by Nikki Turner
“What if it was our city? Your city? What if water rushed through Broad Street, destroying everything in its path? What if it was your grandmother floating down Marshall Street?” The whole entire place was quiet, and every eye and ear was tuned into Des, anticipating his next words. “What if the government and city legislature were refusing, or were slow, to help, claiming they didn’t know what to do?”
People stood and began to clap.
“Is it that they don’t know what to do, or is it that they don’t care?” More than half of the people were on their feet, cheering Des on. “Now, I’m not here to bash or point any fingers, or dog out our president and this country’s leaders—if anything, we need to pray for them to make the right decisions from here on out—but what I am here to do is to enlighten and attempt to make a change. We got to help to protect ourselves because no one else is going to do it for us. The government has shown us what they think of us, and my momma always said that if a snake bites you one time, it’s the snake’s fault, but if he bites you again, it’s your fault. People, what we’ve got to do is take heed and have a plan since our leaders don’t. We must protect ourselves so that we don’t get caught with our pants down again.” Des stomped his foot to emphasize his point, just like the preacher at Nasir’s funeral.
“We have to take matters into our own hands. We have to protect our own. In our community the family has been divided, but we’ve got to break the curse. We’ve got to have each other’s backs, build our own communities, our own cities, and most of all protect what we got until we get what we need. See, in our communities no one will starve because they’re hungry. We’ll feed ours and clothe ours. No one will be sleeping outside or thrown out of their houses, because we’re going to have our own funds to provide shelter. If someone is sick, they’ll see a doctor. If someone needs an attorney, they’ll get legal assistance. If someone needs a babysitter, we’ll have day care available for their children. We have to love and care about one another. If we don’t, who will?
“I’m willing to sacrifice and work hard, but I can’t do it alone. You see, strength doesn’t come alone. You need preparation and unification. And that’s what I’m looking to blueprint and build—a community, a civilization—and I want you all to join me in the movement. Today you have a chance to be one of the original founding members of the Good Life Ministry.”
He looked around the crowd and realized that all he had to do now was reel them in, they were buying his performance hook, line, and sinker. “You see, if you do, it’s great, but if you don’t, it doesn’t matter, because this is what I’ve been called to do. I’ve done a lot of things in my past that I’m not proud of, but God knows my heart, and he knows I’m an upright man now.” Des raised his voice for theatrics. “I know I’ve been changed! But I don’t want to be alone in this transition. So, change starts today for all of us as I embark on this mission, this movement—a life-changing and lifesaving movement…with you. I need your help.” He looked around and made eye contact with various people in the audience, including Slim.
The sermon was so convincing that even Slim was engrossed in the rhetoric, standing on his feet and cheering with the rest of the crowd.
Des was on fire, and looking out into the congregation to find most of the people standing on the same accord with him was the fuel he needed to continue. “See, we’re not going to discriminate, because God doesn’t discriminate against any man or woman—he embraces all—so if you’re ready for change and ready to stand for something, it doesn’t matter where you were last night or what you were doing. If you were smoking crack or sleeping with somebody’s husband or wife, it doesn’t matter. If you’re lost or brokenhearted, come as you are. That’s right, you can come as you are, but I promise you won’t leave the same. Change is what I’m looking for, hard workers who want to see a change and make a change.”
He paused for a minute and wiped his face with the purple handkerchief he pulled from the breast pocket on his suit. “If this describes you, then all I want you to do is three things.” Des held up three fingers. “First thing is,” he said, holding up his index finger, “sacrifice: time, talent, or treasure. Second,”—he held up a second finger—“sow a seed so you can reap the plentiful harvest—just a dollar or two,” he said, when he saw people rolling their eyes. He looked around as he now held up his thumb, index, and middle fingers. “Finally, commit to bringing five people with you on Sunday when you return. If you have to pick them up or give them cab fare to get them here, make it your business to bring five people back.
“It starts here. You decide if you’re in or out.” Des looked up as he saw Slim walking up to the front, dressed to the nines in his silk suit. Slim handed him a check.
“Thank you, brother,” Des said to Slim, then spoke into the mic. “Brother Tyrone Walls just pledged twenty thousand dollars to our ministry.” He held up the check.
Stanka followed with a thousand dollars in cash. Des was surprised when he saw Bambi walk up and hand him a five-thousand-dollar check. “Brother Pitman, would you please come to the front with a basket for us?” Des asked his father-in-law.
Lloyd walked to the front with several oblong wicker baskets in his hands, and people lined up and began dumping money into them, filling basket after basket. The green was getting as thick as a well-manicured lawn. Des stood nearby wearing a politician’s smile, shaking plenty of hands and pinching plenty of babies’ cheeks, assuring people that making an offering to his ministry was the right thing to do.
Indeed, he had found his calling. There was a new pimp on the pulpit, and things up there would never be the same.
CHAPTER 22
A $hitty Mess
“Attorney visit for Samuel Johnson,” Yarni said as she handed the sheriff her business card.
The sheriff punched some buttons on his keyboard and shook his head as he stated, “You probably don’t want to see him. He’s in solitary.”
