Chapter 69: Paul Reynolds

February 25, 1984, Rutherford, Ohio

"Hi!" Emmy gushed when she opened the door for Clarissa and me on Saturday morning.

"Thanks for letting Clarissa hang out here while I take care of this for Liz."

"You're doing the right thing, Mike. I have to go to work in a few minutes, but Clarissa can buzz you in when you come back, and then if you just lock the door when you leave and bring the key to Lou's, everything will be cool."

"You're a sweetheart, Emmy Nelson!"

"I know!" she giggled, winking at me.

I hugged her, then hugged Clarissa, and headed back to my car for the drive to the halfway house, which was next door to First Methodist Church. Five minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of the church, parked, and, as I'd discussed with Father Nicholas, put on my cassock. I walked next door to the large Victorian house. I rang the bell, and a young man about my age answered.

"Yes?"

"I'm Subdeacon Michael. I have an appointment with Mr. Gilbert."

"Come in, Subdeacon."

He allowed me in, and I followed him to a small office where there were two desks, behind one of which was a bespectacled man who appeared to be in his sixties.

"John? Subdeacon Michael is here to see you."

He stood and extended his hand, so I walked over and shook it, and then he indicated I should sit.

"I understand your church might be able to help with a job for Paul Reynolds?"

I nodded, "I think so. Our Cathedral in Columbus runs a prison ministry, and our local parishes try to help where we can."

"How did you come across Paul?"

"Through a friend of his who knows me, Leslie Compton. I believe she corresponded with him in prison regularly."

That was Emmy's cousin, and it was her name that Liz had used to write Paul. I was a bit concerned about the subterfuge, but once Liz had gone down the path, there wasn't anything I could really do about it, and she was going to follow the path no matter what.

"He said she would come to visit at some point."

"I actually didn't ask her about that, but she did ask me to see if we could help him."

"Did you have some specific position in mind?"

"No. What I need to do is speak with him and get a feel for his skills, then talk to people in our local parishes or the Cathedral and see if we can find a job for him."

"You know what this conviction was for, right?"

I nodded, "Statutory rape and oral sodomy on a minor under sixteen. I didn't say it would be easy. That said, there is a difference between being with an underage girl and a violent rape, though I know quite a few fathers who would disagree."

"You and me both," Mr. Gilbert agreed. "But, he doesn't have a conviction for a violent felony, as you say, just for one of moral turpitude. Unfortunately, that's enough to keep him from getting any kind of professional license, a job with the state, county, or city, or even working someplace where he would sell liquor."

"I understand the challenge. The priest who runs this ministry, Father James, has had very good success, even with difficult cases."

"If I understand your church, you're basically like an assistant to the priest?"

To the bishop, but there was no point in getting into a theological discussion which might detract from my mission.

"More or less. I told someone the other day it was like being a bat boy or on the ground crew at Riverfront Stadium."

Mr. Gilbert laughed, "An interesting analogy. I assume you feel safe talking to him in private?"

"He's not a violent offender, and despite the cassock, I'm a brown belt in Shōtōkan karate."

"I don't think that will come into play, but some people are very nervous about even being in the presence of a convicted felon."

"We're all sinners, Mr. Gilbert. All of us. If I was afraid of sinners, I wouldn't go near a church because, as my priest has said, churches are chock full of stinking sinners."

"I can't even begin to imagine the reaction of our congregation if the minister said something like that, even though it's accurate. Wait here, please, and I'll bring Paul to you."

"Thanks."

He was back less than two minutes later.

"Paul Reynolds, this is Subdeacon Michael from the Orthodox Church in America. Subdeacon Michael, this is Paul Reynolds. Paul, he thinks he can help you find a job."

"Thanks, John," Paul said.

"I'll leave you two alone," Mr. Gilbert said. "I'll be in the living room if you need me."

I nodded, and he closed the door.

"Mike Loucks," I said, staring him directly in the eyes.

"Oh, shit!" he said, blanching and recoiling slightly. "Her brother."

"Yes, her brother. But I love her enough that I'm actually here to help you find a job. And to lay down the law. Take a seat."

He did.

"Look," I said. "I'm not going to mince words. It takes a real dirtbag to cheat on his wife, especially when he has a kid. But that's between you and your ex and you and Liz. I think she's making a big mistake, but it's her mistake to make. I'm here to tell you that if you even THINK about hurting my little sister, you might as well drive yourself to the county morgue because that's the only place you're going. Got it?"

"Got it," he said meekly.

"Now that we have that out of the way, I need to figure out how to help my future brother-in-law get a job AND keep my dad from sending him to the morgue just on general principles."

"Liz wrote that you gave your gun to your friend before you broke this to your parents."

"Lucky for you because he went looking for it."

"You know you're confusing me."

"You mean because I think this is a really, really bad idea, but I'm helping anyway?"

"Yes."

"Do you love my sister?"

"Yes. I had a shitty marriage..."

I held up my hand and cut him off, "Spare me, please. That's between you and Liz. I love her, too, and I know this is what she wants. My options are to destroy my relationship with her or figure out how to make it work, keep her safe, and keep you alive."

