Dominion (71 page)

“It’s always struck me,” Clarence said, “that the Bible tells us what’s important— like whether or not a person loves God or if he worships idols. But it almost
never
says a word about people’s skin color. That’s a powerful statement. If skin color mattered, with all the thousands of people in the Bible surely God would say something about their skin color.”

“Let me tell you something else, Clarence. It bothers me when children get taught about those primitive Africans who sometimes practiced twin murder— which was very rare, by the way—but nobody talks much about how the Romans abandoned their handicapped babies to die in the cold. People talk about those few black tribes that practiced child sacrifice, but not about the white Druids in France and Britain that sacrificed humans. What do our kids learn in school about the African kingdoms that were the most advanced in the world when Caucasians in Europe were living in caves and forests? When African countries fight, a lot of people think it’s because they’re just violent ignorant blacks. When Europeans fight—like in colonial wars to conquer people and take their lands and in two world wars and the Balkans and the former Yugoslavia—it’s just a manifest destiny or struggle for democracy. I know people who believe Africans are violent by nature and Europeans are peaceful, when history paints a radically different picture. It shows every race has accomplished many things and every race is capable of great violence and evil. But history gets rewritten. Even in churches, our kids grow up thinking white means good and black means bad.”

“How does that happen?”

“Let me tell you a story. Last summer a church youth group came in here from the suburbs to do five day Bible clubs in our neighborhoods. Great church, terrific young people and I’m glad they came. But they used what they called the ‘Wordless Book’ and showed our kids a black page that meant sin. They sang ‘My heart was black with sin until the Savior came in. His precious blood I know has washed me white as snow.’ Well, one of our kids said to me, ‘Pastor, how come black is bad and white is good?’

“When you read the Bible you see both white and black used metaphorically, for good
and
for bad. Like in Leviticus, where the white spots on the skin and white pus indicate uncleanness and infection. The infected white part had to be taken care of before the person was clean. In fact, it says if
black
hair has grown in a sore, then the person is now clean, but if
white
hair has grown in it, they’re still unclean. So in that case, white represents bad and black represents good.”

“But the Bible
does
say God makes us white as snow,” Clarence said.

“Sure. But the first time the metaphor ‘white as snow’ is used is where Elijah’s servant sins against God and God judges him by making him leprous, ‘white as snow.’ So there white as snow meant diseased and under God’s judgment. Of course, in Isaiah 1 it means pure and holy. My point is, white is sometimes good, sometimes bad. When Miriam muttered against Moses because he married a black woman, God judged her by making her white with leprosy. Scripture
does
talk about wearing white robes in heaven, and there white means pure and holy. But people of every color are wearing those white robes.

“Obviously God didn’t create sin, but he
did
create skin. He created light skin and dark skin. He created black—black hair and black skin. If it wasn’t good, he wouldn’t have made it. But the way our kids have heard the Bible, they’re inferior because they’re black. We’ve got to correct that. If we don’t, who will?”

“I guess kids don’t always understand,” Clarence said, “it’s just a figure of speech when the Bible says our hearts are black with sin.”

“But it
doesn’t
say that. Isaiah 1:18 says, Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are
red as crimson
, they shall be like wool.’ The contrast isn’t between white and black, it’s between white and red. Of course, even if the Bible
did
say ‘black as sin,’ it wouldn’t bother me, any more than white being the color of leprosy and pus and infection and disease should bother white people. It’s just that our children are used to associating their skin color with bad. Think about it. The Black Sox scandal. Black Death for the bubonic plague. Black market for something illegal. Black Monday for a Wall Street crash. Darth Vader was robed in black. Even had a black man’s voice. We’ve just got to make our kids think differently about their skin color. Well, I’ve been goin’ on. I’m sorry about that— guess you can see this turns my crank. Anything else you want to ask about Ebenezer church?”

“Here’s one my wife and I have talked about a lot. Politics. White evangelicals tend to be Republican because they’re concerned about biblical and family values and morality, and they’re pro-life. Black evangelicals are heavily Democratic, maybe because in recent decades Democrats have been more sensitive to issues of social justice, racial equality, and concern for the poor. Now I happen to be concerned about
all
these issues, but I think Democratic policies and programs have hurt the black community. I think it’s safe to say that at your church the members are mostly Democrats, right? I admit, that bothers me, especially on the abortion issue. I care a lot about those suffering children.”

