Church Boyz 1 (Rod of the Wicked)

by H. H. Fowler

  “I didn’t ask for a coconut martini…”

  “I’ve been doin’ this all my life, hon. If you want that stuff off your mind, you need to take it stronger. I know suicide when I see it.”

  “I see we’re playing the guessing game. First it’s a woman, now it’s suicide?” Dominic rolled his eyes as if he’d gone beyond his tolerance level. He’d come here to mope; not to be entertained. “Besides, I don’t drink.”

  “Get out of here! What the hell are ya? A nun?”

  “A nun?” Dominic threw his head back and chuckled. He’d never been called a nun in his life. “Don’t you mean a monk? But, no. I’m a Christian.”

  “As in Christian Jesus?”

  Dominic chuckled again. “No, as in Jesus Christ. His followers are called Christians.”

  “Well, even Jesus drank wine, honey,” she said, snapping her fingers as if the revelation had suddenly struck her. “Get with the program. A little wine for the tummy ache, remember?”

  “I don’t have a tummy ache.”

  “You have one now,” she grinned, as she sashayed away in a blouse that was two sizes too small.

  What is up with that ditzy chick? Dominic smirked inwardly. If she knew what was good for her, she had better not put a coconut martini on my table. They shouldn’t be selling alcohol on a Sunday anyway.

  He’d silenced the ringer on his BlackBerry Torch, knowing the members at Mount Moriah had targeted him as the most wanted man in Hillsborough. It wouldn’t surprise him if Shaniece had slapped an APB onto his good name. He’d felt her eyes scolding him as he disappeared through the church exit. He could imagine what went through her mind at that moment – how dare he jump off that organ in the middle of Pastor Winder’s announcement?

  Crazy woman, Dominic thought.

  In his assessment, she was one fuse short from being an idiot, but who was he to judge Bishop’s Paxton dumb decision to install her as the one next in line?

  The red light flashing on his phone indicated he had a text. He was so addicted to text messaging that it took serious willpower to ignore the urge to respond. Truth be known, he’d purposely kept his phone in front of him to screen the fakers from the ones who genuinely had his back. And as he rummaged through the list of missed calls and text messages, with most of them coming from Abraham, Dominic decided that Abraham was the biggest faker of them all.

  He couldn’t put into words how Abraham’s lies had devastated him, which was a huge factor in the way he was acting. He thanked God for blessing his generation with such brilliant technology. With the wonderful features of Caller ID and the IGNORE button, he could control his level of nuisance.

  The only texts he was interested in responding to were the ones from Sanchez.

  Where you at? It’s three o’clock. Man, you comin’ or what? Negro, answer your phone! Forget it, man. I’ll catch the next horse smokin’ out. Loser!

  Dominic cracked a smile at Sanchez’s ability to be funny, even while he was ticked off. They’d agreed to go to the gym today, but it was the last place Dominic wished to hang out right now. But he couldn’t see himself disappointing his boy. The dude was a comedian and worked on his nerves sometimes, but Dominic had a lot of respect for his authenticity. What you saw, was what you got. He still had an hour to kill. Florida Avenue was not too far from where he sat. He texted his boy back:

  Running late. Hold it down ‘til I come.

  “Here you go, hon.” The waitress rested a straw and a glass of ginger ale in front of him. “I can’t believe you chose a ginger ale over a martini,” she said, shaking her head as if Dominic’s choice was the saddest thing she’d ever experienced. “Talk to me, hon. I have twenty minutes in overtime.”

  “You don’t give up, do you?” Dominic stood up, pulling out his wallet. “I’m sorry, but something’s come up. How much is it?”

  “For a soda?” She waved him off; obviously disappointed their conversation had to be cut. “Don’t worry about it. It’s on me.”

  “You sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. I can count out two dollars from my piggy bank.”

  “Appreciate it! Maybe next time…”

  Within minutes, Dominic was grabbing his sport bag out of the back seat of his car. He tossed it over his shoulder, and made his way into the only gym that was opened on a Sunday. Sanchez spotted him immediately.

