Authors: Vanessa Miller
Latter Rain (9 page)
14
The nine-hour drive to West Virginia wore out Isaac. Needless to say, by Thursday morning, he was cranky. By the time Pastor Ronald Marks strutted his well-paid self into his elegant mahogany laden office, Isaac was in a state of anger.
In his late thirties, Ron was graying prematurely. Probably from all that late night partying he did when his wife and children went to bed. He leaned against his sturdy desk, crossed his legs and smiled at Isaac and Bishop. “So, what brings you boys all the way down here?”
Bishop smiled back at him, crossed his legs, then told him, “You know why we're here, Ronald. Looks like you've exposed yourself to the wrong woman.”
Ronald dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. “I've got it under control. One more week, and everything will be back to normal at Faith Temple.”
Under the leadership of Pastor Marks, Faith Temple had grown from a shabby two hundred member church to more than two thousand. His members didn't earn a lot, but they trusted that God would make a way, so they paid their tithes and offerings faithfully. The church grossed about fifteen million dollars annually, one of the largest in Bishop Sumler's fellowship; thus, the arrogance they were receiving from Pastor Marks right now. Who would touch the golden child?
Isaac shook his head. Ain't no hustle like a Holy Ghost hustle.
“What makes you so sure that you can fix this situation?” Bishop asked hopefully.
“I told the little tramp to get rid of it.”
It
was the baby Pastor Marks had planted in sixteen-year-old Tiffany Miliner's stomach. AKA, the little tramp.
was the baby Pastor Marks had planted in sixteen-year-old Tiffany Miliner's stomach. AKA, the little tramp.
Rage. Isaac knew it well. He just didn't know how to calm it once it was upon him. Red. He wanted to kill this animal. He rubbed his head with his palm while silently telling himself to calm down.
“What's wrong, Brother Walker?” Marks taunted.
Isaac ignored him and prayed for patience. Isaac wasn't fully delivered and this man was trying to get him in the flesh.
“Why you judging me,
brother
? I know you haven't forgotten about your little slip up with Denise Wilkerson so soon. She could have gotten pregnant, you know,” Marks continued his taunt against Isaac.
brother
? I know you haven't forgotten about your little slip up with Denise Wilkerson so soon. She could have gotten pregnant, you know,” Marks continued his taunt against Isaac.
“One mistake is not fifty. And if she'd have gotten pregnant, I would have taken care of my responsibility,” Isaac told him as rage danced in his eyes.
Marks gave Isaac a âyeah-right' glance. “You barely take care of the one you've got now. Walking over to the window, Marks turned his back on Isaac. First mistake. “Go get me a cup of coffee, and leave the grown folk's business to me and Bishop.” Second mistake.
The beast in Isaac roared as he stood up and told Marks, “You don't know anything about my son. And instead of taunting me, I would think you'd be worried about what your behavior is doing to your family.”
“I'm tired of your mouth,” Marks said as he turned away from the window and swung at Isaac. Third mistake.
A gulping windâwhoosh, was knocked out of Marks as he hit the ground face first. His nose splattered blood all over the thick Persian rug. Isaac's fists hadn't seen warfare in quite some time. What's that thing about riding a bike? Well, it's the same for fighting, evidently. By the time Bishop Sumler pulled Isaac off Marks, Marks had received a good beat down and some wall-to-wall consultation. Not a dry cleaner in the world would be able to get all that blood out of Marks's linen suit.
“Thâthis is outrageous!” Marks sputtered as he tried to get on his feet. The floor couldn't hold him steady, so he collapsed onto his knees. “I want his license revoked! What kind of preacher beats up on people?”
What kind of preacher sleeps with half his congregation?
Isaac wanted to ask him, but he was busy trying to catch his breath. Whew, he was getting too old for this stuff.
Isaac wanted to ask him, but he was busy trying to catch his breath. Whew, he was getting too old for this stuff.
“I bring in more money than any other preacher in this fellowship.” Marks stood and pointed at Isaac. “So, if he isn't out of here, Faith Temple will find another Bishop to fellowship under by tomorrow.”
“That's what I've been trying to tell you, Marks.” Bishop walked over to Marks and adjusted his shirt and tie. “Like I said, it appears that you've exposed yourself to the wrong girl. Her parents are filing charges against you for statutory rape. You'll probably be in jail by tomorrow.”
Another whoosh of air escaped Marks. He fell backward, all the while, trying to regain his balance. “Yâyou can't let this happen, Bishop. That's why I joined your fellowship. You were supposed to protect me.”
Bishop looked exhausted as he told him, “I can't protect you from yourself.”
Isaac was tired of this whole scene. “Look, Marks, just clear your stuff out of this office and go home to your family. See if you can explain yourself to them before the police show up.”