"Your dad is that volatile?"

"You tell me. You were twenty-four, married, and had a kid, and you slept with his fourteen-year-old daughter. Don't you think that might have put him a bit on edge?"

"Yeah. More than a bit."

"Me, too. But for me, it was more the whole infidelity thing than the ten-year age gap. But let's solve the immediate problem first — job skills. I'm not an expert in this area, but I can relay information to people who could hire you or recommend someone hire you."

"I take it that robe gives you some kind of credibility?"

"Yes, and I'm going out on a limb for Liz here."

"My degree is in business, and I was managing the business side of a decent-size machine shop north of town."

"Does that mean you could manage any kind of business? I'm pre-med, and my knowledge of business is limited to being a clerk at both a hardware store and a corner grocery store."

"Generally, yes, though some management jobs need significant expertise in a field."

"Were you good at it?"

"I'd like to think so," he said. "I kept the same job for almost three years before I was arrested, and I had positive reviews. I worked during college and High School, too."

"Is there something you would like to do? Or something you would hate to do?"

"I'm not exactly in a position to be picky. I'll work any job, any shift, just to get started. I need something to prove myself. And I have to have a job to get out of here and get my freedom back."

"You're on parole?"

"Yes. Basically, 'time off for good behavior' converts the remaining part of the sentence to parole. I have a strict curfew here, along with all kinds of other restrictions. Once I get a job and hold it for a time, I can move out. But my PO has to talk to whatever place hires me, so you should probably warn them."

"PO?"

"Sorry, Parole Officer. A county employee who makes sure I follow the rules for my release."

"Ah, OK. What's the name of the place you worked?"

"Randolph Machine Tools. My boss was Art Randolph, who owns the place."

"And before that?"

"Fast food or custodial for a few different places during High School and college."

"Could you write them down for me?"

"I actually had to prepare a résumé. I can give you some copies."

"Both my jobs came because someone at church asked another person at church to hire me, so my knowledge in that area is limited as well."

"I wondered if you did this often or if you set it up for Liz."

"For Liz. And speaking of her, she's not coming within a mile of you before her eighteenth birthday. The last thing you need is some kind of trouble from that. She said to tell you she loves you and that she'll see you when I tell her it's OK. And I'm going to keep my own counsel on that."

"I got it. I half-expected you to punch my lights out when you introduced yourself. Thanks for not doing that."

"Liz didn't tell you I was on her side?"

"She was very cagey in her letters."

I nodded, "Of course. She couldn't reveal who she really was. The name is her best friend's cousin who lives here in town."

"It was confusing at first, but she managed to let me know who she was without saying who she was in that first letter."

"OK. Let me have the copies of your résumé, and I'll go talk to some people."

"Thanks. I really do appreciate this."

"I'm doing it for Liz, Paul. Remember what I said."

He nodded, "I'll write down the address of the morgue, so I have it with me."

I smiled, "Then we understand each other."

We stood and shook hands and he went out the door, and Mr. Gilbert came back a few minutes later with copies of Paul's résumé, which he handed to me.

"Remember, his Parole Officer has to check out any job offer, and I need to talk to the person who hires him as well to make sure everything is legit."

"Got it. I'm not sure we'll be successful, but we'll give it our best shot."

"Thanks."

We shook hands, and I left the halfway house, walked back to my car, then drove back to Emmy's apartment. I rang the bell, and Clarissa buzzed me in. I went to the apartment, where she had the door open for me.

"How'd it go?"

"About as well as could be expected. I think he's actually probably a nice guy, and he's pretty good-looking."

"I believe Liz said he was 'a hunk'."

"I'll pass on that particular opinion," I chuckled.

"What do you think?"

"I need to call Mr. Neverov and Mr. Vasilyev and see if they have any ideas. I have their phone numbers with me from the Holy Transfiguration parish directory."

We went into the kitchen, and I placed the two calls, finding both men at home and getting one good lead from Mr. Vasilyev. I thanked him and then called the lead, Mr. Zhuravlyov.

"Subdeacon Michael! A pleasure! To what do I owe the call?"

"I'm calling on behalf of a friend. She has a friend who was just released from prison and is looking for a job. Mr. Vasilyev suggested I call you because you had a night manager position open at the motel you own in Rutherford."

"And what was his crime, Subdeacon?"

"Sex with an underage girl."

"At my age, I should be so lucky," he laughed, living up to his reputation as something of a rake, barely kept in line by his wife.

"I take it from that you'll at least consider it?"

"He has no record of theft or violence?"

"No."

"And he's willing to work the night shift from 11:00pm to 7:00am Sunday through Thursday?"

"He'll take any shift."

"I'll speak to him, but no promises."

"I understand. If it's OK, I'll bring his résumé by your house."

"You remember where I live?"

"I do. I'm in Rutherford now, so I can be there in about ten minutes if that's OK. I'll have a female friend with me."

"A pretty one, I hope!"

"Very," I agreed.

"See you in a few minutes then."

We said 'goodbye', and I hung up.

"Do you have body armor?" I asked Clarissa.

