Read Online Who Is My Shelter? by Neta Jackson - Free Book Online Page A

it took me a moment to realize the room was empty. “Philip?” I called.
    â€œIn here.”
    I followed his voice into the wood-paneled study, which was just off the living room. He sat at his desk, half leaning sideways in his chair, his free hand manipulating the mouse as he shut down his computer. Then he turned—and I was taken aback by the lines of pain in his face.
    â€œPhilip, what—? You’re hurting!” I hustled to his side as he struggled to get out of the chair, trying to push up on the armrest with his broken arm as his other hand clutched his gut. But he waved me off.
    â€œI’m . . . okay. Once I get up.” He finally stood, slowly straightened, and took a few shallow breaths. Then he headed slowly for the living room and sank into the recliner. “Thanks for coming. Wasn’t sure if you would.”
    An irritated retort sprang to my lips, but I bit it back. Pulling the hassock closer to the recliner, I sat down and leaned forward. “Philip. What happened this morning? My cell phone rang, the caller ID flashed your name, but all I heard was you and this Fagan person arguing. He threatened to shoot you!”
    Philip looked at me strangely. “Your phone rang? You heard all that?” He looked dazed. “But I didn’t call you. I don’t know how . . .” His eyes left mine and he stared out the window for a long moment. “Must’ve been when that thug who was with him slugged me in the stomach. I had the phone here.” He patted his chest. “In the inside pocket of my sport coat.”
    â€œHe slugged you? Is that why you’re hurting? Why didn’t you go to the ER and get checked out?”
    Philip shook his head. “Don’t want to go back to the hospital. I’ll be all right.”
    I felt exasperated. “But, Philip. What were you doing out there anyway? You just got out of the hospital! If you needed something, I was coming back this afternoon and could have gotten it for you.”
    He winced slightly and tried to smile. “Just needed to get out, get some coffee and a paper. Don’t want to be cooped up here like a prisoner. Thought I could walk down to the grocery store if I took it slow.” The smile disappeared. “Didn’t know Fagan’s goons were still out there watching for me. They must’ve called him when I first came out, because when I got near the store, he drove up and cut me off at the alley. If those cops hadn’t come—” Philip suddenly looked at me strangely. “You said you could hear us talking? Did you call the cops?”
    â€œNot me. Harry did.”
    â€œHarry?”
    â€œHarry Bentley. Our former doorman, Philip. He’s a retired Chicago cop—I told you.”
    â€œYeah, yeah, right. I forgot. But—” Philip looked totally confused. “How did he know where to find us? I thought those squad cars just happened to come by that alley and saw what was going down. Decided I was one lucky guy.”
    I shook my head. “Not luck, Philip. God was protecting you. Mr. B stayed on the phone—two phones, actually, mine and his— for maybe fifteen minutes, telling the police where to find you.”
    Philip stared at me. He seemed stunned.
    I watched him as he sat there. He was still hurting, I could tell. His ragged breathing, the way he winced whenever he moved, his good hand holding his stomach. “Philip, you said one of those guys slugged you, and maybe that’s what turned the phone on. You need to see a doctor, go to the ER, something! Please, I’ll take you. You’re obviously in pain. You need to get it checked out.”
    There was no way he could deny it. Still, he shook his head. “I’ll be all right.”
    â€œYou’re not all right! Please. I said I’ll take you.” Then I added, “For the boys.”
    He considered that. Finally he nodded. “Okay, okay. I’m supposed