William Lashner - Falls The Shadow

“First, she is not their child. Second, I don’t have the power to do anything on my own, everything I do is within the bounds of the law. And third, anyone who is keeping me from seeing my client is indubitably not working in her best interests.”

“Indubitably, Mr. Carl?”

“Quite,” I said. “Let’s start at the beginning here, Reverend. How did you get involved with Tanya?”

“Madam Anna and I have known each other for some years. She understands my deep concern for the children of the community. When she mentioned to me that she was aware of a girl who needed a home, I told her I would make sure she was taken care of.”

“Any money change hands?”

“Is that important?”

“I suppose that means yes.”

“There may have been expenses we reimbursed.”

“And you investigate these homes carefully, Reverend? You do home visits, background checks, follow-ups to make sure she is being properly taken care of? An outreach program with ongoing support and evaluation?”

“I do what I need to do, the good Lord does the rest.”

“So let me get this straight. Tanya’s mother simply gave the girl to Madam Anna. Then Madam Anna sold the girl to you. And you gave her away, or sold her to the highest bidder, hoping that providence would keep the girl safe, is that it?”

“What are you really doing here, Mr. Carl? What’s your angle in all this?”

“I’m here pro bono.”

“Who the hell’s Bono?”

“U2?”

“Me what?”

I sighed loudly. “This girl is my client. I’m just doing my job.”

“But how did she just happen to become your client? That order drop out of the sky into your hand?”

“Something like that,” I said, although, truth be told, it wasn’t something like that at all.

“Have you ever considered, Mr. Carl,” said the reverend, “that we are just trying to help that girl?”

“You’re trying to help, I’m trying to help, everyone seems to be trying to help, but things keep getting worse, don’t they?”

“You won’t leave this be, will you?”

“No, I will not.”

“So we are at an impasse.”

“Not for long,” I said, standing. “You do know, both of you, that baby selling is against the law. Expect the police to show up at your door, Reverend.”

“I have the protection of the First Amendment.”

“That’s what they said at Waco.”

“I know you,” said Horace to Reverend Wilkerson. “I recognize your voice. You drive that hearse through the city, the one with the fake coffin and the body sticking up out of it, the one preaching out against drugs and violence.”

“That is I,” said the reverend.

“Driving around with that ugly thing on top your car, quoting Scripture out a bullhorn, making all kinds of racket when we’re just trying to sleep. What do you think you’re going to accomplish?”

“I’m trying to save our community.”

“How about saving my sleep? You get my age, it don’t come so easy. And then, just as I’m sinking into slumber, you drive along and blast me sky-high with your preaching.”

“Maybe you need saving, too, old man.”

“And you got that run-down hotel on Fifty-first that you turned into some sort of shelter and meeting place, the Hotel Latimore, it is, where you take care of all kinds of families don’t got no homes for themselves.”

“I do what I can.”

“Yeah, I know you, all right,” said Horace. “We got enough folks making things worse, so I appreciate those fighting to make things better. But you should appreciate what this boy’s fighting to do, too. He’s not from us, is ignorant of our ways, among many other things, but that don’t mean he don’t care. He had a choice, he could have walked away from this girl who he’s never in the life of him ever met. Others would have, said it was too hard, thrown up their hands. But he didn’t. Now he got himself in the middle of a mess, legally responsible for a girl he can’t find, standing up to a man with a bullhorn. It takes a heap of stupidity to do all that. It’s not up to you to shut him out.”

“I have my responsibilities,” said the reverend.

“So does he.”

“I am sorry,” he said. “I’ve done all I can.”

“That’s not good enough,” I said. “I am scared for my client, and I am not in the mood to be patient. I tried to do this the polite way, Reverend, but that’s over. Let’s go, Horace.”

Horace pushed himself to standing, propped his hat on his head. “Quite a boy, ain’t he?”

“A real firebrand,” said Wilkerson.

“I taught him everything he knows,” said Horace.

“Oh, Mr. Carl,” said Madam Anna before we could leave. “We had a deal. What about this paper from the city? What about the fines?”

“You want my help, is that it? My expert legal opinion?” I stepped to the table, picked up the notice, scanned it quickly. “This shouldn’t be a problem.”

“What should I do?” she said.

“Pay it.”

“There it is,” said Horace. “It used to be a place in the old days, used to be something special. ‘Where you staying?’ we’d ask our cousins visiting from down south. They chests would swell with pride, and they’d say, ‘The Hotel Latimore.’ ”

Horace was nodding toward a dilapidated four-story building, made of brick, wedged between a linoleum outlet on one side and a Chinese restaurant on the other. There were people milling outside, some going in, some going out, some just sitting on the porch and spitting. Parked in front was a large white van with a dummy in a suit on top, sitting up as if it had bolted right out of the coffin in which it had been laid to rest. An old neon sign swung above the building’s door, hissing as it blinked on and off: HOTEL LATIMORE.

“From what I been told,” Horace said, “his office is on the first floor. And there’s an old ballroom on the top where he has his meetings.”

“Who’s that guy standing by the steps?” I said.

“He’s big, isn’t he?”

“Big isn’t the word. Monumental, epic, and massive come to mind.”

“Never seen him before.”

“With his size, that black leather jacket, and the way he’s standing there, looking around like he owns the place, I’d make him for some sort of muscle.”

“What would they be needing with muscle at the Hotel Latimore?”

“Good question, but a guy that size, I’m not going to tap him on the shoulder and ask.”

“Does that mean you’re not going in?”

“I thought we’d sit here and stake out the place, maybe catch Tanya coming in or out.”

“And how would you recognize her, you fool? You got a picture?”

“No, I’ve got something better.”

“What?”

“You. We’ll stay right here, keep an eye out while we’re keeping out of the big guy’s way.”

“I didn’t know I was sitting next to a coward. Ugly, I knew. Dumb as a post, I knew. A taste in clothes would kill a mongoose, I knew.”

“What about the tie?”

“The tie, I like. What happened, you pull it out of a box of Cracker Jack?”

“It’s silk, baby.”

“Then it must have been a gift, because you being cheap as a two-bit whore, I knew. But I didn’t mark you as a coward.”

“Well, now you know that, too.”

“Keep hold of that tie. Yellow suits you.”

“Wait a second,” I said as a big red car slid to a stop right behind the van. “Wasn’t that car parked outside Madam Anna’s?”

We had driven to the Hotel Latimore right after our meeting with the good reverend in the fortune teller’s fortune-telling room. We had parked well down the road, in what I thought to be prime surveillance position. I had hoped we could get a jump on the situation before Reverend Wilkerson put out the word that Horace and I were personae non gratae, but that plan now seemed to have gone awry. The reverend himself stepped out of the red car, looked around, stopped his pan in the direction of my car, peered a little closer. He put his hand on the big guy’s shoulder and had a few words, pointing in our direction. I was coming to the conclusion that my surveillance technique, to be frank, sucked.