The Chosen (21 page)

She turned around, then moved to the cabinet and filled her cup. Out of curiosity, she picked up her phone again and listened. She could still hear him banging around and mumbling. She stood without moving, barely breathing, and listening to the sound of a man going mad.

 

Ben was in a race against time. The call he'd made to the tech at the phone company had finally yielded an address. January had been right. It was a public phone booth in the middle of downtown, and at this time of the morning, with everyone on their way to work, traffic was going to suck.

They couldn't run with lights and sirens for fear of alerting the perp, so they had to cope with traffic the same as everyone else, although police units closer to the address had already been dispatched.

“You think we're gonna be in time?” Rick asked, as Ben sped through an intersection.

“Your guess is as good as mine, but I sure as hell hope so. This guy's a nut.”

“Yeah, they're the worst kind, aren't they?” Rick said. “I mean, you can't predict their behavior or anything. They just go off for no reason.”

Ben thought of the man stalking January and tried not to worry. She was as street savvy as they came. He trusted her to be careful.

“How much farther?” Rick asked.

“Twenty blocks, maybe more,” Ben muttered.

“The cruisers will get there first. They'll probably have him in custody by the time we arrive.”

“God, I hope so,” Ben said, and slammed on his brakes to keep from running up the back end of an old Cadillac.

“Damn it,” Rick shouted, as he slapped the dash of the car. “That old woman has no business still driving. Look at her! She's going to cause a wreck and get someone killed for sure.”

“Maybe, but I don't want to be the one to end her life or ours, so ease off. I'm doing the best I can.”

“I know…I know…but think of the press we're gonna get if we're the ones who get this guy off the street. The mayor will be appreciative. Scofield's family will be thrilled, and the captain will be happy, too. Hell, it could mean a promotion for both of us.”

Ben thought of January again. “I don't want a promotion. I just want this bastard stopped,” he muttered, then sped past the old woman in the Cadillac the minute the traffic parted.

 

Jay's face was wet with tears. Snot was running from his nose. He felt the moisture, but he hurt so bad, he just assumed it was blood.

People were staring at him. He saw the shock and then the disgust on their faces, and tried to explain, but the words he was thinking wouldn't come out right. He heard his own voice, and even he didn't understand what he was saying.

The cab was parked less than half a block away, but when he tried to walk toward it, he staggered toward a couple coming out of a diner, instead. When they saw him, the man grabbed his wife's arm and steered them both clear. Jay was still trying to turn around, but his left leg wouldn't work. He was in the middle of the sidewalk with no control over his own body, and a couple of teenage boys were coming toward him like heat-seeking missiles.

He saw the expressions on their faces changing from disinterested to predatory, and tried to run. It was no use. Twice he staggered, and both times he would have fallen to the sidewalk except for the retaining wall to his right. A strong gust of wind flattened his beard to his chest, and for a moment, he caught a whiff of the stench of his own body. The boys began stalking him, laughing and pointing and holding their noses. They looked barely old enough to drive, but their taunts were as old as time.

“Hey, Franco…look at the Jesus freak. He got more beard than Santa Claus. What say we give him a haircut and a shave?”

“No, Juanito, he stink too bad for that. What he need is a bath.”

“Yeah, Franco…you're right. A bath. What he need is a bath.”

Juanito broke into a rap, pointing and dancing as he circled around Jay.

Jay pointed at them. He tried to yell, but it came out in a roar, which only intensified their hazing. They laughed and jeered, dodging in and out between his arms as he flailed at them.

An elderly well-dressed woman came out of the same diner that the couple had come from earlier. She was walking toward her car when she saw what was happening.

“You! You boys! Get away from that man! Do you hear me? Get away before I call the police!”

They thumbed their noses at her, but took off in a run. Jay leaned against the retaining wall, shaking so hard he could barely breathe.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

Jay staggered again, then realized it was an elderly woman who'd come to his aid. The pain in his head was beginning to subside, giving him enough focus to at least form words.

