Chapter 11

The next morning Peter awoke not really sure where he was. He was still under thirty so it was more that he was just disoriented than any else. Sleeping on the floor in a totally different place left him shaky, even after three safe houses. It was just too much for his sleep drugged mind to process.

After he rolled off the bed it took boiling water poured through coffee grinds to finally remove his head from his ass. Whether it was manipulating the non electric coffee maker, the time it took to do it, or the smell and taste of fresh coffee, it didn't much matter. The result was that the reality of his life came flooding back to him. He shook his head and concentrated on the plastic coffee maker which came from the dry goods section of the consignment store. The plastic funnel came with a pack of five coffee filters, so coffee filters got added to his growing list of future purchases. The list ranged from the coffee filters to a microwave oven.

Since the room was warm, the apartment must have come with utilities. It was even more evident in the fact that the stove and refrigerator both worked. The water had been on, but he had paid no attention to that. He did note the day before that he had hot water. Hell the Marshals could have arranged it all, he knew. If it were the Marshals, who were taking care of him, it looked as though they could have arranged some furniture, Peter thought.

The flash drive informed Him that he had a job interview at 9am, so he could do his shopping on the way home.

He flagged down a taxi and gave the driver an address. The ride would have been ten minutes if it weren't for the traffic. The barely moving traffic made it thirty minutes that morning.

Peter was surprised that the office for 'Just Act' was in a strip mall. He was pretty sure that the office had been a retail store once upon a time. The renovations had obviously been minimal. There appeared to be eight cubicles created by some kind of movable partition. They were not banking type cubicles, so Peter felt sure they were just half walls nailed to the floor.

To get to the receptionist desk, Peter passed thought a busy waiting room. There were several men and women waiting for god only knew what. When he reached the empty desk, he stood waiting for several seconds. Then he call out, "Anybody home?"

"Patience," a female voice said.

"Sorry, I'll just come back another day," Peter said turning to leave. He would have gladly waited for someone in particular to become free. However he refused to get lost in the crowded waiting room while waiting for who or what, he had no idea.

Peter almost got to the door before a middle aged woman with really bad hair came around one of the half walls. She handed Peter a clipboard with a form and a pen, "Fill this out and have a seat. We will come get you in a bit."

"Well, I think you are under the mistaken impression that I am a client," Peter said. "I'm Peter Sims and I'm here to see the manager about a job."

The red head said, "Oh I'm so sorry. Please come on back." She led Peter back to the cubicle labeled Iva Gooding manager. "Iva the pro from DC is here," the receptionist stated.

The small plain looking woman who wore no make up, stood before she offered Peter her hand. "We are so happy to have you here." She said. "So what should we call you Peter?"

"Most people call me Deacon," Peter said. He came up with the name on he spot. He hoped that the completely different name would keep him on his toes. It was also the name of his very real uncle.

"Okay Deacon, we can really use your expertise," Iva said.

"I hope you aren't expecting a computer expert or a lab operator. I'm just an analyst." Peter said.

"Yes, but you can read the police reports and explain what we are reading," the very plain looking Iva Gooding suggested.

"I can do more than that, but yes I can do that as well," Peter said.

"I'm sure we can put your skills to work. So tell me are you settled into you new place?"

"Other than the fact that I have no furniture, I'm doing pretty well. It's a lot like camping right now," Peter explained.

"Do you need a couple of days to work on the apartment?" Iva asked.

"I don't need much, so I am good to go anytime you want. I do need something to drive around not for j just to get back and forth. Problem is I don't know where anything is and your traffic is awful."

"A lot of us are tree huggers here, so we ride bikes when the weather is nice. The cold might be a little much for you, but it would be easy enough to get around," Iva suggested. "We have a car available to use, if you need to go anywhere. It's not for personal use, but we can work something out I'm sure."

"It's a thought. Maybe you could suggest a place where I could go browse," Peter asked.

"Let's get you introduced to everyone before we do anything else. Then you can take the day off and comeback tomorrow ready to work. Is that satisfactory?" Iva asked.

"That's fine," Peter said. Most of the desks were cleaned off. They were obviously not in use by anyone. He was going to have several desks from which to choose, when he was ready to work.

