The Sign Painter Read online

  Paul’s attention was elsewhere as the two retired officers knelt by their assailants, flipped them over, and fastened their hands with plastic ties carried by all the team members. The MP had his phone out to call for police backup when the next group surged forward.

  This was what Paul had both expected and feared. It was a common street tactic, using newer gang members to test the enemy’s strength while the more deadly force waited in the shadows. The two men who emerged from between the houses were bigger and moved with the silent ease of trained killers.

  Paul slipped in from the side, moving so quickly and quietly that the first warning either man had was when he flicked open his tactical baton.

  The wand preferred by most field agents was titanium and built so that it locked in place; it could be used to stab as well as strike. Most police officers preferred a heavier version they could wield like a baseball bat. But long windups meant a faster assailant could step inside the swing and strike.

  Paul had been well-trained. He applied the flexible baton like a metal whip. He moved in and belted the nearest enemy directly across the eyes. The shock and pain froze the man solid. He probably wasn’t even aware that Paul’s second strike to his gun hand sent the weapon to the ground.

  Paul sensed as much as saw the second man bring up his weapon. He dropped to one knee and rolled. The gunfire blasted a violent light through the night, illuminating Paul as he slipped in close enough to stab the man in the solar plexus, then whip the gun hand, then strike the man’s jawline. The man went down hard.

  Start to finish, the attack lasted under ten seconds. Paul called softly, “Everybody okay?”

  “Thanks to you,” the MP replied.

  The cop demanded, “Where did you come from?”

  “Heaven,” the MP replied. “Same place we’d be if it wasn’t—”

  The soldier’s words were chopped off by gunfire slamming out from between the two houses.

  The first shot flung the MP over on his back. Then Paul felt something hot and angry hammer him in the shoulder. He spun over, flailing with his good hand, and landed on the serrated grip of one attacker’s pistol. He used the prone assailant as a shield and tried to fire back, but the safety latch was on. By the time Paul got it off, the gunman shot again. Then Paul fired, racing through an entire clip in a steady stream, not trying to strike anything so much as hose the dark night.

  When the gun clicked empty, he let the weapon fall. Screams resounded from the neighboring houses, and sirens rushed down the street toward them. Paul breathed hard, then heaved himself up and surveyed the scene. The MP was not moving. One of the two men at his feet struggled to rise. Paul stomped down with his heel to the man’s neck and said, “You move, you die.”

  He was still standing there when the first cop car screeched to a halt.

  CHAPTER 19

  They gathered for the evening session, twenty-seven of them. Nine were people who resided in the apartments. A couple of others Amy knew by name, including Uriah. Lucy started with a prayer, then turned to one of the men Amy did not know. He started talking about how debt and alcoholism once were his two closest companions. Ten minutes later, Granville rushed in and told them about the shooting.

  The group responded with grim swiftness, for clearly this was not the first time they had faced such an event. While the church buildings were cordoned off, Lucy went to calm the children and inform other classes. Granville returned with news that both men were in good condition and offered to drive them to the hospital. Amy arranged for the grandmother to stay with Kimmie. Then they were off, rushing through the night, Lucy talking softly into her phone as they drove. Midway over, she responded to Granville’s question by grimly explaining that part of her responsibility was informing the church’s senior pastor of any serious incident.

  “I guess a shooting of church security might fall into that category,” Granville said.

  Lucy cradled the phone against her chest with both hands. Passing cars illuminated her grim expression.

  Granville demanded, “How is he going to take this news?”

  “Our pastor is not the problem,” Lucy replied. “If his support of our program could be shaken by such things, we wouldn’t exist.”

  Granville pulled into the hospital lot, turned off the motor, and asked Lucy, “So what’s the problem?”

  “The elders are split right down the middle,” Lucy said. “Half of them wish the church had never gotten involved.”

  “What, they think the homeless problem is just going to go away? The ladies of the night will pack up on their own? The house will—”

  “Yes, Granville. That is exactly what they hope.”

  When they arrived on the surgical ward, the doctor came out and announced that both men would be fine. Paul’s shoulder had apparently been grazed by a ricochet. But the older gentleman was being kept for observation. Amy followed them into the cubicle where Paul was having his shoulder wrapped. His upper torso was punctuated by two other wounds, both of which were well healed, though the scar tissue was enough to leave Amy feeling slightly queasy. Granville spoke a few words of encouragement, then they entered the next room, where an older man was talking to a nurse about Paul saving his life. The former soldier’s voice was groggy from pain medication, but he kept telling everyone within reach that Paul Travers was a hero.

  Lucy’s phone rang, and she carried it back down the hall before answering. Amy watched her stand by the elevators as she spoke. Then Lucy cut the connection, wrapped her arms tightly about her middle, and paced. Granville went over, and when Lucy did not look up, he gently touched her shoulder. Lucy was so lost in her internal struggle that she jerked in surprise. They spoke together for a time, their voices too soft for Amy to hear. Then Granville walked back toward Amy, his expression now matching Lucy’s. “Let’s give the lady a couple of minutes.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “The church is having its quarterly meeting tomorrow night. The elders have decided to put this issue on the agenda.”