When Marks slithered out of the office, Isaac moved over to the window. Instead of taking in the hustle and bustle of the traffic below, Isaac stared at his hands. His eyes had a far away look. Remembering promises made, but not kept. “Oh, Lord, please forgive me.”
He wasn't sorry for beating the living daylights out of Marks. He had to admit to himself and God that he'd do it again. But something deep within him was cracking. He wanted to beat MacMillan to death at that construction site, and had been a little disappointed when the man decided to resend that thieving bill.
Am I losing it, Father? Am I turning into the man I once was?
Am I losing it, Father? Am I turning into the man I once was?
“I guess you know you'll be giving the sermon at Faith Temple this Sunday,” Bishop Sumler informed Isaac.
“What do you want me to do? Tell them how I beat their pastor half to death?”
Bishop walked over to Isaac and put his hand on his shoulder. “You can't let it get to you. The man is slime. Anybody would have done what you did.”
Isaac wasn't sure about that. He shook his head and rubbed his chin. “I thought I was entering into something that would help the advancement of the Kingdom of God. But it seems like I left one game for another.”
“Some days it seems like that, but you just have to hope that there's more good than bad in this thing.” Sumler squeezed Isaac's shoulder. “Besides, this may be a door that God is opening for you.”
Isaac turned to face his mentor. “What are you talking about?”
“You just work on your sermon. Let me worry about the rest.” He turned and started walking out the door. Just before he left the room, Isaac heard him say, “Yep, this thing may just turn out for our good.”
15
Charles's mother. What could Nina say other than she was glad the woman lived in Kentucky. Not too far to drive for holiday visits. Not so close that she would come over every week to inspect their house.
Charles, Nina and Donavan were in the dinning room, sitting down for tea with the formidable Mildred Douglas. The room was spectacular. A crystal chandelier hung above the seventy-two-inch walnut colored double pedestal dining table. The china cabinet had porcelain figurines and formal china plates that Nina hadn't even dreamed of owning inside of it. The upholstered chairs were so cushiony soft that Nina melted into the seat.
“My son is a man of quality. It'll take a special woman to capture his heart, Mrs. Douglas told Nina, as if Charles's love for her was still up for debate.
Nervously, Charles grabbed Nina's hand and pulled her close. “Mama, a special woman has already captured my heart.”
“You're forty, aren't you, dear?” Charles's mother asked Nina with a lift of her eyebrow.
“Thirty-six,” Nina corrected.
“Don't you think that's a little old to start a family? You do know that Junior wants to have children?”
Charles came from a well-to-do family. Three generations of attorneys. But it was Charles II that turned the family into the yuppies they wanted to be. He made his bones on a triple homicide case. His wealthy client, whom everybody but his mama knew was guilty as sin, walked away scott freeâwell, not exactly free. Charles II charged that slasher three million dollars for his get-out-of-jail-for-everything-you've-got card.
Nina understood. She really did. This woman was just trying to preserve her way of life. She had grown accustomed to having everything the way she wanted it. Used to her children excelling. While Charles was a lawyer, his brothers and sisters were doctors, accountants, politicians. His baby sister was the CEO of a baby food company. Charles's sister couldn't just have five children, she had to go and invent the mushed up food the kids ate; bottle it and sell it to the tune of two million a year.
“Charles and I have discussed children,” Nina told the woman with the most pleasant tone she could muster.
That got Donavan's attention. Questioning eyes turned toward his mother. Nina reached over and rubbed his arm reassuringly. Her eyes implored him to understand. He turned away.
By the time they left the Douglas home, Nina was a little bruised. Charles tried to talk her down from the ledge. “My mother is not a bad person, Nina. She'll warm up to you after we're married.”
Nina looked at him skeptically.
He squeezed her hand. “You'll see.”Charles's expression changed, darkened. “I wouldn't have let you meet with her so soon, but it couldn't be helped.”
Nina turned toward him. Something in his voice sounded like trouble to her. “What's going on, Charles?”
He shut his eyes. Bad decision, since they were on I-71. The car swerved, he opened his eyes and steadied it. “Sorry about that.”
Donavan sat up in the backseat. “Man, where'd you learn to drive? Kmart?”
“Sit back, Donavan,” Nina scolded.
“I told you about this case I'm working on, right?” Charles moved them back to the subject at hand.
“That Mickey Jones guy?” Nina asked.
Donavan sat back in his seat and looked out the window, ears perked up to listen to Charles and his mother.
“Yeah. Well, anyway, that animal has started threatening my family. I don't want you or Donavan to get hurt. That's why I took you to see my mother now.” He tried to smile, but his heart wasn't in it. “I don't think I should be around the two of you until I can get this case under wraps.”
