Like Sheep Gone Astray (26 page)

“Your father? Your biological father? I thought he died—what, over twenty-five years ago? You really think this has something to do with him?”

“I'm sure of it.”

“How?”

Anthony could hear the doubt in Councilman Banks's voice. “That's what I'm trying to find out,” he asserted.

The councilman sounded like he was shaking his head as he spoke into the receiver. “I don't know, Anthony, but if the Lord's leading you in this direction, then I'm going also. I hate to say it, but I'm feeling pretty desperate. I'll go along with anything that will clear my name of any scandal.”

“I'm sorry I got you mixed up in this. You don't know how hard I've been kicking myself over my greed.” Anthony pulled up to the pick-up window.

“Son, we all make mistakes, some with more consequences than others. We choose the deed, but not always the result. I can't be angry with you, Anthony. I have to trust the Lord to see both of us through. You're sounding pretty calm this morning, so I guess I need to calm down too.”

“Be encouraged, Mr. Banks.” Now Anthony was the adviser, the mentor, the friend. “God is still in control. Even if we can't see it, He knows what's going on. Remember, no weapon formed against us will prosper. We're both going to emerge from this as victors.”

“Amen. Thank you, Anthony. It's good to know that God will send a word when we need it.”

“You don't have to tell me.” Anthony chuckled. As he drove away from the fast-food restaurant, he told the councilman of his plans to see the pastor, make some other stops, and then meet with him at his office at two.

He turned onto a narrow street, trying to remember a shortcut he'd found once that put him directly in front of the church. A construction crew slowed his progress, flag-gers stopping him as an oversized truck crept toward a water-main break. As he waited for the okay to move forward, a man in a yellow vest securing a sign caught his eye. Anthony nodded at the man, but the sign struck a nerve in him:

CAUTION: DANGER AHEAD.

When another vested man raised a red flag, Anthony set his eyes forward and continued straight ahead.

“I'm Freddy the Fearless Frog and I have come to rescue you from the evil Pond Monster!” A throaty voice thundered from the television set as synthesized theme music rose to a glorious trill.

“Dum-da-da-dum!” A little boy, peanut butter and jelly crusted around his mouth and fingers, jumped to his feet and began to hop in front of the TV.

“Go git 'em, Freddy Frog!” He jumped and shouted and hopped until a loud groan sounded from a nearby queen bed.

“Didn't I tell you to be quiet? I'm trying to get some sleep!” Nikki Galloway pressed a pillow over her head but the light from the window, and the song from the TV, and the stomps of the boy, were beating out any last hopes of sleeping in she had. Wiping crust out of her eyes, she crawled out of the bed and headed for the kitchen, where she plodded from one cabinet to another, slamming first a bowl and then a box of cereal onto a counter.

“Mommy, can I have some?” Three-year-old Devin pressed into her side, his eyes big with hope.

“Here.” Nikki pushed the bowl toward him before grabbing another and pouring milk into both. “Hurry up and eat, and then go play with your toys.”

“Yeah!” The boy sloshed milk on the floor as he scrambled off.

Nikki gulped down the cereal and then lay across the sofa. “I got too much to figure out today to be bothered,” she murmured. She yanked the glittery PRINCESS T-shirt she was wearing as far as it would go down her bare thighs and retightened the scarf on her head. She sat there quiet for a long minute, her mouth scrunched up in an angry scowl. After another minute passed, her face relaxed.

“All right, I know how I'm going to get Miss Thang.” She stuck her hand inside the stuffing of one of the sofa pillows and pulled out a cell phone. She turned it on slowly, waiting for the signal to light up. Last night had been a close one, with that detective calling and all. She could have jeopardized the whole thing. But she'd woken up smarter and wiser this morning. Her mother would be proud. Nikki almost smiled.

She picked up a sheet of paper from a side table, looking for the number she needed. But before she dialed, she had a better idea. Why just settle for fixing the tramp? Why not take care of them all?

Nikki clapped the phone shut and headed for her bedroom. “Devin, get your clothes on. We got some places to go.”

Anthony was surprised to see the front door of the church propped open. He entered and found Pastor Green standing in the foyer wearing a pair of denim overalls, a dripping roller brush in his hands.

