Return of the Magi Read online

  He waited until the choir had finished their song, then turned around and proceeded to go Christmas shopping. His first stop was a late-model Cadillac and, man, oh, man, did he hit the jackpot. The backseat was piled with wrapped presents and the doors were unlocked. ‘Oh, now, look at this,’ he whispered. ‘Conspicuous consumption is what this is.’ He pulled out a folded garbage bag from the pocket of his suit and started to fill it. ‘What’s got into these people? They think you can just buy Christmas and wrap it in a box? Hell, there’s no real Christmas spirit left in the world. Just gimme, gimme, gimme … Oh, now that is one fine iPhone.’

  Once he’d cleaned out the Cadillac, he headed for a Mercedes, but as he got closer, he saw the flashing red light of an armed security system. Bunch of hypocrites, locking their car in a church lot. What kind of faith was that?

  As it turned out, most of Brother Ray’s fellow church-goers turned out to be hypocrites. Rich hypocrites. A locked car was no problem for him, as long as it didn’t have bells-and-whistles security, but they all seemed to nowadays. That usually made churches a good mark – faith in God and faith in fellow man seemed to go hand in hand and, from his personally gathered statistics, fewer people sealed up their rides in God’s parking lot. Then again, this was Vegas.

  He eventually found a couple of old junkers sprinkled with all the fancy wheels, and their locks yielded easily to his slim jim, but all he got out of those were a few CDs and a stale stick of Juicy Fruit gum.

  Ten minutes later, he’d finished his work in the parking lot and decided to hit the Nativity scene for good measure. He already had enough for a bus ticket to LA, but a man needed some pocket change to get started in a new city.

  He frisked the wise men for loot, but apparently wise men didn’t wear watches or jewelry. But baby Jesus had a thin blanket covering him, and he figured it was worth a look underneath.

  You gave your blanket to baby Jesus.

  He looked cold.

  That was a fine thing to do. Sing with me, Emil. By the time the song is finished, we’ll be there.

  Emil was suddenly paralyzed by memories that hadn’t visited him in years. He willed his arm to lift the Wal-Mart version of swaddling clothes, but his muscles wouldn’t cooperate. He was as frozen as the wise men mannequins that were staring at him, just as lights from a passing patrol car swept the churchyard.

  ***

  Officer Sanchez turned the squad onto Custer Street and looked over at his partner. ‘What are you doing, Myers? It’s heads-up time. Make your list and check it twice when you’re off the clock.’

  Officer Myers folded the paper he was writing on and shoved it into his uniform pocket. ‘There is not one Barbie Fashion Fever Fashionista Doll left within five hundred miles. Can you believe that? The “Sassy” one is totally sold out, and now this ten-buck piece of junk is going for a hundred bucks on eBay. Mattel is holding us all hostage.’

  ‘What the hell is a Fashionista Doll?’

  Myers grunted. ‘A very sad piece of marketing genius. When you’re at church on Christmas Eve, thank God you have all boys.’

  ‘Oh, yeah? You know what a new Xbox costs? That’s all they want, and it’s half my paycheck. Back when I was a kid, the only thing I ever asked for was a bar of Ivory soap. Fifty cents. I was happy as a clam.’

  Myers rolled his eyes. ‘Come on, that’s pathetic. I know you grew up in the barrio but, please, no kid in the history of the world ever asked for soap for Christmas.’

  ‘No, I used to carve it. Birds, squirrels, little figurines, stuff like that. I was good at it, too. Every birthday, every Christmas, that’s all I asked for.’

  ‘Do you still carve?’

  ‘A little, sometimes. I graduated to wood. But who has the time?’

  Myers nodded solemnly. ‘Nobody. I hate Barbie – WAIT! STOP!’

  ***

  ‘Thank you, Jesus,’ Emil breathed, as the patrol car passed him by. He was about to make tracks and get as far away as possible, as soon as possible, but then he spied a collection basket near the Nativity scene. ‘For Those Less Fortunate’, the sign read. Well, they had his name on that, and it would be downright ungrateful of him not to accept the charity of this fine congregation.

  ***

  Sanchez turned the patrol car around. ‘I didn’t see anything.’

