Outside Influence

By J.D. Erickson

Avenging Angel Series #6

A Danny Watson and Ted Storm Mystery

 

Detective Sergeant Theodore Storm sat quietly in his new blue and white Dodge cruiser.  He was parked in a darkened area of the city swimming pool park at 10:30 pm.

The Reverend Albert Fancher knocked on his passenger side window, opened the door, and slid into the seat.

“Thank you for meeting with me, Detective,” Fancher said.

Ted Storm looked at him in the glow of the dash lights.

“Uh huh.  I’m betting I won’t like it,” Storm said.

“You’d win that one, I think.  What I have to say is extremely troubling—dangerous,” Fancher said.

“Are you sweating?”

“I was running,” Fancher said, pulling on the front of his sweatshirt.

Storm rolled his eyes, and Fancher noticed, even in the near dark.

“A friend of mine—a parishioner—was mistakenly included in an email between Mayor Long and his staff and a land developer from out of town.  My friend fears he may lose his job with the city through no fault of his own.  My fears go well beyond that,” Fancher said.“Hold it right there.  You need to go to the city council, maybe the city attorney,” Storm said.

“You know about this?” Fancher said, wide-eyed.

“I don’t know a thing about it and I don’t want to know,” Storm said.

Fancher was quiet, apparently thinking.

“I’m afraid it will lead to another angel murder,” Fancher said.

 

Storm folded the local daily paper and winged it across the room at his office door.

Officer Danny Watson opened the door a few inches, easing it wide enough to stick his head in the opening.

“Bad news?” he said, looking down at the paper on the floor.

“You need to read the Mayor’s op ed and tell me if you think it has a strong progressive odor about it,” Storm said.

Danny gathered it up and smoothed the pages.

He said, “Norton says we need to visit that family on South Jefferson.  Ticket them again for littering.

Norton was the city maintenance man, John Stowe.  Everybody called him Norton after a TV character from the 1950s.

“I know Norton wants the city to threaten them, but there’s no law says they have to have garbage service,” Storm said.

“The city attorney says he can take them to court under 191c, section eleven,” Danny Watson offered.  “What’s in the op ed?” he asked.

He sat down at a gesture from Storm and started reading.

“Tolerance, diversity,” he said.  “What the hell’s Pertrie up to?” he said.

Storm thought of his meeting with Reverend Fancher.

“You can bet it’s not good,” he said.

“We have two Mexican families in town, and they’ve been here over ten years,” Danny said.

“We have some adopted kids.  No problems,” Storm said.

“We tolerate Pertrie, isn’t that enough?” Danny said.

 

Mary Ann Marvin finished applying lemon oil to the pulpit.  She stood back to admire her work.  Reverend Fancher entered and asked her to sit beside him in the front pew.

At eighty eight years old, Mary Ann was Fancher’s oldest parishioner.  She was also the most frustrating individual in his flock.  He had to admit he found her to be as entertaining as she was frustrating.  But today the Reverend hoped for her cooperation.  He had taken it upon himself to pray for an intercession on behalf of Mayor Pertrie and his well-worn Democrat colleagues.

“Would you tell me if you knew Billy was back again?” he asked.

Mary Ann smiled at him as though he were a child.  This was too important, he thought.  He controlled his breathing and smiled back.

“The angel would have something to say about it, I think,” she said.

“Then you believe he’s real?” Fancher said.

“Good Heavens, Reverend!  Do you hear yourself?  Of course he’s real.”

They heard someone howling like a coyote, the sound choking off in a chuckle.

Fancher turned to the air vent at the base of the pulpit.

“Bartholomew is here?  When did he get here?” he said, rising and striding out of the sanctuary.

Mary Ann spoke in the direction of the vent.  “Bartholomew Fancher, you behave yourself.  Your nephew is on his hobby horse,” she said.

The Reverend made a left near the front doors, his footsteps echoing in the hall and down the cement stairwell to the furnace room.

“Hello, nephew,” Bartholomew Fancher said.

“Every time this angel of yours strikes, you are here.  I must speak to him,” the Reverend said.

“He’s not my angel.  If he was my angel, I’d be in Florida,” Bartholomew said, showing his palms between raised shoulders.

“Is he here?  Is he in town?” the Reverend said, pleadingly.

“Maybe.  Probably,” Bartholomew said.

 

“We are a nation of immigrants,” Mayor Pertrie Long said.

The Rotary luncheon was in full swing.  The attendees dived into their soups and salads, and some few in the crowd took notice of the opening words.  The

crowded room held businessmen and women from several organizations, like the Chamber of Commerce, Lions, Masons, Knights of Columbus, and more.

“Diversity offers new perspective to our great land,” Pertrie said.  “We benefit from the energy of many cultures, and tolerance for those who are different from established norms should be our watchword and our goal.” 

He droned on through the grilled chicken to the ice cream and coffee.

