of Ruben Roney and pointed at Anderson on the TV monitor. “He killed him.” Crotty firmly declared, referring to Anderson’s culpability.

“How? He poured the sedative down his throat and then put him to sleep in his car?” Peterson incredulously proffered the supposition, then added, “Roney would know what he looks like from the court case and everything. What’d this, uh, Anderson guy do, wear a disguise?”

“Maybe.” Crotty contemplated the possibility. “When I went to talk to him, I just got a feeling that this one’s different. He isn’t your usual victim.”

“We got lots of cases that deserve our undivided attention. This guy isn’t up to anything.” Peterson insisted.

“Allow me to have a little fun.” Crotty croaked. “I’d feel really bad if this guy was trying to get revenge and then he got caught.”

“Then look the other way.” Peterson said, probably a bit too quickly and seriously for Crotty’s liking.

“What if he gets killed?” Crotty posed as a scenario.

“That’s his risk.” Peterson shrugged. “He’d probably prefer it and that’s his choice.”

“I know we’re not supposed to think like this…” Crotty persisted. “…but if your family was taken away from you and you had nothing, really… what would stop you from killing the guys who did it?”

“I got six by eleven reasons.” Peterson answered referring to the size of a standard jail cell.

“I mean this guy’s got absolutely nothing now.” Crotty sniffed like a bird dog. “Try to get inside his head.”

Peterson closed the office door and stepped in front of his partner’s desk.

“If he did it…” Peterson whispered. “…
personally
I could give a fuck.”

“Professionally?” Crotty asked.

Peterson had to be careful with this one. While they had been partners for a long time, Crotty was still a hard-ass and a superior. Crotty was no doubt testing to see if Peterson really meant it when he suggested Crotty look the other way or when he said personally he didn’t care whether Anderson might be on a vigilante quest.

“I guess I’d give a fuck.” Peterson reluctantly responded.

“This guy Anderson is a special case.” Crotty sank back further in his chair and stared off, deep in thought. “He’s smart.”

“You really think he’s capable?” Peterson asked incredulously. “He’s Joe Citizen. Builds houses. No criminal record, no mob background, nothing to suggest a mental make-up that would predispose him to cold-blooded killing.”

“He was in the military.” Crotty mentioned matter-of-factly.

“So what?” Peterson rejected the correlation.

“So it makes you more comfortable with killing.” Crotty surmised. “You’re trained for it.”

“Maybe.” Peterson conceded, but he wasn’t convinced one necessarily followed the other.

“Did he impress you as a holy roller?” Crotty put it to his partner plainly, indicating the frozen image again of Anderson on the TV.

“Not particularly…” Peterson responded. “…but that doesn’t mean a thing either. Maybe he’s just trying to hang on by his fingernails, so he doesn’t blow his own brains out.”

“I checked on Gabriel Lysander, the brother of the douche bag who actually pulled the trigger on Anderson’s wife.” Crotty said, dropping his feet down on the floor and picking up a file off his desk. “He was released from prison a month ago after serving out his involuntary manslaughter rap-”

“Yeah… and?” Peterson interrupted.

Crotty stared pensively at the file without answering.

“He’s still breathing?” Peterson continued sarcastically.

“I’m wondering…” Crotty waved the file thoughtfully.

“You’re thinking of warning him?” Peterson asked, realizing what Crotty was contemplating.

“Not Anderson.” Crotty shook his head.

“I know who you’re talking about!” Peterson exclaimed, agitated.

“We’re sworn to uphold the law.” Crotty forcefully reminded him.

“To the best of our ability.” Peterson contended. “And that doesn’t include warning people about crimes someone else may or may not commit.”

It was clear Crotty wouldn’t relent.

“What? So you want to go up to the douche bag brother who just got out and say…” Peterson cupped his hand next to his mouth and whispered mockingly, “
Hey, douche bag, be careful! This guy, you know the one who you murdered his wife with your other douche bag brother, well, this builder guy, he just might be after you!
”

Crotty finally seemed to acquiesce to the absurdity of the notion.

“You’re obsessing.” Peterson said, then in a conciliatory gesture pointed to Gabriel’s mug shot in the file Crotty was holding. “Tell you what, if this second guy dies you can say:
I told you so
.”

Peterson added the documents he was holding to the case file in Crotty’s hand, opened the door and walked out of the office.

Crotty looked back intently at the freeze frame image of Anderson on the TV monitor as Peterson’s footsteps receded into the stationhouse buzz.

CHAPTER 22

         J
eannie sorted some old vinyl LPs in a display bin as a beautiful snow could be seen falling softly outside the Rave Record Store window. It was one of those snows that made everything seem quiet and peaceful. Even in a bustling city.

She suddenly looked up at a customer who was staring at her from the other side of the display. It was Anderson.

Jeannie smiled.

So did Anderson. There was an awkward silence, then:

“I saw you on TV. That was really brave.” Jeannie gushed. “I couldn’t go on a talk show. God knows I’d like to, show all those shits.”

“What ‘shits’?”

“Just people.”

Jeannie threw a look over at her co-worker, Lyndsey, the other twenty-something Rave employee who was presently locking the entrance door.

“We’re closing.” Jeannie informed Anderson.

“I know. I thought we might try to have that dinner now.”

“What dinner?”

“That one where you thought I might stick you with the check.”

“Oh yeah.” Jeannie nodded, remembering, and kind of excited about the prospect of going out with Anderson again. “Are we going to the same place?”

“We don’t have to. I’m open to suggestions.”

“Can you wait a minute?” Jeannie gestured at the clothes she was wearing and pointed towards the dressing rooms. “I’d like to change into something else I have in the back.”

The Black Knights Restaurant and Bar was one of those inner-city honky-tonks that really comes alive on weekends and holidays. It was a couple of days before Christmas so it was particularly busy.

A 4-piece cover band was on the small stage grindingly playing their way through the bluesy “Cocaine” that was made famous by Eric Clapton.

Revelers jammed the dance floor and shouted the lyrics along with the lead singer.

Jeannie, dressed provocatively in a body stocking, breasts almost spilling out her top, stepped up with Anderson to the crowded bar.

“I told you you’d like this place!” Jeannie shouted to Anderson through the din as she pressed against the bar counter. The bartender immediately recognized her.

“Merry Christmas!” The bartender warmly greeted Jeannie as he chewed on a bar straw exposing his not so great teeth. “Haven’t seen you in awhile. Where’ve ya’ been?”

“Here. There. Everywhere adored!” Jeannie answered, giggling like a little girl.