Mickey tried to shoot at Isaac again but his clip was empty. Isaac squeezed the trigger of his gun—he had bullets and didn’t miss. The only problem was that when Mickey stood up, Isaac had not re-aimed the gun. So, the bullet went into Mickey’s left thigh.
“Urrrgggh!” Mickey dropped his gun and started jumping around while screaming. “You shot me! You shot me!”
The second bullet missed Mickey by half and inch. Slumping back to the ground, Mickey giggled through the pain. “Give me your phone, Isaac. I’m calling your pastor.”
Isaac’s cold eyes bore into him. “Right now, I suggest you call on Jesus.”
“Forget Him. I’d rather call on the devil. He’s the only one that’s ever helped me,” he told Isaac as he broke into his crazy man chant. “Oh, Satan, come help me. Oh, Satan, Isaac keeps shooting at your son. Oh, Satan, oh, my daddy, come help me now.”
Isaac’s hand shook. Mickey had no idea what he was asking for, but Isaac did. The devil would help him all right. He’d help him all the way to hell.
“I’m bleeding. Woo hoo!” His head flopped back and forth. “I’m a bloody mess. Losing conscious. . . ness.” His words were slow and slurred.
Conflicted, Isaac pondered, should he pray or should he shoot? Finishing Mickey off would do the world a great service, but Mickey would bust hell wide open. Even this psychopath wasn’t ready for the torment he’d suffer in hell. Isaac had already sent too many people there. Could he live with one more?
What am I doing here? How could I have sunk so low again? Isaac put his hand to his head, the one that didn’t hold his Glock, and rubbed his temple. “Oh, God, I don’t want to send him to hell. Help me!”
The door to the crack house opened and Keith and Charles rushed in. Isaac turned his gun on them, then lowered it.
Mickey pointed at Charles. “Thank you, Satan. I knew you’d rescue me.”
27
Standing over his son’s hospital bed, Isaac breathed a sigh of relief. The rage that boiled in him, at times, scared even him. He had escalated from verbal threats, to beat downs in the house of God. And finally, he had been in a crack house with a pistol in his hand, contemplating killing someone and stealing his dope.
He looked down at the comatose form of his son. Donavan had managed to get himself into more drama than an eleven ... no, twelve-year-old should know. That’s right, today was his son’s birthday. Would he live to celebrate?
“Happy birthday, Donavan,” Isaac said as he bent down and kissed his son on the forehead.
How could he blame his son for getting into all this mess? “You’re just like your old man, Donavan. And that’s nothing to be proud of, son.”
Isaac would be in jail right now, if it wasn’t for Charles. Or maybe his angel had finally shown up on the scene. Isaac shook his head. As much as he despised Charles for wanting to marry Nina, he also admired the way he stood up for him at the police station. He told the chief of police that since they were so inapt at finding Mickey, Isaac had to make a citizen’s arrest. Charles also told the chief that Mickey had been shot in self-defense. Since Isaac had just as many cuts and bruises on his face as Mickey; coupled with the fact that Mickey also had gun powder residue on his hands, self-defense wasn’t a hard case to prove.
When all was said and done, the police and the district attorney’s office were so glad to finally have Mickey behind bars, they decided that one bullet wound to the leg was a whole lot less than Mickey had left his victims with.
“Don’t leave town, Isaac. We might need to discuss this matter with you later,” was all they said to him. Isaac didn’t mind staying in town. His family was here.
He bowed his head low. “Thank you, Lord. He wasn’t mad at God anymore, just at himself. At the situations in life that caused grown men to watch their sons repeat the same mistakes they’d made. Weary, Isaac sat down. His Bible was next to his son’s bed, but he couldn’t make himself pick it up. Instead, he decided to walk down the hall to Nina’s room.
He didn’t hate Charles Douglas III, but a strong dislike for the man rose up again as he saw him sitting in Nina’s room. He wanted to turn and walk away. They were holding each other. Isaac could barely stand to watch, but they were crying.
Charles was saying, “I love you, Nina. You know I do.”
