Wrestling With God Page 14

  After an hour's discussion in the small groups, Sonia began her presentation on personal freedom and responsibility. She started with her own story of growing up in a large Mexican family who had immigrated to the U.S. right before she was born. One of her brothers had broken out of the family script and had become a medical doctor. He had been her inspiration to break out of her blue-collar, working-poor script and become a teacher, and was now completing her doctorate in psychology. She was clear and confident as she spoke.

  She, like J.J., noticed that men leered at them when she began to speak and addressed it this way,: "I notice most of you look at me and wonder what in the world we are doing up here talking to inmates in prison. I asked Jerry and Jack that question and they said that you all will enjoy seeing and listening to two beautiful women. I ..." She was interrupted by applause. She went on, ". questioned that, so thank you for the applause. They also said that we, J. J. and I, would help remind you that you are part of a bigger world that is half female. They also stressed that women have an emotional way of looking at human problems that is different from men. They said, 'We need you two.'" Again she was interrupted by applause. "So far, I feel accepted by those of you whom I have gotten to know, and I'll challenge J.J. that, at best, she can only have the second-best group in this section of the program." The six in her group clapped loudly.

  The third day we spent on our struggles to accepting and guiding our elephants, choosing to change our scripts, and wrestling with God, life, and ourselves. After we ended at 4:00 on Thursday, we met briefly and Jack reminded us that all the men we had seen had worked with him and our next group would be new to his ideas. I hoped we were up to the challenge.

  Chapter 18

  JERRY

  A fter dinner with Jack and Dan McGuire, Sonia, J.J., and I headed back to St. Louis. I was driving our Prius and after our successful workshop, the three of us were in a good mood and singing "Happy Days Are Here Again," when this huge machine showed up behind us and seemed to be dangerously close. It was close to 10:00 at night, and we were in some kind of danger and didn't know why. We were driving east on I-70 in the middle of Missouri, a few miles east of Columbia.

  "I have no idea who might be interested in us out here in the middle of nowhere and at night."

  J.J., who was riding shotgun, turned, to see who it might be. "It's a big SUV, maybe a Ford Expedition or Lincoln Navigator, and another monster just came up behind him. I wonder what this is all about? I'm pretty sure the guys in the front one are men, and one is a giant of a guy."

  "We'll find out pretty soon," I said, as the front one pulled up beside us and the giant pointed to the Rest Area sign and continued pointing and then signaled a slow-down motion. I thought of trying to see if I could out run them, but knew the little Prius could not get away from the huge SUVs. As we got closer, the Ford turned toward our car to let me know that I should turn in or get rammed by the monster. The rear SUV was riding our tail so close he was almost pushing us. I thought about telling the women to hide but it was much too late; both pursuing vehicles had their brights on and could see who and how many were in our car.

  I slowed down and headed for the dim light near the restrooms, but the rear vehicle bumped our car and the giant motioned for me to continue on into the darker area. I crawled along until the giant put his hand up to stop. We were about a hundred yards beyond the lighted area, and about 50 miles east of Booneville. There were no cars in sight, but three eighteen-wheelers were on the other side of the lot with motors running and lights off.

  The three of us sat there and waited. I was worried, scared, and sure Sonia and J.J. were also. Our first pursuer parked at a slant in front of us, in a way that would keep me from pulling away and the second SUV blocked me from behind. They doused their headlights and two guys got out of each car. The cars' dome lights gave me a chance to see the definitely-not Jolly Green Giant and a smaller driver get out of the front car and two average-sized guys exit the rear. The four slowly walked toward my side. I thought at least two of the guys looked familiar, maybe prison guards. Giant could not be a guard because of his obesity.

  I was scared and angry as I unrolled my window and did my best to sound normal as I said, "What's going on, fellas? What's the problem?"

  The driver whispered something to the giant, who then roared, "You're the problem, asshole. Get the fuck outta the car." I was feeling more angry by the second and remembered my mother saying, "Son, I think you are too impatient and too quick to anger to become a priest."

  I always told her, "I'll get over it." I guess I never did, and I was really pissed as I got out of the car. I remembered a switch-blade knife Rebecca had taken from our teenage visitor and she had dropped it in the pocket of the driver's door. I picked it up as I got out. As I did, all four guys bent down to get a glimpse of my passengers. They made a half circle around me. Giant was in front of me and seemed awkward, and from what little I could see, looked stupid. He bent down to the driver who whispered something in his ear. The big guy roared again, "You, college boy, are gonna wish you'd never heard of Booneville Prison." He held up a three-foot club, like those riot police used.

  I thought I'd try reason again, "May I ask what this is all about? You've got my attention but I don't know what I've done." I couldn't get a good look at their faces, but I could see a long club in the hands of one of the fellows and a knife or gun in the hands of the other two.

  Giant's driver, I'll call Tiny, said, "You're trying to set things up at the prison that's gonna cost us our jobs. You're telling the inmates and guards that in the new plan they'll only need four guards where we now have about twenty." He showed me his hunting knife. "We're gonna stop that nonsense right now!" He confirmed my suspicion that at least two of them were guards.

