Book One: Part III: Deadly Evil - Chapter Sixteen

The Weekend in Montie

For the first time in weeks, you could walk or drive around Montie and see the city park filled with happy people. Mother’s tending to their babies, young kids throwing Frisbees, or a group of teens playing softball, and even younger children playing on the swing sets merry-go-round, and monkey bars.

Other people would be sitting on park benches, reading, or relaxing. Couples would be walking hand in hand, young and old alike.

Local vendors were out an about selling their wares. Balloons, t-shirts, hamburgers and hot dogs, pretzels, and soda, or everyone’s favorite: ice-cream.

It was a bright sun-shiny time for the first weekend in June. Business was picking back up again in the malls and other places. Montie was back to being Montie.

And as this weekend would roll by with each ticking of the clock, Jan and Ed could be found out and about during the day, but they kept their private affairs very private.

Captain Raymond Todd was back at home with his wife, Elaine, and he was resting, yet eager to return to work, but he did thank God, for every second he was given a second chance to live life and be both a better husband and father.

On this weekend, Bishop Ekerson would be putting the finishing touches on his newest sermon, ‘Forgive the Sin, Lest Ye Become Unclean Thyself’. It would prove to be the hardest thing he would ever write.

Then there was Freddy.

He too, was out and about. Smiling inwardly. He had many surprises waiting to be revealed. And they would be revealed very soon. He felt like he was living in a time of glorious achievements.

It rained Saturday night, but no one cared.

Sunday, the churches were packed with those seeking spiritual guidance, and the churches became a little wealthier because of that; as the tin plate was passed around.

As Freddy might have said, “Ask for a little forgiveness, drop a fifty in the bucket. Go and sin no more, well, at least not until Wednesday night. But come back next Sunday. We can start this here party all over again.”

It rained Sunday night.

Elaine and Raymond Todd were snuggled together as the rain pelted their bedroom window.

Baker and Ed were fast asleep after a torrid two hours of making love.

Bishop Ekerson sat in the Rectory, writing out a list of things his secretary needed to get for him this week.

Satchell was at home, listening to his Great Uncle on his mother’s side, sing and play the trumpet, on his stereo. Louie ‘Satchmo’ Armstrong. Most people that would remember, always thought he was nicknamed because of Satchel Paige, a baseball pitcher back in the day.

Stevie was fast asleep, dreaming about seeing his mother in less than a week.

June came in with a bang. But the real bang hadn’t even happened yet. Let us pray.

The Squad Room

Monday – June 4th – 8:01 a.m.

She watched him as he walked up the steps. Eddie, bent over due to some form of injury or maybe a birth defect, somewhat stocky, who walked with a limp because of a leg brace he always wore. In truth, he has a not-so-pleasant look to the eye, but he was a person with a huge heart, as big as they come.

As he was making his way to the break room upstairs with five dozen doughnuts as always, she watched as how methodical he was in how he arranged everything. She never took time before to notice how he does his job.

She walked into the break room as Eddie was finishing up and asked, “Eddie, can I speak with you for a moment?”

Eddie stiffened briefly, then turned slowly around.

“You gave me a start, Mithy Baker. Did I do sumptin wrong?”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. And no, you haven’t done anything wrong.

“I just wanted to take a few seconds to thank you for attending last week’s funeral. That was very nice of you.”

“Wasn’t nuttin, Mithy Baker; they were people like me and you. We need to have sumptin to remember. Fummerals help us remember.”

She smiled somewhat.

“You’re right, Eddie. They do help us remember.

“You be safe out there, Eddie.”

“You too, Mithy Baker. You too.”

She never saw the smiled sneer on his face when he turned and left the room.

Once the meeting was finished, and routes were reassigned back to normal hours of operation, and overtime no longer awarded, the streets flourished, and the police went about their day doing normal, almost routine, and sometimes dull duties.

Fender benders, brake lights out; tickets were issued along with “Here’s your ticket and have a great day,” type of attitude.

Everyone seemed to be in happy spirits.

There was to still be one more viewing, and one more funeral to attend.

Baker mimicked Eddie’s words aloud to no one special.

“Fummerals do help us to remember.”