No Sin in Paradise (11 page)

I'm convinced that Randall Knott has had a hand in Pastor Cole's death. My time in the jungle with Demetrius tells me that he wouldn't go as far as to kill an innocent man. He only kills those in the criminal world who cross him. All of his threats are hollow, and most of the locals are fooled. The real threat is Knott, and now I have to get to him, but I can't focus on Randall Knott until I first deal with the fact that Victory is gone. I shouldn't be surprised, and Lord knows that a good woman would've left days ago. Victory is a rare and special woman with the gift of patience, but I now know that her patience has a limit. Whatever I hope to accomplish and all aspirations of a relationship have faded away. I now sit at the edge of my bed with a letter Victory wrote, too afraid to read it.

“Nic,” Adele says as she enters the room.

“Hey, Adele, I'm sorry if you were worried about my whereabouts.”

“Not as worried as Victory was. You darn near gave that girl a heart attack. Where were you?”

“I had to see Demetrius again,” I say.

“You're not mixed up in the foolishness that he's mixed up in?”

“No, nothing like that. I just had to see him.”

That pricks my heart to hear that Victory was worried about that until she finally decided that it's better for her to leave then to wait for me to come home with a new excuse.

“There is something wrong with a man who can't find rest, even when he's on vacation. I think Victory understood that,” Adele says before she looks at my letter. “Read the letter. Lord willing, it will help set your mind at ease.”

I just look at the letter, still not motivated to actually read it. I imagine that I will feel worse after I have read it.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” Adele says as she leaves.

I sit there on my bed and finally open the letter.

I close the letter and think how on any other day I would agree with her, but not today. Today, I feel like I can be the man that Victory needs, and that I can have a life outside of the problem-solving business. But Victory is gone . . . but how far could she have gone?

I run downstairs into the kitchen where Adele and Sammy are having a conversation, and it appears that they are actually enjoying their conversation for once.

“What's up, Doc?” Sammy asks.

“How long ago did Victory leave?”

“About this morning before you came back,” Adele replies.

“She hitched a ride with my son back to Miami.”

Miami is a two-hour flight; it's possible that I can get to her in time. Forget about Pastor Cole and who murdered him. I'll give Pastor Bryant back his money, but Victory is a once-in-a-lifetime woman, and I'm not going to let her go. I have to find a way to make things right with her.

“I need—” before I could even finish, Sammy tosses me the keys to his truck.

“You better hurry up, Romeo.”

I run out the door not sure of what I would say if I did catch up to Victory.

 

 

I arrive at the airport, and my heart sinks when I see several police cars surrounding Donny Moses' plane. I see German shepherds go into his plane while Donny stands off to the side with his hands cuffed.

Two police officers emerge from Donny's plane with two bags that have been duct taped. Drugs—yes, but were they Donny's—no. Duct tape and plastic wrap, which makes it hard for the dogs to sniff. This is the circus, and the show has been planned from the beginning. Someone has planted the drugs on Donny's plane, and the whole ordeal is not even to get to Donny but to get to me.

I get on the phone and call Sammy to tell him that his son is being hauled off to jail, but another call comes through from a number that I don't recognize.

“Hello?” I say.

“Minister Nicodemus Dungy, this is Randall Knott. I would like to speak with you regarding an urgent matter.”

The devil has revealed himself and wants to have a conversation. This is one meeting that I can't afford to miss.

In light of what has transpired today, I'm force to take a long hard look at how I ended up in this situation. Victory is gone, and Donny is in jail. I stand on the same tarmac where hours ago I watched an innocent man get carried off. Now I await a private plane to land and pick me up. I am off to see the wizard.

I see from a distance a Gulfstream jet descending onto the runway. That's my ride. I wonder if Knott is on the plane or is this one expensive taxi ride. The plane lands and pulls to a stop. The door opens, and a man of Haitian descent disembarks.

“Mr. Dungy. Right this way,” he says.

I hate this fake act of chivalry, but I have to endure this charade until I can get back and get Donny out. I walk on board the plane and sure enough, Knott is not on it. He wants me to come to him.

 

 

I realize that my biggest error has been my approach to this whole situation. I have approached this situation as Nicodemus Dungy on vacation. I need to approach this situation as Nicodemus Dungy, the guy who's not afraid to get his hands dirty.

The plane lands on the ground, and this time, there is a Mercedes truck waiting to take me to Randall Knott's home. Cameron was also to the far right trying to wave me down.

“Tell Mr. Knott I will meet up with him.”

“My orders are to bring you straight to Mr. Knott's residence.”

I am a freeman, and I won't let any man push me around or tell me what to do. I don't care. “Don't worry; I didn't hop on the plane to be a no-show. I just have to make a stop somewhere first, but I won't keep Mr. Knott waiting.”

I don't even wait for an answer, I just walk past the truck and toward Cameron. For once I'm glad to see him.

“What up, fam? Where can Cameron take you this fine day?”

“I need to buy a new suit, and I need to meet up with someone.”

“Not to worry, fam, Cameron got you.”

I couldn't meet Randall Knott dressed like a member from Gilligan's Island. I needed to get myself cleaned up for this meeting.

 

 

I am not a fan of buying off the rack
.
I don't consider myself pretentious, I just have an appreciation for the feel of a tailor-made suit. At the suit shop on the island, I wasn't able to find my traditional smoking gray suit, so I choose a black-on-black suit and shades. I felt like a new man cruising along the town as Cameron recklessly weaves in and out of traffic.

“You sure you know where you're going?” I ask.

“Cameron knows where Mr. Knott lives; everybody knows, fam,” Cameron says over his shoulder.