Nina looked worried. “So, do you want to call off the wedding?”
“No, no.” Charles shook his head. “Nothing like that. Let's set the date, but you'll have to do the planning on your own. Let me put this guy away, then I won't feel so exposed.”
“But you
do
still want to marry me?”
do
still want to marry me?”
He put his hand over hers. “Of course, baby. I just don't want to put you in harm's way. He lifted her hand and kissed it. “To make matters worse, word on the street isâsome young punks robbed one of Mickey's crack houses.”
Donavan's head snapped around like Linda Blair in
The Exorcist
. He leaned in closer.
The Exorcist
. He leaned in closer.
“Serves him right,” Nina said. “He's out here selling his poison to these kids, someone should rob him.”
“Only problem is, Mickey is one twisted drug dealer. He's not normal, Nina. I just hope we put him in jail before he finds those idiots who robbed him.”
They drove in silence, listening to the radio. When Charles pulled the car up to Nina's house he turned toward Donavan. “Sorry, I won't be able to celebrate your birthday with you.”
Donavan scooted out of the car. “Don't worry about it. I might not be celebrating it either.”
16
Mickey stormed through his house like the mad hatter. Laquita cautiously walked behind him, being careful to stay out of his way.
“That lousy DA thinks he's so smart. Thinks he's going to get to me,” Mickey mumbled while slinging the freezer door open. He threw a couple of the frozen entrees around, then turned on Laquita.
“I thought I told you to get me some more Freeze Pops?”
The kitchen island was between them. Laquita clutched the edge of it. “You mentioned them, but I thought you were going to pick them up. I'll go to the store right now if you want me to.”
“Forget it.” He slammed the freezer door.” You can't do nothing right. I don't know why I bother with you.”
He stared her down. Laquita lowered her head. She was pretty. Pouty lips and cocoa skin. Her hair was long, just the way he liked it. He often wrapped it around his hand and yanked. Pretty enough to model, but she was too stupid to put on the three-inch heels and walk down a runway. She'd rather be a dope man's woman. “I should have figured out that you wasn't worth two dead flies when your own mama threw your tired behind in the street. But me and my generous heart had to go pick you up, put food in your stomach and give you a decent place to stay.”
Silence. Head still bowed low.
He turned away from her, shaking his head. “I got the Feds on my back, some suckas done robbed me, and I can't even get a Freeze Pop in my own house.” He kicked up his feet on the coffee table in the living room and hollered back to Laquita, “Fix me a sandwich. Do something to earn your keep.”
He picked up the phone and dialed Lou. He and Lou went way back. They started in the drug game together, but Isaac always thought Lou was small time. To this day, Lou was still proving Isaac right. From time to time, Mickey called on him though. He commissioned him as sort of a researcher. The project Lou was currently researching had to do with the robbery of one of Mickey's crack houses. “Found out anything yet?”
Mickey wanted to laugh. He could hear Lou flipping pages. Everywhere the boy went, he carried this small note pad. Nobody could tell him he wasn't a real detective. “Hey, Lou,” he wanted to scream, “detectives don't get paid in crack. But in truth, Mickey had to give Lou his props. The boy could find Bin Laden if the price was right.
“Nothing yet, boss,” Lou reported.
“Don't play me, Lou. Nothing goes on in the streets that you don't know about.”
“I'm working on it. I'll have your information. Just give me a little more time.”
His feet came off the table just as Laquita walked in with a man-sized turkey sandwich on toasted bread. “Get me my information, Lou. Don't play me after I've given you my merchandise.”
“I wouldn't play you, Mickey. Honest, I'll have something on this in a couple of days.”
“Tomorrow,” Mickey screamed. “Or this will be your last case. You got me?” He slammed down the phone and looked at his pathetic woman. Leaning back against the couch he told her, “Feed me.”
When she bent down to pick up the sandwich, he sat up and grabbed a fist full of her hair. The gold in his gleaming mouth greeted her as she shifted to face him.
“Mickey, if I did something wrong, just tell me. I can fix it,” Laquita told him as worry lines etched her face.
He yanked her hair, pulling her closer. He was still smiling when he back handed Laquita and sent her tumbling to the floor. He really liked those Freeze Pops, especially the orange ones. He bent over her, pinning her arms to the ground with his knees. Slapping and punching. Slapping and punching.
“I'm sorry, Mickey. I wâwon't do it again,” she cried.
She lost consciousness somewhere between the fifteenth and the twentieth blow. When she came to, she was lying on the kitchen floor. Her vision was blurry, but she could see Mickey. He was standing over her again. A baseball bat in one hand, a rope in the other. That's when things started to go bad for Laquita.
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