Paul Robertson - According to Their Deeds

Karen Liu took her time to answer. “That law makes it difficult for judges to use their own judgment. It’s very hard on people convicted of crimes, and those are the people I want to help.”

“Hey, boss.”

Charles was startled, more than usual; but Karen Liu nearly hit the roof, far from her head though it was.

“Angelo,” Charles said. “Good morning.”

“Do you want for me to go to any of the places today?”

“You could call and see if any are open on Saturday. Congresswoman, this is Angelo, my employee. Angelo, this is Congresswoman Liu.”

Angelo’s eyes shifted slightly to notice her. Karen Liu’s reaction was more substantial. She stepped across the room, her hand stretched forward, her eyes full on him. Angelo was not sure for a moment what to do.

He drew back first like a cornered animal. Then, perhaps not consciously, he bared his teeth and tightened his shoulders, ready to fight.

Karen Liu didn’t flinch. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, “Mr…?”

“Acevedo,” Charles said. “You can shake her hand, Angelo.”

He surrendered, very stiffly, and Charles watched.

“I am very glad to meet you, Mr. Acevedo,” she said. “What do you do here for Mr. Beale?”

“Whatever he says to do.” The voice was as hard as the hand.

“Angelo,” Charles said, “you could ask Mrs. Beale to call any places on the list if you want. If none of them are open, just wait until Monday morning.”

“On Monday morning is my probation meeting,” he said.

“Oh, yes, of course we’ll do that first.”

Angelo nodded, barely, and stepped back onto the bottom step. Only several stairs up did he have a safe enough distance to turn his back on them.

“Probation?” she said. Her intense stare was now fully back on Charles.

“Just a formality,” he said.

“You go with him? Is he under your supervision?”

“Well, yes. It’s a long story.”

She thought for a few seconds. “What do you think of having someone under your control?”

“He’s not under my control.”

“I understand probation. If you are his supervisor, you have a lot of control.”

“I don’t like having control over someone else. It goes against my nature.”

“Not everyone is like that. Please tell me the long story.”

“I’ll make it short,” Charles said. “Let’s see, it was last summer. I was walking home from the Metro station one night, fairly late, and I was on a dark street, and I met Angelo.”

The congresswoman frowned. “And he was Hispanic, and dressed roughly, and he seemed threatening to you.”

“Well, actually, he was holding a knife and he told me to give him my wallet.”

The frown softened. “All right. Go on.”

“So I did give him my wallet, and when I got home, I called the police. That was more out of civic duty. I wasn’t hurt and it wasn’t much money, and it was a good reminder to be more careful.”

“What did your wife say?”

“Oh, I didn’t tell her.”

“You didn’t tell your wife that you’d been held up?”

“I just said I’d lost my wallet. But then the police called back the next morning and said they’d found him. Then I had to tell her. We went down to the police station, and there he was, under arrest.”

“For armed robbery? Why isn’t he in jail now?”

“Actually, I found out who was assigned as his lawyer, and I talked to that person, and we went to the Alexandria Probation Office and worked out a proposal for the judge. Dorothy and I offered for Angelo to stay here and work for us and we would supervise him for the term of his probation.”

The frown had softened all the way to bewilderment. Karen Liu was as expressive as John Borchard, even with a much smaller area to work with.

“Why?”

“That might be harder to answer.” Charles smiled. “It certainly wasn’t to gain power over him.”

“You said last week that you preferred mercy,” she said. “Now I understand what you meant. Some people might say they prefer mercy, but not many would put their money where their mouth was.” She shook her head. “And the judge let you do it. There was no gun involved? Just a knife?”

“It was a very big knife.” Charles laughed. “I was scared silly.”

“How has he been as an employee?”

“There were a few adjustments, of course. He’d never had a job. But he lives in the attic now, and he’s figured out some basic handyman skills, and he’s our night guard and maintenance man and courier.”

“You’re turning his life around, Mr. Beale.”

“He’s doing it himself.”

“How long is his probation?”

“Three years. We’ve finished the first six months. He has to provide satisfaction as an employee, keep us informed of his location, stay away from former associates, not break any laws, of course, and report to his probation officer every month.”

Karen Liu seemed satisfied. Charles was released from her gaze, and his eyes wandered.

“Hey, boss.”

“Yes, Angelo.”

He was still and silent as usual, framed once more in the stairway door. His rooted stance seemed to show he had been there for a while.

“Mrs. Boss, she says no place on that list is open now.”

“All right. I don’t have anything else for you to do.”

Angelo’s eyes were black reflections of the room. He stood a moment longer, then left before the congresswoman had recovered enough to greet him again.

“I don’t know what goes on inside him,” Charles said, watching the empty space. “Anyway. Is there anything else we need to discuss?”

“No, Mr. Beale. I think I understand why Derek found you so fascinating.”

“I’m really not.”

“I think you are. I like your preference for mercy. I came here this morning to ask you about your talks with John Borchard, and with Patrick White, and especially with Derek. I don’t think you’re going to tell me anything, but I think I am going to trust you. Does that make any sense to you?”

“I know there is something wrong, Congresswoman. I don’t know very much. But if there is anything I can do to help, I will.”

“Then let’s leave it at that.”

“What did you talk about?” Dorothy asked. They were alone in the showroom.

“Books.”

“Any books in particular?”

“I think we both decided to just trust each other, and not ask more questions.” Charles shook his head. “We talked about Angelo.”

“I called some of the offices on his list.”

“Yes, he told me.”

Then Charles held up one finger, and Dorothy was quiet. At the absolute limits of human perception, there was a creak from the hall upstairs.

“He’s coming,” Charles whispered.

They saw his tennis shoes on the stairs, then his ragged jeans, then him. He saw them watching.

“Hey, Angelo,” Charles said.

“I am going out on the street,” he said.

“All right. I don’t think we’ll need you today. I’ll be downstairs unpacking boxes.”

He crossed the room, but as he passed by Charles, he stopped, very close.

“You were not scared,” he said.

“What?” Charles said, unsure.

“You were not scared. I know how people are scared. With that knife, you were not scared.” Then he left.

All the lights in the basement were on. On the desk was a stacked mosaic of books, some with faded dust jackets and some with just faded covers, mortared together with printouts and price lists and catalogs. Charles put a final price sticker on a once-bright Good Night, Moon, and gave his attention to one last unopened box.

It was well packed inside and took a few minutes to burrow down to the one book inside.

The front cover was the same dun brown as many of the books watching from the shelves, but two of the corners were mashed round and wrinkled. The back cover had a jagged scar, but only skin deep. The spine was also torn, with its top pulled loose and hanging. The book was very thick, at least two inches.