  “Look who’s decided to show up.” Sanchez’s Nike tank top looked as if it’d gotten soaked in the rain. “You need to get your head checked, Negro. My last words to you was, don’t forget gym today. How simple was that?”

  “I’m here, right. All the other stuff doesn’t matter.”

  “And you wanna have a hard mouth about it,” Sanchez quipped. “You lucky I'm busting my legs over there on that machine–”

  “How many sets you got in already?”

  “Enough. Look at me. I’m a wet mess.”

  “Man, I thought you said no legs 'til Wednesday,” Dominic laughed, as he got into a stretching position. “My calves are still a bit sore.”

  “After four days? Man, what kinda calves you standing on? I don't think any female would be complainin' after four days. We missed a couple of days last week. Remember? We wasted Friday hanging out at Abraham's crib.”

  “Man, sometimes my calves are sore for the whole week,” Dominic said, not liking how early Abraham's name came up in their conversation. How could he avoid hearing it anyway? As far as Sanchez was concerned, everything with Abraham was still on the up and up. Dominic hadn’t told a soul about the scene he’d stumbled into Friday night. “It depends on how hard we work them. But whatever, I'm down with it.”

  “You better be down with it!” Sanchez warned. “You messin' with my momentum right about now; showin’ up late and stuff.”

  “I could turn around and walk back out,” Dominic mumbled. He jumped up and tailed Sanchez to the squat machine.

  Sanchez paused in stride. “What’s that, big man?”

  “Nothing, man. Just continue walking.”

  The last time they were in the gym, they were squatting some three hundred pounds; three sets a piece. Their muscles had adjusted and Sanchez felt it was time to increase the pressure. Since he’d started before Dominic, he let him do a warm-up set before he added another two forty-five-pound metal plates to the machine.

  “What’s goin’ on with you?” Sanchez asked finally, as he positioned his back against the leather-covered board.

  “Good question. Only time will tell.”

  “Only time will tell? What kinda craziness is that?”

  “I’m cool, man.”

  “Don’t lie to your boy, Dom,” Sanchez said, pointing his finger at him. “I don't know what you trippin' over, but you need to get it together. This ain't like you to be skippin' band practice, showin’ up late, and jumpin' off the organ like you got crap comin' out of your pants.”

  “I'm not tripping over anything,” Dominic smiled, as he tightened his glove straps. “Besides my exam, some stuff came up over the weekend and I had to deal with that. How'd you know I missed band practice anyway?”

  “I didn't know. I made that one up.” Sanchez finished up his set and moved on the side for Dominic to get on the machine. He could tell from Dominic's expression that Dominic didn't believe him. “I know that look, man. I didn't know. I pulled that one right out of the hat.”

  “Boy, you need to get delivered from that lying tongue.”

  Sanchez grinned. “I need deliverance from a lot of stuff. But I don't do the lyin' thing. Not my style. And since we're on the topic of deliverance…”

  “C'mon man, ease up on that,” Dominic said. “Let's get through these sets without having church for once.”

  “But you brought up the subject!”

  “And I'm killing it.”

  Sanchez scratched his head, a bit thrown off by Dominic's attitude. “Yup. I was right. You trippin'. If this convo was about Tayah, you'd want me to indulge in your silly fantasies.”<
br />
  Dominic stood up straight. “Now why'd you have to say something stupid like that?”

  “I'm just makin' a point, bruh. Don't bring this funky attitude here and expect me to suck it up.” Sanchez picked up his towel and wiped his face. “And I'm not gonna beg you like some female to tell me what's eatin' you. So for next thirty minutes of this workout, the Tayah subject is off limits. It's crazy the way you go on 'bout a woman who's got a rock on her finger.”

  “That's because she doesn't belong with that joker.”

  “So now you wanna lose the funky attitude.” Sanchez shook his head. “Man, you're unbelievable!”

  Dominic held his response, because anything else he said at that point would be defensive. He hated to be told how to control his emotions. His philosophy was, until whoever walked in his shoes, no one should take it upon themselves to judge his actions. Usually, he was the disciplinarian in their friendship, so being the one on the opposite side of the fence, took a lot to admit that Sanchez was right.