Isaac could see Nina’s face. She didn“t look so sure. “Don’t worry about it, Charles. I’ll be all right.”
“But I feel so bad. I just wish none of this had happened.”
Nina pulled herself away from Charles. She carefully took off her engagement ring and handed it to him. “It wasn’t your fault. As you’ve already told me, this happened to us because of something Donavan was involved in.”
She wiped her eyes with her left arm since the other one was in a sling. “Could you hand me some tissue please?”
Charles grabbed a handful of tissue and handed them to Nina. She blew her nose the best she could with the use of one hand. “Thank you,” she said, while wiping her nose.
Isaac felt like a peeping Tom, but he kept listening anyway.
Charles was shaking his head. “I don’t know, Nina. I just wish things were different.”
There was a cold look in Nina’s eyes as she glared at Charles. “But they aren’t. Don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine.”
Charles got up and walked toward Isaac. He didn’t look up though, almost as if he was ashamed to look Isaac in the eye.
Waving to Nina, Isaac approached her. She turned her face from his inspection and wiped away a few more tears.
“What’s going on?” He tried to sound light hearted, but he wanted to know what Charles had said to put those tears in her eyes.
“Oh, nothing much,” Nina said sarcastically. “I’ve just been shot, my son’s in a coma, his father tried to kill the man who shot us, and my engagement has just been called off. But other than that, I live a drama-free life.”
Isaac smiled wearily. “Okay, the first three I already knew about. What happened with your engagement?”
Tears sprang up again. She couldn’t stop them if she wanted to. Isaac handed her some more tissue. She blotted her eyes. “Do me a favor, Isaac.”
He stood over her. “Anything, Nina. Just tell me what you need.”
“Would you go to JC’s funeral? Somebody needs to be there to encourage his family.”
Violently shaking his head, Isaac told her, “Ask anything else, Nina. I’ll do it for you. Anything but that.”
Tears cascaded down Nina’s cheeks as she told him, “We’ve got to get past this, Isaac.”
Isaac’s hand lifted and he pointed in the direction of Donavan’s room. “My son’s in a coma, Nina. JC helped put him there. How can I get past that?”
Nina opened her mouth to respond, but Isaac held up his hand. “I don’t want to discuss this anymore.” He ran his hands through his hair to calm himself. “Anyway, you’re just trying to change the subject. I want to know what happened to your engagement.”
“I guess I forgot to mention one other thing. Dr. Hamilton says that children are out for me. Says my uterus was damaged beyond repair.”
A mist covered Isaac’s eyes as he plunked down in the chair Charles had vacated. “Ah, baby, I’m sorry.” Old Charles must have been relieved to know that Mickey didn’t come after Nina because of him. Gave him his walking papers, but he wouldn’t say that to Nina.
“Do you remember when I told you about the abortion I had when I was seventeen?”
“Yeah. What about it?”
The tears wouldn’t stop. “I’ve been having a hard time finishing my third book. It deals with a woman receiving forgiveness from God after having an abortion.” Patting her eyes with the tissue, she continued. “I guess I still don’t believe that God has forgiven me for what I did.”
“Nina, the Lord loves you. You are sold out for Christ.” Isaac wished to God that he could have been half as committed to the Lord as this woman. He would have to live with his demons, but not N
ina. He continued encouraging her, “Why wouldn’t God take your sin and cast it into the sea and choose not to remember it, just as His Word promises every believer?”
“I don’t know, she answered him pitifully. “But when that doctor told me I wouldn’t be able to have children, I felt like God had finally passed judgment against me.”
“Well, you’re wrong, Nina. This thing that happened to you is awful. It makes me angry enough to want to hurt Mickey all over again, but it’s not God’s judgment against you. God sees you through the blood of Jesus, and you’ve been found innocent.”
Patting the tissue against her eyes, she said, “Charles sure doesn’t see me through the blood of Jesus. He sees me as broken.”
“Charles’s actions have nothing to do with God.”