“In my expenence,” Pastor Clancy said, “Republicans tend to be more wise and less caring, and Democrats more caring and less wise. But both parties fall way short. You mentioned abortion. I know white evangelicals who can’t understand why so many of their black brethren seem unconcerned about abortion. Likewise, black evangelicals can’t understand why so many whites are unconcerned about poverty, drugs, crime, racism, and the deterioration of urban America. And why they seem to be doing so little to improve education, employment, housing, medical care, you name it. You and I are advocates of working hard, but we both know white conservatives who have hijacked the concept of self-reliance as an excuse to abandon the truly needy.

“To black Christians, yes, abortion should be on our list of concerns. But it has to take a number, considering everything else we’ve got to deal with. With the mortality rate of our already-born children dramatically higher than white children’s, we tend to say let’s start with the ones already born. White churches are concerned about abortion and homosexuals and feminism. We’re concerned about gangs and drugs and AIDS and homelessness and jobs. Our church gets asked to participate in Life Chain every year. Some of our deacons say they feel like white evangelicals have this abortion fixation and that’s all they care about. They said to me, ‘These people want us to stand next to them on abortion, but they’ve never stood next to us on racism, social justice, unemployment, and poverty. They don’t seem to care about moral issues that are important to me. Why should I care about the only one that seems important to them?’ Well, I took my deacons to task on that, and we
do
join in Life Chain. But I have to admit I understand where they’re coming from.”

Clarence nodded. “So do I. But I still think it’s essential we stand against abortion. It’s not the babies’ fault if white Christians haven’t been consistent on justice issues.”

“Okay, I’m trackin’ with you,” Clancy said. “But I admit I get concerned when I see flag-waving Christians whose faith in America is inseparable from their faith in God. Patriotism is fine as far as it goes, but our true citizenship is in heaven. I say, don’t settle for Washington when God has called you to set your eyes on Zion. Between us, I get real discouraged by white churches sometimes. Remember a few months ago when one of the largest evangelical churches had that big ‘slave auction’ to raise money for a building? They couldn’t understand why these oversensitive African Americans got offended. Right—what’s next, they gonna do a good-natured takeoff on the Holocaust and expect Jews not to be offended?

“Got a letter from a Christian organization last week. It was all bad-mouthin’ the ACLU, like everything they’ve ever done is from the pit of hell. Well, I disagree with
plenty
of the stuff they’re doin’ now, but if it wasn’t for the ACLU taking up our cause, black folk would still be using separate restrooms. I wish these Christian groups wouldn’t paint with such a broad brush and act like the ACLU never did anything good. The truth is, lots of white pastors wimped out on slavery and segregation and civil rights, and lots of black pastors are wimping out on Farrakhan and premarital sex and personal responsibility. Maybe both have wimped out on abortion.”

Pastor Clancy looked at Clarence and took a deep breath. “Well, enough on all that. We could talk till the cows come home, and I’d like to some day. So, tell me, how’s that Bible study goin’?”

“Fine,” Clarence said with a tinge of guilt.

“Heard you missed the last few weeks.”

Clarence sat back stiffly. “You hear a lot.”

“I’m a shepherd—that’s my job.” He looked Clarence in the eyes and said matter-of-factly, “Go to that Bible study. You need it.”

Clarence squeezed tight on the chair’s arms. “You going to send the deacons after me if I don’t?”

Clancy laughed. “Maybe. But in your case I might have to send a few backups.” He paused. “All right, you’re wondering why I called you in. It’s about Raymond Taylor’s mama, Andrea. She’s a good woman, been part of this church since she came up from L.A. She’s really broken about her son’s death. But she’s even more broken about his life. She’s ashamed her son got hold of your Tyrone. She’s ashamed to face you about that. But I think you need to talk to her.”

“Why?”

“Well, for both of your sakes. Also, because she may know some things.”

“Some things about what?” Clarence hoped it related to the dudes at Taco Bell.

