Page 25 of Facing the Enemy

The man’s facial muscles softened. “Ah, I have a friend who could help you. How can he contact you?”

“If you’ll give me his name, I can handle the rest.”

“My friend is particular. He’ll want to check you out first. Good businessman.”

“He’s a smart man, and we can’t be too careful. Do you have pen and paper, and I’ll write down my contact information?”

He pulled a cell phone from his pant pocket and glanced up, ready to type. “Name and number please.”

“Pastor Patrick.” I gave him my spare burner number.

He pointed to Jack. “Your name?”

“Jack Brahms. Same number as Pastor Pat’s.”

The owner finished and dropped his cell back into his apron pocket. He snapped his fingers at the young woman who’d translated for us. “She will bring your bill.”

In other circumstances, I would have laughed. The man was wary of us, but why? Suspicious? Fearful? Rear-deep in illegal activities? “We want to help the community. At the top of our list is a day care to help working parents. Free, of course.”

“I’ll tell my friend.”

“Is it possible to talk to any of your workers to see if they’d be interested in church or day care for their children?”

“No. They’re working. Don’t bother my people. Thank you for coming.”

“A lady in our church knows Phan Suzi, and I understand hersister has a baby who could use care while she works. Are either of them working today?”

“No one here by that name.” The owner left us.

Outside in the afternoon heat, Jack turned to me. “What did that accomplish but a full belly and comic relief?”

“Maybe more. Which one of those women could be Suzi or Hai?”

“The teen wasn’t the only one who spoke English. The other young woman listened to what we were saying. She walked closer to us and wiped a clean table while you were evangelizing.”

“My goal to talk to either sister fell flat,” I said. “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep my impromptu acting to us men.”

Jack laughed. “Wrong, Gage. I heard you had an impulsive streak, and this just proved it.”

“That was Risa. I usually stick to protocol.”

“Right. Consider yourself indebted unless I change my mind.”

I surveyed our surroundings. I’d parked across the street from the restaurant. Two men leaned against my car—wearing jeans, T-shirts, and Asian gang tats. We were on their radar. Doubt if I could preach my way out of trouble, but using our weapons lessened our credibility as preachers.

“What do you suppose they want?” Jack said. “Add to their portfolio or raise the status of their gang?”

“Maybe both.” I knew he could hold his own in a fight. “I’ll do my best to talk us out of whatever they have in mind.”

“Noted.” He chuckled. “Just point me in the right direction.”

I grinned and prayed for wisdom. My Glock holster was concealed under my shirt on the right side. Picking up my pace, I approached the two men with Jack beside me.

“Hi, I’m Pastor Pat.” The man on my right pulled a knife. I hated knives. A fight always got messy. “Hey. No need for this.”

The man on the left laughed and said something I didn’t understand. Talking them down kept our cover intact, but neither of us spoke their language.

“How can I help you?” I said.