Relentless (4 page)

Maxwell wrapped a thick towel around his waist and wiped the steamy fog from the mirror. He rubbed the left side of his face and then the right. His reflection, the one that used to call him Paul, had long been silenced. Painting his face with shaving cream didn't help him escape the features that belonged to his dad: a small nose, thin face, dark brown eyes that were deep and serious, and a slight dimple that framed his chin. Not every memory from his childhood was worth discarding but the scarce good ones weren't worth sifting through the whole lot.

Warm water washed away the remnant of any shaving cream left behind. He dried his face and slapped on $175-an-ounce aftershave which stung like bees. The twinge of pain helped him shake off a past that he could not change. The phone rang in Maxwell's bedroom. It was a reminder of a slew of calls he'd ignored while watching the programs earlier downstairs. He didn't react immediately, hoping for a break. Just as he was settling down, the phone began ringing again. He knew the cleaning lady wasn't going to answer. So, unless he got it, the calls would continue until he either snapped or unplugged the house phone and powered off his cell. He moaned.

Couldn't he have one morning of uninterrupted peace? He wasn't greedy. He didn't need the whole day, just a few hours. Before he could answer, the cell phone rang. The shrilling sound ate at him. Whoever was calling better have a really good reason for hounding him. He secured the towel tighter around his waist and let his feet sink into the plush carpeted pathway leading to the phone lying on his nightstand. A greeting fell out of his mouth hurriedly as he scooped the phone up before it could ring again.

“Paul, I'm worried to death about you. Are you all right?” Her voice was seasoned with age and concern.

“I'm fine, Mom.” His resolve emptied out of him like water spiraling down a drain.

“I tried calling you a few times earlier this morning, but I didn't get an answer.” He kept quiet. It was best. “I would have called before today but Christine felt you needed your rest and I should wait. But, I knew that really meant you didn't want to talk to me.” The silence was deafening. After a few pregnant seconds, his mom asked, “Paul, are you there?”

Maxwell pulled the phone from his ear, rubbing his wrinkled brow; he took in a slow breath. With a bitter taste of frustration he responded. “It's Maxwell, not Paul. Maxwell!”

He didn't have to wait for her response. It came through the phone wrapped in sincerity but with a firm assurance. “Your father and I named you Paul. That is your name, and you cannot change who you are. Only God can do that.” Her voice softened. “We love you; you can't change that either. I love you. You're my son, and no matter what you do or how you treat me, I will always love you and care about what happens to you.”

Walking away from the bed and toward the window, Maxwell gripped the phone tighter. “I've got to go.”

“Okay, son, but I'm praying that you will forgive your father. He did what he felt to be right. His loyalty to Pastor Jones might have been misplaced but not because it was wrong to support our pastor. I know people lost some money.”

Maxwell interrupted, unable to let her downplay the depths of his father's egregious error. “People lost a lot of money trusting in the pastor's Ponzi scheme.”

“Well yes, you are right, but that was over twenty-five years ago. We have got to let the past go and move on, son, or it will keep you from enjoying your life now.”

“I'm only doing all right for myself and if it means bringing a bunch of criminal and religious shysters to justice, then that will be icing on the cake.”

“Be careful, son, about persecuting people. Let God be the judge. That's not for us to do.”

Maxwell wasn't interested in another sermon. “I have to go.”

“Well, take care of yourself. I love you.”

“Good-bye,” were the only words he allowed to pass his lips. He gingerly touched the sore spot over his eye with his fingertips and gave his attention over to getting dressed, moving around the room, and pushing his mother's words and the sound of her voice out of his head. Just as he opened the double doors of his walk-in closet his phone rang again. Looking over his shoulder at the phone, Maxwell hesitated before answering it. His mother should have known that two calls in one day were too much. He didn't want to hear any more of her admonishment, but flat out ignoring her call was a level of disrespect he wouldn't entertain. He snatched up the phone making a proclamation through gritted teeth and pinched lips: “Maxwell speaking.”

“You won't believe what just happened to me. I could have died. I could have died this morning.” Nicole's frantic voice jumped over the phone line.

“What's wrong? Calm down and tell me.”

“My flight from Los Angeles flew into a storm this morning. Rain was crashing into the plane like boulders. It was thundering and lightning,” she rattled off with her words racing. “The weather was so bad. The plane kept hitting pockets of turbulence that felt like it was falling out the sky,” she said with each word spoken fast and some high pitched. “I've never been so scared,” she cried out.

Maxwell was unprepared for Nicole's emotional state. She was tough, always in control, his equal. Hearing her fall apart put him on edge, a position he didn't embrace well. “Are you okay? Where are you now?”

“I'm okay now, I guess. We had an emergency stopover in Pittsburg.”

“How long before you take off for Philadelphia?”

“I have no idea when they're taking off, but for sure I won't be on that plane or any other one, not today. I rented a car, and I'm driving to Philadelphia.”

“You know that's about five or six hours. Are you sure that's what you want to do?”

