The Reformed by Tod Goldberg Read Free Book Online

number?”
    “No, no,” Eduardo said. “I have no idea where he’s even living. My people on the streets say he is not in the old neighborhoods.”
    “All right. When his guy comes, you tell him you want a face-to-face meeting here. When is this place the busiest?”
    “All day,” Eduardo said. “We have a shift that starts at seven, another at four, though we feed the workers at three thirty for the night shift.”
    “Tell him to be here at three thirty, then,” I said. “Let him see the full workforce.”
    “What will we be telling him?”
    “I don’t know yet,” I said. “But I have a few ideas.”
     
    Sam and I wound through the shaded lawn of Honrado Industries as we walked back to the car. There were flags in places where the new buildings were planned and signs, propped up with artist renderings of what the buildings would look like. The weird thing was that just across the street from this small bit of paradise—paradise built on the religious reformation of a gangster and put in peril by his past—was the real world: a teenage girl pushing a baby stroller, a homeless man asleep in an apartment complex carport, a stray dog nosing around for scraps.
    “Here’s what I don’t get,” Sam said. “Why come back here? If you’re Father Eduardo, I mean. Why not just move to Idaho and start all over? He had to expect that he’d run into these kinds of problems eventually.”
    “Home is home,” I said. “And besides, he’s paying penance.”
    “I dunno, Mikey,” Sam said. “I don’t see myself running over to Fallujah when I retire just to pay penance. I could live my whole life without seeing the Republican Guard again and I’d be perfectly fine. Know what I mean?”
    “You can’t discount ego, either,” I said. “Eduardo wouldn’t be lunching with the mayor if he lived in Boise. He might be doing it all for the good, but there’s still a little bit of the showboat gangster I remember in him.”
    “You gotta have that to make it in the God game,” Sam said. “Look at Tammy Faye Baker. She wasn’t exactly reserved and refined.”
    He was right. He usually is. “Listen,” I said, “I want you to find out what you can on Junior Gonzalez. I need to know just what kind of guy we’re up against.”
    “If he’s got cops,” Sam said, “I’m a little limited on my sources. People tend to talk when they think something of interest is happening, and you never know who knows who in law enforcement.”
    “I’m sure you’ll find someone who can help,” I said.
    “I can go back to my guy in Corrections, but he’ll only know so much. I’ve got a buddy who did some time at the same prison while Junior was there,” Sam said. “That might be a place to start. And I’m pretty sure he’s no friend of the local law. He runs a pretty lucrative post-lockup business these days, is my understanding. You know how Father Eduardo gets kids back on the road to good? My buddy, he paves the road with the papers they might one day need if they ever want to work a real job.”
    “What was your friend in for?” I asked, which is probably the wrong question to ask anyone when they say they have a friend who’s done time.
    “Oh, you know, fraud, some passport business, minor nonviolent acts meant to increase his personal wealth. That sort of thing. Good guy. You’d love him. I’ll call him and see if we can meet up for drinks. He’s the kind of guy who likes a little lubrication.”
    “I know the type,” I said.
    “Ah, Mikey, you only know the half. My guy? He still makes pruno at home. You’d love it. Puts a little spice in there that’ll make you jump out of your socks. Of course, if he makes it wrong, it can also kill you. So it adds a bit of thrill to the evening.”
    “That’s great,” I said.
    When we reached my Charger, there was a young man of about twenty walking slow circles around it. He had on the same polo shirt as the rest of the kids working at the facility. “This