“You…talking to me?”

“Yes. Those boys were harassing you. Are you all right?”

“Yes…Don't know why they were—”

Her nose wrinkled as she interrupted him.

“Well, I do,” she said. “When was the last time you actually looked at yourself? You seem like an intelligent person, so why must you be unkempt? Your style of clothing is your choice, but it's filthy. That's not okay. And for goodness sake, young man, at the least, you need a bath, a haircut and a shave. No one will ever take you seriously if they can't bear to breathe the very air around you.”

Jay was so taken aback he had no way to respond. He was still gawking when the woman shook her head at him in disdain, stomped off to her car and drove away.

It wasn't until someone honked a horn in traffic that he came to himself. He didn't know what time it was or how long he'd been standing there, but it made him nervous. He'd been in the same place far too long.

He looked around quickly, reorienting himself in relation to where he'd parked his cab, and hurried toward it. It wasn't until he got inside, started the engine and drove back into traffic that he felt even vaguely safe. Although he had no reason to suspect that the authorities were on to him in any way, it was instinct that sent him down an alley. He took it straight through before he came upon a truck being unloaded.

Forced to take regular streets now, he drove out of the alley and headed south. He'd no sooner exited than a man flagged him down at the corner. He pulled up to the curb. It was just what he needed—a new fare.

“Where to?” he asked, as the man got in.

“Is there an Indian restaurant in the area?” the stranger asked.

“Indian?” Jay asked.

“Yeah, man…you know, curry and all the fixings.”

“Yes, about eight blocks down and maybe five or six east. Is that too far?”

“No. Make that my destination.”

“No problem,” Jay said, and pulled back into traffic.

Six blocks over, a couple of police cruisers sped past. Jay didn't see them, and if he had, would never have dreamed they were after him. He'd already forgotten that he'd ever called January DeLena and was unaware that he'd left the receiver off the hook.

He took the money from his latest fare, added it to what he had in the glove box and headed for a secondhand store. He'd already decided that his run-in with the boys and the old woman were signs from God telling him to change his appearance. January DeLena had told him the police were hunting for him. He wasn't sure if they knew what he looked like, but chances were they did. If he was to finish his quest, he needed to avoid detection.

It didn't take him long to go through the secondhand clothing shop and pick out a couple of clean outfits, this time choosing jeans and T-shirts and a pair of sneakers. Then he drove to a cut-rate motel, rented a room and headed for the shower. It was after three in the afternoon when he walked into a barbershop.

A slim, middle-aged man was standing behind the counter. “Good afternoon, sir. How can we help you?”

“I want a shave and a haircut.”

The man's eyes narrowed as he eyed the length of hair and beard.

“Are we talking a trim?” he asked.

Jay shook his head. “No. Cut my hair close to the scalp and shave the beard completely off.”

The barber grinned. “Wow! We're talking about a makeover here.”

“Yes, I suppose we are,” Jay said.

“Have a seat and we'll get started,” the barber said.

Jay slid into the barber chair, stared at his own face one last time, then closed his eyes.

“Do it,” he said.

The barber picked up his clippers.

 

While Jay was undergoing his transformation, Ben and Rick were trying to salvage what they could from the fact that they'd arrived too late to catch their man. Even though the police cars had beaten them there by almost ten minutes, they had been too late, as well. Their report was disappointing. The phone had been used several times since the Sinner's call, his prints no doubt obliterated, though they were checking anyway.

“We were too late,” the cop said. “A couple of teenage girls were coming out of the booth when we got here, and they said they'd had to wait on some hooker to finish. We didn't see anyone acting out of character.”

“Damn it,” Ben muttered.

“So it's a bust?” the cop asked.

Ben nodded. “Looks like it, but thanks for the backup.”

“Maybe next time,” the other cop said, and returned to his cruiser.

Ben took out his cell phone to report in. As soon as his call was answered, he started talking.

