Devotion Apart Page 8

  "There's a biodome in the city," Tobias said, his voice friendly as if Sadona hadn't just slammed the proverbial door on my ministry invitation to them. "It's some sort of indoor forest and all things Amazon. I heard them talking about it on the radio a couple months ago, trying to raise funding to keep it open. They call it Amazonia."

  "A biodome?" I shook his hand. "Huh. Thanks, Tobias. I'll check it out sometime. That sounds interesting."

  "You know. . ." his words caused me to halt on the stairs. "You're not wrong."

  I smiled back at him, knowing I was the pebble disturbing their pond's surface.

  "I hope not. It's what my Bible teaches."

  Feeling defeated, I took a long drive through the city, then stopped at a drive-through where I could see my father's house in the distance. Much to my displeasure, a billboard along the nearby highway pictured a woman in a bikini, and the caption said, "I'm thankful for my abortion."

  It puzzled me as I tried to grasp who would spend so much money on a billboard that said only that. Whose cause in life had been devoted to promoting the female figure so much that the deaths of children were a matter of gratitude? The murder of innocents happened in the rainforest, too, but I couldn't remember any mothers boasting about it. What kind of heart choose to celebrate such an action? I'd already seen animal rights advocates in the city, protesting fetal dog experimenting for human drug trials. The same people who seemed opposed to killing an unborn puppy were unopposed to aborting a human baby?

  This was the reasoning I was up against, and once again I felt all alone. Giving up was a temptation. Leaving sure sounded good! Let Devotion slide into hellfire. I'd warned them, or tried to. Let them be on their own. If they didn't want my help, then they could rot altogether.

  But a moment later, the Holy Spirit revealed my self-pity as the sin it was. Disgusting. Sometimes, God's people needed to move as solitary figures, carry all the weight, and be vulnerable where no one else could join them. It would be a hard path if I moved forward, but I had to try, and build it up as the Lord directed me instead of using what was already in place. Sadona had warned it could be dangerous, but my life was hidden in Christ. What did I have to fear? My life was not my own.

  Suddenly an idea flashed through my mind, and an instant later I found myself dialing Detective Fletcher. He answered sleepily.

  "Who's the most wanted criminal in the city?" I asked.

  "What? What are you talking about? Do you know what time it is?"

  "I know. I'm sorry. Just tell me. Who's the most wanted or worst fugitive in the city? Someone you can name. A criminal."

  "Um. Outside of Shay and the Buenos?"

  "Sure. You have someone in mind. Who is it?"

  "Well, he's not exactly a fugitive, but he's a known problem. He's known for trafficking in humans—Europe, Middle East, Mexico, Asia. He operates out of Devotion, and he always walks after he's arrested. Name's Roger McMaster. He's at the top of my list. The guy's even run for mayor. Thank God he lost, but he's connected to people, you know, all over. What's this about, Cord? McMaster had nothing to do with Cora's death."

  "I can't explain right now, Fletcher. Thanks. Tell your wife I'm sorry for calling so late. Bye."

  As soon as the call disconnected, I typed Roger McMaster's name into RASH. His profile spewed across my screen, everything he'd done publicly and secretly. Every phone call, illegal transaction, and criminal contact.

  Roger McMaster was not overt about his trafficking business, but RASH revealed specifics that the man had committed under cover of darkness, wherever he'd carried his phone, whenever he was near someone else with a phone, and whenever he was in line of sight from drones and satellites above or CCIV below. RASH had captured all of his abuses. Women and children had been split up and sold into slavery. Men had been used, worked, and killed. This man was a city councilman at the heart of a massive human trafficking network, just like Fletcher had said.

  And where there was big money, there were big attorneys. McMaster had skirted ten convictions. The payoffs and threats may have been hidden from public eyes, but not from RASH.