  One of the other "normals" added, "And two of my buddies tell me they had to listen to sermons from a nigger bitch and a beaner bitch. We don't need any of that shit." I thought they needed to listen so someone who had more than an ounce of brains. The moron went on, "I'm sure happy you brought the bitches with you. Now we're gonna show those two uppity babes what they're really asking for. They ain't gonna make it back to Booneville ... ever!"

  They talked like we were just going to lie down and let them beat the shit out of us. What dumb assholes.

  Nobody seemed to notice my switch-blade. Without any kind of light, I couldn't see what Sonia and J.J. were doing. The big guy stopped slapping his left hand with the club and seemed to be getting ready to use it. His coat was unbuttoned—probably couldn't find one big enough to cover his enormous gut. He began to raise the club up past his shoulder and step toward me. I heard it was better to be close to the clubber than at the end of the swing, so as fast as I could I rushed to close the distance between us and held the switch-blade out in front of me. Maybe my hurting the clubber would encourage the others to back off, or at least let them know we weren't passive. I jabbed the five-inch blade into Giant's gut as hard as I could, just as he swung the club down. I tried to dodge to my left and the club came down hard on my right shoulder. My knife had penetrated the big man's stomach up to the hilt and my shoulder felt like it was being separated from my body. Giant's blood was squirting out like a fire hose and my knife came up inside his flesh as I fell.

  I would have fallen under the fat guy if Tiny hadn't come crashing down toward me and falling with me. He wasn't jumping into the fray, he was thrown into it. He was out of control as I felt his knife slice my pants and ass cheek as we fell. I jumped just far enough away from him, so the Giant fell down on him. I heard four gun shots and the two normals fell toward us with blood spurting out of their midsections. Who was firing those shots and taking out these two? I heard sirens as we all fell into a pile of bloody bodies. Who could have called for help? I never felt so much pain in my life. My shoulder and my ass were on fire and before I passed out, I thought, "God, I hope the women are okay."

  Chapter 19

  REBECCA

  I drove we
st on the Interstate doing 90 mph and I saw that Columbia was 10 miles ahead. I slowed at a rest stop that I felt sure was where Jerry and the women were attacked. Floodlights and yellow crime scene tape confirmed it.

  I only knew that Jerry was in the hospital and undergoing serious surgery. Sonia had called and only said she was pretty sure that Jerry was not dying. "Pretty sure." What kind of answer was that? I thought about the last time I had been worried about him. It was the day I met him. I had driven all the way from St. Louis to this little Podunk town of Paris, Kansas to get an interview with him. I knew he had refused to talk with reporters and I was afraid he would refuse to see me. Now I was afraid he might die. Of course, this worry was much worse but I am amazed at how similar my feelings were.

  As I neared the new small Columbian Community Hospital, my anxiety increased as I saw the dozens of police cars, ambulances, and TV news trucks all over the place. Jack Carroll said he would meet me and, true to his word, he came running from behind the crowded parking lot and waved. I rolled down the window and yelled, "How is he?"

  "He's still being operated on. One of the surgeons told us that his injury is not life threatening but is very complicated. Two specialists have joined the team just minutes ago." He grabbed the passenger door handle and said, "Let me in and I'll show you where to park." He directed me around all the TV trucks to the back of the hospital.

  As we entered the hospital's crowded lobby, a short, portly man in a sheriff's uniform approached a mic. Jack whispered, "We're all meeting in a conference room on the other side."

  "Just a minute; I want to hear what the sheriff has to say. Please, stay with me. Okay?"

  Jack nodded.

  "I'm George Sandling, sherriff of Columbia County, and I'll tell you what we know about this evening's tragedy. It was ten miles east of here, two stolen SUV's forced a Toyota Prius off the highway into the parking area of the rest stop. The Prius was driven by Gerard Haloran, a contract employee of the Booneville State Prison, and his two co-workers. All three were returning to their homes in St. Louis. Four men in the SUVs were armed with clubs and knives. Mr. Haloran protected himself with a knife and one of his fellow workers, a woman, had a licensed pistol. The other woman, also an employee of the prison, happens to be a black belt in Karate. Three of the four assailants were guards. I'm sorry to report that one guard and his nephew died in the melee, and Mr. Haloran was severely wounded and is now in surgery. He is expected to live. The other two prison guards were shot and are also expected to live. They are currently being operated on here at this hospital. Now I will take a few questions."

  Jack and I began to make our way through the crowd. One reporter asked, "Sheriff Sandling, do you know why the guards attacked the contract employees?"

  "No, we do not. One of them stated before the fight began that they were afraid the work of the three contactors would cause them to lose their jobs. That does not seem to be a sufficient reason for the assault."

  We were through the crowd and into the hall before a second question was asked. A policeman was guarding the door of the conference room. He nodded to Jack and me, and opened the door. Sonia and J.J. jumped up and gave me a hug, followed by Dan and Henry Bonhoeffer, the warden. The warden was the first to speak, "It is good to see you, Rebecca. Jerry is in surgery and one of the surgeons said they would be operating for hours. Your husband is a very tough guy. Did you know that?"