  ‘Something moved in the Nativity scene. I saw it in the side mirror.’

  ‘Great. Just what we need. A miracle.’

  ***

  Emil had just about cleaned out the collection basket when a spotlight swept over him. He scrambled for the shadows, pausing to dump the contents of his bag in the manger, burying the baby Jesus.

  ‘Hold it right there!’ a cop yelled.

  Emil stood calmly and empty-handed, smiling. ‘Evening, Officer. Merry Christmas! Nice night, isn’t it? Something I can do for you?’

  As Sanchez got closer, he squinted, then dropped his hand from his holster with a groan. ‘Emil, is that you? Dammit, I had forty-eight hours in the pool.’

  ‘Officer Sanchez?’

  ‘You got it.’

  Emil forced a weak chuckle. ‘Well, isn’t this something, running into you here, of all places? You going in for the service, too? Pastor Leslie gives some very powerful sermons. You won’t be disappointed. We could sit together, catch up on old times, haven’t seen you since …’

  ‘Since the last time I dragged your sorry butt in for felony theft. You think I don’t know you dumped that stuff in the manger? Turn around.’

  Emil submitted to a frisk. ‘Dump? Hey, man, can’t you see that sign? I brought those gifts for the poor.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Fine thing when a man gets abused by the law for donating to charity.’

  Sanchez peered into the manger. ‘Brought baby Jesus an iPhone, did you, Emil? And a … slim jim?’

  ‘Oh, well, now, that manger was crammed with stuff by the time I got here. And I don’t know anything about what a slim jim is, never even heard of it, unless you’re talking about those snack-things.’

  Sanchez gave him a broad smile. ‘So we aren’t going to find your prints on anything, am I right?’

  ‘Well, I may have touched some stuff when I laid my presents for the Lord in there. Doesn’t prove anything. Never hold up in a court of law. So I think I’ll just be on my way now …’

  ‘Emil.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Shut up and get in the car.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  The female officer in charge of Emil’s intake and booking was the best thing that had happened to him all day. She had dark, almond-shaped eyes set above a cute little nose, shiny black hair pulled into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, and a strong but petite physique that made her seem more ingénue than enforcer. She was soft-spoken and professional but there was also a little edge to her, like somebody who went skydiving or base-jumping on the weekends.

  For a brief moment, he imagined taking her out for a nice dinner, sharing a bottle of wine, checking out a Cirque du Soleil show. Maybe even a few perfunctory tries at the slots afterwards before they caught the dancing fountains at the Bellagio.

  His eyes drifted down to her nameplate for future reference – Ramos, it read, but apparently that had been a big mistake, because her face darkened and she abruptly leaned over the desk between them.

  ‘You don’t think I get all kinds of scum staring at my breasts all day long?’

  Emil recoiled. He was right about one thing – she did have an edge. ‘I – I wasn’t. I was just looking at your nameplate, Officer Ramos. So I could address you with the proper respect.’

  ‘Uh-huh. You’re smooth, aren’t you? Well, take a look around and check your reality. You’re in the Clark County Detention Center. This isn’t a debutante ball.’

  Emil cleared his throat politely and smiled. ‘No reason a booking can’t be a more cordial experience than what you’re probably used to.’

  She didn’t respond to his smile, just shoo
k her head as she shuffled through the paperwork in front of her. ‘More to the point, what you’re used to. You’ve got almost as much experience here as I do. I don’t like frequent flyers. And it looks like tonight you got another chance and you blew it. Again. What’s your problem?’

  Officer Ramos’s sweet physical appearance was definitely not synching with her personality and Emil’s previous vision of a night on the town with her disintegrated. And what had he been thinking anyhow? That dating a cop was a viable option?

  ‘You don’t know?’ she pressed. ‘I’m sure you have a story. Maybe you’d like to share it.’

  Emil held up his hands. ‘Listen, Officer Ramos, I’m just trying to be pleasant here. I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong foot. Maybe we should just finish up this booking and get me stashed for the night.’

