Solomon's Porch (24 page)

Timothy James Austin was just as surprised as his brothers were about his being in a Federal prison facility, although he’d been to many over the past twenty years, from Leavenworth to Lompoc. The difference this time was he didn’t have to check his gun and credentials at the door.

Tim Austin was a career FBI man, and not some run-of-the-mill agent either. He had enjoyed a spectacular tenure, notching his belt with everything from high profile narcotics busts in Texas to white collar fraud prosecutions on Wall Street. He’d been the Special Agent in Charge of some of the most important districts in America. Austin’s peers honored him regularly, so much so that every square inch of his office wall was filled with awards and accolades. The FBI Academy at Quantico held up his professional accomplishments as the prototype for its most ambitious cadets.

Alex had already contacted his research consultants in New York. A literal mountain of background information was quickly made available to him on Timothy James Austin, including varying accounts of his abrupt and unexpected departure from the FBI five months previous.

Alex was juggling these new facts in his mind, trying to coalesce the diverse elements into his common theme, when the chief stagehand said that the lights, camera, and the audio were all set. Alex gestured to Peter signaling that they could now begin.

“Brothers,” Peter said, “as has become our custom, we welcome Tim into our circle through the bearing of his testimony, but before he speaks, let me offer a word of caution. For the moment, we must be prudent. Soon enough the world will know all about us, but until then, for his safety at Parkersboro, brother Austin’s former profession should remain known only to us. Are we all in agreement?”

Five heads nodded. Then six sets of eyes turned and focused on the sharp featured, athletic, and impeccably groomed man who very much looked the part of the policeman amongst the thieves.

Tim Austin intentionally dressed down for the occasion. Normally he wouldn’t be seen in public without a suit and a tie on, with shoes freshly polished. He had always believed in projecting an image, creating an aura of power and worldly righteousness through his speech, mannerisms, and appearance.

Those habits held little value for him now and he knew it but, regardless, they died hard. He managed to allow himself to be present this night in khakis and a crimson shirt and was even so bold as to put on loafers with no socks.

“Gentlemen,” Tim Austin always addressed any group of men as gentlemen or sirs, “Our Lord Jesus Christ has blessed me to be here. It may seem odd to you that a man who has dedicated his life to imprisoning lawbreakers is now amongst the repentant, but remember the Lord is no respecter of persons. We may hail from different strata, but the divine protocol unites us in our common crusade. I’m proud to be a part of God’s action plan.”

Genuinely confused, Malik asked, “Mr. Pete, what the heck did brother Tim just say?”

Everyone appreciated the innocent humor in Malik’s question and laughed. Except for Tim. His face turned as red as his neatly pressed, open-collar knit shirt.

Peter understood the problem.

“Are you nervous, Mr. Austin?” Peter asked.

“Very much so,” was the honest response.

“I’ll bet you are,” Peter said. “Brother, we, by choice, lack formality. Other than General Vargas and yourself, none of us are accustomed to much structure. We are not laughing at you, Tim, honest.”

“No sir, Mr. Pete. Sorry, Mr. Tim,” Malik apologized.

“Why don’t you try and tone down the Bureau speak a little, Tim. Be yourself, but consider your audience as well. God knows what is in your heart, brother, and whether you believe it yet or not, you have never been among better friends.”

“Thanks, Peter,” Austin said, staring contritely down at his shoes. “I’ve found it hard to unlearn the lessons of a lifetime. I ask for your patience.”

“You’ve got that, Mr. Austin,” Peter said reassuringly, “and don’t think that most of your lessons need to necessarily be unlearned. All of us here have respect for God’s command that we are to live righteously and at peace with others. We do not defend sin, Mr. Austin, and you need never apologize to us for living a life free from shameful misconduct.”

“Is that what you all think?” Tim asked.

“Be more specific, Mr. Austin.”

“That I’ve lived a life free from shameful misconduct?”