“Hello, Minister Murdock. Watch your step.” He smiled almost as if he'd been expecting him.

Anthony maneuvered around several open cans of paint and trays, stepping back on the crinkling plastic to admire the pastor's handiwork.

“That's a nice shade of white. Why didn't you let me know you were planning to paint the hallway? I could have helped.”

“Thanks for the offer and the coffee. Actually, a contractor was supposed to do this weeks ago. I guess I got tired of waiting and figured there was no reason I couldn't do it myself.”

“I understand that. You've always been a take-charge kind of person.” Anthony chuckled as he rolled up his shirtsleeves. “I'm taking a lesson from you, Pastor Green. From now on, I'm not going to allow anyone or anything else to control my destiny but God Himself. Not one person, not one situation, not even a dollar sign.”

“Praise the Lord.” Pastor Green smiled, but his eyes were serious. “I woke up early this morning praying for you. I prayed and prayed until I had peace that you were okay. I can see from the fire in your eyes that the Lord is seeing you through. God has a purpose and a calling on your life, Anthony. Follow Him straight to real blessings.” He turned back to the wall, the sound of rhythmic brush strokes taking the place of words in the quiet corridor. As Anthony reached for a small brush sitting atop a can, the pastor spoke again.

“Don't worry about the paint, Minister Murdock. I can do it. There are other things that need your attention. God is fighting the battle, but the war is not over yet.”

Anthony stood still a few moments, watching the elder man's back as he painted a second coat near the basement steps. Suddenly, in midstroke, he turned around.

“You haven't talked to Terri, have you?”

Anthony slowly shook his head. He did not want to upset her in her delicate condition. It had been enough seeing her fume in her seat at the banquet the night before. Anthony figured she just needed some time and space, and that she would probably call or come home later that day. Her absence worried him, but the thought of his baby boy brought a generous smile to his face. Pastor Green did not join in the cheeriness.

“You need to talk to her, Anthony. Tell her everything.” With those words he resumed his painting. “Can you press Play on that CD player on your way out?”

Anthony was almost out the door when he turned back to start the CD. Within seconds the hand-clapping, feet-stomping chords of a gospel choir filled the paint-scented hallway. As Anthony walked out the front door, he noticed a black Jaguar slowly passing by. Without warning it suddenly sped up although a sharp curve was in its immediate path. After the curve, which took the car out of view, he heard the engine relax.

Anthony shook his head. He had to agree with Marvin, his office mate at Haberstick Associates. Drivers were getting out of control in Shepherd Hills. Why somebody would want to speed up before a curve and slow down afterwards was anyone's guess. Anthony only knew that this was a driver he wanted to avoid.

Terri was quiet as Reggie smiled at her. He turned on his blinker and waited to make a left turn onto his street. Houses that resembled mini-castles dotted the green landscape before them. Mature trees stood like watchtowers on the sprawling acres between homes. Wanting to break the silence, Terri blurted out the only thoughts she allowed herself to dwell on.

“Nice neighborhood.” They were traveling northward on the winding road.

“Thank you. I enjoy the privacy people around here give. And the meticulous upkeep of the individual properties is second to none. You should consider living out here.” He looked at her from the corner of his eye, letting the silence push her to respond.

“Actually, Anthony and I did consider this area before we bought our house earlier this year, but we decided to settle for a home that was still within our originally proposed budget. If I had known that I was six months away from making partner”—
and being married to a millionaire,
she couldn't help thinking—“I would have put up a bigger fight.” The Murdocks' estate, at slightly less than a half million dollars, was worth a fraction of the value of the homes whizzing by the car window.

Reggie nodded, looking pleased with her answer. But the smile faded from his lips as the iron gate to his expansive property came within view. The talk of homes and nice neighborhoods had done little to gloss over the unspoken awkwardness, which Terri, wringing her hands, could not contain. And speaking Anthony's name had only intensified the discomfort.

“Did you enjoy your breakfast?” He approached the gate.

“Very good. Between that meal and this smooth ride, I nearly fell asleep on the drive here.” She hoped she sounded convincing, but when she looked at him, she knew that he knew.