“Captain Borger, this is North. We missed him at the phone booth. At least two dozen people have used it since he abandoned it, and no one remembers seeing anything out of the ordinary, which means either they saw it and didn't want to get involved, they got here too late to see anything, or our perp wandered off somewhere else to finish his meltdown.”

“Well, hell,” Borger said.

“Yes, sir,” Ben responded.

“In the meantime, we got a DOA at the hospital. Gangbanger. Go see if the family who came in with the victim knows anything.”

“Yes, sir. We're on our way.”

“Where are we going?” Rick asked as they headed back to the car.

“Hospital. Got a victim that came in DOA. Captain said he might be a gangbanger. Wants us to talk to the family before they disperse.”

Rick frowned. “I hate working that kind of shit.”

“What—gang related?”

“Yeah. That lifestyle doesn't make a bit of sense to me.”

“That's because you had a mother and father who took care of you when you were growing up. Most of these kids are on their own, or have a single parent either working two jobs to get by, or working the streets. Either way, the gang represents a family they don't have.”

Rick snorted.

“That's too much psychobabble for me. I say, put them to work. They'll find out what it means to pay their way. Not go out robbing and shooting up everything and everyone they see.”

Ben shook his head. “Damn, Meeks, that's cold. Out of curiosity, why did you become a cop?”

“It was the big bucks and the fancy clothes,” Meeks muttered, and picked at a spot on his necktie.

Ben grinned.

“Yeah, me, too.”

T
he rest of the afternoon had been more of the same for Ben and Rick. Trying to interview witnesses to the gangbanger's death while consoling a mother who excused herself from the hospital waiting room to get high became the highlight of the day. Ben didn't know who he felt sorrier for—the boy whose life had just come to a violent end, or the mother who was so strung out that she had yet to realize her only child was dead.

Finally Ben called it a day and went home to get ready for the ball. He'd fussed and fidgeted while laying out his clothes, practiced his dance moves while he shaved, and cursed the tie that came with the tux until, finally, he was ready.

His hair was seal-black and still just a little bit damp, but he looked good. In fact, he was so pleased with his appearance that he did a little sidestep, then a three-sixty turn, grabbed his car keys and started out the door.

Then he remembered the toothbrush he'd promised to bring, and went back after it. January had given him permission to stay over. He wasn't fool enough to pass that up.

It was a little before seven when he pulled into the parking lot of her apartment building. He got out, smoothed his hands along the sides of his hair, then hurried inside.

As he stepped off the elevator, he brushed a speck of lint from the front of his tux. When he got to her door, he took a deep breath, then rang the bell.

 

January had been ready since six. She was sitting on a kitchen barstool with the hem of her floor-length white gown hiked up to her knees and her feet bare, going over her notes as she waited for Ben.

She knew the men had missed catching the preacher, but felt it was only a matter of time. She kept staring at the sketches that the D.C. Police Department had generated and, in an uncharacteristic show of generosity, faxed to her home. They had the sketch Brady Mitchell had done with Mother Mary T., a copy of the photograph they'd taken from the film clip in front of the IRS building, as well as the reverse sketch she'd asked Brady Mitchell to do by removing the beard and long hair.

It was strange, but the one bare of facial hair looked even more menacing than the others. His mouth, which was barely discernible in the first, held a cruel twist. And his eyes, which had been all but lost because of the thick, flyaway hair, seemed cold and piercing.

She couldn't help thinking that if she only knew his real name and they could find out something about his past, it would explain the crazy path his mind had taken.

She'd also done enough reading on near-death experiences to know that most doctors adhered to the theory that whatever their patients thought they were experiencing as they died was nothing but the last vestiges of imagination in a brain starving for oxygen. In other words, hallucinations based on a lifetime of religious influence or lack thereof.

Her upbringing had taught her differently, but it was hard to find infallible facts on the process of death, other than the cessation of breath.

