The Archangel Drones (22 page)

“Maybe you were right, Sandy,” he whispered, switching off the ignition. He decided to stay in the driveway for a bit, the prospect of entering the empty house an unpleasant notion. “You said the lawsuit wouldn’t bring Jacob back, but I thought I would at least feel a sense of accomplishment… of closure.”

Gabe forced his troubled mind into an avenue of analytical thinking, invoking the discipline of his trade. There was a problem, and he was a problem solver.

Over and over, his mind processed the events of the last few months, using every analytical technique his education and experience had engrained. The minutes passed, Mr. Chase sitting in his driveway, completely engrossed with his self-diagnosis.

It then dawned - a moment of eureka realization.

His anticipation of accomplishment hadn’t occurred because he hadn’t changed a damn thing. Officer Marwick, as of that moment, was still patrolling the streets, unaffected, unpunished, and untarnished.

To the city of Houston, the 14 million dollars was a drop in the bucket. Not one single public official – not the mayor, nor the chief of police, nor even a council member would be held accountable. He’d changed nothing. Ultimately, Jacob’s death still didn’t count for squat.

Gabe had held firm to the belief that the pain of reliving Jacob’s episode would be worth the reward. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach when he finally admitted that his wife had been right. Perhaps he should’ve listened to her.

Not wanting to admit fault, he went on the defensive. All hope was not lost. There was still the upcoming presentation by the DA to the grand jury. With any luck, criminal charges would be brought against Marwick. While it was extremely rare for that supposedly esteemed body to recommend prosecuting an officer of the law, it could happen. Adam had expressed his doubts, begrudgingly admitting that there was still a chance, albeit a small one.

Gabe sighed, opening the door and stepping out onto the driveway. His thoughts moved on to a more pressing topic – what to do with his time.

Returning to the office no longer seemed reasonable. While his employer had been a saint of understanding and flexibility, Gabe had to admit he hadn’t been on top of his game since burying his son. Even if he wanted to work, it didn’t seem fair to not give his boss 110%. With the settlement money, employment was no longer a financial necessity. “Now I’ve got all the time in the world, son,” he whispered, glancing toward the heavens. “I wish you were here to enjoy it with me.”

Shuffling to the back door, Gabe draped his coat over a kitchen chair and stood silently, his gaze taking in the vacant home. A wave of despondency commandeered his emotions, some force inside of him generating a fountain of melancholy thoughts.

His mind traveled back to his father and the elder Chase’s last years on earth. Gabe Chase, Sr. had worked his entire life in the West Virginia coalfields, raising two children on his own after losing his wife to cancer.

After college, Gabe and his sister had both moved on, seeking other regions of the U.S. where there was more opportunity. When his father announced his retirement, both children had begged Gabe, Sr. to sell the old house and move closer to enjoy a better life surrounded by family. The old man had refused.

During his many visits, Gabe had sat and talked with his dad, swaying back and forth in the old homestead’s porch swing. The son could see the loneliness in his father, and yet the old man seemed anchored to rolling hills and the mine-scarred earth of his childhood.

“Why do you choose familiarity at the price of solitude?” he had once asked his pop.

“Loneliness isn’t as bad as everyone says. Being at home, in familiar surroundings, is undervalued. Add those two facts together, and you’ll have the answer. I love my children and their children. I look forward to every visit, phone call, and card in the mail. But this is my home. I know the hills, trees, birds, and people. Isolation is a small price to pay for living where you belong.”

Gabe had watched his dad fade as the years passed, always hoping that the old man would change his mind, see the warmth family could provide, and realize the joy of exploring new scenery. The son had sworn he’d never make the same choice as his father, mentally barricading himself behind a wall of the familiar, treading only on comfortable ground. “We’ll never be that way,” he had promised Sandy. “We’ll travel, explore, and seek new places, sights, and sounds.”

Yet, here he stood… with enough money to go anywhere, do practically anything his mind could fathom. For the first time in his adult life, he had no responsibilities, no schedule, or agenda. “I could go eat a $300 steak,” he whispered to the unoccupied house. “I could fly to Hawaii, book a room in Vegas, or cruise first class around the world. But here I stand, staring at these walls, somehow incomplete without my wife and son.”

He eventually moved to the couch with a pen and paper, forcing a break from his current journey’s destination of depression via introspection. It was an act of survival, as basic as eating or breathing.

Once seated, he began making a list of tasks that needed to be addressed – a long-term plan for successfully suppressing the reoccurring funk that now overshadowed his life. At first, the to-do’s were logical and mundane, including such items as managing the windfall of cash, selling Jacob’s Honda, hiring a housekeeper so that Sandy wouldn’t return to a jungle of dust bunnies and cobwebs.

As more ink colored the blank page, the deliverables became less defined. A reoccurring theme began to emerge, his inner voice demanding he invoke actions that would make a difference. “Use the money to make sure no parent suffers such pain,” he wrote. “Use your newfound wealth to force a change in how we are policed,” the ink recorded as it spread across the paper.

But how would he operationalize his agenda? How would he turn the rhetoric of a heartbroken father into hope for an innovative and fair-minded system of justice?