  “They could stop her work?”

  “It’s unlikely. But yes. If they wanted, they could shut down her department.” Granville watched Lucy pace. “Some of the church members don’t much care for her work or the people she invites into their safe little world. The good thing is, Lucy heard about this in time. She’ll make sure we have friends there to support us.”

  Amy watched Granville walk back and offer Lucy a comforting hug. Amy knew that whatever this good woman needed, she would give it without being asked. She had a pretty good idea what that was going to be, and the prospect terrified her. But she was going to do it anyway.

  She left the hospital a couple of paces behind them, observing how Granville reached over and touched Lucy’s arm, letting her know she was not alone. Amy knew these were her friends. She would stand up for them. And herself. It was time to be heard.

  CHAPTER 20

  Amy space-walked through the next day. Not even a glare from Drew worried her. Only when she returned from the office and picked up Kimmie and fixed dinner did the world come into focus. And that was a momentary lapse. Because the closeness of things to come had left her so frightened that she knew she could go forward only if she removed herself as much as possible.

  The little apartment complex was eerily quiet at dusk. Amy knew her neighbors felt utterly helpless, so they retreated, like battered turtles, into their shells. That was what carried Amy through her preparations. Because it wasn’t just for herself that she was going to act. It wasn’t for her daughter. It wasn’t for their future. It was for all the silent, frightened people who shared her world.

  She arranged for Juanita to babysit, then tucked Kimmie in for the night. The older woman’s gaze held the tragic cast of silent resignation. It was exactly what Amy needed, seeing the woman’s concern. Amy picked up her Bible and carried it across the parking lot a
nd into the main building. A few people milled around, not many, and no one she recognized. She slipped into the vestibule and walked up the central aisle. A couple of women were in the line of chairs normally reserved for the pastors. They glanced at Amy, then went back to their conversation. Amy settled into the pew and turned to Psalms.

  She felt herself resonate with the psalmist’s resolve. The quiet determination to hold steadfast to faith and find strength beyond herself had never been clearer. Now that she was here, fear was remarkably absent, as though she had moved beyond all that somehow. She had expected to be swamped in terror; instead, she felt her heart racing, and she saw her hands tremble slightly, and yet it did not touch her.

  She prayed, then read, then prayed some more. She found her silent words reaching beyond her own need for a home and a future to all the others who lived there and those who might come later. Gradually, the sanctuary filled. Amy continued to dialogue with God, refusing to allow the rising murmurs or closeness of others to draw her away. She felt someone settle into the seat next to her. When she opened her eyes, she saw it was Bob Denton. The man had his own eyes shut, his big hands clasped over his knees, and she felt closer to him than ever.

  Amy continued reading and praying as the pastor called for order. She remained distinctly separate as the gathering ran through the opening church business. She continued it into the initial comments about the teams of people patrolling the neighborhood, and the shooting. She looked up briefly when Granville rose and asked to speak. But she decided she did not need to hear him as much as she needed to hear God, so she returned to her prayers.

  The words that drew her back were spoken by one of the women who was there when Amy entered. She was thickset and square-jawed and very determined in the way she demanded, “Well, I for one want to know what business we have bringing this danger into our own backyard!”

  The arguments came fast, echoing through the enclave. Amy knew it was time. She bowed her head once more and prayed for wisdom and for strength. She almost left it too long, because when she opened her eyes, she saw Lucy rising from her place across the aisle. Lucy looked over in surprise as Amy stepped forward. Amy said softly, “Let me go first.”

  The pastor glanced over and saw Lucy drop back into her seat. He looked at Amy and said, “Yes?”

  “I live in the apartments. I would like to have a chance to address the group, please.”

  The woman behind the dais said, “She’s not on the agenda.”

  Bob Denton’s voice rose behind her. “She can have my place. Let her speak.”

  “Very well.” The pastor started to step back, then asked, “What is your name?”

  “Amy.” Up close, the pastor looked buffed and polished yet very genuine. His compassion was as real as his strength. Amy had never spoken with him, yet she found herself liking him. “Amy Dowell.”

  He repeated her name into the microphone, then backed up and remained standing a few feet from the podium. Amy sensed it was so he could stop her if she said something inappropriate, but she was grateful for his presence. She could feel the intensity and authority radiating from him. She took a long breath. “Two years ago, my husband passed away after a long illness. We didn’t have health insurance, and by the time he died, we had lost everything. Our home was gone, our savings, all lost. My daughter was three and a half. We buried our hopes and our futures with that good man. The last time I ever spoke to a crowd was at my Darren’s funeral.”

  The church had gone completely silent; the quiet rustling and whispered conversations were absent. Amy gripped the podium as tightly as she could, trying to keep her hands steady. She had never looked at so many faces before. Not from this angle.

  “For the past two years, we’ve lived from day to day, traveling around the southeast. Before, I was a graphic artist. I found work painting storefront windows. We scraped by. We prayed and we hoped for a better tomorrow. But we had a couple of problems, and the little cash I had put aside was gone, and suddenly, I was one step away from losing my little girl to the system. And if that happened, I knew I wouldn’t have the strength to go on.”