Babe Torrence and Barry Schultz raised eyebrows at one another.  Babe mouthed “Wow” across the table.  The two were city council members.  Barry leaned across the table, now mostly empty.

“He’s out of his freakin’ mind,” he said.

“Who is that guy in the gray suit?” Babe asked.

“Let’s do an end run.  Ask the intern at City Hall about Pertrie’s schedule for today,” Barry said.

 

The Mayor asked his guest what he thought of the speech.

“Fine, fine, Mayor.  Just had a text.  The signing went off without a hitch.  We now have ten acres, almost eleven,” the man said, beaming.  His smile momentarily alarmed Pertrie.

Pertrie wagged his head.  “The price will upset our business community.  They’ll wonder about your backers, too,” he said.

“There’s enough money to smother anyone who comes against us,” the man said.

His name was Marion Trout.  If anyone had ever really sold his soul to the Devil, it was Trout, Pertrie thought.  But probably not; Trout believed only in his bank account.  The Muslims must have jumped for joy when they found him.

They talked about the groundbreaking.  Maybe after a few more op eds and speeches.  Maybe Pertrie could stir up an anti-bigotry demonstration, Trout said.

 

The young intern at City Hall was a real gift, Barry Schultz told Babe Torrence.  And Pertrie was an old pervert, Babe said.

The intern was a college sophomore who could pass for mid-twenties.  She was also a closet conservative, a Reagan fan and now a Trump fan.  She was a Rush baby as well, raised in the mountains in another state.

“His name is Marion Trout.  He plans to build a one hundred unit complex, and they’re all pre-sold,” the intern said.  “I leaked the plan to my Republican committee friend.  Trout will be bringing one hundred Muslim families here as soon as the paint dries.  That last bit is a direct quote,” she said.

She glanced around the office and handed Babe a sheaf of printed emails.

 

With a glance in the rearview mirror, Norton stopped his city pickup at a green light.  He had spotted what he thought was a black garbage bag in the doorway of the Look Emporium.  He stopped because he was sure he had seen it move.

A figure emerged, dressed head to toe in black, with a small opening for the eyes.  Three more came out on the sidewalk; one was small.  A bearded man in a long frock followed them out.  He looked around him, up and down the street.  He pointed to the south and the lot of them moved off.

A car honked, and Norton turned right, deciding another look at the strange group was in order.  They entered another store, and Norton parked.

Five minutes passed.  The group spilled out onto the sidewalk, the man last, arguing with someone at the entrance.  Norton heard it all plain as day.  The storeowner or clerk was accusing the group of shoplifting.  “Get the hell out” was Norton’s cue to call Danny Watson.  He crossed the street with the phone to his ear.

He gave Danny the address and held the phone up to share the situation.  The storeowner was a friend.  Norton’s presence was not appreciated by the stranger, who bristled at sight of Norton’s phone.

“You go away,” the man said to Norton.  His hands were balled into fists, but held at his sides.

“Aloha snackbar to you, too,” Norton said evenly, adding, “The police are coming, so I’d calm down if I were you.”

Danny’s siren was close.  The man’s eyes shifted left and right.

His entourage stood by helplessly, but one of the women produced a stuffed animal toy from beneath her robe and handed it to the storeowner.  The bearded man turned his anger on her, but said nothing.  She shrank back and the child hid itself behind the other two women.

Danny parked his new SUV patrol nose in to the curb, blocking the road.  He got out and gave Norton a look that said WTF?

“I want to file a report,” the storeowner said, his face flushed.  He gave the Muslim man the best look of disgust he could muster.

Norton took photos with his phone. 

“Official police photos,” he told the man, in answer to the man’s angry protests. 

Danny took names and checked the man’s identification.  The storeowner declined to press charges.

 

Norton and Danny drank coffee at an outdoor table in the center of town.

“Aloha snackbar?” Danny chuckled.  “Whatever possessed you to come up with that?”

“It just came out.  Don’t know where it came from,” Norton said.

“The whole thing was pretty pathetic,” Danny said.

Detective Sergeant Theodore Storm parked his new blue and white Dodge cruiser across the street and joined them.

“Mayor Pertrie is very upset,” he said.  A smile broke across his face.  “Mad as a wet hen.  Apparently the Muslim called Pertrie and made threats.  I asked the Mayor if he wanted to prefer charges.  Wished I had a picture of his face.”

 

The Reverend Albert Fancher welcomed City Council members Babe Torrence and Barry Schultz to his office in Our Savior’s Church.  Babe was a member.  She had told Fancher privately that Schultz had no knowledge of the angel, Billy, as far as she knew.  Fancher doubted Schultz had not at least heard rumors.  This was a small city, after all, and Barry Schultz kept his ear to the ground.

In Fancher’s mind, someone was already dead in the angel’s book.

“This Marion Trout has bragged to Mayor Pertrie that his funding is virtually limitless.  We’re too white, and too Christian, he says, so we’re targeted,” Barry said.

Fancher closed his eyes and heaved a sigh.

