Information and Belief
by
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Natalie took a left down the side street. This particular little strip was located just south of Inkster. The neighborhood was quiet and lined with mature trees. She spotted the little brick ranch she had visited previously, and slowed to scan the street. An elderly man three houses down was salting his walk. With no other sign of life evident, she gave herself the go-ahead to stop on the first pass. If anything had looked out of place, she would have driven around the block for a second look. She fell into her usual routine. Park on the street, not in the driveway; don’t want to trap yourself with only one way out, if possible. She left the car unlocked; better to lose a stereo than have to fumble with keys while trying to make a fast retreat. She checked the sides as she approached the house. Next were the window curtains for movement, and then the pause, to listen for dogs. Confident that she had covered her bases, she knocked on the door, making certain to stand slightly sideways, her strong side away from the door. She felt her body tense up as the deep bark of a dog intensified her state of mental readiness. She heard footsteps and noticed the curtain of the bay window move. Then, a few more slow footstep and the door was open. She saw before her a man who looked to be in his early 70s. His once-blue eyes were covered in white, milky cataracts. He held the large yellow dog back by the collar with one hand while supporting himself with a cane held in the other. His build was slight, and he appeared to be about one inch shorter than Natalie. He smiled, displaying a prominent broken front tooth. "Can I help you?" he asked in a soft, sincere voice. "Yes, sir," Natalie responded politely. "My name is Ms. Fisher and I’m with the Probation Department. I left a letter here the other day for a Ms. Tucker. Does she live here, sir?" "Yes, she does," he answered kindly. "I found that letter on the door and gave it to her." He released the dog, snapped his fingers and pointed toward the left corner of the house. The animal obediently walked away. "Won’t you come in?" he invited, opening the storm door. His frail appearance and gentle nature put her a bit more at ease. "Is Ms. Tucker in, sir?" she asked again. "Yes, please come in, dear," he said again, opening the door a bit wider. A sudden gust of wind pulled him off balance, and he was straining. Natalie grabbed the door. "I’ve got it," she assured him. She stepped into the foray and glanced to the left. The dog was sitting quietly in the corner. "I guess I’m a little old to be fighting Mother Nature," he said jokingly. "Aren’t we all," Natalie agreed, returning his smile. "Have a seat, dear. I’ll just turn the TV down." He turned and slowly hobbled toward the set. Natalie remained standing by the entrance and glanced around him at the screen. In most homes, at this hour, she’d be catching the closing of the Opra show. She did a double take, certain that her eyes, obviously in a state of malfunction, had registered incorrectly. The screen was filled with the full-color view of one woman engaging another in oral sex. Next to them, a man was masturbating and giving them instructions. "Yeah, baby. Do her with your fingers, too." The old man snapped the set off, turned, and smiled. Natalie looked at the cataract-covered eyes, and her first thought was, My God, mom was right. Too much of that will make you go blind. Then she surveyed the room. She spotted a Hustler magazine on the end table, and the empty film case, along with a few others, on the floor by the television. An open magazine, displaying a woman spread-eagled and masturbating, lay on the coffee table. Natalie’s momentary amusement turned into panic. She hadn’t checked behind the door or casually pushed it until it met the wall, to assure that there was no one behind it as she entered. Her back felt suddenly vulnerable. She casually stepped the needed half-pace toward the door without turning her back on the man. She tried to make it look more like a nonchalant shift of weight than a step. She let her elbow hit the heavy wooden door and felt her heart returning to its normal pace when she heard the reassuring sound of the doorknob tap against the wall. She returned her focus to the old man, who continued to smile at her. She had the distinct feeling that he got some kind of strange kick out of the fact that she had seen what he was watching on TV. Natalie felt like a pawn in someone else’s sick little game, and she didn’t like it. "Is Ms. Tucker in, sir?" she asked sternly. "She’s in Bay City," he replied as he tottered back toward her. "She won’t be back until about 10 this evening. "I thought you said she was here when you let me in, sir," Natalie said in a confrontational tone. "Oh," he replied innocently, a look of concern crossing his face. "I thought you asked if she lives here. Not, is she here now. But," he added with a smile, "You can stay and wait for her if you want." "Look," Natalie said impatiently, "please tell her that I was here, and that if I don’t hear from her by 12 noon tomorrow, I’ll deny the transfer and recommend a warrant for violation of probation." She pulled a card from her badge case and dropped it on the coffee table just to the left of the magazine. Natalie turned and reached for the storm door handle. She heard a sudden rustling, then her arm was being pulled down by the sleeve of her jacket. The dog’s fangs had sunk into the thick sleeve of her winter coat. She gave one quick yank. The animal, snarling, still had her. When he released slightly and lunged to get a better grip, Natalie pulled again. Her arm was free. She pushed the storm door open, quickly stepped to the other side, and closed it, smacking the diligent animal on the nose as it mounted another attack. "Bad dog," she heard the old man say as she, now safely on the other side of the door, checked her wrist and coat for damage. She noted the lack of sincerity or surprise in his tone.
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About the Book
Some cynics say the American justice system is hopelessly flawed. On the surface, Information and Belief seems to agree. The book is peopled with manipulative felons, frustrated probation officers, apathetic judges, and a state bureaucracy seemingly intent not only on defeating its own purpose, but on punishing its workers while coddling criminals. Probation Officer Natalie Fisher has seen it all, from the felon who insists he tests positive for marijuana because of oral sex with his dope-smoking girlfriend, to the serial rapist of young girls who cunningly presents himself as a loving grandson and father-to-be. Natalie deals with lawyers who council criminals on how to cheat the system, judges who ignore her recommendations, and physically dangerous situations. Yet despite the constant frustration and the stress of maintaining a gay relationship in a straight world, she remains undefeated. Street smart, brutally realistic about human nature, Natalie never loses her courage or her sense of humor, and somehow stays optimistic and compassionate. And she manages to make a difference. Information and Belief is a realistic, sometimes hilarious, often frightening, always compelling description of America’s justice system. It is also the vivid portrayal of a young woman who helps make that system work.
About the Author
Alexis Janus graduated with a bachelor’s degree in social work from Madonna University in 1991. The Michigan Department of Corrections has employed her as a felony probation officer for over six years. Her prior work experience in the fields of domestic violence and child welfare have provided her with a unique perspective on the treatment of felons and victims, as well as those who are paid to deal with them. She wrote Information and Belief to let people know what goes on in the probation system. She currently resides with her partner in Westland, Michigan.