  “I guess you tee’d off, now,” Sanchez said.

  “Nope.”

  “Yes you are.”

  “I just hate to acknowledge you're right.”

  Sanchez grinned. “No one has all the answers, buddy. Not even a perfect Negro like you.”

  “I'm not perfect.”

  “You sure act like it. Well, most of the times.” Sanchez held up his hand. “Don't respond to that. Just get on the machine and do your set.”

  At a minute to six in the evening, Dominic swung his car through the entrance of Foxfire apartments on 30th Street. He unlocked the car doors so that Sanchez could get out. And as badly as he wanted to bring up the Tayah subject, he couldn't risk getting another rebuke. Besides, his spirit was heavy with something else anyway, and all he wanted to do was to go home, take a shower, and spend the rest of the night moping.

  He turned and looked at Sanchez “You're on your own tonight, bruh. No church for me tonight.”

  “What? You’re takin’ a break from Jesus? I thought I'd never hear you say the ‘N’ word.”

  Dominic chuckled. “I can't pull that tonight, man. I’m drop dead tired. That's why I don't like working out on Sundays.”

  “And I thought it was me who needed to be delivered from lies,” Sanchez grinned. “Somethin’s up, boy and you ain’t sayin’.”

  “I’m tired, bruh!”

  “No sir! Don’t give me that crap.”

  “What do you want me to say? Aw’ight, maybe I don’t want to face Shaniece…”

  Sanchez kept that grin stitched to his face. “Now there’s a valid reason. I would be layin’ low too if I’d messed up the way you did this morning. She’s a real lioness, but that female’s got a slammin’ body!”

  “Listen, cool off with that stuff…”

  “For real, man.” Sanchez opened his hands wide. “With that ba-dunk-a-dunk attached to her back, she’d send a brutha trippin’ right out his mind.”

  “C’mon guy,” Dominic frowned. “She’s the assistant pastor. Show her a little respect.”

  “Respect? If she’s hot, she’s hot!” Sanchez laughed, knowing how ‘sanctimonious’ Dominic became when he kidded around in this manner. “Nothin' wrong with admiring…”

  “No, no. You don't admire. You salivate, which is pretty much in line with lusting. Do you even know what your name means?”

  “Sexy.”

  “No. It means sanctified. And you need to start living up to it, man”

  “Well, I've always been upfront with you,” Sanchez said. “I don’t hide the fact that I have a challenge with lusting.”

  “You sure don’t,” Dominic quipped. “You shouldn’t be witnessing to anyone in your sad state. But seriously, you should watch that, though. Remember what Abraha–”

  “Yeah, go ahead, what did Abraham say? You don’t miss a day without quoting him!”

  Sanchez may have believed he’d interrupted him, but the truth was that Dominic couldn’t say Abraham’s name without feeling sick to his stomach. If he’d had a second opportunity to retrace his steps that night, he would have listened to Sanchez’s suggestion and driven the heck home to his apartment. Now he had to face a fact he was not prepared to acknowledge. Abraham didn’t explain to him how he was to handle a disappointment of this magnitude. Not to mention a heart that had become polluted by distrust and suspicion.

  “He said lust is the mother of all sins,” Dominic murmured, as he gazed into the pith of his darkened soul. “Once she gets a hold of you, your destiny is in jeopardy.”

  Chapter Five

  By the time that Abraham got home and unzipped his black cassock, the sun had begun to set. He knew Leroy looked good in the cassocks, but they were not for a man like him, as he stood less than five feet nine inches tall. The robe made him look like a stubby little monk. He was incredibly conscious of his appearance, and how people perceived him was very important. He had learned a long time ago that clothing was a form of stigmatization: It revealed secrets about a person’s individuality. So he gave special attention to what he wore. He understood that psychology was a powerful tool, and if used right it could produce the desired results.

