Relentless (7 page)

Jones wrapped up the call and turned to face Maxwell. “Now, Mr. Montgomery, what can I do for you?”

Maxwell pressed his palm into his thigh and slid it forward over his right knee before he began speaking. “I'm here to put some money and some muscle behind the lofty ideas discussed at the mayor's meeting. I was thinking we might be able to work together and make this a reality. I know the task won't be easy, but I believe it's doable.” Maxwell tried taking the edge off and softening his facial expressions. Yet he couldn't harness his restlessness and kept adjusting his position in the chair. “I also get the impression that you are an influential man with your hands in a lot of things around the city.”

“I have a few connections,” Bishop Jones said pinching his fingers together.

“Working together, we can bring this thing to fruition,” Maxwell responded locking his gaze on Jones, no longer feeling like the naive child he'd once been in the church. That child was gone, forever, thanks to the bishop. Maxwell's words were saturated with purpose and married to his goal of getting close to Jones.

“Well, praise God! Your confidence definitely hasn't been misplaced. I've got a lot of ideas, resources, and people at my disposal,” the bishop said.

Maxwell listened to what seemed like incessant babbling. He strummed his fingers across the heel of his right hand struggling to stay engaged. The visit was a means to an end that would soon become clearer, but watching Jones's round belly jiggle and his heavy voice rumble with every monopolizing word irked Maxwell deep in his soul. The stench of arrogance tumbling across the bishop's lips incited Maxwell to shut him up, but this wasn't the right situation. He had to grin and bear his infuriation.

Fifteen minutes of grandstanding ensued.

“I have a few ideas of my own,” Maxwell interrupted, snatching the spotlight. Jones creased his brow, stared, and began stabbing his pen against the desk. Maybe he was annoyed that Maxwell wasn't begging and groveling for help from His Majesty. Maxwell wasn't sure and didn't care. He set his feet firmly on the floor. His apprehension had evaporated and been replaced with sheer guts. The bishop wasn't dealing with Paul Montgomery, junior or senior.

Jones invited Maxwell to move over to the conference table where they could crank out a plan. Maxwell stood while Jones clutched the arms of his chair, heaving himself up. The conference table was big enough to seat eight. Maxwell guessed that Jones needed more room for his plump body than the space behind his desk offered.

“Excuse me for just a minute,” Jones said as Maxwell sat. “I have to step out. This water pill the doctor has me on keeps me on my toes. I'll be right back.”

“Take your time,” Maxwell graciously said.

When Jones stepped out of the office, Maxwell was thrilled. Now was his chance. A few solitary minutes to discover any hint that would lead him in the right direction. There was dirt. He just had to find it. Quickly he explored the bookshelf near him and awards on the wall for anything in plain sight that might be of use. He panned his search around the office. A series of family photos lining the bishop's desk caused Maxwell to pause. Envisioning the man as a caring father was inconceivable. He cringed thinking about the bishop's children growing up with a privileged life as Maxwell's family paid the price. Time was short. So, he harnessed his emotions and set them aside for the moment. They would get nurtured in due season, but right now he couldn't squander this opportunity. After taking in a panoramic view, Maxwell's visual sweep ended at the conference table. There on the other end, beyond arm's reach, was a folder and some loose papers. Maxwell took a split second to listen for heavy footsteps that were sure to announce Jones's return. No movement or no noise was heard which dared him to go for it. Maxwell stood and slid down to the end of the table. He opened the folder and found a thick stack of deeds and what appeared to be mortgage forms. He riffled through the papers and made a hasty withdrawal back to his seat when he heard the rumbling voice approach. No time to rejoice over his find. Jones appeared in the doorway.

“Sorry to keep you waiting; let's get down to business,” the bishop said reclaiming his seat. “Let me tell you, I've thought long and hard about what needs to be done.” Maxwell struggled to listen. He'd gotten plenty from the visit but wasn't quite ready to go. “We need to teach these kids what it means to put in a hard day's work; to learn how to earn what they get.”

“You mean build character?” Maxwell stated.

“Exactly, let them put in the work that we had to do to get where we are. Too many handouts have made our community soft. They're a bunch of cripples waiting for ‘the' man to give them what already belongs to them. I don't believe in waiting for what I want. I take it.”

“So, I've heard.”

The bishop lifted his gaze and drilled into Maxwell. With sharpness to his words, he said, “Can't believe everything you hear, can you?”