“Some things that may help you,” Cairo Clancy said. “I can’t say for sure. If you reach out to her, she may choose to tell you. If not, you can just help out a woman in need. And helpin’ someone who needs it is never a waste of time for a true Christian, now is it?”

“I’ve got good news and bad news,” Ollie said, sitting across the table at Baskm-Robbins. “Which do you want first?”

“The good news,” Clarence said with imitation perkiness.

“We traced the license. Got a positive ID.”

“Great. Who?”

“That’s the bad news. The license belongs to a seventy-five-year-old couple in Woodburn.”

“What?”

“Yeah. And either they were masters of disguise or it wasn’t them Herb saw at the Taco Bell.”

“Very funny. I don’t get it.”

“Stolen plate. Taken some time after 6:00 P.M. September 2. The old folks didn’t notice until the next morning.”

“Great. What now?”

Clarence watched Ollie work over a double scoop Jamoca Almond Fudge.

“Okay,” Ollie said, wiping his face, “you’ve got two guys nobody knows sitting behind Taco Bell in a car with a license plate stolen from Woodburn, maybe three hours earlier.”

“Woodburn’s what, an hour round trip from Portland? You’d think they’d steal it from some place closer.”

“Depends on where they came from, doesn’t it?” Ollie said. “I’ve got another piece of news for you. That stolen plate was found a few days later—on the side of 1-5 near a rest stop twenty miles south of Salem. The perps knew that even if somebody jotted down the license, we couldn’t track them. They probably removed the stolen plates before they left Portland, then tossed them after going by Salem.”

“But these guys weren’t Hispanics, and nobody saw them at the murder scene, light? I still don’t get how it fits with the guys Mookie saw. And this means the info Herb gave us is worthless. We can’t trace them. They could be anywhere.”

“Not worthless. See, now we know where they collected and disposed of the stolen plates. Let’s put it together. You’ve got two guys, hardened gangsters but not local, because nobody’s ever seen their tricked out car and they don’t know the difference between Jackson and Jack. Let’s assume Woodburn was on their way to town. That means they came from south of Portland. They cover their plates, which means they’re going to pull off some job and if there’s any witnesses, they don’t want their car identified. They’re not the only Lexus out there, even with fancy wheels, so as long as they’ve got the stolen plate they’re safe, provided they remove it soon after the crime. Okay, they’re sitting behind Taco Bell, less than a mile from your sister’s. Probably just waiting for it to get later, less people on the street. They’re not on drugs, if Herb was right, which could mean they’re staying sharp for a hit. Say they do the hit, then they take off south, at least twenty miles south of Salem, presumably on their way home. So you tell me—where’s home?”

“I don’t know—someplace south of Salem.”

“Well, how many black gangs would there be in central and southern Oregon?”

Clarence laughed. “Other than some students at OSU in Corvallis or U of O in Eugene, I can’t think of any place south of Salem where there’s enough young black men to form a gang even if they wanted to.”

“Exactly. So what does that tell you?”

“California?”

“Sure. That’s where 1-5 south takes you. You come up north, do a job, head back home.”

“Since when do California bangers drive up to Portland to do hits?”

“Since maybe the guy behind the hit has gang connections in California,” Ollie said, “and doesn’t want word to get out on Portland streets.”

“So what hope is there of ever finding these guys?” Clarence asked.

“First, I’m going to run checks on traffic tickets issued on 1-5 to California plates within twenty-four hours of the murder.”

“Traffic tickets?”

“Sure,” Ollie said. “You have a car like that, you don’t stay behind trucks and Hyundais in the slow lane. If they’re bangers, you can count on them breaking the law. It’s just a question of whether they got caught. I-5’s long enough that maybe they did. Then I’ve filed a description of the car and passengers with NCIC—National Crime Information Computer. It’s run by the FBI. I could only note them as ‘subjects of interest.’ Don’t have enough yet to call them suspects. Like you say, our only definitive suspects are two Latinos. But the NCIC should get printed out in police stations, along with a ton of other stuff that sometimes gets looked at and sometimes doesn’t. Hopefully some cop will see it and contact us.”

“Read about Eustace
Clarence,”
Keisha teased.

