On the night of September 13, 1935, a new star shone over the city of Los Angeles. Drawn to this heavenly phenomenon, the people peered out their windows and emerged from their homes to stare up at the enigmatic light that blazed in the firmament like a beacon. What they saw was a divine iridescence that rippled across the night sky in waves like the aurora borealis transforming the somber horizon into a celestial sea of rippling, vibrant color.

Glowing like the Morningstar, Chris Donner gazed down upon the city. A shadow of fear and despair had descended over its streets and spires. Scattered throughout the maze of myriad avenues and boulevards he perceived the suffering and the lost, the fading shimmer of their souls dissipating across the gritty limits like the embers of a fallen, shattered sun. Their cries reached up to him in the heavens and he descended with a crack of thunder into the lawless bowels of the city to answer them.

***

“Stay down!” Ralph furiously demanded, kicking the hostage in the ribs as a warning to remain on the bank’s marble floor. He and his crew had hoped for a quick score. Instead, their plans had gone horribly awry. The manager had been hesitant, the vault was virtually empty, and someone had tripped the silent alarm. Now the three felons found themselves surrounded with no hope of escape. While Ralph kept an eye on the whimpering hostages, his two partners peeked out the windows at the cops waiting outside. The electricity had been cut roughly an hour ago and the only illumination in the lobby was the flashing red and blues of the squad cars and the moonlight spilling down from the skylight above.

Perry pulled the sack off his head and threw it to the ground in frustration. “What are we going to do, Ralph?”

“No names. Are you so stupid? I said no names.”

“But what are we gonna do?” Perry pressed.

“I don’t know. Give me a second to think this through.”

“I say we start blasting holes in hostages.” Freddy turned away from the window to face his comrades. “That’ll let them know we’re serious.”

Perry was horrified at the thought of cold blooded murder. “We can’t do that.”

“Well we’re running out of options. We gotta let them know we’re serious.” Freddy hustled over to his two partners and grabbed a woman off the floor. One of the other hostages went to defend her.

“Don’t be a hero,” Ralph threatened, aiming his rifle at the man cowing him back onto his belly.

Freddy dragged the woman by the hair kicking and screaming toward the front of the bank before roughly pulling her to her feet and using her as a shield while he opened the door. “You coppers better back off or I’m gonna use my Trench Broom to sweep out the trash we got in here starting with her!”

Perry bit his lip, his eyes on the hostages. He could hear some of them beginning to cry and sob. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Then get the hell out!” Ralph shouted. “Go on. They got a nice room for ya in the Big House. Me, I’d rather die than rot in a cage.”

Freddy slammed the door and threw the hostage back on the floor with the others.

“What did they say?” Ralph asked expectantly.

“What do you think they said?”

“I knew this was all a bad idea. Just one really bad idea,” Perry mumbled.

“Will you shut up? It’s not helping.”

Freddy shook his head in frustration. “They won’t take us seriously and meet out demands until we blast one of these saps.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Ralph pulled back the charging handle on his Tommy gun with a short metallic snap. “Let’s show these bastards we mean business.”

The skylight above shattered as Chris broke through landing in a kneeling position to the robbers’ rear.

The three men spun around. “Shoot him!”

The robbers opened up with their Tommy Guns rattling off semiautomatic death. Chris stood, the bullets curving around him into the walls and floor rupturing the stone into shards and splinters. With his guiding hand, Donner telekinetically seized and smashed a chair into Ralph knocking the man to the floor, his rifle fire sparking askew blowing out the bank’s front windows.

“What the hell are you?” Perry hoarsely asked the glowing figure, his finger slipping off the trigger.

“Keep firing you moron!” Freddy ordered over the din of his machine gun before bellowing, “Why can’t I hit you?” at Chris as he approached. Freddy laughed maniacally at the nonsensical scene of his bullets curling around the stranger despite firing at point blank range.

Chris leapt into the air and came down with a hard right cross to the side of Freddy’s face knocking him cold, his rifle clattering to the marble. Only Perry remained standing. When Chris turned his attention to the remaining robber, Perry tossed his rifle to the ground and put his hands up.