“Depends on who's doing the talking.”

The bishop maintained his lock on Maxwell. Neither blinked. Both men held their ground, like two lions dueling for the upper hand.

“If I were a man who cared about gossip, you and I wouldn't be sitting here having this conversation,” Jones said wrapping his left hand over his right fist. “Come on; your reputation precedes you, my friend. According to the press, you're on direct payroll from the devil.”

“That's what they say, huh.”

“That's what I've heard based on how hard you go after churches.”

“Does that bother you?” Maxwell asked.

“Why should it? I don't have anything to hide.” The men stared for a few seconds longer, with the bishop being the first to look away. “Come on,” Jones said extending his hand to shake. “We are here to figure out how to help this community. Let's set the other nonsense aside, deal?”

Maxwell had no intention of cutting any deal with the bishop, but he was willing to extend the farce as long as necessary to get what he needed. He extended his hand followed by a nod.

Jones led the rest of the meeting, laying out his ideas for a mentorship program. Maxwell let him talk, interjecting when he felt too bored to continue. “I'd like for the young men to get their hands dirty by cleaning up a slew of abandoned and foreclosed properties. Hard labor will do them good.”

After nearly twenty minutes, the bishop finally said something worth acknowledging, but Maxwell wanted more done sooner. Kids like his nephew, Tyree, were depending on him to step up. “I like your idea, but let's get at the core of this problem. We need to target the failing students, the ones truly at risk. If we don't help them, they'll end up needing a lawyer instead of becoming one,” Maxwell said.

“That sounds good but there's so many. How would we go about something like that?” Jones asked.

Passion rose in Maxwell, enabling him to almost forget the true reason he'd come to Greater Metropolitan. “We'd have to get the school board, principals, and teachers involved. There's no other way.” Maxwell's head was bursting with ideas. He'd set his contempt aside several minutes ago. For a short period, he didn't see the bishop as his adversary. At this precise moment, he was a respectable ally.

“Hmm, maybe you have something,” the bishop said. “We could combine it with my program. I have a lot of property.” Jones twirled a pen on his desk and lifted his gaze to meet Maxwell. “I should say the church owns the property, but you know how that goes, right,” he said grinning.

Maxwell nodded and grinned too as his euphoria came to a crashing halt. He was instantly reminded of who the man was sitting before him, a refreshing fact, and one that enabled Maxwell to press forward mercilessly.

The shrill of Jones's cell phone interrupted his civil sermon. Jones apologized and promised the call would only take a couple of minutes. Maxwell turned in his chair, taking in the aquarium of exotic fish. He attempted to give Jones some semblance of privacy, but Maxwell could hear every word.

“Did you forget anything?” Jones asked his caller. “Oh I see. Okay, well that's going to create a problem. We need to talk, but I have Attorney Maxwell Montgomery in my office.” There was a brief pause as Jones looked away. “Right, right, exactly. Hold on,” he said. “Look here, Maxwell. Can I call you Maxwell?”

“Sure.”

“I have an emergency brewing,” he said muffling the phone. “I hate to cut our meeting short, but I really have to take this call. I have a deal that's going sour and well, you understand.”

“Absolutely,” Maxwell said standing.

“I'd like to finish our chat soon. There are a couple of people in the ministry I'd like you to meet. They'll be a big help to us in getting this effort off the ground.”

“Not a problem,” was what Maxwell said. “I'll have my secretary give you a call.” Honestly, he wasn't accustomed to being dismissed, but it wasn't appropriate at this juncture to assert his presence. His relationship with the bishop would be a long courtship; no need to prematurely taint the rapport. “I appreciate you making time to talk with me. This has been very enlightening.”

“I'll see you soon,” the bishop replied.

“No doubt,” Maxwell said, realizing the bishop was unaware of just how soon. He nodded with his chin raised.

Jones reciprocated and turned his back. “Now, Councilman, we had a deal with that property. What the heck are you . . .” was the most Maxwell heard before closing the door.

Maxwell's thoughts were wrapped around the stack of real estate documents he'd seen and the comment he'd just overheard. What about the councilman's hasty exit? There had to be something there. He wasn't sure what picture the pieces were painting, but Maxwell was certain Garrett could make sense of it with more digging. He could feel the heat of success pouring over him. He was charged and very pleased with the visit. He had even calmed down about Jones not recognizing him. Actually, he was glad. Maxwell took satisfaction in believing the bishop's lack of attention to detail was going to cost him dearly in the long run.