He knew Nicole was all about business, always taking the most direct approach to problems. She didn't like wasting time. He didn't either. That's one of the reasons they worked. Her throwing away time on a long road trip surprised him.

“I'm already on the road. I tried calling you earlier, but I didn't get an answer. I figured you were out running.”

Maxwell thought about the surge of calls. He didn't bother telling Nicole he'd intentionally ignored the noise earlier. He felt badly about missing her call but couldn't do anything about it. “Where are you now?”

“I pulled off at a rest stop for a few minutes, long enough to get some coffee and to call you again.”

“Nicole, I don't know what to say. I'm glad you're okay,” he stammered. “Is there anything I can do for you from here?”

“Actually, there is. I need to see you as soon as I can. I should be home around two o'clock.”

“No problem, call me when you get in town. We can grab lunch.”

Hearing Maxwell's voice soothed her anxiety. The calming effect coming from having someone out there who cared was what she needed. “I'll call you as soon as I get into the city. I'm looking forward to seeing you.” Nicole ended the call and looked down at her diamond watch, the one she'd rewarded herself with when her income hit the six-figure bracket several years ago. She would drive as fast as she could without having an accident or getting a ticket. Nicole wanted to get home quickly and for once it wasn't because she wanted to get a head start on the next work project.

Maxwell dwelled on the anxiousness in both his mother's and Nicole's voices, causing him to be distracted his entire way into the office. Slightly irritated, he was slipping and didn't appreciate the angst. He'd mastered the ability to keep distance between his emotions and actions. He kept his feelings in check, and there was no room in his world to let others disrupt his focus. Nicole and his mother didn't warrant an exception. He tossed their worries out and zipped toward the parking garage, placing his energy where it belonged.

Prepared to do battle, he dialed the number for his private investigator, restored to the frame of mind where he had to be. “Garrett, it's Maxwell here. I'm going to need your help. Are you free?”

“I am. What do you need?”

“Not over the phone; meet me at my office in twenty minutes.” Maxwell glanced at his Rolex.

“Gotcha.”

There were only two people on earth Maxwell trusted. His private investigator was one. They'd worked together for years, shared confidences that could easily land them into morality court. They coasted along the fringes of criminality but never crossed the well-established line he'd figuratively drawn. Maxwell wasn't necessarily proud of tactics he'd used in tackling the churches, but guilt wasn't a fruit he tasted. There was no place to second-guess his actions. He believed what he believed and did what he did. So long as he didn't break the law and get caught, he was justified.

Twenty minutes later he was unlocking the door to his practice while juggling a small box of files. Five modest offices, not counting his expansive personal one, a conference room, reception area, and coffee break room summed up the suite. Besides his receptionist, paralegal, and occasional intern, the office was mainly underutilized. Spending the extra money for unused space might have been a detriment for someone else but not Maxwell. Despising the way he grew up, Maxwell was set on never being cramped again.

He entered his office, appreciating the quiet that consistently resounded on Sundays. This was his favorite workday with no phone calls and nobody traipsing around the office. It was just him left alone with his plans. He set the box down and peered out the window to take in the city view.

“Knock, knock,” Garrett said poking his head into the open doorway, startling Maxwell.

“Come on in, man.”

“Do you want me to close the door?”

“No, we should be okay. I'm not expecting any of those holy rollers to show up around here today,” he said, chuckling. “Except us heathens.” He erupted into a full roar of laughter as he took his seat.

Garrett stepped in and took a seat, laughing too. “That's the good news. They help keep you in business, which keeps me in business. So, it's all good,” Garrett said rearing back in the seat. “What's going on? Your urgent call has me intrigued.”

That's what Maxwell appreciated about his rapport with his investigator. There wasn't a need to dance around the topic; get right to the point, unfiltered. “Look here, I have to jumpstart this business with Greater Metropolitan. Man, I really need to fire this up,” he said jabbing his fists into the air repeatedly, ending with a right uppercut. “I feel like things are happening with that church and I don't have a grip on it.” He grabbed both arms of his chair. “It's time to shake things up.”

“I'm ready; let's go. Just tell me what you want me to do.”

Maxwell stroked his hand across his head. “Well for starters, I hear they're having a community forum gathering at the church Tuesday to address gun violence.”

“All right that's a good thing.”

“No, no, man,” Maxwell said shaking his hands in midair. “You know Jones is up to something.”

“You think so? I mean it sounds like a legitimate cause.”

“Oh come on, man, you've been in the game long enough. You know there's always a gimmick with these cats. You know the drill by now,” Maxwell said flailing his arms into the air. “Their rhetoric sounds good, compels the congregation, gets them fired up emotionally, paralyzing their sense of logic, and then bam, that's when they go in for the kill.”

“Cash money time,” Garrett said, chiming in unison with Maxwell. “They've mastered the art of digging into those pockets.”

“With the long arm of grace at the other end of their benevolence basket,” Maxwell added, coming around the desk to give Garrett a high five. They chuckled on a bit longer.

“Ca-ching, ca-ching.”