  But I was just one man pouring over all the evidence. The evidence I did have was inadmissible in court, even though it had been gathered by a government program, but that didn't mean it couldn't be used against McMaster somehow. At the same time, as wicked as the man had been, as much as a justice-seeking citizen would've wanted to see McMaster suffer for his crimes, my heart could not be focused on hurting him. Before I was born, Christ had loved me, and Christ had died for McMaster as well. The question was, how did God want to maneuver the situation so that even a man like McMaster would come to saving faith? Helping a city like Devotion started with this man, the worst in my detective friend's mind.

  The next day was Monday, and although little had been accomplished over the weekend, I had discovered more things to pray about. Through prayer that morning, I shifted every situation from my hands to God's hands. He could move where I couldn't, so I wanted to give Him lead in all things, and then move only where I recognized Him leading.

  In moving forward, I felt a continuous draw to Fletcher, and I understood from past experience from God's leading to listen to the Holy Spirit. Truly listen! As such, I typed up a report to Fletcher, detailing my desire to aggressively evangelize to people across the city, hoping to bring them to a crossroads about Christ and their mortality. I didn't mention RASH, since it was a matter of confidence, and detailed my intentions, believing it would not only protect me by involving a peace officer, but it would encourage him to know that a Christian would be preaching Christ's gospel to the people of the city. Although there were laws restricting me from doing such, I appealed to a higher law, the law of love, and I believed Fletcher had my back. He'd seen me deal with Officer Grahm in the station's locker room, so he knew I would rather be harmed than harm someone else. The left side of my brow still hurt!

  My next order of business was to meet with Brock Rose, my brother-in-law, something I'd been postponing since arriving in the city.

  Brock had married my sister when I was fifteen years old. As a youth, I hadn't cared much for him but as I began to browse his profile, I found my heart ache for him. He was involved in much more than gambling on the casino floors. His legitimate job with Homeland Security seemed to have been compromised by a shady business he ran, called Level 6 Imports. On the surface, he imported and sold antique furniture, artifacts, and high-end luxury cars. But it was a cover for his import of exotic and endangered animals for sale to animal collectors and restaurants across the country.

  Interestingly, Brock had a master's in criminology and a BA in business, therefore he was no intellectual slouch. His activity over the weekend showed him at the same church service I'd attended, but thousands had been there, so it wasn't surprising I hadn't seen or recognized him. It was doubtful he'd recognized me, and I didn't remember more than two occasions that I'd even been in the man's presence after Cora had married him.

  Compared to Brock's church attendance, Brock's casino attendance was more frequent. He'd been at Hidden Springs that Saturday night, and although his income from legal and illegal activities was surprising, he was in massive debt. He owed the casino over two hundred thousand, but he had taken other losses through unexpected confiscations of shipments intercepted by customs officers as well. Since he used proxy business names, he had avoided authorities' attention, but his life was imploding very slowly. While trying to stay afloat, he was spending ridiculous amounts on call girls, loan sharks, and country club expenses at Shady Oaks Golf Resort. His taste for designer suits and expensive loafers weren't helping, either.

  Brock had an office at the Federal Building in the city, but RASH showed him at his Level 6 Imports warehouse in the industrial district across the river. I took the motorcycle out of Morliam Acres and cruised through the city rather than speed along on the freeway. There was still so much to familiarize myself with.

  I crossed the tracks and c
ircled the feed plant twice before I found Brock's wedge-shaped warehouse tucked discreetly away on Silo Road. It was a busy Monday with a dozen trucks loading or unloading within sight, most of them belonging to the feed plant or wine business across Better Road. The casual observer would hardly notice the dockworkers at Brock's warehouse, where a tall, handsome man in a suit with no tie oversaw the unloading of a small but heavy animal. The animal's cage was custom-made for something the size of a calf. But as I walked closer, I realized it was an endangered baby, black rhino. As quickly as possible, Brock hustled the animal inside the warehouse. The truck was left unattended, and for a moment, no one stood at the dock door.

  Like I belonged there, I hoisted myself onto the dock, brushed off my hands on my trousers, then walked into the warehouse. The lighting was poor since the ceiling was high, and the odor of animals was confined within the walls where inadequate ventilation circulated the air.

