The Barrio
Benjamin Biers pulled back onto the road and crossed 7th Street into the Garfield neighborhood, named after a president who suffered death through assassination more than a century ago. They drove slowly east on Roosevelt Street and passed the Welcome Diner, an old 1940s café building relocated to this site, and turned south on 10th Street.
Biers drove slowly through the predominantly Hispanic neighborhood, or barrio, to let Quinn soak it all in. They dodged kids playing soccer in the street and heard the sounds of a nearby ice cream truck. There was a well-maintained historic home, next to a rundown home, next to an empty lot. The pattern replayed several times.
“What do you think?”
“Well, if I had a lot of money sitting around, I might invest in some of these rundown properties like your investor friends. It could pay off,” Quinn said.
“Exactly,” Biers said. “But that much activity and persistence had me suspicious. I could see buying up a couple of homes, but block after block after block? And knocking three times.”
The two men were hungry, so they went to Rito’s for green burritos at the Garfield neighborhood institution. They ordered at the window and sat outside at one of the tables, across the street from an elementary school, and took in the people and character of the barrio.
Biers started: “After recognizing DeSimone and McSorley on the news, I did a little research about them. The television article practically made the connection to one another—the Institute for Arizona’s Common Good.
“So I started going through all the reports over the past several years, looking for a connection to Garfield. There was none. I researched information about McSorley and the Catholic Church, but again found no connection to Garfield. It turns out there are nearby Catholic churches, but none in the immediate neighborhood.”
“So why leave me the light rail report?” Quinn asked. “Light rail could never go down these neighborhood streets. That’s not an option.”
“I know, but what I realized is the answer is not buried in some old Institute report; rather, I expect to find it in an upcoming report. It may not be light rail, but perhaps another fixed rail system like that original report calls for. You see, Quinn, they avoided certain properties on the corners along the larger streets. I figured those would be slated for condemnation. At times, they walked down the streets, like they were mapping it out, walking different routes. It makes the most sense.”
Quinn thought about what he heard at work the other day, about the upcoming report supporting a streetcar system that would connect with the light rail system. That had to be it. He felt a lump in his throat. He felt his world beginning to crumble. Yet he knew his new way of looking at the world could be used as a gift, not a burden. He could see what was happening.
But he didn’t want to tell Biers. Not yet. For starters, he wasn’t exactly sure where the report would call for the streetcar. Plus, Quinn still didn’t know if he could trust him. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to speak ill of or betray the Institute, despite what his heart was telling him. He’d plead ignorance for now. The timing wasn’t right.
“That’s why I need you, Quinn. I need someone on the inside,” Biers said. “When I scanned the website, you made sense for my little experiment. Not too high up, but high enough to know what’s going on. I thought there was potential, so I started following you. And now, we’re sharing burritos in the barrio.
“I think you know the plan. We need to stay one step ahead of them, not just for me, but for these families who could make a much larger profit if they don’t sell now. For once, the powers that be cannot win.”
There was one issue still nagging at Quinn.
“But what about Fr. McSorley? Why was he attacked? Did you do it, Benjamin?”
“No.”
“Then how did you know it wasn’t random? Why are the police saying it was?”
“I don’t know who actually did it, but after seeing him in Garfield, there has to be a connection. There is a very good chance he was involved in some dirty dealings. People like that sometimes suffer the consequences. I think that’s what happened to our priest friend.”
Quinn didn’t want this to be true. He didn’t want any of it to be true. He needed to think before making his next move.
Biers asked Quinn if he was ready to leave. They drove around Garfield some more, checking out the little markets and community centers and the kids running through the streets. It was indeed a neighborhood.
On the drive back to the light rail parking lot, the two didn’t talk.
“What’s next?” Quinn asked.
“I’ll be in touch,” Biers said.
The two shook hands. Quinn opened the passenger door and began walking to his car. He looked back, but Benjamin Biers was already gone. Quinn was afraid there was no going back.
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Start reading from the beginning: Ace of Spades I
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