NEXT BEST HOPE (The Revelation Trilogy) (31 page)
Read NEXT BEST HOPE (The Revelation Trilogy) Online
Authors: Stephen Woodfin
“Sometimes the Lord has to take extreme measures to get our attention,” Brother Billy said. “The wages of sin is death.”
“What about love?” It was Josh. He wasn’t given to much talking, so when he said something, the group listened.
“It’s not love, it’s sin.” Brother Billy held firm.
“No, I mean, what about God’s love for his children?” Josh said. “How can a loving God condemn people who have done nothing to deserve it? We wouldn’t convict a person for his friend’s crimes. How can we accuse God of acting less morally than we would?”
“God’s ways are not ours,” Brother Billy was on the defensive.
“I marched with them in Dallas this weekend,” Josh added, referring to a highly publicized gay rights rally.
The crowd received this news with stunned silence. Before anyone could think what to say in response, the clock struck seven and in unison, they adjourned to start their work in the oil patch.
• • •
Just before noon, Ert called Josh’s number again only to hear his gentle voice on the answering machine. He left another message and went out for lunch. Shortly after he got back to the office, Greenpea put a call through to him from Josh.
“Ert?” Josh’s voice sounded distant and strained.
“Yeah, Josh. What’s the matter?”
“I need you to represent me,” Josh said. “I’m in jail.”
“In jail?” Ert said. “I just saw you a couple of hours ago. Where are you? In the city or county?”
“I’m in the federal lockup in Dallas.”
“For what? Marching in a rally? I didn’t know we had repealed the Constitution.”
“I need you to represent me, and I need you to get up here as quickly as you can,” Josh repeated firmly.
“Josh, I don’t do much criminal work anymore. You’re going to have to tell me what’s up. What are they holding you for?”
“Espionage,” was Josh’s one word reply.
“It’ll take me a couple of hours to get there.”
The two-hour
drive from Kilgore to Dallas gave Ert time to consider what he knew about Joshua Issacharoff.
As he remembered it, Josh had come to town about twenty years ago and set up an air conditioning and heating repair business. It was as if he had gone the virgin birth one better, having neither father nor mother. No one knew of any connection he had to the community and he kept to himself except when called on to do a job. The quality of his work, his seemingly constant availability at any time of the day or night, and his reasonable rates allowed him to build his business. He was a man of his word and backed his work entirely. He refused to add employees, choosing rather to do the work himself. He would slave all of a summer afternoon in an attic sauna or freeze his butt off to get someone’s heat back on in January.
Over time, folks began to accept him.
He had a strange religiosity. One Sunday would find him at the First Baptist, the next with the Black brethren at the Christian Methodist Episcopal Church. A local Jewish merchant said he always invited Josh for the Seder meal and folks around town swore they had heard him talking Arabic gibberish with the proprietors of the Quik Stop.
He conducted his business out of a metal workshop he had built next to his nondescript three-bedroom house in a quiet, aging, neighborhood.
He had a strange aroma about him, like incense made from green hickory nutshells, a bittersweet fragrance like the hovering souls of lost loved ones.
Not long after he came to town he started picking up strays. Not animals, people. Fearless in his acceptance of others, he had the ability to rehabilitate and heal. Dozens of kids whose parents had turned them out found their way to his door. Single mothers scarred by spousal abuse sought refuge under his roof. Churches sent him their culls, the folks not deserving of grace. There were times when he fed ten people at his table.
Presently his census stood at three: Mabel Killingsworth, DeShaun Moore and Barnabas “Barney” Perkins.
Mabel, thirty-two-year-old daughter of a well-to-do Kilgore family, had succumbed to a life on the street after she lost a running battle with whiskey. DeShaun, that rarest of East Texas Christians, a gay Black preacher, had been recently defrocked by his congregation when he came out of the closet. Josh had driven him to Dallas for the gay rights march the Saturday before. Barney, on felony probation for theft, had been unable to keep his fingers out of the till at his insurance office. People were somewhat dismayed to learn that Barney had never applied their premium money to any insurance policies. Barney justified the procedure by explaining that folks had peace of mind because they thought they had coverage. When pressed about it, he assured them that their companies wouldn’t have paid their claims anyway. No harm, no foul. The D.A. saw it differently.
Over the years, Josh had generated his share of controversy. Because he often hosted “loose” women at his home, town folks assumed he was up to no good. He never answered the rumors or cared about what people said. Invariably his guests left in better shape than when they came. Many worked hard supporting their families. Several had achieved notable success. One, Magdalene Doulos, made the big time.
Everyone knew her story. Josh found her on a cold February night on the bank of Turkey Creek, passed out from an overdose. His intervention saved her life and created quite a stir. The local TV stations picked up the story and interviewed him wearing his “Josh’s Heating and Air Conditioning” white shirt with “Josh” in blue cursive lettering over his left pocket. But once the crisis passed and she had survived, no one wanted a drugged out, disowned by her parents, college kid.
No one, that is, but Josh. He nursed her back to health, motivated her to enroll in school and attended every play she performed. Josh was the only one not surprised when she landed a lead in a television series that quickly jumped to number one and held strong ratings for five seasons.
As he passed through Canton, the halfway point on his trip to Dallas, Ert could see hundreds of people gathered for a “God and Country” rally outside one of the mega churches that were springing up everywhere in the Bible belt. A large banner advertised a guest speaker who had become famous for delivering Christian patriotic speeches in a John Wayne dialect. Intense young men carried “Nuke ’em for the Duke” signs.
He called Greenpea on his cell phone and learned that the word of Josh’s arrest was spreading like wildfire. She said reporters from the
Dallas Morning News
and CNN had already called asking if it were true, that Ert was representing the mysterious “Star Man.”
Ert wondered how they got the news so quickly.
He phoned Kilgore Elementary and left word for his wife to call him.
“Ert, what’s going on?” Beth asked when his cell rang three minutes later.
“You’d better go somewhere and turn on the news. I think Josh and I are getting ready to be in the middle of something,” he said. “I can’t talk about it on the phone, but I have a feeling I’m in way over my head,” he told her. “I’ll call you after I’ve had a chance to meet with Josh.”
“Okay, sweetheart,” she said. “Don’t forget how much I love you.”
Stephen Woodfin has served as class counsel in national cases that included millions of people. He is the author of five fast-paced legal thrillers including Last One Chosen, Next Best Hope, Money is Thicker Than Blood, and The Sickle’s Compass. Stephen hopes these books will not debunk the myth that he actually knows something about the law. You can follow Stephen on Twitter @stephenwoodfin and learn more about his work at venturegalleries.com
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