***

Police officers Dick Lester and Tom Mankiewicz exited their patrol car in front of a rundown tenement in The Flats, the slums of Boyle Heights. They had come searching for a wanted criminal who was supposedly holed up in the neighborhood, some low level sociopathic enforcer notorious for his brutality and a predilection for cutting off his victims’ ears to keep for trophies. The suspect had recently made the papers for killing several innocent bystanders while shooting up a restaurant. The city wanted the man’s head and every available cop was put on the case.

Mankiewicz took a few steps toward the dilapidated apartment building. “This it?”

“That’s what the tip said.”

The building leaned dangerously to the side, a crumbling mess with bricks missing from its façade and the smell of decay seeping from its foundations. It seemed one good kick from collapse. Mankiewicz frowned. “Place should be condemned.”

“This entire area should be condemned. Nothing but one large dump for the dregs, but rats gotta go somewhere.”

Mankiewicz took an unsteady breath, his heart pounding in his chest. “How long until back up arrives?”

“Probably another ten minutes.”

“Maybe we should wait-”

Lester snorted in derision. “Hey Tom, you don’t make sergeant by being cautious. You gotta take chances if you want to stand out. Don’t you want your face plastered on page one? Come on.”

The pair entered the building guns drawn, watching the shadows. The hitman was supposed to be hiding in one of the abandoned apartments on the ground floor, likely armed. Mankiewicz took point, a cold bead of sweat running down the length of his spine. The structure groaned around them. Something squealed as it scurried between his feet nearly sending the rookie cop running. Making his way through the detritus, Mankiewicz saw a light up ahead. It was lamplight streaming through a cracked door. He pointed and Lester nodded in understanding. The two briskly pushed forward keeping their eyes on the door while paying attention to their periphery for movement. Mankiewicz put his back to the wall just to the right of the partially open door, Lester beside him.

“You got this, rookie,” Lester whispered. “Gotta bust your cherry sometime, might as well be tonight.”

Taking a breath, Mankiewicz charged into the room. “Hands up!” Inside he discovered the felon on the floor in a pool of his own blood, a victim of a gunshot to the chest. Mankiewicz holstered his gun. “Looks like we got here too late,” he told Lester when he heard his partner enter behind him.

“Yeah, too bad he shot you.”

Mankiewicz turned around to see Lester aiming his weapon at him. Mankiewicz’s face twisted in incomprehension. “What…?”

“Come on, Tom. You were warned. You should have just taken the payout like the rest of us.”

“That’s what this is all about? A set up? I ain’t taking some gangster’s cash to look the other way. I’m a cop.”

“You’re one shortsighted son of a bitch, you know? You really should have thought about the future. There’s still a chance if you’re interested.”

“I ain’t for sale.”

“That’s why the rest of the guys don’t trust you. Your morality is too much of a liability. We can’t have you squealing on our moonlighting.”

“I kept my mouth shut-”

“That ain’t enough, Tom. You gotta get dirty like the rest of us. How else are we supposed to trust you won’t sing?”

“How can you do this, Dick?”

“Money, rookie. Cold hard cash. Worth more to me than some rat.”

“You don’t have to do this, Dick,” Mankiewicz croaked, his mouth dry.

“Be happy kid. I could have shot you in the back. At least I gave you the courtesy of looking you in the face.”

Mankiewicz’s eyes burned as he fought to control his roiling emotions while mentally praying for a chance at survival. “I got a family,” the rookie cop finally managed.

“I’ll send them my condolences.” Lester cocked back the hammer on his pistol. “I tried to show you the ropes, rookie. You just had to go and get all idealistic on me. Hope my next partner is smarter. But hey, at least you get a grand funeral out of this.”

As Lester went to pull the trigger he was yanked back into the shadows with great force and slammed into a far wall crashing through the rotten wooden rib work into an adjacent room. Mankiewicz drew his pistol in terror running blindly for the exit, stumbling over debris but refusing to stop until he was outside. Floundering into the alley, he caught sight of Lester’s assailant. Mankiewicz squeezed off a shot instinctively. Chris spun around and put up his hand to deflect the bullet.

“You’re welcome,” Chris deadpanned.

Mankiewicz lowered his pistol. “What are you? Some sort of guardian angel?”

