The Iscariot Agenda

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The moment Kimball landed he rented a vehicle and, after purchasing a map, charted a course to the Hardwick brothers’ store. After parking his rented car in a fenced-in lot that charged by the hour, Kimball grabbed the manila envelope on the seat beside him and made his way down streets lined with brick-row houses.

Trash filled the gutters as rogue curs lapped at the filthy stream of water meandering its way toward the sewage grates; and neighborhood toughs, all wearing colors unique to their gang affiliation, sat along the steps of residences shouting out in an undisciplined manner. But when Kimball walked by they spoke not a word, their eyes focusing on the band of the cleric’s collar. And then all of a sudden they would slip into their second skin, becoming disciplined and quiet, as if the presence of the priest was deterrent enough for wayward behavior.

Kimball passed by poorly kept storefronts until he came across a building reminiscent of a warehouse, the cinderblock walls were laden with pictures of colorful urban murals. Above the door was a sign that was cheap in its design: HARDWICKS’ ARMY & NAVY SUPPLIES.

Standing on the sidewalk across the way, Kimball drew in air with a long pull, filled his lungs to capacity with stale air, and then released it with an equally long sigh.

The Hardwick Boys, he thought, they were the last of a unique band of brothers.

Now, after all these years, he could only wonder how they would welcome him back into their fold believing he died so long ago when, in fact, he absconded from service.

Would they view him with the same disappointment as Hawk?

Stepping off the sidewalk, he was about to find out.