Like Sheep Gone Astray (15 page)

Lord, why am I doing this
? Anthony battled inside with each footstep. Confusion and fear both weakened and numbed him as he watched a small whirlwind of rustling orange and red autumn leaves scatter on the gray pavement that stretched unending before him.

He glanced over at the councilman. He looked nervous, afraid even. But Anthony knew Waiter would never discuss his feelings or fears. True to character, Councilman Banks quickly put a reassuring smile on his face when he realized Anthony was studying him. “Don't worry. I'm sure everything will be okay—once we give back this money. We'll deal with the rest later.” He offered another smile before becoming reabsorbed in his own thoughts.

This is
crazy. Anybody in town could be behind all this. Who do I trust
? Even as the question formed, words from Proverbs whispered gently in Anthony's mind. “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths.” Anthony stared at the dizzying sidewalks around him, walkways leading to other streets, dirt pathways circling buildings and bus stops.

“Direct thy paths.” Anthony thought of the sermon he had given on Sunday.
My dear children, my church friends, where are you headed this morning? What path are you on? Where are your feet taking you
? His own preached words prodded his senses. He had started to turn to Walter Banks and announce that he was about to call the authorities that very moment to end the chaos and deal with the consequences when the garden courtyard of the Quadrangle Towers came into view. Confusion and fear clouded his reasoning once again as they both checked their watches and quickened their steps.

“Only eight more minutes,” the councilman muttered, his eyes frantically searching the sprawling bushes and trees that filled the prized city-center square. “You think whoever it is, is here already?” He asked in a tone that expected no answer. Anthony offered none.

Instead he blew out a large breath and watched it roll into a white frost before turning toward the park's large fountain. He could already see the tips of the marble statue's extended fingers. The solid, outstretched hand from the stoic figure that sat in the middle of the multitiered, watery cascade almost seemed to beckon him toward the bench where the briefcase would be waiting.

Councilman Banks stopped in his tracks. “What was that? Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Anthony did not break his stride. “I didn't hear anything. You're imagin—” Anthony suddenly froze.

“What, what?” The councilman's voice was a hoarse whisper behind Anthony. “Do you see something? What's wrong?”

“That's
my
briefcase sitting on the park bench!” Anthony rushed toward the wooden seat and picked up the empty black leather attach3e. He ran his fingers over the engraved AMM as if polishing the golden nameplate would answer some of his questions.

“Where is all my stuff? Who has it? What is going on?” Anthony turned to the councilman, who had finally rejoined him.

“Just put the money in it and leave it like they asked! Come on, let's get out of here! I wasn't thinking! I can't afford any trouble! You know how the press and the public deal with politicians. I've worked too hard.…” For the first time, Walter sounded truly petrified and heartbroken.

As Councilman Banks spoke, Anthony noticed a police cruiser recircling the block. “I'm getting help right now!” he shouted as he raised an arm to flag down the officer.

Councilman Banks caught his arm in mid-air. “No, not like this! Don't get the police involved in this yet! I can't have people thinking I'm part of some scandal! Please Anthony, put the money in the briefcase and let's get out of here! Or at least wait until I do!” Walter was already backing away.

Anthony watched as the councilman's lean frame disappeared into the shrubbery before turning his attention back to the street. He quickly stuffed the satchel with the money into the briefcase and headed to the corner where the cruiser had stopped.

“Hey!” Anthony waved an arm, but the policeman was already out of his car and heading toward him.

“Put the bag down, and put your arms in the air!” The police officer pointed a gun at him.

“Wait a minute! I want to—”

“I said put your arms in the air!” The officer circled him, both hands on the gun.

“Look, I need—”

“Shut up and get down on the ground!” He approached Anthony, who slowly complied, a look of utter confusion on his face.

“A robbery was reported at a jewelry store up the street a few minutes ago. The owner says that five hundred thousand dollars was taken from his safe. A man matching your description was seen leaving the area. You wouldn't happen to know anything about this, would you?”

The police officer picked up Anthony's briefcase and dumped the satchel on the ground. A few stacks of hundred-dollar bills fell out, which the officer quickly retrieved before greedily digging into the rest of the money.