She touched Isaac’s hand. “Thanks. I know you’re right. I’m just glad that I found out now, that having children was more important to Charles than having me.” Her tears burst forth again. “It just hurts, you know.”
Isaac wanted to tell her that Charles wasn’t worth her tears. The man obviously didn’t trust God. Had no faith, or he would understand that God could change a doctor’s report. But he had just shot a man because he didn’t trust God to be all He could be in the situation. Too early to throw salt on another man’s game.
28
Bishop Sumler marched around his office waiting for Cassandra to show up. He was fuming mad. Word had gotten back to him that Isaac had almost been arrested for trying to kill some worthless scum. He rolled his eyes heavenward. “Too many fires to put out, Lord Jesus.”
Picking up the phone, he called Keith for the third time that day. He’d been calling Isaac too, but neither had bothered to answer their phones as of yet.
“Keith, call me. I need to know what’s going on down there,” Bishop yelled into the phone when the voice mail picked up. “These boys think they can solve their own problems,” he huffed. “I make my living solving problems.”
Knock. Knock.
“Come on in. What are you waiting for?”
Nervously, Cassandra stepped into Bishop’s office. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
He pointed at the chair in front of his desk. “Sit down.” He stood in front of her with his backside on the edge of his desk. “I want to know what happened. Why hasn”t Isaac tried to call you since he“s been gone?”
“Sir, I’m sure Isaac has a lot going on. He’s probably too busy to think about me right now.”
“Cut the bull, Cassandra. Isaac’s in pain right now. His son’s been shot. If anything, he’s in need of some comfort. Why isn’t he seeking you for it?”
She turned her face from Bishop’s inspection. “Something happened between me and Isaac the night his son got shot.”
“That’s more like it.” Bishop walked to his chair and sat behind his desk. “So, tell me. Why are you the last thing on Isaac’s mind?”
Without looking up she replied, “I didn’t want to say anything, but he tried to have sex with me when he came back from West Virginia, sir. I told him that I wasn’t interested. She hunched her shoulders. “I guess he just wants a woman who’ll put out.”
Bishop leaned back in his seat and studied Cassandra. His laughter caused her head to raise. He stopped laughing and told her, “Now Cassandra, honey, you are my goddaughter and I love you. But I wasn’t born yesterday. I brought you here ’cause I knew you would put out. Only trouble is, Isaac is not interested in that right now. I thought you would be smart enough to see that.”
He stood and paced the room. “That boy wants to do things right for God. Don’t you see how the congregation goes crazy when he preaches? The boy is anointed. I brought you here to be his wife. I have a church I want him to take over. With your voice and his preaching, there would be no end to how much Isaac could earn for the ministry.”
Embarrassed by the lie Bishop caught her in, Cassandra lowered her head and said, “I don’t know what you want me to do. I blew it with Isaac already.”
“You just let me worry about that.” He stood at his window and gazed out. In his mind’ s eye he could see the greatness that God put in Isaac. The boy was going to be somebody one day. Maybe even bigger than T.D. Jakes, and he was going to ride all the way to fame and fortune with him; kind of like Mike Tyson and Don King, but in a spiritual sense.
“He’s in love with his baby’s mama,” Bishop said, as if he wasn’t talking to the woman he wanted Isaac to marry. “Thank God she’s engaged to someone else. The woman is not ministry material. She can’t draw a crowd like you can with that voice of yours.” He’d taken care of the Nina problem once before when he sent Denise to her house and had her lie about being pregnant by Isaac. That didn’t work, so now he was just praying for this marriage of hers to come quickly.
Turning back to Cassandra, he said, “You are ministry material. You just need to learn how to keep your dress down until somebody asks you for what you got.”
“JC’s funeral is today. It’s going to be at Wheat Funeral Home, at one o’clock.”
Isaac knew Nina wanted him to care, wanted him to do something. But as God was his witness, he couldn’t find a caring bone within him. Not for JC. “Why would that information interest me?”