  Again, he placed the phone to his ear, aggravated by his failed attempts to reach Dominic. He was tempted to believe Shaniece was right: Dominic was doing his best to avoid them. Whatever the reason, Abraham thought; it should have not reduced his behavior to disrespect. Considering the fact that he had given him five years of strong mentorship, he owed him at least, a shred of courtesy.

  That last thought made him cringe. His reasoning sounded like Leroy, who always demanded respect from everyone, even when it was inappropriate. And although he really wanted to know the reason why Dominic had left the organ in the middle of his announcement, he prayed he was simply acting out of concern and not as Leroy’s protégé. He simply left a message on Dominic’s voicemail.

  It was approaching seven thirty in the evening, and as far as Abraham knew, there wasn’t anything else on his agenda for the church. He could finally put up his feet and relax, maybe put on a movie to help clear his head. He was still reeling from the afternoon’s drama between Leroy and First Lady Paxton. They’d fought before; many times in front of him, but today was different. Anyone willing to jump out of a moving vehicle going eighty miles an hour had reached his or her cutoff point. A crazy way to end a life, but it was also a way of sending a strong message. It was going to take more than roses and chocolate to reconcile the growing rift between them.

  Abraham had taken Leroy to his mansion in River Springs, of course, without his wife. Apart from being drawn into the Paxton’s intimate lives, he had the uncanny ability to predict the next move of a circumstance. Some called him a seer, some, a modern day prophet, but for a long while, he had rejected the titles, simply because he wanted to avoid being bunched into people’s deranged opinions.

  He was just an ordinary man with a purpose. For four years, he’d warned Leroy about the direction of his leadership. He’d warned him about spending too much time at the church, and with Shaniece. The church would survive, and Shaniece would suck it up, but a neglected wife and kids may not. Abraham knew at some point Leroy would come face to face with his demons.

  “I hope you don’t mind; the door was open…” a woman’s voice stated.

  Abraham immediately sat up erect on the sofa and looked at the clock. It was now ten past ten at night.

  I must have fallen asleep for a few hours, he thought, as his mind swam to full consciousness. Meanwhile, the woman shook out a Virginia slim, lit it, and then brought two fingers to her mouth. She trembled violently.

  Abraham ran his eyes over her from head to toe, hiding his disgust. He couldn’t believe he’d married this woman, when all she did was took his money and hurt his feelings. But he loved her dearly. Her prominent nose and chin, (which were of Scandinavian standards) and her outspoken personality were the first to get his attention.

  “Sooner or later, I knew
that you would come back,” he finally told her. “You know I will take care of you.”

  “Yeah, right – let’s get this over with.”

  Abraham stood up in response, calling her by her stage name. “Honey, why do you keep yourself looking so untidy?”

  Honey sidestepped the question by swinging her armpits up to her nostrils. “I could use a bath. That cheap jerk left his cheap cologne all over me.” She let out a ring of smoke in Abraham’s face. “What’s it to you anyway? All of what we do is dirty.”

  “Let’s stick to what we agreed to, and that includes you taking a bath. I will get you a towel and a change of clothing.”

  Honey observed how Abraham wrinkled his nose at her. “You don’t like me smoking in here, do you?”

  “No. I’ve told you that repeatedly. How did you pick up such a nasty habit?”

  “Men, darlin’. Too many of them; too many demands.” Honey looked around nervously, even though she had been there many times before. She just couldn’t see herself living with Abraham twenty-four-seven, even though she was married to him. She’d warned Abraham that taking her to the Justice of the Peace would not cause her to be faithful to him, but he’d insisted they go through with it. It was going to take more than a marriage certificate to erase what she had become. “Where you want to do this?”

  “You’re always in a rush. Be patient.” Abraham took the cigarette away from her and mashed it in an ashtray. “You know how I operate.”

  “Should I leave my clothes in here?”

  “Please, use the bathroom this time. It’s easier to discard them in the hamper.”

  “So you can wash them like you did with the last ones?”

  Abraham did not respond. Honey knew that he would do anything for her. Washing her clothes was simply a byproduct of his love. He was her husband for God’s sake.

  Honey grinned, revealing a row of coffee-stained teeth. “You do this type of stuff all the time?”

  “What stuff?”