“Well,” Peter hesitated, caught unawares, “we just assumed that … ”

“Don’t assume anything, men,” Tim interrupted. “Don’t assume anything.”

In the cool, late spring night air, made only a bit warmer by the large stage lights Alex’s crew employed, Tim began to testify. While too formal and a bit pompous in his presentation, Tim was also brief. He spoke like a report and shared his personal history as if he was reading from one of his case files.

Born in Kansas City. Lettered in three sports in high school. Turned down a West Point admission to play football at Nebraska where he was the starting free safety, and All-Conference, for three years. Only a devastating, career-ending knee injury in his last regular season game against Oklahoma kept him out of the NFL.

Always wanted to be a cop if he couldn’t play football, just like his dad, who made it all the way to the Chief’s office in the Kansas City department. Went to the FBI academy right after college. Became an instant star, an up-and-comer from the start.

Never drank, not once. Never used drugs. Can’t even recall stealing a candy bar as a kid. Mr. Clean.

“For many, many years,” Tim confessed to his brothers, “I looked at my job as being impersonal, an almost sterile thing. Congress wrote the laws, the FBI enforced them. Simple as that. Logical, patterned behavior and response. I became a voluntary robot, little more than a computer with a pulse.”

“So much the opposite of most of us here,” Saul broke in. “I was trying to see how little I could conform, how much I could get away with.”

“I laughed at guys like you,” Kenny added. “Thought you were all a bunch of ridiculous fools. Look at where my attitude got me. I’d be dead and in hell if it were not for the mercy of Christ.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever had much use for the police,” Malik said in his completely open, disarmingly blunt manner. “Never gave a second thought to what ya’ll were thinkin’. Always just counted you as the enemy. Knew for sure all cops hated black folks anyway. Ain’t that a shame?”

Tim looked around and now he was the one who laughed, not in response to a joke, but rather to the irony.

“James, chapter two, verse thirteen,” Tim said, as he made revolving eye contact with each of the other six.

“For judgment is without mercy to the one who has shown no mercy. Mercy triumphs over judgment,” Kenny recited.

“Matthew, chapter seven, verse two,” Tim said, now focusing his gaze solely upon Peter.

“For with what judgment you judge, you will be judged, and with what measure you use, it will be measured back to you,” Peter quoted.

“Those were two of the verses he impressed upon my mind six months ago, gentlemen. And then, God help me, he interpreted them for me, applying their principles to my works.” As Tim said this his stiffness lessened a bit, as if just listening to the passages being spoken soothed his spirit.

“Let me guess,” Larry said. “He came to you as someone you arrested?”

“No.”

“A supervisor then? A man you respected, an authority figure?”

“Wrong again, Larry.”

“Well then I’m all out of guesses.”

“The Angel of the Lord came to me as a beggar, a homeless bum who reeked of alcohol,” Tim testified. “I was never very sympathetic to the plight of the homeless. Thought they were mostly lazy and shiftless, of no value. A drain on our society.”

“How unfortunate,” Larry said. “I’ve fought that prejudice all my life. We are all God’s children, brother Tim.”

“Gabriel made that and much more very apparent to me once he got my attention.”

“How did he manage to do that?” Saul asked.

“As you might imagine a drunken beggar would. Passing by him on the street, he blew chunks on my shoes.”

“That’s a new one,” Peter said, grinning. “Can’t imagine you were too happy about your shoes getting soiled.”

“I’ll never, ever forget that day,” Tim said, looking up into the clear, black moonless sky filled with stars. “Not one thing about it, not the slightest detail.

“I was in mid-town Manhattan, there to receive an award from the newly formed Federal-State Law Enforcement Project. Exactly for what I wasn’t sure and neither were they. I was the honored one; they were a neophyte lobbying body trying to build clout, so they gave me an award. In their estimation, association with my name could help them to secure more Federal funds, put them “on the map,” if you will.