Elizabeth had gone home that morning. The waiting room had emptied out. This was Donavan’s third day in a coma. Isaac had talked Dr. Hamilton into moving Nina and Donavan into the same room. The doctor agreed that since Nina couldn’t get up, she would probably feel better being in closer proximity to her son. So Isaac’s bed was a chair and a stool. He positioned them between Donavan’s and Nina’s beds. They had been talking like this since Elizabeth left, but he hadn’t expected Nina to bring up the funeral again.
“Just thought you might want to know. I thought you might want to go over there and support the family.”
“Guess you thought wrong. I’m not going to that boy’s funeral. I don’t care how his family is doing.” He lifted his hand to stop her from saying anything else. “Look, Nina, I’ve got a lot of demons I’m trying to deal with right now. I don’t need to add anything else to my list. Okay?”
Nina tried to lift up so she could look Isaac in the eyes. The pain was unbearable. “Don’t you think your father has a lot to do with those demons you’re dealing with?”
“Let it go, okay?”
“I’m not going to let it go. You have to get over this hatred you carry around.”
He jumped out of his chair. “Stop judging me. I’ve got enough to deal with.”
She closed her eyes and flopped her head against her pillow. “Isaac, let God deal with your problems. He can forgive you for what you’ve done, but you need to forgive too.”
“Well, hello pot.”
Nina’s eyes flew open. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what I’m talking about. You’ve got the nerve to lecture me. I’m not the only one that needs to accept God’s forgiveness and move on. You’ve been holding yourself and God hostage for something you did as a teenager.” He stalked out of the room throwing back, “Don’t you think it’s time for you to let go?”
If he had waited for Nina’s response, Isaac would have seen the tears as they flowed down her face. He would have known that she had leaned into God’s forgiving arms and said, “I’m sorry, please forgive me. Help me to accept your forgiveness.” But he hadn’t waited. He’d stormed out of the room like a mad dog.
29
He left the hospital with his mind set on showing Nina that he could put things behind him. He could let stuff go. JC’s funeral was scheduled for one o’clock. If he did fifty miles per hour up Salem, he’d make it to Wheat Funeral Home at about ten or fifteen after. Nina was too goodie-goodie. Always more concerned about others than herself. JC’s trifflin’ mama and daddy didn’t need no prayer. They needed a butt whupping.
Isaac parked his car in the funeral home parking lot at about seven minutes after one. He got out of his car, took a deep breath and walked
toward the entrance. Before he could get inside the funeral home, he passed by a couple of disgruntled family members. They were mad about having to chip in their last twenty dollars to bury JC when he still owed one of them fifty dollars.
Isaac shook his head. “Too trifflin’ to get an insurance policy for their son,” he mumbled as he opened the door and stepped into the lobby area of the funeral home. Thugs and gold-diggers littered the lobby. They were laughing and high-fiving one another, talking about the last funeral they’d attended and how they went to the graveyard and toasted their boy with some Cognac.
Two ushers timidly entered the lobby with their index finger to their lips. “Shhhhh.”
“My fault, man,” one of the gold teethed thugs told them.
“The service has started. Can you please take your seats?” the usher said.
One by one, they all filed in like a cop had just picked them up for outstanding warrants and they were lining up for mug shots and fingerprints.
A teenage girl was singing, “Going Up Yonder” when Isaac took his seat in the back. The smirk on his face said that he didn’t believe that JC was going up yonder. Why didn’t they just tell the truth? Somebody needs to come up with a song that says something like, I ain’t right, I ain’t never been right. I died like a fool and now I’m in hell. But they probably wanted rhymes and rhythm, rather than reality.
Cell phones were going off two at a time. Black folks were leaning over in their seats or stepping out to answer their phones like they were some kind of tycoons making billion dollar deals that just couldn’t wait until the end of a pesky funeral.
Isaac spotted Lou in the seventh row from the front. Lou waved and Isaac nodded in return. Mickey would have most likely sat next to him if he wasn’t on lock-down right now. That’s how Mickey and his crew got down. They’d kill someone, go to their funeral to watch their family mourn, then they’d go to the cemetery and spit on their grave. In the end, a bullet and disrespect was all a hustler had coming.
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