As she sat, she fiddled with her pen, debating with herself as to when to broach her ideas regarding a new direction in the investigation. She didn't want to step on any departmental toes, but she needed this preacher caught and put away. It gave her the creeps to think about him spying on her, stalking her every move. If he knew as much about her as she feared, she could very well be one of his targets. It was something she would talk to Ben about before this night was over. She also wanted to bring up the idea of taking the sketches to hospitals. If he'd died on the operating table and then been resuscitated, there was a good chance that some doctor or nurse might recognize him—especially a patient claiming he'd been to hell and come back to tell the tale.

She was going through the Yellow Pages of the phone book, writing down names and addresses of area hospitals, when the doorbell rang. Startled by the sound, she glanced up at the clock, then gasped.

It had to be Ben! And she was still without shoes.

She tossed the pen aside and stifled a giggle. Oh Lord, she needed to get hold of her emotions. A whole evening! She was going to spend a whole evening—and night—with Ben North. As far as she was concerned, she'd already gotten her award.

She hurried to the door and opened it wide, and the smile on her face slid sideways. The man on the threshold was a knockout.

“Oh my,” she whispered.

Ben was in shock. She looked better than any movie star he'd ever seen.

“Hot damn,” he muttered.

“You look amazing,” January said.

“You look like a million bucks,” Ben replied, and then kissed the side of her cheek. “And you smell even better. Lord! What is that perfume?”

“I'm not wearing any,” she said.

His eyes widened. “You're kidding.”

“No.”

“Then it must be love.”

He cupped her face with his hands, then lightly brushed a kiss across her lips without smudging her makeup.

January blinked. He'd said the
L
word. Oh Lord. Was she supposed to say it back, or would that be overkill? Maybe he was just being flip. If that was it and she said the
L
word back to him, then it would embarrass them both when he had to admit he'd only been teasing.

“Um…uh, I…”

“You're still barefoot,” Ben said, and pointed to her feet.

“Yes.”

“Don't you think you should put on some shoes before we go?”

“Go?”

“January?”

“Hmm?”

Ben thrust his hand into an inside pocket of the jacket and pulled out a toothbrush.

“My luggage,” he said, and handed it to her.

January looked at the toothbrush and then back up at him.

“No jammies?” she asked.

“No jammies.”

“Hot damn,” she said, then grinned. “I'll just get my shoes.”

“Are you going to make a speech tonight?” he asked.

She stuck her tongue out at him. “I'm getting my shoes now.”

He grinned. “You are. You
are
making a speech.”

She rolled her eyes as she stepped into her shoes. The three-inch heels were little more than soles and straps, but they were silver and a perfect complement to the white strapless dress.

Ben steadied her as she put them on, then took her in his arms. His hands slid along her bare shoulders and back as he pulled her close.

“Ah, January…you are so very beautiful and I'm so proud of you. Thank you for letting me be a part of this night.”

January blinked back quick tears. She'd never let a man get under her skin like this. She should have felt threatened. Instead, she felt treasured.

“No…I should be thanking you,” she said softly, as he helped her on with her wrap. “So, are we ready?”

“As we'll ever be,” he said, and offered her his elbow.

She slipped her hand beneath it, and out the door they went.

 

Jay came out of the motel room carrying a garbage bag. He tossed it into a trash bin next to the office, then strode back to his car. He looked fifteen years younger and considerably cleaner. It had been disconcerting to look at himself in the mirror without the long hair and beard, but after the old woman had been so disgusted by his appearance, he'd come to believe she'd been sent to remind him that one didn't have to look like Jesus to live as He'd lived.

Maybe his disciples would benefit from similar renovation. Maybe a bath and some fresh clothes would give them a different attitude. Problem was, he didn't know how to make that happen without a full-fledged mutiny. Still, today was the first time he'd been this hopeful since he'd embarked on this quest.

He slid into the cab, started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. It was time to go feed his flock, then maybe pay a visit to Mother. It had been some time since they'd shared food and conversation.

