Free When Saint Goes Marching In by Tiana Laveen Page A

water and drank. The crushed ice raced to his lips as he tilted his head far back. George took out a manila folder and removed several documents. He looked around the restaurant before sliding them across to Saint.
    Saint looked at him, then opened the envelope after a slight pause. He removed the papers and raised an eyebrow as he read the information, going thoroughly from page to page.
    “So this is his profile, huh?” Saint asked. “White male in his mid-thirties, medium build. He’s probably someone no one would suspect – doesn’t bring a lot of attention to himself, a bit of a homebody. He is most likely single, not by choice. He can’t relate to real interpersonal relationships. He’s awkward and has sexual hang-ups and perverted preoccupations. He has a hatred of Black women due to some past rejection, someone he believed he loved but the feeling wasn’t mutual. Well, he is in the wrong damn city,” Saint said as he looked around the restaurant at all the pale faces. “Hunting season for him should’ve been over three couples ago. He’ll expand, George. He can’t stay here and get his fill. We have to catch him before he migrates. Once the grass gets dry, he will try to graze elsewhere.”
    George shook his head in agreement. “Saint, his crimes are getting worse. He appears to be getting more violent with each one. The only reason he didn’t kill Mr. and Mrs. Clayman is because their neighbor showed up at the door. I spoke to Mr. Clayman on the phone again. They are prepared to meet with us tonight.”
    Saint nodded. “He had enough time to rape her with a wine bottle though.” Saint grimaced and closed his eyes as the image flashed in his mind. Anger bubbled up inside him, frothing forward like lava. “I’d like to snap his neck in half. How dare he go into their home, hurt that Queen and beat up her husband.”
    I can’t wait to find him and make him pay.
    “There is definitely a rejection issue slant here. He wouldn’t have sexually assaulted her without there being pent up rage and malice. I know that from my field of expertise. Sexual crimes aren’t just about sex; they are about control and control once lost,” Saint explained. “Real men don’t steal pussy and don’t rape women. He is terribly insecure. Look for someone just like the profile but I doubt he has a police record. He is always under the radar. If he does have a record, it would be for mild infractions, like a parking ticket and maybe speeding infractions, but nothing that would denote he is some sort of crazed criminal.” Saint shook his head. “He is a sociopath, psychopath, narcissist, an extreme sexual deviant and a deranged man.”
    George shot Saint an intense look. “Saint, you are valuable to this operation. I don’t think you realize just how much so. I hope you are aware, and pardon me for changing the topic for a moment, that James is grooming you to take his place.”
    Saint sat back, stunned. He had absolutely no idea. His eyes widened and lips parted as he tried to take in what George told him.
    “What? Where is he going?” Saint asked weakly.
    “Saint,” George sighed as he crossed his thin, long hands and looked at Saint sympathetically. “James is simply tired. He has been doing this since he was seventeen years old. He is now in his seventies. He went through the Civil Rights, he went through the free loving ’70s, he went through the conservative ’80s that set the clock back thanks to Reaganomics, and then he went through the ’90s where being Black was suddenly cool. But just then these small dangerous pockets of racists popped up all over the globe like a contagious, ravenous disease. Now here we are, in modern day, and we are still fighting. I just turned sixty-nine myself. It is exhausting but necessary.”
    Saint took in George’s papery white skin. His sunken in green eyes, long angular face, clean shaven, high cheekbones and salt and pepper hair pulled back into a slender ponytail