Iva led him to a cubicle near the rear door. "Trish this is Deacon Sims. He is the much heralded records analyst and investigator. Deacon this Trish on of the four volunteer attorneys working here."

Peter took her hand then said, "Nice to meet you Trish, how long have you been an attorney?" he asked.

"I passed the bar last month," she said.

"So I suppose you will be leaving when a big firm decides to offer you a job?" Peter asked.

"I sent out some resumes yes," she said honestly.

"Good for you," Peter said.

Iva looked embarrassed as she walked him to the desk of a man at least sixty years old. "Martin this is Deacon Sims. He is our new analyst and investigator."

"How you doing Deacon. Anything I can do to help you settle in, just let me know. I am the senior attorney here."

"You could tell me what it is that you all do here?" Deacon asked.

"We try to find innocent men and woman, who have been incarcerated because of erroneous facts, or incompetent people," Iva said.

"So the 'Just Act' sign on the door is some kind of shorthand?" Peter asked.

"Our full name is The Justice Action team. We are part of a national movement started by young lawyers in New York. In the five years since it was formed, it has spread to major cities all over the country."

"So who pays the bills?" Peter asked. Martin tried give him a warning look, but Peter went on. "I may not be the right fit for you."

"We are funded by the justice department. It's their lipstick on a pig attempt at good press. There are some other groups who contribute and some wealthy patrons make contributions as well," she said.

"I see. You are telling me the clients don't pay anything for the service?" Peter asked.

"Do you really care," she asked.

"Yes I do. It goes to the splinter in the ER kind of thing," Peter said.

"Deacon, we screen these people well. Actually you will be part of the screening process," Iva said.

She walked to a cubicle near the empty reception desk. "You have already met Helen. Helen this is Deacon Sims. Helen is our computer genius and receptionist. Helen Deacon is an analyst. He was formerly with the FBI." Iva said.

"Oh why did you decide to come to bankrupt Detroit," Helen asked.

"I needed a change," Peter said being mysterious. After he left the 'Just Act' office, Peter walked around the strip mall. He found nothing of any interest but he did note what businesses were for future reference. The businesses of most interest were the two restaurants and the grocery store.

He knew for sure he didn't want to jog five miles home, so he called a taxi. While he waited he checked for bicycle shops on the net using the office WIFI. He found one named Bob's New and Used Bicycles. Since he had no idea how he would fair with a bike as local transportation in the winter, he thought he might be better to go with used. He thought he could also fit a stop at a big box store on the way home. He wanted to go to the bike shop first, then the big box store for a microwave oven before heading home.

Peter found nothing at the bike shop, so he went to a discount store for a dorm sized Microwave. He knew that he could carry the lightweight microwave up the stairs. Peter in just two days learned to make trips outside the house serve several purposes.

That night he went back to the internet to order some items on Ebay, using the prepaid credit card he had purchased at the big box store. He put $1,000 dollars on it, so that he could use it on Ebay and Amazon. The trick was to put the money on the prepaid card inside the department store, then moved it to PayPal. He hoped those moves would be untraceable from either end."

He had to admit that Seth's flash drive had the double blind credit card scheme. He also had to admit the three story climb discouraged him from the bicycle idea. He still liked it but it just wouldn't work.

On the morning of the second work day Peter met his neighbor. He was an older retired man. He seemed very pleasant, so Peter asked him, "Does the building have a storage area for the tenants?"

"Didn't they tell you when you rented the place. They will rent you a ten by ten space in the basement with a chain link fence around it, They charge a hundred bucks a month. Almost all the tenants have one," Mark said.

"Who do I see about getting one," Peter asked.

"You Could call the realty office. Since they don't want to be bothered, they will assign you the space when your pay the first month's rent."

"That's just what I need. Is there an outside entrance?" Peter asked.

"Of course, you can ask for the keypad code when you pay you fee," the old man said.

"Thanks a lot Mark. You have been most helpful. I need something to ride to work five miles each way. I'm thinking about a bike."

"You should look on Craig's list. Is that all you need to store?" he asked.