“Now, I knew very well it was all just political masturbation, but I was quite full of myself at the time. I remember walking down that street thinking how far I’d come, how high I’d reached. Important people fawned over me, colleagues respected and even feared me.”

“As clear as if it was happening today I recall telling myself, ‘I have arrived.’ Within a few years I was certain that I’d be taking the leap to the consulting and lobbying position all of my fame and reputation was building for me. Then, I told myself, it’s goodbye to Chevys and condos and hello to BMWs and beach houses.

“Worse still, I believed the lie that I had earned these privileges by being better than others; smarter, tougher, more skilled at the game. My busts, the people I sent to prison, they weren’t even human in my eyes. At best, they were numbers on a page, statistics upon which I fed my ego and built my success.”

“And then Gabriel heaved on your shoes,” Larry said.

“He did. A rather rank mix of beer, Southern Comfort, and hot dogs with beans.”

“You weren’t kidding about recalling every detail,” Peter said.

“I don’t miss much, Panos, ever, but I could even tell you what was playing at the Cineplex across the street from where Gabriel was sitting, so much is every detail of that day burned into my soul.”

“My initial reaction to being soiled was disgust and indignation. With all of the proud thoughts I was having at the time, such a gross affront really, well, really ticked me off.”

“What did you do?” Larry asked.

“I picked him up off the sidewalk and, as I did, I immediately noticed that he was a solid man with sharp eyes and a healthy body. Not your typical wasted away bum. I stood him up against the wall and said, ‘Those are two hundred dollar shoes, scumbag, and you’re going to clean them up.’

“I began searching on the ground for a rag to give this man. I was fully intent on forcing him to clean my shoes to my satisfaction or else I had no compunction at all about jacking him up, right then and there.”

“As I was looking around for a suitable cleaning tool, holding him up against the wall with my right arm, he did it again.”

“Did what again?” Peter asked.

“Threw up. This time all over my suit. He covered me in vomit. I felt insulted, sullied to even have to be on the same planet with such a pathetic waste of air and food.”

“A picture is forming for me here, brother Tim,” Peter said. “You seemed to be awfully proud of yourself. I take it you were not a believer when this happened?”

“Once, maybe twice, in my life prior to that time I’d attended church services and then only because some girl I was dating dragged me there. My folks taught me right from wrong in man’s terms, but the subject of God was ignored in my house. The Almighty was an irrelevancy.”

“I understand,” Peter related. “We cannot learn what we are not taught.”

“Let me put it this way, Panos,” as he spoke, Austin was once again looking meekly at his feet, “Gabriel made up for lost time.”

“After he barfed on me again, I reared back on my heels, shoved Gabriel up against the wall and prepared to throttle him. As my first right cross was on its way he moved, quicker than any human being could, and avoided the blow. He was sort of crouched down and from that position he reached up and grabbed my face with both hands.”

“Immediately I became as weak as a rag doll, not paralyzed exactly, but without strength. He looked at me with those crystal clear blue eyes of his and said, ‘As filthy as this vomit is, so are your works before the Lord.’

“Then he spun me around. By my ears. Now I’m the one backed up against the wall. For the first time in my life I’m the man in the vulnerable position. In the space of a minute, I went from being enraged to scared to death.”

“Huntin’ ain’t so fun when the rabbit’s got the gun,” Malik rhymed.

“My friend, truer words were never spoken,” Tim admitted. “I experienced helplessness for the first time that day. It was but the first of my many humility lessons.

“Gabriel has me firmly in his grip and from that position he twists my face to the left and says, ‘See the fruits of your labors.’

“Before me flowed a stream of images, places, and people from my past. Most of the scenes were familiar to me. I was somehow made aware of how what I didn’t recognize fit into the overall scheme of things.

“Carl Taylor. His life was put before me first. Just a kid of twenty-three when one of our Kentucky meth stings took him down. His father and two brothers were already doing time, his mother long since dead. Carl had a girlfriend who was involved in it too. Liz.”