  After walking up two aisles, observing Brock's stalled inventory, I stopped at a corner directly next to a blond woman in a gray pantsuit. She held a tablet and wrote on the screen using a digital stencil as the dockworkers shifted the rhino into a stall beside a fish tank.

  "Back a little farther!" Brock ordered his men. "Easy now. Just be glad we got him while he's a baby, huh?"

  "Not your everyday pet, right?" I said to the blond.

  She looked me up and down, then returned her gaze to her tablet.

  "You new here?" she asked.

  "Nah, I'm family—me and Brock."

  "Seriously? There's more like him in his bloodline?" She sighed her obvious contempt. "Aren't we lucky."

  After a moment, her recording was complete, and she mounted steel stairs to an elevated office with dusty windows. I was left standing alone, my hands in my pockets, until Brock noticed me.

  He swore and walked toward me. In his waistband was a handgun. He was a handsome man, but he'd been born with a cleft pallet, and the mustache he tried to grow was crooked from the off-centered scar on his upper lip.

  "Hi, Brock." I smiled and held out my hand. Instead of shaking my hand, he brushed it aside and shoved me on the chest. He was taller and thicker in the chest than me. I gave way as he backed me into an aisle of tagged and bagged items on musty shelves.

  "I've told you people before to stay out of my shop!" he growled.

  He shoved me again, but I was finished being pushed. Maybe he thought I was a thief or a transient. Regardless, his aggression wasn't going to lead to us getting off on the right foot. I thrust rigid fingers from my left hand into his torso and hooked them under his bottom two left ribs. My thumb pressed inward on his third rib, so he couldn't advance or retreat. From natives who'd done it to me, I knew it felt like a knife had stabbed into the liver, causing convulsions to the whole peritoneum. His face froze in agony as his body was paralyzed by pain. I'd caused him no injury, but he didn't know that.

  "Start over," I stated calmly. He weakly raised his right hand toward his pistol, but I easily slapped it down. "Start over, Brock. Your long-lost brother-in-law just came back to town. Now, start over."

  It was my turn to shove him away from me. I released my submission hold on his ribcage as he recovered from the pain, which took only a couple seconds.

  He cursed again, but I offered my hand, hoping he didn't draw his sidearm. Instead, he hesitantly shook my hand, a weak grip at first, then firmer.

  "I heard about Cora, Brock. I wanted to come by and see how you were doing, maybe take you out for a coffee or something."

  My words of condolence instead of accusation or condemnation further destabilized his position, expressed by the frown on his face. He was trying to read me. I was not the person he remembered.

  "How long have you been back in town?" he asked while subtly rubbing his ribs. "Cora's funeral was months ago."

  "I only heard last week. I'm trying to make up for lost time. I figured I'd start with you. We're still family, right?"

  "Family?" He scoffed, then seemed to see I was serious. "Do you want to come up to the office? It's more private than going out for coffee."

  "That sounds fine." I smiled. "Even under the circumstances, it's good to see you, Brock, as a man this time, and not as a troubled kid,"

  He laughed at my admission, and I set my hand on his shoulder as we headed past the baby rhino and toward the stairs.

  "Did you ever graduate high school?" he teased.

  "Barely!" I chuckled. "Please, don't remind me. Oh, those were some challenging days. I know I didn't make it easy on you guys, either."

  In the office, which was separated from the outer office where his blond assistant talked on her phone, we sat on two chairs and faced a photo of an African lion. He talked about how rare and special such a lion was to the world. But by the way he spoke, I understood he was thinking of dollar signs, not the wonder of one of God's created animals.

  "I really didn't expect you to show up here," he finally said. "I hope you keep all of this to yourself. You know, people won't understand."

  "Brock." I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, and looked him in the face. "I've only been in the city a few days, and from what I hear, the least of your problems is what I may or may not have seen here today."

  "What've you heard?"

  "You're in deep." I nodded, my lips pursed. "Things are closing in, and you're still playing the game. I'm not saying it's true, but there's a rumor your debts led to Cora's death."

  "That had nothing—!"

