The Chosen (19 page)

He'd waited until the shop was really busy, then walked in and asked the first employee he saw who was already busy. She'd written up the work order while answering the phones, which had been perfect. She'd hardly paid him any attention, and when he'd paid cash and handed her a card that he'd already written, she paper-clipped it to the work order without a glance. With a promise that the flowers would be delivered before 5:00 p.m. that day, Jay left.

He figured he had at least a couple of hours before the order would be worked up and sent out, which gave him enough time to do some shopping. Tonight he wanted to have a prayer with his flock, and keeping them quiet while he prayed meant they needed something in their mouths other than their tongues. Lately their words to him had been so harsh as to have given him doubt. He couldn't afford to doubt himself—not at this late date. So he drove to the nearest supermarket for more of the usual—canned meats and crackers and bottles of water. Just for a special treat, he picked up two large bags of grapes. He smiled to himself as he checked out. They would be so excited with the change of diet.

As he was getting in the cab, the dull ache behind his eye, which he'd come to accept, suddenly exploded. The pain was so vicious that Jay fell out of the cab onto his hands and knees. Before he could get up, he vomited.

“Hey, mister, are you all right?” someone asked.

Jay felt hands pulling at him. He tried to fight them off, but they wouldn't turn loose. With every ounce of strength he could muster, he threw himself back into the cab and drove off. It was sheer luck that he didn't hit a pedestrian or another car. By the time he got out of the parking lot, the pain had begun to subside. He could see well enough to avoid a wreck, and by the time he got to a side street and parked, his equilibrium was returning.

He shoved the gearshift into Park, then glanced up into the rearview mirror. For a fraction of a second he saw a face of pure evil smiling at him from the back seat. But when he turned around, there was no one there.

“Oh shit, oh shit,” he muttered. “Please, not him…not that.”

He rode the fear and the pain while his thoughts careened from one mad scenario to the next. Maybe he should walk into a fiery furnace. Maybe a trip to the zoo into the lions' den. Maybe the Potomac. That was it. He could walk on water, then people would see. Then they would know that he was living true, living pure.

He didn't know how long he sat there, but when he became aware of the time, he panicked. If Thad Ormin had already delivered those lilies, he'd just wasted fifty dollars. Unaware that he was cursing, he took off from the curb with tires squealing, and laid down about a foot of rubber. Hardly proper behavior for a man of God.

 

Thad Ormin was a frustrated actor. He'd spent the first ten years out of high school beating the streets of Hollywood trying to get a break. All he'd gotten was a case of clap and two evictions. After being approached to work a drag queen gig, which he'd seriously considered, he'd packed up and taken the first bus back to Ohio. When the redundance of living in Brookville, population 387, got to him, he struck out again, only this time toward the East Coast. He'd gotten a gig doing regional theater in D.C., but when the play closed, he'd stayed on. Not because he loved the city so much, but because he'd fallen in love. Her name was Millicent, but he called her Millie. She was twelve years his senior, a good twenty pounds overweight, and couldn't balance a checkbook to save her soul. But she had the most infectious laugh, could make biscuits better than anyone he knew and loved life. She'd taught him how to do the same. Now thoughts of being famous rarely ever crossed his mind, and when they did, he chalked them up to the frustration of a past life and reminded himself to enjoy the one he had.

The delivery of lilies was his last one for the day, but in a part of the city he'd never covered. He'd circled a ten-block radius several times before it dawned on him that the address for the delivery was a vacant lot and in a less than desirable part of town.

Disgusted with the clerk for writing down the wrong address, he pulled over to the curb and called the flower shop.

“Grammy's Garden,” the clerk said, as she answered the call.

“Delores, it's Thad. I need you to check the address on this arrangement of lilies.”

She did so, reading off the address on the work order.

“Shoot,” Thad muttered. “That's what's on here, too, but it can't be right. It's a vacant lot. Got a name on the person who paid for the order?”

“No. Says here it was paid for in cash.”

“Perfect,” Thad said. “I'm coming in. We'll leave the lilies in the cooler tonight. Maybe the guy will call back tomorrow wanting to know why his flowers weren't delivered, and we can get the right address then. Okay?”

“Works for me,” she said.

Thad disconnected, tossed his cell phone into the seat beside him and pulled away from the curb. He was halfway back to the flower shop when Jay showed up at the vacant lot. A part of him knew he was too late, but still he waited, unable to give up on the fact that he'd failed.

When he finally left, it was because his stomach growled, which reminded him that not only had he not eaten anything all day, but neither had the men back at the warehouse. Disheartened by the failure of his plans, he drove away.

Within ten minutes of leaving the vacant lot, Jay drove up on the florist van stopped at the side of the street. The hood was up, and the driver was standing in front of the van, leaning over the engine.

Jay's heart skipped a beat. God was still on his side. What other explanation could there be?

He turned on his right signal, moved across traffic, then pulled to the curb in front of the van. He smoothed his hands down his beard and tucked a stray lock of hair back into his ponytail. There were food spots on the front of his shirt and a small tear near the right knee of his pants. He knew he looked as worn as he felt, but it didn't matter. This was the Lord's work. It was meant to be.

“Hey, mister,” he said. “Need some help?”

Thad Ormin looked up, frowned uncomfortably at the man's appearance, then noticed the cab. A godsend.

“I don't know what's wrong with this thing,” he said. “I'm not much on mechanics. I called a tow truck. Should be here soon.”

“If you don't have to go with the van, I'd be happy to give you a ride home. Free of charge, of course. I'm off duty myself.”