It's all I'm planning for now," Peter said.

"Why not wait till you find some thing you like. Then If you wish I can sublet you half my locker for fifty a month. It you need a ride to go see something I will give you a lift," Mark said. "I'm registered with share the ride so its much cheaper than a taxi. We can help each other out. Just give me a call anytime. Well not after dark, I don't drive at night."

"You got it my friend," Peter said.

Peter was on he verge of asking him for a lift to work when the phone rang. "Hello," Peter said.

"If you need a lift to work be out front of your apartment in ten minutes," Iva Gooding said.

"I would really appreciate it," Peter said. "So what do you drive?"

"A little blue Hyundai. Don't worry I'll recognize you,"

"Fair enough," Peter said.

"Good morning," Peter said to the still plain looking Iva. "Thanks for offering me the ride. I haven't had time to arrange transportation yet. I'm really not into mass transit."

"After three years in D.C. I would have thought you would be," she said.

"I had a department car. I was always on duty," he said.

"Kind of like a real cop," Iva said.

"Yeah like that," he confirmed.

"You were some kind of spook weren't you?" she asked.

"Not at all, I just went to crime scenes to evaluated the evidence and offer suggestions on what to look for." Peter said.

"If you say so Deacon," she suggested. "Have you had breakfast?"

"No, if you are planning to stop somewhere I'll buy," he suggested.

"I was thinking we could go through a place with a drive in window. Do you have a preference?" Iva asked.

"Not at all," Peter said.

The two of them entered through the unlocked front door. The door was unlocked because the middle-aged read head with her hair cut and colored like a teenager arrive before them.

"Good morning Helen," Iva and Peter both said.

"Heckle and Jekyll are here to see you," Helen informed Iva. Deacon, Martin wants to see you," Helen said.

Iva left Peter standing with Helen while she went to her office. She handed Peter the bag of food and coffee. "I'll meet you in the break room. Don't drink all the coffee." she demanded.

Peter walked back to the cubicle where he found Martin the day before. "Martin, I haven't had breakfast yet, so if you need to talk to me urgently come to the break room otherwise I'll be back in a few minutes," Peter said.

"I need some coffee, so I'll join you," the much older man replied.

"Good," Peter said. Two minutes later Peter bit into his bacon egg and cheese biscuit. "Now that's really good," he said.

"My cholesterol rose two points just being in the same room with you," Martin said with a smile.

"So what do you want to talk about?" Peter asked.

"Stop by my office when you get a chance, I have something that's has been on my mind for a year or more," Martin said.

"That is a long time. What is it," Peter asked.

"It was a case I prosecuted when I was with the DA's office," Martin said.

"Was it prosecutorial misconduct?" Peter asked.

"No deacon, we followed all the rules religiously. It's something we didn't know. Come by my desk get the file and do what you do," Martin demanded.

"Is this a real client, or is it personal. Martin we all have ghosts," Peter replied.

"Just look it over please," Martin said.

"Okay, are we keeping the others in the dark?" Peter asked.

"For now please," Martin said.

After his coffee and biscuit with Martin, Iva came in with two black lawyers who looked well cared for and were volunteers from the NAACP legal defense department he was told.

Peter didn't even bother to listen to their names. They became Heckle and Jekyll to him as well. One was male and one was female.

They were both well educated and he was pretty sure well off financially. They most likely had demons to deal with. It was hard to be lumped in with other people because of your race. He had dealt with Paco Gomez's men, so he knew a little about it from personal experience. Their race issues were often settled with a bullet to the brain. I couldn't tell heckle and Jekyll that.

"Good morning Mr. Sims," Heckle said. He was the male member of the duo.

"Good morning, and its Deacon, I don't stand much on formality," Peter said.

"I'm afraid I do," the black man said smugly.

"Then I suggest you go through Iva, if you need to talk to me. I really am serious formality gets in the way of what I do." Peter said.

"I have one of those awful names given to kids by poor black mothers back in the eighties, but now it's Marsha," the back woman less than ten years older than Peter, said with a warm smile.

"We are all victims off our childhood. Keeping that in mind makes me a lot less judgmental," Peter said taking her hand.