“I’m a second chance,” Chris replied.

***

Far removed from the opulent city center, on the decaying fringe of Hollywood glamour stood the Cribs, so named for the babes they held. Resembling stalls stretching in a long grimy row, each door led to a cramped room that gave seclusion within which myriad souls lost themselves in depredation. The muted grunting and moaning within echoed down the row. Carnal and desperate, wretched and sullen: It was a mass grave of innocence.

The sound of a struggled spilled out of one of the rooms. Ana fought to defend herself against the John she had picked up that night. He wasn’t there for pleasure; he was there for pain. His eyes had a wild look as he slapped her around the room. But her cries drew no attention, her pleas no end. Then she saw the flash of the blade. Terror overcame her as she fled to a corner, clutching at herself, nowhere else to run. And as the John stepped closer, pointing his blade at her, the steel twitching, she knew death was not far off. She stuttered, stumbling over the words of her final prayer, hoping she would be forgiven for every transgression she had committed. Closing her eyes, sinking to the floor, she waited for the darkness to take her.

Then she heard a scuffle and a crash. She opened her eyes to see him standing over her, this figure of light. Chris looked down at her and she felt him, the calm and the care. He extended his hand and she took it letting him pull her up. She clutched at him, weeping and thanking him. He stroked her hair.

“You must go,” he told her.

“I can’t. Not without the others.” Chris walked out after her, staring down the alleyway. Many of the doors were open now, those within looking out. There were women...and children. Chris frowned at what he saw.

“Tonight it ends.”

***

Within the ivory hued Beaux-Art walls of Los Angeles County Hospital, Jerry Ess followed Nurse Leslie Newman down a quiet corridor. “People think I’m crazy,” she told Jerry with a stern glance over her shoulder, keys jingling in her hands. “But I know what I saw.”

Jerry nodded absently while straining to find any sign of life in the halls of the hospital. Every room they passed was empty. No one else walked the halls. Only the sounds of their footsteps filled the air. As far as he could tell, they were the only ones on the floor. “I expected a bit more bustle. Is it always this quiet?”

“It’s been this way since he came,” Leslie replied. The pair stopped at a set of double doors leading to the charity ward. “I found him in there.”

Jerry tried the doors. “Why are they locked?”

“Orders of the hospital. Makes no sense if you ask me, but then none of this makes sense.” Leslie fingered the ward’s key in her hand, her thumb stroking the serrated teeth as she contemplated her actions. “I really shouldn’t be letting you in, but people need to know.” She took a deep breath. “I need to know I’m not crazy.”

Leslie stepped forward and opened the doors to the vacant ward. She waited near the entrance as Jerry, notepad in hand, wandered around inside. The ward itself was a single, large room lined with rows of steel beds that once held a bulk of human suffering. Now they were bare, the thin mattresses rolled up and pushed to the side exposing the frames’ ribbing underneath. There were no curtains for privacy or dignity between the bunks, though neither had been expected by their former inhabitants whose shame tended to keep their heads downcast and eyes averted. Unlike the rest of the hospital, this wing showed signs of neglect. There were cracks in the sallow plaster walls and streaks on the floors. Dust peppered the corners. It must have been an oppressive atmosphere. Crowded like cattle, Jerry thought to himself. It was a dehumanizing place where names were for charts and people were problems; assembly line medicine, cold and sterile, patch’em up and toss’em out. “It was a place where the poverty stricken sought mercy from the grim world, a room that gave face to the nation’s struggling masses,” Jerry whispered to himself solemnly, scribbling the quote down for his article. “Yet we failed them, mending their bones but not their souls.” He paused, looking at the empty beds. “And here he came, God’s corporeal answer to the cries of a forgotten people.”

Jerry walked to the windows that stared out onto the city from whence these souls came and to which they had returned. For many, this room had been a way station to the unknown. Jerry traced a finger along the frame of one of the beds. “Just one more day was all they wanted, but tomorrow seemed so far away.” Jerry could see the hollow faces reflected in that dingy window. Looking back at the room, he was struck by a change he had not noticed at first. As cold as the ward must have once seemed, not a trace of suffering remained. Sunlight streamed through the windows over the empty beds in a warm purifying wash of light that cleansed it of any lingering shadows.

