“People take hold of their own destinies,” he rebutted. By the vein-popping grip he had on his glass, she had pulled on his conscience, even if he was convinced of his own hype.
“I don't know what's up with you. You don't sound like the man I know. When we were in Louisville, I refused to be the wife like the kind you see in some tabloid, yanking on her man's arm like it's a pillar, showing false support while people who know him watch him fall from grace.
I was praying for you
. You needed help only God could provide. And it wasn't your or my intelligence that kept us from falling all the way down.”
“Oh. It wasn't?”
“Nope, and you know it.”
“Do I?”
“Oooh!” The crash of a waitress's tray of dirty dishes caused Job to throw his leg up, striking his knee on one of the table's supports. “What was she doing?” he asked.
Monica let out a muffled laugh. “That was God's way of letting you know you're thinking like an infidel. Serves you right. You should be glad your knee is all you hurt.”
As Job caressed his leg, he had a casual, witless confidence in his look. “You got too much committed to Him. You might think I don't believe in God. I do. I just believe even stronger that God has expectations of us.”
Monica grunted, wishing she could snap him out of his own ridiculousness. “You better open your eyes. Larry and Fontella tried to tell you when we first met them, that your faith in God should be more prevalent. I knew you didn't go along with what they told you.”
Job bucked his eyes. “You're right. I didn't.”
For a second, Monica asked herself how she could've been fooled into marrying such an infidel. “Walk by faith and not by sight
.
Seems pretty obvious to me.”
“The Bible also says, âfaith without works is dead.'”
“You're trying to make the Word fit your definition. That's twisted. I can't help but thank the Lord for keeping usâas silly as it may sound to you. So, whoever's been yanking your chain, sending you on the crazy path, they got you, brotha.”
“How you came to that conclusion's beyond me. In anything we've been through that wasn't in our favor, we came out clean.”
“That's what you don't seem to understand,” she told him. “We didn't come away from circumstances as clean as we could have if you'd have put your trustâI mean reallyâput trust in God.”
“Whatever you say, Monica.”
“You can act arrogant if you want to. I don't care what you say. On Monday, I'm making a long term reservation for us at my job. You'll have to get over your pride.” Monica reached for her water, took a swallow, and then slammed it on the table. “And by the way, we need to pick up the rental car that's been reserved for us. I felt like I needed to remind you of that, too.”
Job smirked.
And Monica did not care. “You know? For a little bit, you'd be no different than Delvin.”
Chapter 21
Then a spirit passed before my face: the hair of my flesh stood up.
Job 4:15
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As the week spat out its final grains of sand, Delvin began intimidating Murphy with threatening notes and visitations. Demonic stares at mealtimes. Shadowing in the courtyard. He made his presence known.
Murphy appeared jumpy, but contended that he had no update and that he would, “Relay the procured specifics with immediacy.”
Procured? That's right. Murphy sparked his memory. Delvin knew that somebody had better deliver results soon. He'd shelled out thirty thousand dollars for that under-the-prison-radar private investigation work.
After he managed his anger, Delvin's sensible side told him to relent and relax under the belief that new information about Job would run him down without his overwrought efforts of coercion. It had to be the right day, the perfect hour.
And that day finally rolled around. On Friday, September Twenty-first, Delvin felt that his role as an oppressor would be tested once again. It was in his spirit. Not all spirits are holy.
That morning, a fall Kentucky breeze came through and lingered. It was the perfect weather for jogging, which was what he and Stinson decided to do.
On his way out to the yard, he met Shiloh, who had on his fresh-aglow personality. “Coming to service this Sunday, Mr. Storm?”
“Say a prayer for me, Reverend,” Delvin sneered.
The courtyard perimeter had passed their shoeprints about three times when Murphy came up, eyes bulging.
Delvin and Stinson stopped exercising.
Stinson greeted Murphy as usual, slamming him on the back as a mockery. “Boy, you look like you could use some fresh air. Exercise.”
Delvin felt his face get hot with irritation. “Why'd you come out here and spoil our run? I oughta break your neck.”
“Mr. Storm,” he panted out. “You must peruse this.” He was shaking the section of a newspaper that had been separated from the whole.
“What?” Delvin yanked the paper out of Murphy's hand with a grunt.
It was from the southern region's edition of the
USA Today
. Wednesday's date. Two days ago. An Associated Press wire had news from Orlando:
Walt Disney Teacher of the Year 2001
Hatred stamped on his accelerator. He studied the article from its opening paragraph to the ending period, smoldering with every sentence.
Joseph Bertram Wright.
“Well, I'll be ...” Delvin spat out in bitter resentment. He crushed the article between his palms and stomped back to his cell, leaving Stinson and Murphy in the yard.
Two hours later, a guard informed Delvin that the Warden had some work for him, so he washed up and put on a fresh shirt, placed the article in his breast pocket, and decided to go to the office by the path of the cell block floor. He passed by Stinson's cell. He was inside playing solitaire.
“Boy, how you enjoying being a prison gofer ?” Stinson joked.
“It's hard work. Makes me sweat, and you know I don't like that,” Delvin replied.
“Whatever you say, boy.”
“It's mostly just petty-patty work, nothing special. But it's time away from the usual, and I do get to use his computer sometimes, when his pants ain't in a wad.”
Stinson laughed. “Yeah. I know 'bout that.” He slapped down a card. “And you get to use the internet too?”
“Yeah. He claims he can tell where I've been. Figures I wouldn't go to a site that adds time to my sentence. I get information for myself, but nothing that would alarm the boss.”
“Don't mess up,” Stinson warned, keeping his eyes on the cards.
“Don't fret. I won't.”
Delvin found himself in the warden's office, filing reports that held no significance to current inmates. It was ancient material that hadn't been touched in at least a decade.