Thad thought about it. He didn't have to go with the van. It was too late in the day for anything to be repaired. All they were going to do was haul it into the shop. His car was still at the florist, but he could use a ride to pick it up.

“Yeah, that would be great,” he said. “I have to wait until the wrecker comes, though. Then, if you don't mind, I could use a ride back to the florist shop to pick up my car. I'd be happy to pay you.”

“No problem,” Jay said. “I'll just be waiting in the cab when you're ready.”

He went back to the taxi to wait. Just to make sure that all was ready, he did a quick check of the system. The canister of ether was full. The window between the front and back seat locked with ease. It was going to be okay, after all.

Within minutes, the wrecker arrived. Jay watched Thaddeus giving directions to the driver, then hid a smile as the man started toward him.

When Thad started to get in front, Jay waved him to the back.

“That door latch is broken,” he said, as Thad slid into the back seat.

“Not a problem,” Thad declared. “I really appreciate this.”

“No, I'm the one who's thankful,” Jay said. “Buckle up.”

Before he'd gotten to the corner of the block, he'd locked the doors, locked the windows and punched the button on the ether. If Thad Ormin sensed what was happening, he didn't have time to voice his concerns. He was out cold, and Jay was on the way home.

 

When Thad wasn't home by eight o'clock, Millie panicked. She'd called the florist shop for two hours but with no luck. At that point she'd called the owner, who was surprised by the news. The last thing she'd known, Thad's final delivery had been a bust. His van had broken down on the way back—near the corner of Broad and Descartes—and it had been towed to the repair shop. She'd assumed Thad had gone home, too, and told Millie as much.

Now Millie was scared. Not once in the years that she and Thad had been together had he not called when he was going to be late. She picked the phone back up and called 911.

“Hello, my name is Millie Ormin. My husband, Thad, is missing.”

“How long has he been missing, Mrs. Ormin?” the dispatcher asked.

“He was due home by five-thirty. It's almost nine, and I'm really worried.”

The concern she'd first heard in the dispatcher's voice slipped to a casual tone.

“Look, Mrs. Ormin, it hasn't even been four hours. This line is for emergencies, and he's probably just—”

“No!” Millie cried. “He's not
just
anywhere. He's missing. He always calls if he's going to be late, and he didn't. His boss said his van broke down. It was supposed to be towed. We don't know if the wrecker ever got there, or what happened to Thad afterward. His car may still be at the shop, Grammy's Garden. Please, I need someone to check this out.”

The dispatcher's tone of voice changed again as she understood the situation. “Do you have the location where the van broke down?” she asked.

“Yes,” Millie said, and told the dispatcher what Thad's boss had told her.

The dispatcher frowned. It wasn't the best place in the city to have engine trouble, but she said nothing to the distraught wife.

“I'll have a couple of our guys check it out. They'll give you a call afterward. Okay?”

“Yes, thank you,” Millie said. “You have my number?”

“Yes, ma'am, it's on the screen.”

“Thank you so much,” Millie said. “I'll be waiting for their call.”

 

Smith and Walls were the officers who took the call. They soon found the address where the van had broken down, only to ascertain it was no longer there. This prompted a call to the owner of the florist shop, who gave them the name of the towing service that had been used.

They located the man who'd taken the call. The driver, known only as Butch, told them that the florist deliveryman had given him the address of the garage where the van was to be taken, then had gotten into a cab, which drove away while he was still hooking up the van.

Smith and Walls found the van parked at the repair shop with a basket of wilting lilies in the back, but no Thad Ormin. After a trip to the florist shop, they discovered a car registered to Thad Ormin still parked in the employee parking lot, which told them the man had never made it back.

What they knew for sure now was that the driver of the van had gotten into a cab and disappeared. They were laughing to themselves that the man was probably knocking back a few at some local bar while his wife called out the troops.

It wasn't until they Smith and Walls began making the calls to the cab companies to find out which one had picked Thad up, and came up blank, that Walls suddenly picked up the sketch all the officers were carrying.

“What do you think?” he asked.

Smith shrugged. “He's supposed to be some outlaw cab driver, isn't he?”

Walls nodded. “Yeah, but what are the odds that—”

“Isn't there a number to call at the bottom of the sketch?” Smith asked.

“Yeah, a couple actually.”

“Call one of them and tell them what we know.”

Walls called dispatch and had them patch him through to the first number, which was Ben North's extension.

Ben was finishing up the paperwork on the Lazarus case when his phone rang. Thankful for the reprieve, he answered quickly.

“Homicide…North.”

“Detective North, this is Officer Walls. We might have something for you on your outlaw cab driver.”

“Like what?” Ben asked.

“We've got a missing man who was last seen getting into what we think was an outlaw cab.”

Ben's attention shifted. “What's the deal?”

“Driver of a florist van calls a wrecker to have delivery van towed in. Takes a cab from the site but doesn't get home. It may not amount to anything, but the man's car is still at the florist shop where he works, and they've been closed for hours. His wife swears he's never late without calling.”

“The name…what's the missing man's name?” Ben asked.

“Let's see, I've got it here on the call sheet. Uh, Ted…no, that's not it. Thad. Thad Ormin.”

Ben had been doing a little research of his own. The name didn't automatically ring a bell, but he'd already admitted he wasn't the best religious scholar. He grabbed the Bible he'd brought from home and quickly flipped to the tenth chapter of the Book of Matthew. January had pointed out that the first four verses listed the disciples' names, so he did a quick rundown, looking for Thad or any derivative thereof. He ran his finger down the list, and when he got to Thaddeus, his stomach knotted.