 

“…and so ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to give you our Woman of the Year, Ms. January DeLena.”

All eyes were on Ben as he stood, then pulled January's chair back and helped her to her feet. He gave her a good luck wink and sat back down as she made her way to the podium.

The whole evening had been something of a shock to him. Not only had January known the names of most of the bigwigs at the ball, but they'd known her. Senators, cabinet members, an ex-vice president and his wife—all calling her by name, reminiscing about their last meetings. Ben was coming to realize that January DeLena was far more than a local television personality.

As she reached the podium and turned to face the audience, her gaze automatically moved down the length of the head table to the man she'd come with. He was smiling at her. It was all she needed to see.

“Ladies and gentlemen, when I received the news that I was going to be named Woman of the Year by your wonderful organization, I have to admit I was more than a little bit shocked. It's more common for people in my profession to receive letters of admonition in their files, not accolades.”

There was a light round of laughter. Ben grinned as a proud parent might. She was doing great.

“However,” she continued, “it didn't take long for my shock to change to elation. I never…”

Ben was still thinking about the big shots she knew and didn't realize that he'd tuned out what she was saying until he became aware of a loud round of applause. She was already through, and he hadn't heard half of what she'd said. His regret turned to pride as everyone stood, applauding her again as she was presented with an elaborately engraved silver plaque.

She smiled throughout the media attention. This part of the evening was a cinch for a woman whose life was lived out on camera.

Finally she was able to step away from the podium and walk back to Ben. It was with surprise—and delight—that she realized he'd come more than halfway to meet her.

“Congratulations, honey,” he whispered in her ear, then gave her a brief hug before helping seat her again.

Once there, January set her award on the table, wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a genuine hug.

“I'm so glad you were here,” she said.

Explaining how he really felt was beyond him. All he could do was hold her and agree.

“Me, too, honey. Me, too.”

He was still holding her hand as the host ended the ceremonies. People got up from their tables and began moving about the banquet room, some visiting as they headed toward the dance floor, others moving toward the head table, where Ben and January were still seated.

Ben noticed a dark-haired man with olive skin and dark eyes making his way toward them through the crowd. The expression on his face was nothing short of predatory. It set Ben's teeth on edge. When he realized the man was coming to speak to January, his hold unconsciously tightened as he helped her up.

“Hey, January, long time no see,” the man said.

Ben felt her flinch. When he saw her jaw set, he realized that she not only knew the owner of the voice, she didn't much like him. That was enough for Ben.

Still standing within the shelter of Ben's arms, January stepped down from the dais and reluctantly shook the man's hand.

“Rodrigo. It's been ages.” She raked him up and down with a gaze that was just short of rude. “You've certainly changed. I almost didn't know you.”

Before Rodrigo Rivera could speak up again, January put her hand on Ben's arm and gave it a pat.

“Ben, darling, this is Rodrigo Rivera. We started in the business at the same time at a television station in Houston.”

Rodrigo didn't even bother to acknowledge Ben's presence. His full attention was on January.

“I go by Rod now. Like you, I decided to shorten the mouthful of name we Latinos are often burdened with.”

January's frown deepened. “I never considered my name a burden.”

“But you still changed it.”

“I didn't change it. One of my bosses shortened it, just as you have yours.”

“Of course, of course,” Rod said. “However, that's of no matter. I came to congratulate you.” Then he turned to Ben. “I'm sure your husband is proud of you.”

“Oh, he's not my—”

Ben grinned. “Benjamin Wade North. I shortened my name, too, and for the same obvious reasons. Just call me Ben.”

Ben could tell that Rod was taken aback by his friendliness. Good. It would sucker him in for “the kill.”

“Are you in the media business, as well?” Rod asked.

Ben laughed aloud and then winked at January, who was somewhat surprised by Ben's behavior. She'd never seen him so outgoing.

“In a manner of speaking, I suppose you could say that,” he said. “I'm a homicide detective with the D.C. Police Department.”