In the dim streetlight, Anthony made out the badge of the officer.

“Sheriff Malloy! This isn't at all what it looks like! Let me explain! I've been trying to contact one of your detectives. I really need to talk to—”

“Save your story for the judge.” The sheriff ignored Anthony's pleas as he shackled him to a nearby lamppost.

“Lord Jesus!” Anthony cried, the cold metal of the streetlight chilling his back, his legs outstretched beneath him.

Sheriff Malloy talked into the radio in his cruiser. Long seconds passed before he turned back to Anthony. “Well, well, this is turning out to be a bizarre night after all. A man walking the streets of Shepherd Hills who for some reason happens to have thousands of dollars on him, and a robbery victim who calls back to say he found the money he reported stolen, that it was all a big misunderstanding.”

The sheriff eyed Anthony suspiciously as he unlocked the handcuffs. “I can't arrest a man for simply carrying around a ridiculous amount of money, no matter how suspect or strange it looks to me.” This he said while patting Anthony down once again. He stopped at his wallet and flipped through it a few times.

“Anthony Michael Murdock,” he slowly read the name off of Anthony's driver's license before staring at him with a questioning gaze. “I don't know what you are up to, but I do know that I've been hearing your name a lot over the past couple of months.”

“I've been wanting to talk to somebody. I need to tell—”

“I've got to go,” the sheriff cut in again as his radio buzzed with activity. “I'm needed elsewhere, but you better watch yourself, Mr. Murdock, because people are watching you.” He gave Anthony one last look of disgust before turning away.

“One of your detectives … I left a message for…” Anthony threw his hands up as the cruiser disappeared into the moonlit cityscape.

“What now, Lord?” Anthony shouted up to the heavens, desperation in his voice.

He kicked at the upside-down briefcase and several stacked bills fluttered out. He stood thoughtful for a moment, then reached to catch the bills before the growing wind could escort them to a trash-filled gutter grate. As he picked up the last stack, he heard a phone ringing somewhere behind him.

Jumping up, he turned to see a pay phone about fifteen feet from where he stood. The ring was unending. With slow steps he walked over to the booth. The glass had been shattered and graffiti covered the metal box.

Dread and curiosity plagued Anthony as his fingers danced along the smooth black receiver. The phone kept ringing, sounding defiant against the quiet, empty street. Finally, he picked it up.

“Hello?”

A muffled voice immediately greeted him.

“Now you know that we're not playing with you, Anthony. Tonight was a mere sample of what we can do to your life. We control what happens to you, so you better start doing what you are told. Try to talk if you want, but you'll quickly see that nobody will listen.”

Before the words could register in Anthony's mind, the other end went dead. He stood a long time in the booth, the phone still at his ear.

“If you would like to make a call, please insert the correct change.” The familiar voice blared through the speaker, rousing him out of a stupefied daze.

Anthony dropped the phone and stepped slowly out of the booth. He watched the dangling cord sway back and forth several times before pulling up his coat collar and beginning the walk back to his car parked several blocks away.

As the moon slithered through the twisted maze of the starlit sky, the night creatures were already beginning their furtive quests for survival in the streets, alleyways, and backyards of Shepherd Hills.

Sitting in his parked car for almost an hour, Anthony tried to figure out what had just happened. The money was safely hidden in the floor of his trunk until he could figure out what to do with it. Anthony was unsure what to do about anything or how to explain to the detective the fiasco he found himself in the middle of. Turning on his cell phone, he dialed the detective's phone number, which he got off of the business card Pastor Green had given him two days earlier. When an answering machine greeted him, he promptly hung up. He wanted to speak to the detective directly.

Before he turned his phone back off, he noticed that the small screen was flashing ONE MESSAGE WAITING.

It was Terri: “Hi, baby. Sorry I missed you after work today, but I should see you at church. I'm on my way there now. Wait until you see what I got! I'm sure you'll agree that it's something that will fit right into our new circumstances.” With that she giggled. The message continued: “Oh, and today's clue to guess my big surprise is, hmmm, let's see: Think gentle rocking under a canopy of stars, on a foamy blanket of blue-green. Bye, baby.”