“He came through here?” Jerry asked, eyeing the bunks.

“Yes,” Leslie replied.

“Around what time?”

“Not long after I started the graveyard shift, maybe two or three in the morning.”

Jerry turned to Leslie. “Did you speak to him?”

“No.” Leslie frowned, hugging herself tightly. “I wasn’t able to speak. Seeing him…there was something different about him. I could feel it when I saw him. Took my breath away.” She inhaled deeply before pointing to a bed in the corner. “I first noticed him over there during my rounds. I was surprised to see him kneeling next to one of the beds, this pale thing in the dark. I thought he might have been a thief who’d snuck in to rob the patients. I don’t think he noticed me at first but then I felt his eyes on me. Made my hair stand on end. I wanted to run and call security, but I was paralyzed.”

“He scared you?”

“At first. Then I felt this calm come over me. Somehow…I knew he wasn’t there to harm me or the patients. I watched him move from person to person, putting his hand on each individual head without waking them. Each person he touched glowed.” Leslie paused, stricken by the memory.

“And then?” Jerry gently prodded.

“When he finished here,” Leslie continued, “he approached and then passed me without a word on his way to the next ward.” Jerry followed Leslie into the hall and down the corridor. “I followed. He went from room to room.”

“Doing what?”

“Healing people. He’d enter a room and then a light would shine before he’d exit and pass to the next. It didn’t matter who they were. Rich. Poor. Old. Young. He healed them all. He even sought out the damned. Walked through the psychopathic ward and took away their demons. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“He never once stopped to say anything?”

“He only stopped once. Here.” The pair was in the maternity ward. To Jerry’s left was the window that looked in on the newborns recently delivered mewling innocently as their virginal eyes stared wonderingly at the strange new world around them. Leslie put her hand to the glass and looked in on the children. “He lingered here watching them. I swore I saw a smile on his face. And then he was gone.”

Jerry scribbled in his notepad. “Were there any other witnesses?”

“No. The few nurses on duty said they hadn’t seen anything that night. The patients slept through it, though some told me they had dreamt of a man of light. It was enough to make me think I’d gone mad.”

“What convinced you otherwise?”

“The change that came over this place...The hopelessness is gone. What happened that night was a revelation. Every patient was healed. To look into their eyes…you could see the difference. The doctors couldn’t explain it. When I told them what I saw they thought I was nuts. They think it’s simple hysteria. But if it wasn’t real, then what really happened here? An entire hospital healed in a night. That just doesn’t happen.”

Jerry finished jotting down notes and looked up. “Are any of the patients from that night still here?”

“No. They’ve all been discharged.”

“Can you give me their names? I would like to speak with them.”

“I’m afraid not, sir. Confidentiality and all. Besides, I don’t think we could find most of them anyway being vagrants. And the others might not want to talk about it.”

“You’re sure there were no other witnesses? I would like to corroborate your story.”

Leslie bit her lip. “Well, there might still be one. We had several men in the jail ward that night. One of them may still be here. Let me check for you.”

***

Jerry slipped into Alexander Salkind’s room. It had cost him a sawbuck to get past the guard. Ess had been warned that Salkind was a violent felon and to be careful. The man Jerry saw failed to live up to that description. Alexander lay in bed asleep, his right arm cuffed to a rail at his side. The con was a small man, no taller than 5’2”, of slim build with a thick shag of blonde hair. The scrub on his face was all that prevented him from looking like an adolescent.

Jerry pulled up a chair and sat down near the bed, pulling his notepad from his pocket. “Mr. Salkind.”

Alexander stirred, his blue eyes gradually focusing on his visitor. “Who are you?” he asked in a thick Polish accent. “DA?”

“I’m a reporter for the Daily Star. I wanted to ask you some questions.”

Alexander turned on his side. “I don’t want to talk about my crimes.”

“That’s not the reason I’m here, Mr. Salkind. You see, I’ve been following a man across the United States.”

Alexander glanced curiously over his shoulder. “What man?”

“I’ve been told a figure visited this hospital several nights ago. A man of light.”