  She narrowed her eyes and tipped her head, like a predator assessing quarry. For whatever reason, she eventually backed down, her demon side receding to allow the by-the-books police officer to return and inhabit the corporeal form of Officer Ramos. ‘In order to keep our population as safe as possible, I have to ask you some questions.’

  Emil nodded woodenly. He’d answered these questions before. Multiple times. ‘I’ll save you some breath, Officer Ramos. Any current gang affiliations? No. Any past gang affiliations? No. Any associates or friends or family associated with gangs? No. Any reason you should be put in protective custody or isolation? No.’

  She didn’t smile exactly, but there was a slight shift in her expression. ‘Thank you, Mr Rice.’ She stood and gathered her paperwork. ‘A deputy will be in shortly to escort you to Holding. Your cellmate shouldn’t bother you. He’s another frequent flyer, but he’s too drunk to know you’re even there. You’ll probably be in court before he wakes up. Sweet dreams.’

  Emil forced an anemic smile. ‘Thank you, Officer Ramos.’

  She turned back just as she was about to exit the room. Emil imagined her eyes flashing just a little, telling him that, yeah, maybe she did want to have dinner with him and see the latest Cirque du Soleil show and pull some slots before watching the fountains. ‘You don’t remember me.’

  ‘Oh, no, ma’am, I don’t think we’ve met. I would definitely remember you.’

  ‘I didn’t process you, but I was here the last two times they hauled you in.’

  Emil’s thoughts scrambled to remember a dark-eyed beauty witnessing his humiliation from the wings. The problem was, when you’d been on the wrong side of the law for as long as he had, you didn’t see faces anymore, just uniforms. ‘I pretty much keep my eyes down when I’m in this situation, so I guess I missed you. I’m sorry about that.’

  She waved him off. ‘I get it. I don’t remember half the people who walk through those doors. But I remember you.’

  ‘Is that good or bad?’ Emil ventured.

  She shrugged ambivalently. ‘You stand out. You didn’t belong here then and you don’t belong here now.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree with you more. In fact, this whole thing is one big mistake. I was just trying to go to church and exercise my right to worship …’

  She let out a long-suffering sigh and he snapped his mouth shut. ‘Use your head for a change and keep it straight. If I run into you again, I don’t want to see you wearing orange, you got it?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  He thought she actually smiled this time, showing off nice white teeth with one pegged incisor that confirmed they belonged to her, not to some cosmetic dentist. Of course, the way things had been going, she was probably baring her teeth, getting ready to strike. ‘Good.’

  Emil started fidgeting with his ring. Twirl to the right, twirl to the left, then back to the right again. ‘Can I ask you a question, Officer Ramos?’

  ‘Ask all you want, but don’t expect an answer.’

  ‘Have you ever seen a Cirque du Soleil show?’

  She scoffed: ‘Are you kidding? Do you know what tickets cost?’

  ‘I haven’t seen one either, but I’d like to.’

  ‘Good luck to you. Keep your butt out of this dump, get a job that pays more than minimum wage, and maybe it’ll happen.’

  ***

  Emil lay in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. His cellmate was choking out jagged snores that were unraveling his nerves and splintering his thoughts.

  What vexed him even more than the snoring drunk on the other side of the room was that he couldn’t get a bead on Officer Ramos. He prided himself on his uncanny ability to assess people with laser accuracy. He could read facial expressions and body language in a split second, and 99 per cent of the time he knew what was in their hearts and on their minds, what motivated them and what could distract them. But she’d messed with his radar. And it wasn’t just because she was a straight-up looker. There was something else at play – the edge he’d picked up on from the get-go.

  I’m sure you have a story. Maybe you’d like to share it.

  Sure, he had a story, but she did, too, and he wondered what it was.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Emil had never appeared in front of Judge Addison before, but he looked a little like Grandpa Moses without the extra melanin; the kind of guy who read his grandkids bedtime stories when they had an overnight and made chocolate-chip pancakes for them the next morning. He had white hair and an amiable face, which was creased with smile lines that hinted at kindness and compassion.

  But Emil had learned that looks could be deceiving, so he didn’t nurture any budding hope for a good outcome this morning. He’d totally screwed the pooch, and for the first time in his unsuccessful career as a criminal, he wondered why he’d tried to clean out a church parking lot at Christmas time, a few hours after he’d been released.