Maxwell slid into the seat of his car and slammed his fist against the steering wheel, releasing exuberance. The meeting had rendered more than Maxwell expected. He hastily called Garrett. “Can you meet me at my office?”

“When?”

“Right now, if you can?”

“I'm on my way.”

Maxwell started his engine then allowed it to settle down to a teasing hum. Turning his head slightly to the left, his gaze couldn't help but to be drawn to the church steeple. Childhood memories, disappointment, and anger swelled up inside, pushing out the excitement that owned him earlier. He yanked the gear shift into reverse heading out the parking lot. In the rearview mirror, he could see the towering steeple that pursued him. Maxwell pressed his foot down hard onto the accelerator to put distance between him, Jones, and the church. He'd be back. That was certain.

Bishop Jones asked the councilman to hold on while he spoke to his secretary. He stepped from his office for a brief moment. “Get in touch with Maxwell Montgomery's secretary and get us a follow-up meeting.”

“How soon?” his secretary asked.

“Right away; getting this program off the ground for our young men is very important to me. Move my appointments around if you need to; make it happen.” He thanked her, retreated into his office, and pulled his seat close to the desk. “Now where were we?”

“Like I said, Bishop, I can't get that house for you. You can have the entire block, with the exception of the corner lot.”

“Councilman, your word should count for something. We had a deal.”

“I know, and I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do. The seller has changed his mind. We can't force him out without jeopardizing the entire operation.”

Bishop Ellis lifted the photo closest to him, the one with his grandchildren sprawled around him and his wife. Church, business, and family each had their share of him, probably equally, but there were situations when one had to win out. His grandson was in trouble and needed a safe place to land once he got out of the detention center in six months. The corner property was an ideal location for a full-service development center, complete with medical care, college training, a fitness program, and housing. He wanted his grandchild close to the church and surrounded by people who could help him get right. There was no compromising. He had the other nine properties on the block, but it wasn't complete without the corner.

“Come on, help me out here. The architectural plans are drawn up. We've already identified clinicians, a program director, and even a janitor. This is in motion based on your promise. I need you to come through,” he said holding the photo.

“It's not going to happen, at least not with my help, especially not with that attorney hanging around. He's bad news. We both know it,” the councilman protested.

“Ah, don't worry about him. He's interested in putting together a youth program that the mayor is sponsoring. That's the extent of our business.”

“Are you sure?” the councilman said in an almost accusatory tone.

“Yes, I'm sure. Why do you say it like that?”

“Because his only interest in churches is to shut them down; that's a fact. And there's a long list of defunct and/ or bankrupt churches in Philadelphia to prove he's very good at what he does.”

“I'm not worried,” Bishop Jones said. Separating business from church was his gift, one that he did very well. His philosophy had successfully gotten him to where he was. No sharp-dressing, fast-talking attorney was going to have him walking in fear. As a boy, he hadn't been frightened by attacks and was too old to start now.

“Fine for you, but I'm coming up on an election year and can't take the chance. I need to pull back from our dealings until you and Maxwell Montgomery have concluded your business.”

“Humph, I don't see that happening. You are my broker. We have a deal, and I expect you to deliver, period,” the bishop replied. “If you want to run scared because this young man is dropping by my office, be my guest, but don't waver in your professionalism. And most definitely don't default on your commitments to me. That would be a mistake and reelection would be the least of your problems.”

“Are you threatening me?”

Bishop Jones roared with a bolstering chuckle. “Oh come on, Councilman. I'm a man of the cloth; now what would I look like threatening you?” His laughter continued resonating from deep in his gut. Abruptly, he stopped laughing and said, “Unlike you, you can take me at my word. Get the property like we agreed. Now, have a good day.” The bishop pressed down hard on the end call button on his cell without giving the councilman a chance to respond.

Bishop Jones held the family photo for a short while longer before carefully placing it back in the rightful spot reserved on his desk. He let his forehead rest in the palm of his hand. Councilman Chambers was right in raising a flag about Maxwell Montgomery, but Bishop Jones was not about to show his concerns. That was a sign of weakness, a sensation he hadn't experienced personally. That was reserved for others. Bishop Jones wasn't stupid. He planned to keep watch over Maxwell Montgomery. Their rapport was going to be short and effective. Bishop Jones would make sure of it.