“Now you're talking like the seasoned professional I know you are,” Maxwell told Garrett. “See why we have to get cracking? I don't know exactly what Jones is up to, but we can't let him pull a fast one on us.”

“I hear you.”

Maxwell stepped back to the window. “We have to get in on this meeting. The mayor is going to be there.”

“Which means security will be tight.”

“True, but we've always been able to get around those baby roadblocks.” Garrett nodded several times and grinned. Maxwell continued, “Let me know the damage, and I'll get it to you tonight.” Maxwell didn't recall exactly how much money was in his home safe, but typically the cost of doing business with the local security detail or a political official hovered between $2,000 and $5,000. He kept cash on hand, which erased a paper trail. If he was ever charged with bribery, there wouldn't be any evidence. Maxwell was too careful to get caught, which was why he always made sure Garrett made the contact, leaving him clean. There would never be a withdrawal from any of his money accounts that matched the timing or amount of a bribe.

“Let me go make a few calls and see what I can do.”

“Good. We need a confirmation, today. I can't miss that meeting Tuesday.”

“Here's another idea. It is a community forum. Why not call the bishop and ask him directly if you can attend? He might go for it,” Garrett suggested.

“Yeah, right; asking Jones for anything would be my last resort, and I do mean last resort. Besides, I'm not interested in the public meeting that they'll do for the media. I want to be included in the backroom conversations that are either already in play or soon will be. That's what I want.”

“Gotcha, I'm on it.”

“You can use one of the empty offices to save time.”

“That'll work,” Garrett said preparing to leave Maxwell's office.

“Oh, and I'm sure you'll be using your throwaway phone and not the one in this office.”

Garrett grinned. Maxwell thought so, but taking precautions made the difference between freedom and doing five to seven years in federal prison. He didn't visit inmates in prison let alone envision a personal stay. Garrett understood and didn't seem to take any offense.

The ball was rolling. Maxwell's heart was pumping, rapidly. He was charged and on a high. The throbbing pain above his eye had numbed after he'd swallowed a couple of pain pills. He plucked the accordion file from the box labeled SENIOR. The title was intentionally set so as not to stir interest in a random person stumbling upon the file. To Maxwell, the code was the constant motivation he yearned. “Senior” stood for Paul Montgomery Sr., the man who let the lives of four people go to shambles in order to prove his loyalty to Jones. Both the bishop and Senior deserved the fallout, even if it was two decades later.

Hours passed. Maxwell had moved to the conference room where he could spread out the papers and use the white board.

Garrett poked his head into the room. “Did you know your cell phone has been ringing in your office?”

Maxwell glanced up at the clock. Two-thirty. “Thanks, man.” Maxwell whisked to his office. Five missed calls from Nicole. He had her on the line. “Hey, are you in town?”

“Yes, I made really good time on the road, no traffic. I've been home for about an hour. I've called you several times.”

“Sorry about that. I'm working on an important case. Something came up, and I'm swamped.”

“We're still going to lunch, right?”

Maxwell peered quickly at his watch and then directed his gaze out the window. “I really need to take a rain check if it's okay with you.” He was in a productive mode and didn't want to lose the energy.

“No, it can't wait. I told you this morning I have to see you. What could have become so urgent in a few hours?”

He didn't expect her response. Usually there was no problem when either had to cancel a date. “I didn't realize you'd react this way.”

“What way?”

“Emotional when this is about business.”

“I'm not being emotional, Maxwell. How dare you discount me as some out-of-control emotional woman?”

“I didn't say that.”

“You didn't have to. Geez, Maxwell. You know me better than this. I deserve more from you.”

He wasn't a relationship expert but was pretty certain that no matter what he said, it wasn't going to be right. So, he opted to listen.

“I told you in no uncertain terms that my life was in jeopardy this morning. I was legitimately shaken up, and the best you can do is tell me you can't meet with me because of business? Well thanks a lot.”

Her fury roared.

Maxwell wasn't moved. She was incorrect. He didn't owe her anything. The relationship had always been mutually beneficial. However, she was right on one front. Maxwell could show more compassion. “I can't make lunch, and that's the truth. But, I will make sure we get to do dinner.” It would be tight, but he wanted to offer her the support she clearly craved. After all, it wasn't her fault about the awkward timing.

“Don't go out of your way for me.”

He heard the anger and responded, “Nicole, I apologize.”

“For what?”

“For being a jerk. I'm sorry,” he said leaning one palm on his desk. “You were in a serious situation, and I should have been a better friend.”

“It's like you don't care.”

“And that's not true.”

“Fine, I guess.”

“Good, I'll pick you up around nine for a late dinner.”

“Maxwell, that's too late. If you're serious about caring, pick me up earlier or don't pick me up at all.”

“All right, I'll be there at seven-thirty.”

“Make it seven,” she said before ending the call.

He rubbed the back of his neck. Why did the plane incident have to happen today, the worse time possible? Between Nicole and Bishop Jones, the rest of his day and night were taken leaving zilch for him. He massaged his aching temples. There was too much pressuring him. Something was going to have to give, and it most certainly wasn't going to be his priorities.