Babe reached into a pocket in her leather shoulder bag and dug out a printed sheet.  When Fancher opened his eyes, she handed it to him.

Barry Schultz bit his lip and looked away.  Fancher read the paper.

His face drained of all color.  He swallowed.  He dropped the message on the table and clenched his fist.

Bartholomew knocked and entered.  He smiled at Babe and Barry.  His nephew looked at him, but spoke to the issue at hand.

“They plan to build a mosque,” he said.

“I know,” Bartholomew said, concern in his voice.  “Billy just told me.”

 

Detective Storm reached Danny on the radio and told him to meet him at the Mayor’s home.

They arrived simultaneously to find the Mayor’s house lit up like a theatre marquee.   Pertrie swung the front door wide, urged them to hurry, and slammed and locked the door behind them.

“It’s that damn Billy!” Pertrie said.  “There was a shadow over my house, like a big black spot.”  He looked from Storm to Danny, his mouth open, gulping air.

“A shadow?” Storm said.

“Like ink!  It moved.  It sucked the light right out of the room,” Pertrie said.  “It surrounded me.  I almost passed out.”

Danny wasn’t feeling it.  People didn’t walk away from Billy alive.

Danny said, “What have you ever done to deserve someone pulling such a prank, Mr. Mayor?”

Pertrie didn’t answer at first.  He sat down with his phone.

“You guys stay right here.  I have to call…” he said, punching numbers into the phone.

No one answered.

“I think you should get over to the Star Motel,” Pertrie said.  “I’ll come along, if that’s okay.”

Marion Trout was not in his room.  Pertrie followed Storm and Danny Watson so close he stepped on their heels.  They found Medical Examiner Shelby Matern waiting outside his car in the parking lot.

“You know something we don’t?” Storm asked.

“I felt left out.  I have sources too, you know.  I had a call from Reverend Fancher.  Two plus two equals Billy.  Where’s the body?” Shelby said.  He gave a nod to Pertrie.

Storm wagged his head.  “We need to find a sleaze ball Pertrie conjured up on his Ouija board and get him out of town,” he said.

“I didn’t believe in the angel,” Pertrie said.  “Why would this angel want to harm us?”

Shelby Matern stared at Pertrie.  “I hardly know where to begin, Pertrie.  It’s like reasoning with a three year old.  Your guy paid over eighty thousand per acre, with plans to build a mosque for four or five hundred Muslims.  The story’s out.  If the angel doesn’t kill this Marion snake, somebody else will.”

“You people need to open your eyes.  You’re full of FOX News.  It’s Islamaphobia is what it is,” Pertrie said.  “We need new blood in this city.  We need diversity—and tolerance.”

“Maybe you should leave this to us, Pertrie.  Danny will give you a ride home,” Storm said, adding, “Where you’ll be safe.”

Pertrie was at least man enough to get mad, but he didn’t express it.

“No, no, I’ll stay with you until we find Trout,” he said.

 

Norton found Trout first.  He called Danny to report it.  He called an ambulance, too.  Trout was so close to dead, Norton couldn’t believe it.  The guy was alive.  Couldn’t be the angel’s work, then, he thought.  The others came in two cars to the middle of the ten acres Trout had bought.  Norton had his pickup lights on Trout’s crumpled form.  Shelby Matern knelt down, pronounced the man alive, and stood back up, shaking his head.

Shelby said, “Fancher said he’s been praying for mercy.  Had the prayer chain going all over town.”

“Pertrie, you need to stop this mosque business, you know that, don’t you?” Storm said.

“I know no such thing.  The project will go forward,” Pertrie said.

The very air around them seemed to grow threatening.  Sparks jumped between the men, and a ball of white light appeared suddenly in the middle of the sky.

It was so bright Danny thought it would burn exposed skin.  It expanded to a tee shape, too bright to see, and the men looked away.  The light flared and grew, flared and grew again.

Pertrie fell to his knees, moans escaping his lips, rising in pitch.

“Spare me!  Spare me!” he cried.  And then, “Yes, I will.  I promise.”  He fell forward on his face, his hands grasping in the grass.

The light dimmed somewhat, but remained, as if it were reluctant to leave.  The men could look at it now.  They watched it fade.

The ambulance drivers had stopped, unable to see.  The vehicle drove up and the crew tended to Marion Trout.

“Good thing he’s unconscious,” Shelby said, as Trout was lifted onto a cot.

Storm helped Pertrie to his feet.  The others stood by.

“Have a come to Jesus moment, did you?” Storm said.

“He—the angel—exacted a promise, yes,” Pertrie said, his voice shaky.

“Anything else, Pertrie?  Now’s the time for it,” Shelby Matern said.

Pertrie looked out at the dark outside of the vehicle lights.

“He showed me the face of the enemy.  I’ve been a fool,” Pertrie said.

Norton reached for Pertrie’s elbow.

“Welcome to the human race, Pertrie,” Norton said.

                                                              END