  "I knew he was very strong about his convictions, Warden, and I did know that he defended himself quite well once before—I mean he wrestled a gun from a fellow who ended up killing himself. Now, I don't know exactly what he did, do you?"

  Sonia was standing next to Henry and jumped in, "He stabbed the biggest dude I've ever seen, just as the guy brought his club down on Jerry's shoulder. The bruiser is dead, and someone said that if he had hit Jerry in the head or his left shoulder, he would be dead too. Anyway, he's alive, thank God."

  "When will I get to see him?"

  Henry answered, "I'm sure you can guess that right now you'd be in the way. One of the doctors said he'd let us know as soon as the surgery is completed. Did Jerry ever say anything to you about being threatened?" I shook my head and he continued, "I can't imagine why this happened. I do think that we need to be more open with everyone at the prison, staff and inmates. Everyone needs to be clear about what we are doing and our goals. You can help us with these, Rebecca. Also, more urgent, would you help us with a press release?"

  "Sure, Warden, I need more information. I'll huddle with J.J. and Sonia now and work on it." I sat down with them and Henry started talking with Dan and Jack. J.J. held out her phone for me to hear what the assailants had said before the fight. I was appalled at the viciousness of the voices. When I stopped crying, Sonia showed me the pictures of the aftermath and I started crying all over again, and they hugged me.

  J.J. whispered, "Jerry sure knows how to pick women helpers. I think those idiots just thought they'd smack us and show us their knives and we'd be too scared to move."

  Sonia nearly shouted, "And I'm sure the bastards were planning to rape us." J.J. nodded in agreement. They took turns giving me a blow-by-blow account of the one-minute fight. I closed my notebook just as a chubby plain-clothed cop came into the conference room. Central Missouri seemed to have more than its share of well-fed cops.

  "Rebecca," Henry said, "I'd like you to meet Sergeant Robert Hutchins; he's with the sheriff's office and is assigned our case." I shook hands with Robert, the name he preferred.

  He told us, "Our assailants were finished with surgery about an hour ago and were conscious enough for a preliminary interview. Their names are Jude Baker and Corb Corbin. Corb is about as bright as his name." He believed that Jude was the leader of the group, even though he insisted that Ted Hatfield, the dead guard, was the leader. "You are free to interview them, if you wish. Let me know how it goes and especially if you find some pertinent information. The arresting officer read them their rights and they haven't asked for an attorney. You might want to ask them again."

  Henry asked, "Sonia and J.J., the two heroes this evening, wish to return to their families in St. Louis. Do you have any objection to that? They both will keep their cell phones with them and they are only two hours away. They are beat. I think they definitely deserve it."

  "I have their testimony, copies of the audios and pictures. I see no problem. And, ladies, do keep this all to yourselves as this is an on-going investigation." He held out his hand and they both shook it and agreed to keep it all confidential. I took the keys to the Prius off my key ring and gave them to Sonia. We gave each other goodbye hugs.

  I joined Henry with his interview of Jude Baker while Jack and Dan interviewed Corb Corbin. I felt only a twinge of fear as we entered, for I had gotten use to entering into rather hostile interview situations. We found Jude watching a re-run of a football game. Henry said, "Turn that damn thing off, Jude, I want to talk to you." Jude obeyed and shrugged as he looked our way. Henry continued, "This is Rebecca Brady, my writer, and I want her to write down everything we say. So, I want you to be honest, hear? The sheriff's deputy told me he'd read you your rights. Now do you want an attorney?"

  Jude moaned and muttered, "No." He gave us a blank look and tried to look tough. Moaning every time he moved betrayed the strong guy image he wanted us to see. I wrote down his refusal for an attorney.

  "Okay, Jude, which one of you three guards was the leader or mastermind of this fiasco?"

  "Hatfield was. He's the one the moron fell on. The big lummox was his nephew and his passenger in the SUV Hatfield was driving." I was sure Henry noticed the contradiction with the detective's report.

  "Where did you steal the SUVs?"

  "You mean those idiots stole those rides?" Jude said, unconvincingly.

  The warden continued. "So, tell me, why did you attack the three people in the Prius?"

  "We were headed to a meeting east of Columbia and we started to pass a car, when I noticed that the driver was t
he guy who was working up a stink back at the prison. Us guards had heard rumors of how these guys were going to change things so we'd have to coddle the prisoners and set things up so we'd only need about a fourth as many guards as we do now. I thought it would be a good idea to let him and his lady coworkers know that they weren't welcomed nor appreciated by us guards in Booneville."

  Sounding thoughtful, Henry said, "So, there you were driving along the highway, minding your own business, and right along the side of you were these prison meddlers going the same way. So you decided to teach them something, is that right?" Jude seemed to brighten up as the warden seemed to be buying his story. He nodded. Henry continued, "So, Jude, what kind of lesson did you want to teach them? And why did you have knives and clubs to teach that lesson?"

  Jude reflected a moment and then said, "Oh, we had those things in the cars so we could practice. We were supposed to practice for a test next week. Yeah, that's it."

  The warden turned to me, "Rebecca, did you know about this test next week? And did you forget to tell me about it?"

  "No, sir. This is news to me. I'll check with Dan about it." Jude looked quite pleased with himself.