Chapter 5; Oracle the Hero
“Good morning sir.”
“Good morning Ezra, go ahead.”
“Very good sir; your client will arrive in 1 hour; shall I start your shower and coffee?”
“Go ahead, Ezra.”
“Very good sir; your client?”
“Go ahead, Ezra.”
“Senator Jacobson, unspecified business.”
As usual with politicians, the senator's staff was tightlipped about the purpose of his visit, but public officials were typically interested in just one thing, reelection. Mrs. Meyers had asked for a few days off, ostensibly to get away for a weekend; she was actually at an appointment with an oncologist. Unfortunately she would pass away 13 months from now but Ezra's arranging for her to become a lottery winner six months from now will ensure that her last days are spent comfortably, in a beach house in Mexico.
After his shower, Cyrus found the note Mrs. Meyers had left directing him to the homemade frozen waffles in the freezer. Though his meeting with Senator Jacobson was predictably short, Cyrus had more charity clients than usual. He thought of Melanie very little that day. After the last charity client had left, Cyrus found himself strangely tired from a long day. As Cyrus lay down to rest in his noisy room, a strange sensation came over him. He foresaw a man dressed in dark clothes peering through a window. Hearing a noise in the bushes behind him, the man turned. The burglar crouched out of sight and hid.
“This is strange.” Cyrus thought to himself. Usually, his visions only involved people he knew or happened to be near at the time. Then he realized that the burglar was outside of Mrs. Thomason house.
“Ezra, open the garage door.”
“Very good sir.”
Though he was unsure what he would do when he arrived, Cyrus knew he had to get to Mrs. Thomason’s house.
On the way, Cyrus focused, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was happening but without success. He parked down the street, not wanting to draw attention to himself. As he stumbled through the bushes in Mrs. Thomason’s yard, Cyrus silently cursed himself for not thinking to bring a flashlight. With a start, he fell through a gap in the hedge and found himself face-to-face with the man from his vision.
“What do you think you're doing here?” The thief demanded.
Cyrus started to answer but then he foresaw his opponent leveling a pistol. Without thinking, he launched himself at the would-be assailant. Cyrus briefly had the advantage as they tumbled to the ground but the thief was not giving up easily. Cyrus foresaw a stick being swung a split second before he was struck by the stick itself. As the thief escaped his grasp, Cyrus foresaw then felt several punches and kicks. Moments later, Cyrus was on the ground, looking up at the thief who was holding the pistol from his vision.
“See you around, hero.” growled the thief, leveling the pistol at Cyrus. Before he could fire, there was another loud commotion in the bushes.
“What's going on out there?” A burly man bellowed as he lumbered across the yard. The thief dropped his weapon and ran, leaving Cyrus where he lay.
“Hey, I recognize you! You're that guy that was snooping around here the other day.” The large man spoke; “I live right next door and I saw you.”
“It's not like that” Cyrus gasped, trying to catch his breath; “I'm trying to help.”
“I suppose that's why you brought a gun, right?” The man said, stabbing a finger at the pistol on the ground.
“It's not my gun.” Cyrus tried to reassure the neighbor.
The burly man placed his bulk in between Cyrus and the gun. “We'll just let the police figure that out, my wife already called them; they're on the way.”
Cyrus spent the next five minutes in awkward silence as the Good Samaritan neighbor paced back and forth, menacingly brandishing a two by four. Cyrus felt quite relieved when a police cruiser arrived with lights flashing. A few moments later, he was taken to the police station as a second detective took a statement from the neighbor.
At the police station, Cyrus was ushered into a small, green holding room. A bored looking officer wearing a faded grey suit questioned him regarding the events of that evening.
“Well, part of your story checks out; your prints aren't on the gun, so we know someone else was there.”
“That's what I tried to tell you,” Cyrus protested, “the other guy was already there; I was trying to help Melanie, er, Mrs. Thomason.”
“Right there, that's the problem;” the officer stopped Cyrus, “how did you know anyone needed help? You live on the other side of town!”
“That's going to be a little hard to explain.” Cyrus said.
“Try me; I've got a real active imagination.” the detective jeered.
Cyrus’ explanation was cut short by the entry of another officer.
“We're ready for the line up, get him out here.”
Cyrus was ushered into a line with five other men and instructed to face a one-way mirror. A moment later, the procedure was interrupted by a police sergeant.
“This guy is your suspect;” the sergeant protested, “do you have any idea how many cases this guy has helped us solve?”
“What are you talking about Garcia? The neighbor caught him snooping in this woman's bushes; of course he’s our suspect!” The grey suited officer defended himself.
“I've worked with this guy dozens of times!” The sergeant continued, “If he says he was there to help, he was there to help. Send him home right now.”
“Whatever you say, sir.” The officer said in a derisive tone.
Cyrus exited the police station walking slowly, lost in his thoughts. He looked up when he heard Mrs. Thomason's voice.
“Yoo-hoo; young man!” She called, “That nice sergeant told us all about you trying to help us.”
He turned to see Mrs. Thomason and Melanie near a car.
“Umm, it was nothing.” Cyrus said, somewhat nervous at seeing Melanie.
“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Thomason “you have to let us buy you a cup of coffee, that's the least we can do; I won't take no for an answer.”
Mrs. Thomason took Cyrus by the arm, and proceeded to lead him to a nearby coffee shop.
“I'll just have a cup of coffee.” Cyrus suggested.
“Don't be silly,” Mrs. Thomason said, “you simply must try the apple pie.”
Mrs. Thomason proceeded to order three pieces of apple pie from the waitress. A few minutes later, the waitress returned with the pie and coffee. As they started to eat, Sergeant Garcia entered the shop. Seeing Cyrus, he approached the table.
“I'm really sorry about tonight,” he apologized; “Detective Henderson thought he was doing his job.”
“It's no problem,” Cyrus reassured the Sergeant; “it could have happened to anyone.”
Mrs. Thomason spoke up next. “Excuse me, officer. All the excitement of this evening has got me a little tired out; would you mind terribly driving me home?” Before Sergeant Garcia could answer, she called out to the waitress. “Miss, may I have this pie and coffee to go please?"
With no apparent alternative, Sergeant Garcia responded; “I'd be happy to ma'am, my car is right outside.”
Mrs. Thomason departed with her new-found chauffeur, leaving Cyrus and Melanie alone.
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