  Foster, on the other hand, did not look amiable or compassionate this morning: he looked like he’d just eaten crushed glass for breakfast with a side of battery acid. ‘You are so going down,’ he hissed in Emil’s ear, then stood and approached the bench at the judge’s request. Emil decided now might be a great time to shrink down in his chair at the defense table and look repentant.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Foster,’ Judge Addison said, his eyes downcast as he scanned the thick stack of paperwork before him.

  ‘Good morning, Your Honor.’

  The judge finally looked up and patted the cover page of Emil’s file. ‘Your client has a rather lengthy record. I assume you have a recommendation for this case, and I’d like to hear it before I make a judgment.’

  Foster cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. ‘Thank you for the opportunity, Your Honor. As you can see, in addition to Mr Rice’s prior convictions, we have multiple charges from last night’s victims. No question there was felony theft, along with a probation violation. In my opinion, Emil Rice is not suited for life outside prison walls at this juncture. I respectfully ask that he be remanded to jail to serve his remaining time.’

  Judge Addison kept his expression impassive. ‘You’re not advocating leniency, then?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  The judge nodded. ‘You may be seated, Mr Foster. Mr Rice, do you have anything to say for yourself, since you’ve waived your right to a court-appointed attorney?’

  Emil stood and bowed his head, mainly so he didn’t have to look at Foster’s smug smile as he returned from the bench. There were two ways to handle this particular situation – deny the charges and start spinning some yarn about his Robin Hood complex and how he’d just been reassigning gifts to those less fortunate, or suck it up. Given Foster’s unpleasant demeanor this morning, and the fact that this judge probably hadn’t just fallen off the turnip truck, he decided on the latter.

  ‘Your Honor, sir, I accept responsibility for my lapse in judgment last night. I’ve made a lot of bad choices, for a lot of my life, and I would like another chance to turn that around.’

  Foster snorted. ‘How many chances do you think you should get, Emil?’

  Judge Addison held up his hand, silencing him. ‘M
r Rice, Mr Foster seems to think that you are beyond rehabilitation. And after reviewing your file, one can certainly understand that assessment. You are an extremely misguided young man.’

  Emil looked down at the floor and started fidgeting with his gold band. It was a common nervous tic, but he also thought of the ring as a talisman. ‘Yes, sir, Your Honor.’

  ‘You’ve been arrested for petty theft …’ the judge glanced back down at the file ‘… over twenty times? Can that be right?’

  ‘Felony theft last two times, Your Honor,’ Foster hastened to add.

  ‘Twenty-odd arrests, Mr Rice. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe you’re just not very good at this?’

  ‘I … uh …’ Emil started twisting the gold band on his finger more aggressively as he scrambled for a suitable angle and a corresponding countenance. Confused seemed like a good choice. ‘Well, as a matter of fact, Your Honor, it has crossed my mind, and more than once lately. And I’ve been trying to figure it out, but sometimes this bad thing just comes over me and I feel this compulsion. Like a switch goes off in my head and I can’t stop myself, you know? It’s like a sickness, something bad inside just bubbling up.’

  He wanted to shoot Foster a nasty look when he heard his snicker behind him, but he decided to ignore him and keep a humble, remorseful focus on Judge Addison.

  ‘Are you suggesting you might be suffering from some form of mental illness, Mr Rice?’

  ‘Yes, sir, mental illness, that’s right. I’m thinking that maybe I should be evaluated. It wouldn’t be right to put a man back in jail when he’s fighting his internal demons, now, would it?’

  The judge shuffled through more papers and tapped a finger on his lip thoughtfully. ‘No, it most certainly wouldn’t be right. But when a probation officer of Mr Foster’s experience requests revocation of probation, it is customary for the court to honor that request.’

  Foster nodded graciously and Emil shrank down even further in his chair.

  ‘But it appears you have an advocate in Mr Ray Kroft, your supervisor at the halfway house. He seems to believe you have some very promising, perhaps even redeeming qualities, which I’m also taking into consideration along with Mr Foster’s recommendation.’