  She knew she was crying because she could no longer see the faces. But her voice remained fairly steady, so a few tears didn’t matter. She had shed so many tears. All she knew was, these words needed to be said. By her. Now.

  “Then God brought me to this place. God reached down and rescued me and my little girl. He spoke to Lucy Watts. I know this because Lucy told me. We were given a home. We were given a chance. And we were given a great deal more.

  “There are two big differences in the ways the church and the government deal with homelessness. A lot of lives depend upon what you’re doing, and you need to understand why. First, your program isn’t about homelessness. It’s about giving people a second chance. And second, your program does a lot more than address the issues that people like me face—the debts, the job, the home. Sure, these things are important. But they’re nothing compared to what else you offer. And that is showing us a living faith.”

  She released her grip long enough to wipe her face because the tears were gathering at the edges of her mouth. Plus, her nose had started running. Two swift swipes, then she went back to clenching the podium.

  “That is what I need most of all. To learn how to hope again. To lift up my gaze. I don’t have the strength. It’s been crushed from me. But you have reminded me that I don’t have to be strong all the time. All I must do is remember what it means to open my heart to God’s gift. To remember what it means to have friends like you—people who love the loveless and offer the beacon of a better tomorrow.

  “So that’s why I’m up here. To say thank you. Because you have given me a living miracle. And now I have the chance to be the mother my little girl needs.”

  Amy stopped and turned away. She couldn’t see her way back down the carpeted stairs to her seat. She stood uncertainly, trying to clear her eyes, when two figures rushed forward. One of them was Bob Denton; she knew because she could smell his aftershave. The other had his left shoulder and arm strapped in a white bandage. Paul remained by her other side as Bob gripped her and shepherded her down the steps and back into her pew. Then Paul moved away.

  Bob kept his arm around her shoulders after they were seated. He did not say anything until Lucy started speaking. Then he whispered, “Well done.”

  CHAPTER 21

  “One thing you need to know going in,” Lucy began, “is that we didn’t go looking for a problem.”

  “Which one are we talking about?” the woman seated behind her said, her voice strident enough to carry to the back of the vestibule. “The drug gang or the homeless?”

  “Both. We didn’t hunt them down. We simply identified what was in front of us.”

  “Maybe you should have looked the other way,” the woman snapped.

  Bob Denton released Amy and rose to his feet. “How does that head-in-the-sand attitude work for the rest of your life?”

  The heavyset woman reddened and started to snipe at him, but the pastor lifted his hand. He was still one step removed from the podium. “That’s enough. Let Lucy have her say.”

  Lucy smiled her thanks to the pastor, or tried to. “People involved in prison work talk about the rate of recidivism. This means how many prisoners get out, reoffend, are arrested, and return to the penal system. Those working with homeless people face the same problem. To be successful in my line of work, the first lesson that has to be learned is this: some people want to stay lost.

  “My job is to identify those who are looking for a way out. Give them a hand. And show them how to get on with life. A real life. With real hope. And a real tomorrow.”

  A woman’s voice called from the sanctuary, “They terrify me!”

  “I understand that. I really do. They represent the downside to life. But, as Amy said, our church offers something you can only find here. Leaving
it to the state doesn’t work. I know this for a fact. We bring Jesus to our brothers and sisters at the lowest point they will ever know. We offer the eternal light in their darkest hour.”

  When she was done, the pastor returned to the podium, thanked them all, and said, “Unless anyone else has something to say, let’s move on.”

  Paul lay in his bed and listened to the dawn. The AC in his little apartment made such a racket that it kept him awake, so he turned it on only during the day. A faint breeze puffed out his curtains, bringing in the music of cardinals and mockingbirds and a misguided gull that resided in the vacant lot next door. The fresh air was nice, even when the nighttime temperature did not fall much below the mid-eighties. His shoulder throbbed, and Paul knew it was time to take more pain medication, but he decided to put it off a while longer. Through the wall by his head, he heard music from the next unit. A child began singing in Spanish, and a woman chimed in.

  As he rose and brewed coffee, he found himself thinking about the church gathering. He had slipped into the vestibule just as Amy had stepped to the podium. He recalled the surprise on Granville’s and Lucy’s faces. He heard again Amy’s words, and how she had spoken through her own nerves and grief. He remembered how the church had gone still, as though the entire group had obeyed a silent command to pay attention. Then Lucy had arrived at the podium with her own face wet, wearing her tears as a badge of office. Not even wiping her cheeks, just letting the people see the price they all paid in trying to help the helpless.

  He filled his mug and took his Bible from the bedside table, where it had lain unopened since he had moved in. He opened to Corinthians, his favorite book, and felt the words resonate through him, sounding in his brain like the voice of an old friend. At the same time, part of him remained attached to the night before. Something had happened during that gathering. He had found himself bonded to the people and the place. He had spent four long years as a professional wanderer, using his skills and his jobs as an excuse to drift. He had remained tied to nothing and no one. Until last night, listening to Amy Dowell speak about new chances and fresh hope.