Clarence also wanted to know more about the boy turned dragon. He read to the kids how Eustace tried repeatedly to peel his dragon skin off, never getting anywhere. He was still a dragon. Then Aslan, the lion who had died for Edmund’s sins and come back again, told the boy he would have to let him tear the skin off with his claws. Eustace was terrified:

“The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt. The only thing that made me able to bear it was just the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off.

“Well, he peeled the beastly stuff right off and there it was lying on the grass. And there was I as smooth and soft as a peeled switch and smaller than I had been. Then he caught hold of me— I didn’t like that much for I was very tender underneath now that I’d no skin on—and threw me into the water. It smarted like anything but only for a moment. After that it became perfectly delicious and as soon as I started swimming and splashing I found that all the pain had gone.”

“Asian is not a tame lion,” the book said again. Clarence thought about his own anger, cynicism, and disillusionment. He wondered if he should ask the Lion to remove the dragon skin. No. Putting himself in someone else’s hands was too much of a leap. Especially the hands of the Lion who’d allowed so much suffering, who’d taken Dani and Felicia from him.

“No calls on the Lexus yet,” Ollie said to Clarence, “but I heard from a SWAT cop in LAPD. He happened to come across my old bulletin about the HK53. Told me an interesting story. In April a SWAT officer got killed in a shoot-out with a gang. This guy was in a penmeter position. When the smoke finally cleared, they found the dead officer. His weapon had been stolen.”

“An HK53?” Clarence asked.

“Exactly. I’m betting that’s our weapon. If it is, whoever did the hit either comes from an L.A. gang or has connections there that got him the gun.”

“If they’re from L.A.,” Clarence said, “that fits your theory with the guys in the Lexus. Fits the license plates and explains not knowing Portland streets.”

“Right. It also explains the frangibles. The cop that called me had the full SWAT report in front of him. It was a high-risk residential area, so they were using frangibles in their HK. The downed cop presumably had some left in his magazine. I would have thought some gangbanger would have shot those rounds off by now, but I guess if they were smart, they’d hide the weapon and not use it while it was still so hot. Nothing’s hotter than a dead cop’s gun. Now, once they get up to Portland, it’s their big chance to use their prize. They’d never figure it’d be traced back to L.A. because they didn’t know they’re dealing with Lone Ranger Ollie Chandler and his faithful companion Tonto Abernathy. Plus, there’s one other thing that convinces me this is our weapon.”

“What?”

“Remember how McCamman couldn’t understand why Mrs. Burns didn’t see muzzle flashes? Well, this L.A. SWAT guy told me their cops use a special HK flash-hider attachment as a tactical move so they don’t get blinded or draw attention for return fire.”

“So the HK53 taken from this cop had a flash-hider?”

“Exactly. Okay, what have we got?” Ollie stood up and paced. “We’ve got two L.A. gangsters who were hired to come in to Portland, do a gangland hit, and hightail it back to L.A. That would explain why there’s no word out on the street. The local gangsters honestly don’t know who did it.”

“But there’s lots of Hispanic gangs in L.A., so that could connect with the guys Mookie saw.”

“Except the gang that shot the cop and took the HK, they weren’t Hispanics. In fact, they weren’t Bloods either. They were Five Nine Hoover
Crips.”

“I’m grateful for this body, but I still don’t really understand it,” Dani said. “I had thought that in heaven we’d be spirits without bodies.”

Torel looked at her as if this were ludicrous. “How could that be? Have you not read that Elyon created a body, then breathed into it a spirit, and only when there was both body and spirit was there a living human being? To be human is to be both spirit and body. To cease to be either is to cease to be human. That is why Jesus spoke of Lazarus and the rich man as both having bodies in heaven and in hell, immediately after their deaths. Elyon’s book speaks of people in heaven before the resurrection wearing robes—robes are worn only on bodies, are they not?”

“I never thought of having a body before our resurrection bodies.”

“Think of your present body as the artist’s preliminary sketch out of which will later flow the masterpiece. On earth you did not long to be unclothed from your body, but to be reclothed in a superior body. Christ’s resurrection body is the prototype of your own. He walked and talked and ate and was grasped and held by his disciples.”

“Strange. Somehow I thought of the body as the soul’s prison.”