Yarni wasn’t surprised. She knew her client’s temper—after all, she had witnessed it the first day she laid eyes on him in the courtroom.
“You can go to his cell to see him if you dare, but it will be at your own risk.”
“I’ll try my luck,” Yarni said confidently.
“Let me call for someone to take you back.” The officer pulled out his walkie-talkie.
Yarni stood to the side as she waited for her escort to show her the way to Samuel.
“Why is my client in solitary?” Yarni asked, walking back up to the desk.
“He was trying to escape. Not to mention, while he’s been back there, he’s been very disruptive and highly disrespectful to the officers.” The officer shook his head again.
“Really?” Yarni said as if she was shocked.
“Yeah.” The guard nodded. “He’s been throwing urine and feces at the kitchen crew and the guards. So that’s why I told you, when you go back there, you go at your own risk.”
Just then another guard arrived to escort her back to the segregated housing unit. “Thanks for the warning,” Yarni said, flashing a tight smile to the officer at the front desk.
Yarni made her way down the long hall of the old jail where Samuel was being housed. The inmates called it the dungeon, and Yarni could understand why. Although there were lights on going down the hall, the building still had a dark and dreary feel to it. The hall was about a hundred feet long and lined with cells on both sides. Her four-inch heels echoed off the walls, triggering the inmates like wild dogs, alerting them that a woman was in the building.
“Hey, baby,” one yelled out.
“Guyd damn, she phat as duck butta. Whoa,” an inmate yelled as she continued her stride, trying hard not to switch. But she couldn’t control it; after all, this had been her strut for almost thirty years.
“Hey, pretty momma, you the new shrink?” another inmate called out.
“If so, my head hurting,” another one jumped in, grabbing his crotch and massaging himself as Yarni walked by.
She ignored them all. This wasn’t the first time she had walked what she considered to be her version of the long green mile.
As Yarni made it to the very last cell, the men in the segregated housing unit became more and more excited. It was the highlight of the year, maybe even the decade.
Yarni hadn’t made eye contact with any of the prisoners. She’d kept her head held up straight, never looking to the side until she reached Samuel’s cell. She saw him lying on his mat, looking up at the ceiling. Feces were all over the walls. The smell of waste assaulted her nostrils.
“Hey, Johnson, you got a visitor,” the deputy announced.
When Samuel looked up, he thought he was dreaming; Yarni stood there in her all-white pantsuit. It was like an angel was standing before him. But as he looked her over, he realized that angels didn’t wear Manolos and carry Marc Jacobs handbags.
“You look a shitty mess,” Yarni said bluntly.
“Why the fuck you here?” he shot at her, his voice dripping with venom.
She could sense the hostility in his tone but didn’t let it intimidate her. “Last time I checked, I was your attorney.”
The guy in the cell across from Samuel overheard her comment and said, “You can be my attorney any day.”
“Well, that ain’t what da fuck your co-worker or boyfriend or whoever the fuck he is said when he was here last week.” Samuel was so worked up, spittle flew out of his mouth as he snapped at her.
“What did he say?” she asked curiously.
Samuel returned his gaze to the ceiling. “That he had a get-out-of-jail card for me, but you, Florence Nightingale, chose not to accept the evidence under his terms. So he’s sure that I’ma do forty or fifty years—that’s with good behavior, of course.” He finally let his eyes meet hers. “And does this shit look like a place where they keep inmates who display good behavior?”
“Hey, hey, my bed is on fire,” the guy across the hall screamed. When Yarni turned to look at him, he had his dick in his hand and was jerking off. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, awww baby,” he said, his tongue hanging out of his mouth.
Yarni couldn’t believe she had fallen for such a juvenile trick, but then she thought about the juvenile dick he had exposed and shrugged. She quickly turned around and continued her conversation with Samuel. “And you fell for that bullshit?” Yarni asked, but didn’t give Samuel any time to answer her. “Look, pull yourself together. I’m going to get a guard to bring you some cleaning supplies. You get this cell straight and get yourself cleaned up, then I’m going to meet you in the attorney visiting room, if you still want to see daylight in the next couple of months.” She spoke firmly, then walked away.
An hour later, Samuel entered the attorney visiting room, showered and shaved. When Yarni stood up to shake his hand, she gained an instant appreciation for Irish Spring soap.
“What’s going on with you? Why the hell are you trying to escape?” she asked him.
“I had to,” Samuel explained. “I didn’t have no choice. I wasn’t trying to leave here in a box forty years from now.”
“So now you got an escape charge to go along with the shopping list of offenses levied up against you,” Yarni said, throwing up her arms.
“They gave me an institution charge, not a street charge.”
“But you just jumped to conclusions without even talking to me,” she chastised.
“Your partner said that my momma should put a fork in me because I was done. The evidence he had was the only way I would walk, and you fucked that up for me.” Samuel was as cold as a steel bleacher at a playoff football game in Green Bay.
“First, let me explain something to you. I’m your attorney,” she said, pointing to herself. “You listen to me and to no one else. If I didn’t say it, then it ain’t so. Now, I gave you my word, and it’s the law. Don’t ever let anybody knock you off your square and control your emotions or actions. Marvin is just pulling your chain.”