"Body armor?"

"Mr. Zhuravlyov said, about Paul's crime, that he should be so lucky at his age."

Clarissa laughed, "One of THOSE!"

"He also asked if you were pretty. I said 'very'."

"Hmm. Well-to-do Orthodox man who could pay for medical school."

"You might think about asking his WIFE her opinion of that!"

"Right, because I want to end up in the morgue next to Paul!"

"Thought so!"

We left the apartment, locked the door, and then walked over to Lou's to give Emmy the key. She couldn't really talk, but I let her know things were going well, at least so far. Clarissa and I left the diner, went to my car, and headed to Mr. Zhuravlyov's house.

"You didn't lie, Subdeacon! She IS very pretty!"

"«Спасибо, господин Журавлёв» (Spasibo, gospodin Zhuravlyov)!" Clarissa said. ("Thank you, Mr. Zhuravlyov")

"«Ты говоришь по-русски» (Ty govorish po-russki)?" he replied with surprise. ("You speak Russian?")

"Not really," Clarissa said with a smile. "Just enough to get in trouble."

"Which is exactly the right amount!" he replied with a grin. "Come in, please."

'Said the spider to the fly', I thought, but didn't say.

"Subdeacon Michael!" Mrs. Zhuravlyova exclaimed. "Welcome. I have tea."

"Thank you. We'll both have some."

Mr. Zhuravlyov, Clarissa, and I sat down at the kitchen table, and Mrs. Zhuravlyova brought tea in traditional Russian glasses set in silver holders and sat down with us.

"I know this man, Randolph. I think I'll call and take his opinion on this matter. If he has good things to say, then I'll speak to this Paul Reynolds."

"Thank you."

"How is your education going?"

"Straight A's so far," I replied. "Everything is going according to plan."

"Are you studying to be a doctor as well?" he asked Clarissa. "You know, you were never introduced!"

"That is MY mistake!" I said quickly. "This is Clarissa Saunders."

"Or, as Petrovich likes to call me occasionally, Svetlana Yakovovna!"

Mr. Zhuravlyov laughed, "But you are not Russian."

"No. But Petrovich is my best friend, so it seemed right to learn some."

"And you call him by the correct name for a friend as well."

"I figured that is more polite than calling him a «глупец» (glupys), which is more accurate!" ("blockhead")

Both Mr. And Mrs. Zhuravlyov laughed.

"You are not Orthodox, are you?"

"No, or I would not insult a subdeacon in public in that way."

Mr. Zhuravlyov chuckled, "For now, he's a glorified acolyte! If his grandfather has his way, THEN he will be something."

"And to think, I could have stayed home and received this kind of abuse from my own family!" I grinned.

"I would ask if you are dating," Mrs. Zhuravlyova said, "but you are promised to Natalya Vasilyevna, are you not?"

"That is the opinion of Mrs. Orlova! Tasha and I are courting, but no promise as yet."

"Young people have to make up their own minds these days," Mr. Zhuravlyov observed. "I, on the other hand, had no choice when it was suggested I marry the most beautiful girl in Yekaterinburg!"

"Listen to him," Mrs. Zhuravlyova said with a laugh. "HE went to the matchmaker and asked her to match us! My father was livid because Yuri was a shoemaker, and my father was a banker. I married beneath my station, as it were. Of course, once the Communists killed the Tsar and his family in the house next to ours, station no longer mattered, and we quickly made our way east to Vladivostok and booked passage to Alaska, where we lived for a few years before coming to Ohio."

"I never knew that story," I said. "I've heard plenty of them, but not that one."

"She left out the part where the Red Guards nearly shot us for being White partisans. The only thing which saved us was I was a common leather-worker, and had tools and calloused hands to show it. They believed we were going to Vladivostok so I could work in a shoe factory."

"This sounds like the plot of Doctor Zhivago!" Clarissa said.

"Zhivago was a doctor, much like Michael will be, but he went back to Moscow instead of fleeing further east as we did. And to this day, you cannot see that movie in Russia or even buy the book there."

"How old were you, if I may ask?"

"I was eighteen, and she was seventeen," Mr. Zhuravlyov said. "We had been married just under a year. I'd been working from the time I was fifteen."

I hadn't realized he was eighty-four! He certainly didn't look it. I'd thought he was closer to my grandfather's age of sixty-eight.

"When did you meet my grandfather?" I asked.

"We came to this area in 1923, but they didn't come until just before the war with the Nazis, around 1938, I think. Your grandparents showed up one day at our small congregation, which met in a house, and your mother and her brother were born soon after. I am godfather to your uncle Aleksey, but he has abandoned the church for the world. We had hoped he would become a priest, but he had no interest. Your grandfather is very proud of you, Subdeacon, and speaks very highly of you."

"Mike is a good guy," Clarissa said. "Even if he can be a bit of a «дурня» (durnya)!" ("goofball")

Mrs. Zhuravlyova laughed, "He's a man. I think they ALL are. But, without Yuri, I suspect I would have been dead at the hands of the Communists or in a labor camp because my father was a banker."