Even with his share of the after-tax money, somewhere around seven million dollars, he felt powerless to implement his plans. He could support politicians who promised change – but that had never been effective on simple issues, let alone something as massive as forcing a shift in law enforcement’s culture. Pile on the obstacles of a biased court system, corrupt jury appointments, the entwinement of powerful lawyers, a police force that felt it was under siege, and the problem quickly became overwhelming. It was too big, too widespread, and too engrained. The tragedy of Jacob’s death was for naught, another statistic on the FBI’s database that no one would remember in a few weeks.

Then it occurred to him that he didn’t need to be a lone warrior in the fight to compel and implement improvements. After all, Sandy and he were reasonable, mainstream Americans. Weren’t their values shared by the vast majority of their countrymen? Hadn’t his son been an upstanding youth – a model teenager? Every other person who knew the facts of Jacob’s horrendous journey had been infuriated, hurt, and touched. He needed others to know the story – a lot of others. Publicity. Exposure. Those were the weapons that could turn the tide and overcome the beast.
Shine light on evil, and it will die
, he thought.

Digging his cell phone from the hanging jacket, he hurriedly dialed Adam’s number. “I would like a copy of the video presentation you made to the jury… the one that highlights those cops beating the shit out of Jacob,” he informed the lawyer.

“Ummm… could I ask why?”

“Because I’m going to post that recording on social media with the hopes of churning public outrage. I’m going to use the settlement money to fire up a publicity campaign and pray it results in changes that will keep something like this from ever happening again. It’s my new mission in life – a new calling.”

There was a long pause, Adam trying to choose his next words carefully. “Gabe, you had better be careful with this. As your attorney and friend, I must advise caution. Can we get together tomorrow and talk it over?”

“I don’t understand,” Gabe pushed back. “I thought you of all people would be as excited as I am.”

Adam was anything but enthusiastic at the concept. “You’re dealing with the ultimate authority structure within our society. I’m afraid of a backlash if you go running off igniting some sort of firestorm against the system. Caution, my friend… you need to proceed with caution.”

Something in the lawyer’s tone communicated fear, and Gabe couldn’t understand why. Adam had charged into the fight at his side, a full frontal assault via civil litigation. Why was he hesitating now?

“If you say so,” Gabe finally replied. “But this time you’re buying, Counselor.”

The call was disconnected after the men settled on an early afternoon meeting at a popular barbecue restaurant. Gabe returned the phone to his pocket, now more depressed than before. “Why do rugs keep getting pulled out from beneath me?”

“If you go splashing that video all over the internet, it will accomplish nothing other than to piss the district attorney off,” Adam stated clearly.

“So?” came Gabe’s innocent reply. “Why do I care if the DA is honked off?”

“Because she’s the person who is going to present the case against Marwick to the grand jury. How much energy, detail, and oomph she puts behind that little dog and pony show will make the difference between charges being filed or that goon walking free.”

Gabe nibbled at his brisket, clearly not grasping the political nuances of the situation. “If the public is outraged over what that cop did, wouldn’t that help the DA get that guy off the force? Wouldn’t she look like a hero to her adoring public?”

Adam shook his head, the frustration bleeding through despite his patient attempt to explain. “First of all, the internet is full of videos of police brutality. There are so many that such acts are no longer shocking or noteworthy. Secondly, the cops have figured out how to deal with the occasional example that does go viral. They’ve become well versed in dismissing or downplaying even the most obvious examples of excessive force. They’ll claim that Jacob’s video doesn’t show the entire encounter, and that your son was fighting with the police before the camera started recording.”

“Go on,” Gabe replied, still trying to comprehend what Adam was saying.

“I can just hear the HPD spokesman now,” the lawyer continued. “He’ll claim Jacob was fleeing the cops, became belligerent, resisted arrest, and continued to fight with the officers. It will be his fault that extreme measures were implemented to subdue. They’ll tout his size, athletic accomplishments, and conditioning. Hell, they might even go so far as to open an investigation into you personally, Gabe.”

“Me? What the hell excuse would they dream up to come after me?”

Adam grimaced, his expression indicating he felt Gabe was being naive. “Do you really have to ask that? After what they did to Jacob, would you put much past them?”

“Seriously?” Gabe questioned. “I’m having trouble believing what my ears are hearing. Everyone keeps saying that only a small percentage of these guys are bad cops, that the vast, overwhelming majority are disciplined servants of the public at large. Now, you expect me to switch gears and believe a punitive agenda is pervasive throughout the system. I just can’t believe they would be so vindictive. They aren’t an occupational army – they are supposed to protect and serve.”

“Okay, let me give you an example,” came the reply, the attorney’s resolve to educate his client now renewed. “They open an investigation into you for editing the videotape, removing the parts that would prove Officer Marwick was within his legal rights to use that level of force. The potential charges would include tampering, obstruction, interference, and perhaps even perjury. Hell, they might even lump in some libel and slander.”

“They wouldn’t dare! Why… that would be so far off the reservation… they’d never get away with something like that.”

“Probably not, at least not in the long run. But how many millions of that settlement do you want to give to guys like me fighting them in court? How much more mud do you want to drag your family through?”

Gabe was pissed, his anger barely restrained. Finally, he hissed, “I can’t believe this could happen in America. I can’t fathom this is the same country President Reagan described as ‘The shining city on the hill.’”

His lunch partner only nodded, “I suppose you’re right to be outraged. I used to be, but I work so closely with the system I guess I’ve gotten comfortable with the status quo. In reality, most of the cops are great guys. It’s only the occasional bad actor who upsets the applecart.”