Alexander shifted in his bed to face Jerry. “You mean the angel.”

Jerry nodded with a smile. “Yes. You saw him?”

“I thank God for him,” Alexander hoarsely confessed. “He saved me.”

“I was told you had tuberculosis but now it has gone into remission.”

“He took it away.” Alexander’s eyes shined with tears. “He gave me second chance.”

“Did he speak to you?”

“In his way.”

Jerry tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“The doctors tell me I don’t have long to live. My lungs are how you say, kaput. I’ve been like this since I was young man in Cracow. Much pain. Coughing the blood. Mother worked herself to death to bring us to America. To pay doctors to cure me. They could not. I pray to God many times to take the disease away. So my mother does not have to work so hard. He never answered me. And then she died.” Alexander’s bottom lip trembled. “I became bitter. I was bad man. Many sins. I had nothing to live for, so I simply lived. I hurt many people. Finally my sins catch up with me and police catch me.

“They brought me here and put me in this room to die alone. I had much fear. I did not want to die. For first time in years, I prayed and prayed to God. Finally he came. He was bright as sun staring down at me. I very scared. His appearance must mean my death. I was unsure what his judgment would be. I told him I was sorry.” Alexander choked on a sob as tears streamed down his face. “The look he gave was like my mother’s. Loving and kind. No one has looked at me like that in long time. He took the disease away. He gave me second chance. I had cursed God. Forsaken Him. But He forgave me. Many bad things I have done, but He forgave me. I tell Him I am not worthy of this gift. I cannot repay Him for this kindness He has done me. I remember His words. ‘When you can, repay your debt to someone that needs it.’ And I will. I promise Him I will.”

Jerry sat there in silence overcome by the passion of the man. “Thank you, Mr. Salkind,” he finally managed.

***

Los Angeles Mayor Frank L. Shaw restlessly paced back and forth in his office fuming over recent reports concerning the Okie Angel while his brother Joe watched. “He’s a menace. A menace I tell you.”

“That he is,” Joe agreed from his seat in front of the mayor’s large, ornate desk.

“He’s a damn vigilante usurping authority from the police going about on his private crusade in my city busting heads and inciting violence, destroying public property. Have you seen what The Times had to say?” Frank grabbed the newspaper off his desk and tossed it at Joe. “They’re making the man into a hero despite his criminality. A hero.” Frank clenched his fists. “After all I did for that paper.”

“What did you expect them to write?” Joe asked rhetorically, scanning the article. “The news is just like any other enterprise. It’s a racket. The people love this guy so they write articles and twist the truth to sell papers.”

Frank leaned across his desk swatting the paper from his brother’s hands. “I expected a bit of loyalty, Joe. These reporters are playing up this bastard’s acts while making me appear incapable. I don’t need this man’s help to run LA.” The mayor straightened up and readjusted his silken tie. “Things were going much smoother before he swooped in. In fact, he’s making my job harder than it needs to be. These miraculous healings at County General are drawing attention to the hospital that I don’t want, especially with the current probe into my connections to food services. Who knows what another investigation will discover.”

“Hopefully not the truth,” Joe deadpanned.

“Hopefully,” Frank echoed bitterly. “On top of that, the jails are overflowing with criminals he has captured. It seems almost daily there is some bit in the papers about how another thug has been brought to justice or another scandal revealed and the streets have been made safer for Angelinos. Safer than they had been under me.” Frank snorted with disdain. “Now some cop he rescues comes forward claiming corruption in the LAPD further tainting me. He’s making my administration look incompetent.”

Joe leaned back in his chair. “Well, he’s definitely not doing us any favors.”

“As if I don’t have enough problems,” Frank brashly continued, “Now these Okies are beginning to riot throughout the state all spurred on by this guy. Parasites. What the hell do these people want?”

“They want jobs, Frank.”

“Well I don’t have jobs for them,” the mayor bit back. “Do you?”

Joe shook his head. “No.”

“The problem is these Okies don’t fear us anymore. We can’t threaten and beat them out of town like we used to. It’s like they believe they’re protected by their newfound god,” Frank spat impudently, pointing at the discarded paper. “They’re standing up to us. They’re starting to organize, Joe.”

