Skid and slip. Is this stuff falling rain or snow? Jacobs wonders as he rounds a corner slowly. There was so much on the to-do list for today. He was supposed to be meeting with the MLA, Melanie Moon (Member of Legislative Assembly) for the area to discuss many things, among them actual electoral reform. Then a follow up coffee for a grieving widow whose life partner had just passed, and the hospital visit for the lady who on her hundredth birthday slipped and fell at the entrance to the church.
Yet here he was, playing detective. Tracking down the ne’er do well that had brought death to the Cosmic Mass. The predator had brought in fentanyl laced with carfentanyl so the Naloxone didn’t work. Worse yet, scuttle butt from some of the other attendees was that there had been attempts to recruit some of the youths in attendance to the sex trade as well. The description wasn’t some dark bogeyman that Jacobs’ congregants had built up in their mind for the nefarious deeds. Nope, they looked like prep school boys and girls, just hovering or just over the age of legality at 18.
A vibration in his front left jean pocket, Jacobs pulls out that which the youth mock, his old flip phone. “Lee here.” in a hushed whisper.
The voice sounded like it had smoked too many cigarettes too quickly. That raspy-smoulder quality. James Sean. Former beat cop for the area, and congregant. He had been working some angels when he heard what the `Padre’ was up to. “Padre, we got a bead down at the park three blocks from the church.”
Jacobs thanked James and disconnected the call. He pulled the collar up on his leather 3/4 length coat and tugged tighter on the gloves. The park that was three blocks from the church was the one he was staring at now. Lad of average height, and build, some may say charmingly handsome. Dressed like a staff from the bankrupt Target Canada. His satchel was a beige colour to match his khakis. Jacobs replayed the Cosmic Mass in his mind. The rhythmic beats of music, dancing, swaying, chanting, sharing of food… being one within the Holy Mystery…and the glow from the almost bleach blonde hair in the back off of the black lights and strobe lights.
Jacobs watched the obvious transaction. They had become more overt since the legalization of Marijuana, many not realizing that yes the substance was legal but it was not legal to purchase from your street corner dealer you still had to use a licensed dispensary. Unfortunate this attitude had been taken to many parking lot, park and street transactions. Jacobs had called the police on more than one dealer he walked by on the church steps/ramp heading in to work.
The slush splashed up on the cuffs of his jeans as Jacobs moved quicker into the park. The boring ones as the kids in the parish called them, sanitized from anything fun. Two simple ride `em animals, a short slide, and one swing. Blonde Target worker was sitting on the swing. Jacobs walked up, and mumbled something about how much.
Blonde Target Worker looked up, he saw the glint of the white cube collar and tried to run, but Jacobs pushed the chain holding the swing back causing the khaki clad lad to splash into a slush puddle as Lee scooped the backpack and held it. Tears formed in the dealer’s eyes.
“I ain’t doin’ nothin'”
“You are not doing anything wrong is the correct grammar. And yes you are.” Lee said, as he unzipped the top of the backpack to view the product. “Last night you were at my church.” There was sirens in the background, Retired Constable James Sean had called his friends, which was unfortunate Jacobs was hoping to get more out the dealer but at least he would be off the street.
The dealer attempted to hork onto Jacobs but wound up choking, so as the police car pulled up what they saw was Jacobs hauling the dealer up and performing the Heimlich Maneuver until he expropriated the clump of mucus. Jacobs let him fall to the muck again, pulling the wallet from his back pocket. He was a university student, Brock Marshall. “So Brock, whose your boss?”
“F- you man.” Brock yelled in a raspy just finished almost choking to death voice. The two cops were moving slowly towards them, Jacobs could tell they were trying not to stifle a laugh at the scene.
Upon reaching them, Jacobs handed the backpack to the one. “Probably will find it fits with what happened at St.Jude’s last night.” The constables both nodded.
Brock was trying to sound tough in his squeaky raspy voice. It was a laugh. He looked right at Jacobs. “Oh man you are a dead man.”
Lee looked right at Brock. The Padre had dark brown eyes that some said looked almost black. One parishioner stated when sitting for spiritual direction it was like Lee was staring through you into the depths of your very soul. Brock still had tears trickling down his face. “You do not scare me.”
“Oh Father, you and all you people will be the first to die.” Brock said, giggling like a pre-schooler watching Barney and Friends as he was led away in handcuffs.
Lee Jacobs watches the car pull away. You people. Much of the populism had been aimed at immigrants, migrants, and the lower socio-economic classes. All existed within the largest multi-cultural and socio-economically diverse area of the city.
Lee walked slowly back to his church. His eyes fixed on the bright X spray painted across the double entry doors as he ascended the stairs up. The weather was causing his bad knee to ache, and having to dead lift a drug dealing dumb ass had not helped it. Now this.
Jammed in between the door seam was a flyer “It’s okay to be white.”
“Not this shit again.” Lee silently cursed as he stepped inside the church.
End Part One.
Paul Vargis
Ty
A Monk's Musings 