Bullet in the Night by Judith Rolfs Page A

other side. I recognized Kirk’s face from his pictures and mentally reviewed his statistics from the file—weight 185, height 5’11. His huge muscular arms reminded me of machinery except with elbow gears. Fuzzy growth covered his arms and decorated his chest in thick curls escaping the top of his open shirt. His head seemed glued on top of his shoulders, like a child’s drawing of a stick man.
    He sat down warily. Why wouldn’t he? After all, we were separated by vast degrees of freedom and lifestyle.
    Kirk stared past me then down as his gaze locked on my notepad.
    “Hi. My name’s Jennifer Trevor. I’m a friend of Lenora’s.”
    At the mention of Lenora, color flushed over his face as his eyes bored into me. “How is she?”
    I repeated the latest medical info. “You stopped her bleeding and probably saved her life.”
    “Yeah, well, everyone thinks I wanted to kill her. The authorities are never going to believe I’m innocent.”
    Movement in the cubicle next to us attracted my attention. No sound came through the glass, but a quick look at the prisoner’s red face and waving arms proved it wasn’t a pleasant conversation. I glanced over. Two black eyes met mine, axe blades of anger sharp enough to chop wood. Sweat formed on my brow. I swiped it away. I didn’t consider myself a skilled lip reader but figured out his words. I never had a chance. He mouthed it over and over to his visitor, the man in the navy blue suit.
    A guard dragged the prisoner away but not before he yelled, “Now I’m sucked up into this lousy system.” The suited man on the same side of the cubicle as me got the message the session was over and packed his briefcase.
    I turned back to Kirk, who’d observed the incident also, and was still watching the retreating figure.
    “So that’s how you feel? Like a victim caught in the process?”
    A shadow flickered across his face. “I don’t know how I feel about anything anymore. I was starting to think I was a real person with a job and a future and then this.” He waved his arm back and forth. “In my life growing up, the “haves” were the drug-pushers, pimps, and thieves and the “have-nots” were the straights. I try to go straight and look where it lands me.”
    I held up my right hand in a stop gesture. “No sense wasting time in this pity pit. It’s not helpful to you or honest. In your prior life, didn’t you define fairness by robbing other people who had more? That’s absolutely wrong and besides, it didn’t work or you wouldn’t have history behind bars.”
    Kirk lowered his head. “You sound like Lenora.”
    “I’ve seen enough clients with ‘poor me’ syndrome to know it’s easy to convince yourself you deserve whatever you can take. It’s not right and never will be.”
    “Okay, you nailed me. Until I reformed, that is. After my third prison stint, I really was going straight. I hooked up with Jesus—made a huge difference in my thinking. Lenora understood.” He rested his elbow on the narrow ledge in front of him and looked into my eyes. “I changed, plain and simple and for real.”
    For his sake I wanted this to be true. I’d heard my share of stories about insincere foxhole conversions but knew real ones occurred too. “Go on, Kirk. The fact is, I need to be convinced.”
    “It was a big deal to me that Lenora Lawrence cared about me and became a friend. The first I had in a long time, maybe ever.” Kirk squeezed his fist into the palm of his hand. “I’d die before letting her down. To think I could hurt her, well, it’s just crazy, that’s all.”
    While he talked, I studied him, trying to gage how credible he was. Sincere or insincere? Hard to tell for sure. Maybe Christ had transformed his you-owe-me attitude, but reform is usually a process. Could he have changed so quickly? Or was it the lure of a job with Lenora’s foundation that led to his fake conversion?
    Lord, give me discernment.
    “I’m different, not just here.”