“That’s true. Police are beginning to refuse to even go into the camps.”

Frank stared out the window at the Los Angeles skyline, his fiefdom. “Forget about political support from agriculture. Every day these Okies’ numbers grow larger and larger. The riots are just the beginning. How long before I have a revolution on my hands? The Times asks us to understand the Okies’ plight. Are they going to be so understanding when Los Angeles is invaded by these people and left a charred shell? I’m trying to protect the city from the hordes and they undermine me at every corner. Clinton. The media. This Okie Angel.

“This Okie Angel attacks civil servants and they make him out to be some savior of the common man. He is not an angel. He is a demon come to make my life a living hell. This is all I need. First Clinton with his anti-graft campaign. Now this guy and the riots. Thank God the election is two years away.”

“He’s worse than Clinton, Frankie. Every day he uncovers more and more of our secrets threatening to reveal our ties to the underworld. This guy has already broken up dozens of brothels and gambling dens.”

“He’s costing me money. Upsetting everything. Creating chaos. Dragna is screaming in my ear. Do the people want violence in the streets again? That’s what they’re going to get.”

“That’s not the worst of it. Alex Salkind has offered to talk.”

Frank spun around in wide-eyed shock. “What?!?”

“I don’t know what this guy did to Salkind, but the man is making overtures to Clinton. I never thought that man would ever talk.”

“How much does he know?”

“A lot,” Joe admitted. “He had access to books, contacts, everything. A real middleman.”

“God damn Pollock,” Frank snarled.

“Because of him trying to make a deal, others are stepping forward to.”

“It’s all starting to fall apart.”

“They’re facing jail time, Frankie. They’ll do anything to shorten their sentences. With Salkind coming forward they’re hurrying to rat us out on anything before that Pollock beats them to it and they have no more leverage.”

“Why are they even facing charges? This Okie Angel has no authority to make arrests. I control the police in this city!” Frank shouted, slamming his fist down on the desktop.

“The evidence is too solid to simply turn our people loose even with the DA in our pocket. We do that under all the scrutiny of Clinton and the press and it makes you look worse than you already do. We might as well admit our ties to these people. The last thing you want the public to believe is that you’re protecting criminals even if it is true.”

“What did I tell you about loyalty? Unbelievable.” Frank threw his hands in the air in frustration. “I can’t count on anyone. I even have my doubts about you.”

“Thanks for the vote of no-confidence, Frankie.”

“It’s the only vote I’ll ever cast for anyone besides myself. But enough of this. This Okie Angel has got to be stopped. We have to find a way to discredit him. I’ve come too far to let some…super hero bring it all crashing down.”

“Whatever we do, we’d best do it fast. Judge Fletcher Bowren is preparing to call a grand jury to investigate these allegations being made against your office. Once that happens, evidence or no, you’re tainted. Good luck getting re-elected. Maybe you should speak to the public about these allegations. Take a proactive stance.”

“No. We need to divert attention away from these investigations for the time being.” Frank pursed his lips contemplating the variables set against him and weighing his options as carefully as he could. “I want a press conference. I’m going to speak on these Okie riots. They’ll make an excellent diversion.”

“What are you planning on doing?”

“Show the people I am making an effort to protect them. Regain their trust. I’ll play up the facts about this rabble ringing the city; point out the real threat to LA is this Okie lawless mob surrounding us bringing crime and violence with them. A city under siege. Let the people realize how precarious public safety really is. Then I will save them.”

“How do you plan on doing that?”

“I’ll send 150 cops to bust some heads. A real organized effort to cow these Okies and put them back in their place.”

Despite himself, Joe nodded in admiration. “That could actually work.”

“Of course it will work. I know my constituency. There could be storms and flooding and I would still be able to convince this city that the sun was shining.” Frank grinned wickedly. “I make these people realize they need me. That’s all I have to do. And you, I need you to pressure my detractors. The last thing I need is dissent garbling my message to the people.”

“I’m on it.” Joe rose and exited the office.

“There’s only room for one great man in Los Angeles,” Frank proclaimed as he turned to once more gaze out on his city, “and it isn’t this Okie Angel.”

Next Chapter: Chapter 20