Reggie knew that she was awake enough to have seen Anthony standing in the doorway of Second Baptist Church when they'd driven by a few moments earlier. He knew that she was well aware of his attempts to speed by at the last minute. And he knew she had looked back.

When the Jaguar circled the roundabout, stopping directly beside the double front doors, Reggie didn't bother to cut the ignition.

“Terri, I think you are a beautiful, classy, one-of-a-kind woman. A woman who knows she deserves only the best. A woman who knows the best is yet to come. A woman I will wait for. When you are ready to accept all that I can offer you”—he looked hard at her—“and I know that acceptance will be soon, I'll be here.”

Terri was quiet, looking straight ahead.
That darn Anthony.
Why couldn't she just let the fool go in peace?
Because I always have to have the last word.
She knew what she had to do.

“My car is still over Cherisse's house. Would you mind dropping me off? I have some business to take care of.”

At eleven
A.M.,
the business of the day was just getting started on Cherry Tree Court. Given the illegality of their trade, the workers had a surprisingly strong work ethic, willing to make money seven days a week, three hundred sixty-five days a year, through weekends, holidays, rainy days, and snow. Even the postal workers who walked quickly through this housing development could mark the time and day of the week by the activity of the street business-men, who peddled their powdery wares on the corners and stoops of their own neighborhood with violent efficiency.

Eric Johnson sat by a window on the top floor of the three-story brick-and-concrete building he called home. He had lived in the projects all his life, unwilling to move even after securing a steady salary through CASH that afforded him the luxury of residential choice. He could have rented a home farther down the boulevard where the rats were fewer and the stoops led to two residences and not five, but his was a matter of mission.

“If I move,” he would explain to people who raised eyebrows when they learned his address, “how would Ms. Peaches and Mr. George know that ten years of hard-core drug abuse don't bind them to a life sentence? How would Lil' Moe, Peanut, and Ray-Ray learn that being born on the street don't mean you got to live on the street? If I move, how would them little kids coming up on Cherry Tree Court know there's a life that's different from everything and everyone they see right now? I am a living testimony of one who surpassed the basics of survival. I'm succeeding. They see me and they know things can be different, better. It's hard to deny hope when it's standing flesh-and-blood in your face.”

But today Eric was not up for any speeches. He wasn't up to much of anything. After last night's meeting everything had gone further downhill. After he'd given up trying to convince Mrs. Malburn-Epworth and Ernest Rutherford that he was one-hundred-percent drug free and not misusing their donations, he came home to find his answering machine blinking with over thirty messages, angry volunteers and pledge partners vowing to forgo support of anything that had his name attached to it. Eric stopped listening after the seventh message.

“People ready to judge you, before they even talk to you, believing every rumor without a reason.” Eric looked back out the window.

A group of eight- and nine-year-old girls were singing outside, their hands joined in a mesmerizing motion of slapping and clapping. Eric could not help but chuckle as a little boy who looked like a brown, overgrown cucumber cut through their circle on a pink tricycle, screams and threats abruptly ending the cheery chorus. He kept his eyes on a group of teenage boys huddled by a black In-finiti, their loose denim jeans barely covered by the white T-shirts that draped their skinny frames like cotton curtains. Eric looked for Mr. Matthews, a gray-haired man who kept a front seat on the block, his throne a metal lawn chair under the sparse shade of a single tree. He was there, sipping from his brown paper bag, laughing hysterically at a joke Ms. Peaches was sharing from her stoop. There was more laughter across the street, where some teenage girls, many of them with infants in tow, were taking turns dancing to a radio propped up in a window.

“These are the people I'm fighting for. This is the reason I can't give up. I'm in this too deep.” Eric put his shoes on, pulled a shirt over his head. He walked out of the complex, unsure where he was going, what he was doing, but knowing he had to do something.

As he jogged down the concrete steps, one of the youths leaning against the Infiniti came to attention and broke away from the group.

“Hi, Mr. Johnson.” He approached Eric with a curt nod, a cap sitting loosely on his braids. “I ain't with them. I just came out here to keep an eye on Keisha while my mom's at her weekend job.” He nodded toward a little girl with two puffy pigtails sitting silently on the curb, a dirty, naked doll tucked tightly under her arms.