Cameron guns his bike and starts to make his way up a steep hill. The higher Cameron climbs, the more an estate starts to come into view. I now know why Cameron didn't need an address. The house is more like a Mediterranean palace with high Greek pillars. It's clear from the house that only one man could live there, and that man is Randall Knott.

“That's Mr. Knott's house. One day, Cameron is going to live there. Just you wait and see.”

Faith is a very powerful tool. It runs counter to logic and reason. Those two entities are grounded in what is and what can be ascertained. Faith is ground in the possibilities of what could be. It takes faith for someone like Cameron, who is currently operating a taxi service, to believe that he can one day aspire to live on the top of the mountain.

It takes several minutes before we arrive at the top of the hill. Knott's home is Greek inspired with two pillars standing in the entranceway. I'm surprised that there wasn't a security gate put in place for Knott's protection.

Moments later, several men emerged from the front door with weapons drawn. That explains the reason why he doesn't need a security gate. He wants to enjoy his view of the island without it being obstructed by metal bars. He would rather hire a small mercenary team to greet any unwanted guest.

“Don't worry, fam, Cameron got you.” Cameron flashes his .22 pistol.

We would have a better chance with a paintball.

“That's okay, Cameron, I got this.” I caution for Cameron to put his gun away to avoid escalating the situation.

The presence of the security is to prove a point to me; I can't even get the notion of trying any funny business or that would be all she wrote.

“Boys, come on now, don't scare away my guest,” Randall Knott says.

The security guards break away, and Randall Knott emerges with a cigar in his mouth. He's much taller than I thought. Knott is in his late sixties, but he has a full head of hair, and it's all silver.

“I'm sorry about that, Minister Dungy. My boys get bored easily, so they'll jump at the first thing that moves.”

“Not a problem. I understand.”

“I tell you this much, it's a lot easier to be a billionaire when you have former SEALs and black ops watching your back.”

If Randall Knott is trying to intimidate me with his money and influence, then I will say that this is an epic failure. In the last week, I have met with a witch doctor, been threatened, shot at, and dumped by my pseudo-girlfriend. I'm neither intimidated nor scared.

“Let's go inside and cool down.” Knott pats me on the back.

I follow him into his home and was blown away by the décor. I'm not easily impressed. I despise opulence, but this house was designed for a Pharaoh.

Now the outside of the home may be influenced by early Greek architecture, but the inside of the home is pure Bohemian influence. With an impressive collection of seashells and ceiling fans, the home remained quite cool. I wonder how many times Knott visits this island during the course of the year. I'm sure he comes down whenever he's tired of the cold weather.

“I know you're a religious man, but can I offer you a drink?”

I see two glasses at the bar, one that Knott is pouring a single-malt scotch into, and the other glass is empty.

“Sure,” I say. I need to establish that I'm not a straitlaced preacher so that Knott will be comfortable to tell me what's going on. That shouldn't be too hard.

“This single malt would be the death of me . . . if my four ex-wives don't kill me first,” Knott says before he lets out a big laugh.

Only an egocentric nonbeliever would find being divorced multiple times amusing.

“So help me fill in the blanks.” Knott hands me my drink. “You go to college at San Francisco State and get a degree in sociology. You attend seminary and work in ministry for a local church, and then you drop off the face of the earth until about five years ago.”

Someone has done their homework. So have I. “So what's your question?”

“I guess the question is, what do you do, Minister Dungy?”

A person doesn't fly a G-5 jet to pick up someone just to find out what they do for a living. Randall Knott knows; he just wants me to tell him.

“I specialize in fixing church problems, in particular, problems that the church may be having with its leaders.”

My job description really piqued Knott's interest. “So, you're in the public relations business?”

“More like private relations. I handle matters that churches and certain organizations would not want to see become public.”

“Interesting. That's very interesting. I need someone like you on my payroll.”

That's all Knott said before he returns back to the bar to fix himself another drink. I'm still working on my first drink and a way to uncover why Randall Knott is using the church convention to acquire property.

“So why are you not with the rest of them at the conference?”

“Because even though they need me, that don't mean that they like me.” Knott flashes a smile similar to the one that he flashed on the cover of
Forbes
.

“I know about that all too well. I have my detractors all over, including right here in the Bahamas,” Knott says.

“You mean Demetrius?” I'm not one to beat around the bush.

Knott takes a sip of his drink, and then points his glass at me as if I just guessed the correct answer.

“Exactly. He's a strange guy to figure out. I offer him a fortune to acquire some land, and he turned it down.”

“Some people care more about their family's legacy than money. Maybe you haven't studied your opponent enough.”

“Oh, that's a load. When someone tells me that they're not selling because of their family legacy, to me, that translates to I want more money.”

I guess one of the requisites for being a self-appointed master of the universe is the mentality that money solves everything. Knott has this idea that there isn't anything of value that he couldn't put a dollar sign to and purchase.

“You may be right, but I don't believe I'm here to settle Bahamian property disputes because I'm not qualified to do so.”

Knott starts to laugh, and then he finishes his drink.

“Listen, I'm having a get-together at my hotel on the island where you currently stay. I would love for you to attend. I'll send a boat to pick you up around eight o'clock.”

That was exactly what I need, a peek behind the current.

“I would love to be there, but there is just one small matter to discuss and forgive me for assuming, but I have a pilot friend who was arrested for something he didn't commit.”

Knott is not at all surprised by my declaration. There is no doubt in my mind that Knott is the one that made the call.

“Well, that's unfortunate. I'll tell you what. I'll make some calls and see what I can do.”

He didn't admit to being the one who set Donny Moses up; of course, he wouldn't, but as I left Mr. Knott's home, I'm sure that this matter will be resolved by the time I get back to the island.