“Well, Sledge da Great ain’t here, so what are we going to do?”
“Did he say what the evidence was that he had?”
“Something about a deposition from a witness that could kill my whole case.”
“Did he say who the witness was?”
“You don’t know?” He slouched down in his chair. “Ain’t this a bitch?” he said, throwing his hands up.
“No, I don’t know,” Yarni admitted, “but I’m going to find out.”
“Can’t you call him?”
“Fuck ’em. I’d rather call Satan from hell first.”
“Problem?”
“It’s very complicated, but as I gave you my word before, I’m going to work my ass off. Just trust me.”
“You want me to trust you, but you keep talking to me in circles and not letting me know why the evidence I need ain’t here.” He hit the table, and Yarni jumped, the noise startling her. “You waltz in here and tell me everything’s going to be okay, but what you fail to realize is that I’m the only person suffering and facing life in prison.”
At first she was letting him get his rocks off, but now he had struck a nerve. “You want to talk about suffering and going through it?”
“You can’t relate when you ain’t the one sitting here twenty-four hours a day, having to protect yourself at all costs, and most of all, having to depend on another motherfucker who tells me she got my back, while at the end of the day, she let the missing link slip through her fingers.”
“You want to talk about protecting yourself?” She started on a roll. “Let me share something with you.” She reached for her Marc Jacobs purse and retrieved the photos that Bambi had taken of her face the night that Marvin tried to rape her. “Look at these. This is why I don’t have your deposition.” She slapped the photos on the table as she stood and leaned in closer to meet his eyes. “Because after hours of working on your case, I wouldn’t let Sledge da Great touch me. When I resisted, he tried to take it, and I fought like hell trying to protect what was mine. Then I couldn’t dare tell my husband who did this to me.” She snatched the photos and held them up. “Because he would’ve run out and done God knows what to Marvin. I would have been left fighting yet another case for him. But he would have told me to forget about your ass, and I gave you my word that I would do everything in my power to get your selfish ass off. So don’t you sit there and cry about no one enduring the struggle with you. Because I’ve gone beyond the call of duty for you and this case, and to top it off”—she raised her voice—“for motherfucking free.”
Yarni pulled herself together and continued in her normal speaking voice, which allowed her blood pressure to go down a bit. “And you know what?” she asked.
Samuel was almost afraid to ask. “What?”
“I intend to win.”
Her client sat there with a look that said he was impressed. “A’ight, warrior.”
“Now,” Yarni said as she sat down and pulled out a notebook and pen, “I need to go over everything again with you from start to finish; tell me anything that you can think of to help me.”
They covered all they could. As she listened and took detailed notes, her thoughts kept going back to one thing: that file. She knew she needed it, and she knew who could get it for her.
CHAPTER 23
Bulletproof and Blessed
Des sat in the pulpit of his newly renovated church, the Good Life Ministry, taking in the ever-growing crowd of pew viewers. He couldn’t help but smile as he wondered why it had taken him so long to come up with this move. It was by far the best idea he ever had, and he was glad to add it to his résumé as hustler. He bowed his head as though in prayer before winking at Yarni and stepping up to the pulpit of the abandoned building that he once thought of buying to turn into a nightclub. Ironic, since what he’d once intended to make the devil’s playground was now a house of the Lord.
“So we got our place of gathering up,” Des addressed his flock. “We’ve got a few dollars in the bank, and we’ve got people coming in here fro
m the North, the South, the East, and the West. We’re having communion, and things are going great. But guess what? We’re not finished yet.” There were a few wondering moans among the crowd. “You see, it’s far easier to start something than to finish it. What if Noah never finished the ark?” Des asked his congregation. “What if he would have given up before God showed up?”
He looked over the people who were sitting in aluminum folding chairs and tried to read their reaction to his message. He caught a glimpse of the newly painted walls and smiled again. A week ago the old Piggly Wiggly sign had still been on the front of the building. Des had paid cash for the building out of his own pocket ten days ago and had donated the space to the ministry. The old supermarket had had a total face-lift. He had workers around the clock and had done what not many other churches had dared to do: build a place of worship in six days.
And on the seventh day they rested.
The floors had been stripped and the walls painted. He’d had stained-glass windows put in. Workers had built the stage on which Des was standing, and Des had ordered custom-made pews that had yet to arrive, but the people weren’t complaining about the folding chairs. In fact, they seemed really comfortable, like they were at home, kicked back in their favorite chairs. He briefly wondered if he could have kept the money for the pews for himself, but he knew in the end it would be money well spent.
Des paced around the pulpit. He had been so busy admiring his new space that he couldn’t recall what he’d just said, but obviously it was something to which the people could relate because they were up on their feet applauding.
“You can speak life or death into your life.” Des looked around and realized he had gotten off track when he noticed the confusion on the congregation’s faces. “I said you can speak life or death into your life. What I mean by that is, what you speaketh is what it shall be. If you roll out of bed and say, ‘Daggone it, this is going to be a messed-up day,’ then guess what? Prepare to shovel shit.”