“After you finish, Storm, you can have some time on the computer. Guard Jones will be in your vicinity, but I have rounds to make,” Warden said.
Those were easy directions to followâthe kind that gave him eventual freedom.
Being a good boy is paying off.
He rested at the computer chair, and clicked on the Navigator icon. The machine started talking back; fans whirled, indicator lights flashed. He was in.
Like pulling out a precious stone, the article emerged from his pocket. He unfolded it, studied it, and outlined keywords in yellow. He placed it on the computer desk and left-moused the SEARCH button. He started sweating. It wasn't physical labor. It was a colossal moment, a breaking point. His only trouble was deciding which key word to search first.
He had to blink, clear the celebration in his head. Each word took a life; break-dancing, hip-hopping, vying for his attention, wanting to be the first to be typed in.
Mountain River High School, Bianca Rizzo, Paradise Valley School District, Disney Teacher of the Yearâdecisions, decisions, et cetera ...
The search for Mountain River gave him a phone number. There would be no better day to make a long distance connection than on one of Job's workdays. It was the opportune time to reach Phoenix Arizona. Zero. Six, zero, two...
“If you accept the responsibility for collect charges, please press one,” Delvin heard the computerized operator say.
Silence.
“Bianca Rizzo,” the voice said.
Delvin was used to staunch, pretend-like-you-can-control-your-urge female voices through receivers. He'd been around women like that all of his adult playmaking life. In times past, he'd even made bets with acquaintances on how fast he could lure the female behind the voice on her back, begging him for repeats of physical gratification. And he would oblige. “This is Delvin Storm.”
As if she wanted to tell him
so what
, she said, “And the purpose of your call?”
“I have some information that I'm sure you would be interested in.”
“Excuse me, but am I supposed to recognize who you are?”
“You accepted the phone charges,” he said, trying not to sound defensive, “or do you make it a habit of taking calls from strangers?”
“School district policy. Mr. Storm, is it? We're required to take the call. We never know if it's an emergency. And I know how to reverse the charges if a person is playing a hoax. State your business.”
“Don't you have a Joseph Wright teaching at that school?”
“Yes, we do. Business and Technology.”
“Well, I was Joseph Wright's realty partner in Kentucky. He never mentioned his previous occupation?”
Momentary pause. “Of course he has, in a roundabout way,” Bianca said. “But he's not at work today.”
Delvin wondered why, but didn't ask. “I didn't call to speak to him. I needed to talk to you. What do you know about Mr. Wright?”
“What do you know about him?” she shot back.
“Enough to know that he shouldn't be in a classroom.”
“Just a moment,” she said. There was a silence, but Delvin could tell that the line had not gone dead.
A minute passed before Bianca returned to the phone.
“Look Mrs. Rizzoâ”
“Ms.”
“Okay, Ms. Rizzo, I only have so much time on this line. Are you ready to hear what I have to say?”
“Mr. Storm, you're on my dime. What's the hurry?”
“Problem is they give us a time limit on our calls. Guess they figure if we were on here too long, we'd plot a prison break or something.”
Delvin heard a short beep interrupting his conversation. He presumed the phone to be tapped. “You ready to listen?”
“Go ahead, Mr. Storm.”
Delvin went into his abridged, fraudulent version of how Job concocted a scheme to defraud consumers of down payment funds held in Wright & Storm's possession until their transactions closed. Then, he added a spine-tingling touch by telling Bianca how he became the victim, imprisoned for Job's crimes. “His lawyer was slick, better than the fool I had.”
“This is some kind of trick, isn't it?”
He had a feeling that if Bianca could've seen his face, she would have been able to pick through his deception. At that moment, he was thankful for the telephone. “Lady, I'm in prison. I'd rather be out, living the life. Do you really think I would've spent the last year locating Mr. Wright just for the fun of it?”
“It wouldn't be beyond some people's comprehension.”
“I'm not into games, Ms. Rizzo.” He pulled the phone from his mouth, and chuckled. “I'm merely trying to right a wrong.”
“That's what lawyers are for.”
“If you ever get the opportunity to witness prison adjudication like I have, you'll know that it doesn't work most of the time.”
“Assuming that all you say is true; what does your story have to do with me?”
“You're my means to justice.”
“I don't understand. True, you must be Mr. Wright's former partner, I can plainly see that.”
“So you believe me?” he asked.
“I know for certain that a man named Delvin Storm was Mr. Wright's partner. The reason I know this is because a magazine I have shows the two partners. And it shows me how you look.”
Just like a woman. I gotcha
. “I'm not quite like that picture anymore.”
“Umm. I question whether you're telling the truth about Mr. Wright. It sounds far-fetched.”
“Oh it does? So, I see you've fallen for that conniving excuse of a man, huh?”
“I believe I support a gentleman who in a short time has proven himself a worthy educator. This I'm sure of.”
Another short beep pierced the receiver. “Well, I have a suggestion for you, Ms. Rizzo.”
“I'm all ears.”
“You might want to do a little checking on your great educator. One thing I know for certain is that you won't be disappointed with what you find.”
“I'll think about it.”
“No,” he said emphatically. “You've got to promise me, Ms. Rizzo.”
Delvin heard Bianca heave a breath. His skin began to itch from excitement. Her snooping from the outside would arouse just enough suspicion to make Job uncomfortable. Since she didn't give an immediate âno' to his request, there was hope.
“C'mon, Ms. Rizzo, you have nothing to lose. Keep your search quiet at first if you want. Just promise that you will look into it.”
“Okay,” she relented. “I'll check around.”
“Good. You can always call me. I'll have your name added to my contact list.”
“I'm not sure we should ever talk again, Mr. Storm. But I'll make the appropriate contacts and do some checking.”
That was all he wanted to hear.