  "I know." I held up my hand as I sat back. "I know it didn't, Brock, but still, it's the appearance. The Buenos are at your door since you've gone to loan sharks. How long until you end up with a missing finger, or a missing hand? Or your face caved in?"

  "I can handle the Buenos. That rhino's going to balance me out. The money—it's nothing."

  "But the casino is something. They won't just cut off a couple of fingers." I raised my eyebrow. "They'll make you.disappear."

  His eyes came to rest on his desk. In that instant, I prayed he turned, that he'd allow God in, if he knew anything about the cross of Christ.

  "I'm managing it. I mean, the gambling."

  "What about Adrian Shay? You're managing him? I hear he's got some pretty serious muscle."

  "It's nothing I can't handle." He winced, as if he were trying to believe his own lie. "I just need to get on top again. My luck's got to change. It's been red for so long. It's got to show up black soon."

  He drew a container of Argon Oil from his pocket and rubbed it on his lips, giving them a glossy appearance. I studied him for a moment, engraving him in my memory so that I could continue to pray for him with fervency. The poor man was so infatuated with his outer appearance that he was rubbing nut oil from goat dung on his lips. Someday, I hoped I could witness him caring for the condition of his inner man with the same concern.

  After casual conversation about Brock's big plans and oversized dreams for getting rich and owning certain artifacts, I said my goodbyes.

  "You've changed, Cord," Brock said as we shook hands. "You still have that look in your eye, but you're different."

  "If it's a good different, it's God in my life," I said happily. "If it's a bad different, that's me still growing up."

  He laughed and I left the warehouse by way of the dock. When I climbed onto my bike, I made a mental note to take another step in evangelism the next time Brock and I talked. That day, I'd broken the barrier of the past. With prayer, I believed the Lord would prepare him for the gospel.

  Chapter Six

  On Almice Street in Uptown Devotion, I parked in a small lot on a block otherwise consumed by Amazonia, the biodome that rose to nearly one hundred feet in the center. When I climbed off my bike, I stood in awe at the massive greenhouse that covered an entire city block, and hoped it would be just like my beloved Brazilian rainforest!

  Only two other vehicles were parked at the entrance, an automated car and a turquois hybrid SUV. As I started toward the single entrance, I read
a sign on the front that instructed visitors not to enter when the light above was red. The light was off, so I reached for the door, barely containing my excitement.

  Suddenly, from between the SUV and the biodome, a woman emerged nearly bumping into me. She raised her hands and backed away, maybe thinking I'd strike her. Her face was dirty, and her brunette hair was tangled, but her eyes were clear. It was a warm afternoon, yet she wore a coat, which I guessed doubled as her sleeping gear on the street. The grime smudged on her cheeks and chin couldn't hide her features as a woman close to sixty years old.

  "Hi there." I extended my hand. I had embraced cannibals who'd appeared much more filthy and wild than this woman. "My name is Cord. Cord Dalton. Were you going inside?"

  She glanced to the left, perhaps looking for an escape route. The pack on her back was bulky, and it would slow down her thin frame if she tried to move too quickly.

  "No, I was just looking around."

  I dropped my hand when she didn't accept it.

  "I'm new to the city. Have you lived here long?"

  "Yeah." She licked her chapped lips. "Seventeen years in Devotion."

  "I noticed there's some homeless missions downtown. Are you being taken care of?"

  "If I get there on time, there's enough food." She smirked. "Most everyone is interested in pills or dope, anyway. Not food. So, there's plenty."

  "Are there missions on this side of town?" I rested my shoulder against the biodome and crossed my arms. "You're blocks away from Mesa Street."

  "I come Uptown to get away from thieves." Her hand touched her shoulder strap. "It's dangerous out here sometimes, but I've learned to survive."

  "Look, it's late." I checked the sun. "You need a ride back to a mission or something? I wouldn't want you to miss your dinner."

  "I have leftovers, so I'll skipping going to the mission tonight." She seemed to blush. "I was actually looking for a place to sleep for the night. I wasn't going to break in here, honestly."