“We're having a boy,” Anthony said dreamily to himself. But before he could fully register the mental picture of Terri cuddling a newborn in a blue, celestial-themed nursery, his phone rang, sending sharp vibrations through his hand and arm.

“Hello.” His voice was dull, tired.

“Anthony, it's me, Walter,” the councilman whispered. “Look, I'm sorry I left you like that, but I started envisioning everything that could have happened. I'm at a dinner so I can't talk long, but I wanted to let you know that Gloria is okay. Wait until you hear what happened. Things are getting crazier. This whole time she was—”

He stopped mid-sentence, his attention obviously turned away from the phone. Anthony strained to make out a voice in the background that Walter was politely acknowledging.

“Anthony,” he whispered again. “I think you should get the authorities involved. I'll help any way that I can. Now I'm thinking that returning the money was a bad idea. Did you see anyone come for the briefcase?” Before Anthony could respond, the councilman quickly whispered, “I've got to go. I can't talk right now, but I'll call you as soon as I can.” Anthony heard a loud click.

Perplexing, dizzying questions circulated in his mind like the rotating blades of a window fan. One question remained constant.

“Why am I specifically being singled out?” Anthony wondered aloud as he started the ignition. He knew that his role in the original Stonymill deal had been crucial, but that did not explain why so much seemed to be riding on his shoulders six months later.

As he drove through the empty streets, he knew where he was headed without thinking: the only place in Shepherd Hills where he consistently found solace and refuge.

When he turned into the gravel parking lot of Second Baptist Church, he realized that a genuine smile had found its way onto his face for the first time that day. He longed to be in the house of the Lord, surrounded by people whose very presence encouraged him and lifted his spirits. Even though he would only be catching the tail end of the weeknight prayer and Bible study service, he was confident that hope, courage, and direction lay within the small church's gates.

“Must be a visitor,” he mumbled, not bothered by the sight of a sporty red convertible parked in his usual space. “Nice car.”

He stepped into the small, carpeted foyer and peeked through the doors that led into the sanctuary. He recognized the voice speaking even before he saw the face, and guilt gargled up within him like a sudden geyser spout.

“Bethany Village is God's project.” Eric Johnson proclaimed from a plain, wooden podium at the front of the church. “God is all about helping the oppressed, the afflicted, the addicted. He hears the cries of the abandoned, both young and old. He heals the hurts of a million heartaches. And the people of God should do the things of God.”

“Amen!” Sister Ethel slammed some dollar bills onto the podium as Eric continued to speak.

“I'm not turning to the government, church, because this is not the government's project. I'm not turning to the politician, because this was not the politician's plan. I'm starting at the steps of the church, under the steeples of the community. I'm asking you to join God's vision today so that every citizen of Shepherd Hills, both the beggar and the billionaire, will see the work of Jesus right in front of their eyes. You heard my testimony, how I almost gave up the vision six months ago when the disease of greed spread throughout our community and priorities were placed on personal gain.”

Anthony wondered if Eric could see him peeking through the door. He wondered if he knew about his role in the dismantling of CASH. All of his mailed donations at that time had been returned.

“But as God reassured Habakkuk, he reassured me. He said, ‘For the vision is yet for an appointed time, but at the end it shall speak, and not lie; though it tarry, wait for it because it will surely come, it will not tarry.’]“

Anthony watched as a blond-headed, pecan-colored woman quickly stood and began passing out pamphlets and collecting donations. He immediately recognized her as Nikki Galloway, the secretary Gloria had replaced. Councilman Banks had quietly endured her “work ethics” for over a year. His heart for the community must have rubbed off on her as she was now working for CASH, Anthony reasoned. Something twisted inside him as he listened to Eric continue.

“There are some who think we will not last, that we will fail like we did six months ago. But I don't believe that our God fails. No, He flourishes in the face of impossibility. Only God can make green grass grow out of cracked sidewalks, where feet trample and no gardener tends. Church, support us with your prayers, sustain us with your funds, and the vision of Bethany Village will come to pass!”