Up to No Good

by Carl Weber

  I wanted to pull him into my arms and cry right along with him, but he needed my strength right now more than ever.

  “Where are they?” I asked.

  Darnel turned around and pointed to the back of the apartment. “In there.”

  I walked to the bedroom, still praying that this was some horrible nightmare or practical joke. But the grisly scene that greeted me when I looked into the bedroom shattered any last hope of that. I had to hold my mouth to stop from regurgitating at the sight of Keisha and Omar, lying naked in a congealed river of their own blood. It was splattered all over the flowered sheets, the carpet, and the wall. A huge butcher knife, still wet, glistened on the floor next to the bed. Now I could identify the putrid stench I ’d noticed when I first entered the apartment. It was the smell of fresh blood and death.

  I turned back toward the living room where Darnel stood motionless.

  “What the …? Who …? Darnel, how did this happen?” My boy couldn’t have done this. He didn’t have the heart. “Who did this?” I demanded, my mind screaming for him to tell me it was someone other than him.

  “I did,” Darnel said simply. He looked down at his bloody hands, shaking his head as though he, too, couldn’t believe what he’d done. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

  “Okay, we need to call a lawyer.” I fought to stay rational against the panic rising inside me. “This was an accident, right? You didn’t mean to kill those people.” I couldn’t even say their names. Omar and Keisha had been coming to my house for as long as I could remember. Those corpses on the bed bore no resemblance to the lively, happy young people I had once known, before the wedding was canceled and Darnel’s life came apart at the seams.

  “This was an accident, right, Darnel?”

  “Yes. I didn’t mean to do it. But they’re never going to believe it, Daddy.”

  The image of Darnel actually wielding the knife and committing this brutal act nearly brought me to my knees. I reached out and grabbed the couch before I fell. It was becoming more difficult to get a deep breath, but I forced myself not to give in to the wave of blackness threatening to overtake me. I concentrated on my breathing until I got it under control enough to speak.

  “Jesus Christ, what would make you come over here?”

  “They sent me a wedding invitation…. They were getting married the same day me and Keisha were supposed to. They just pushed me too far.” He sat down on the sofa and buried his face in his bloody hands.

  I sat next to my son, no longer able to hold back my tears. I cried right along with him. It was a long while before he spoke again, and when he did, his voice sounded stronger, like he’d somehow come to terms with what he’d done.

  “Dad, we need to call the police.”

  I looked at him, not willing to agree to what he was saying. “No.”

  “We just have to face facts. My life is over. I’m going to jail, Dad.”

  It was an image familiar to too many black families: another young black man, sitting in prison for the rest of his life. Except this wasn’t just some statistic; this was my son. I couldn’t bring myself to accept that as a possibility.

  The first thought I had was to send him away to Europe. Then I would have one child hiding in witness protection and another on the run for the rest of his life. Not an ideal situation, but better than the alternative. But then I remembered the biggest difference between Jamie and Darnel: Darnel had a mother who would want to know where he was. There was no way he could disappear without having to tell Crystal why he was going. Even worse than the thought of Darnel going to jail was the thought of him having to tell his mother he’d murdered two people. I would never let that happen.

  I thought about Crystal, who had sacrificed so much over the years. I had never given her the true commitment she longed for, and it had cost her heart dearly. Yet she had never kept my son from me. She had raised him to be a good, honest young man who had made me so proud over the years. I had to believe that these murders were not his true nature. This was a crime of passion, not one that he would repeat if given the chance to remain free. And that’s when I knew what I had to do. I owed it to Crystal to do right by our son.

  “Dad, we’ve got to call the police. It’s over.” Darnel went to pick up the phone.

  “Put the phone down, son,” I ordered, feeling that my decision was right.

  He turned to me for an explanation. “Go wash your hands in the sink and don’t touch anything but the soap.” He did as he was told, and when he returned, I said, “Take off your shirt.”

  He just stared at me.

  “Goddammit, take off your shirt, now!” I felt my strength returning tenfold. There was no turning back now.

  Darnel looked baffled, but as I stepped toward him, he unbuttoned the bloody shirt.

  “Give it to me.”

  He did as he was told. I took off my own clean shirt and handed it to him.

  “Put this on.”

  “Dad, what are you doing?”

  “I’m trying to save your life. Now, put it on.”

  With my clean shirt on, he no longer looked like the zombie who’d opened the door for me. Save for a few blood spatters that needed to be wiped off his face, he almost looked like the successful young son who’d been running my business the past few months. That alone was enough for me to trust that I was doing the right thing. I was making it possible for him to put this all behind him.

  “Now give me your pants.”

  “Dad …”

  “Look, boy. Just do what I tell you. Take off your pants.”

  An expression came over Darnel’s face as he realized what I was planning. “Dad, no! I can’t let you do this!”

  “Look, Darnel, you’re my son and I love you. I know I didn’t always live up to my responsibilities as a father, but—”

  “No, Dad, you’re wrong. You were always there for me whenever I needed you. Mom and I never went hungry. I did this, not you.”

  “Your mother and you deserved much better, son. True, I supported you financially, but I failed as a father when it came to what really matters. I spent so much time up to no good, chasing physical thrills and running away from the love that your mother offered. I showed you the worst example of how to deal with love, and now I take the blame for what that did to you. Maybe if I had opened my heart and married your mother years ago, we’d all be in a different place right now.”

  A single tear rolled down to Darnel’s chin. “You can’t do this, Dad.”

  “I have to do this, Darnel. I owe it to you and your mother.”

  He shook his head.

  I pleaded with him to understand. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Mine’s almost over anyway. My cancer’s spreading. The doctors have already given me a death sentence. I’ll be gone in a year. I don’t know if I’ll ever get to see Jamie again either. I have nothing left to lose, but you have everything to lose if you stay here. Now, please, take off the pants and give them to me.”

  Looking defeated and helpless, Darnel finished undressing and handed me his things.

  “Now listen to me, Darnel,” I said as I made the switch into his bloody pants and shoes. “This is what I want you to do. Get out of here, go home, and take a good shower; then drive down to your mother’s. Before you get to her house, take the car to a detailing place and have it cleaned from top to bottom. Whatever you do, don’t tell anyone what went on here. Ever.”

  He nodded but said nothing. I could only hope that he was comprehending everything I said to him. His freedom would depend on it.

  “I want you to go on and live a good life. Make me proud of you. Fall in love with the right woman and have yourself some babies. Tell your mother I’m sorry and that I love her very much.”

  “Dad, are you—”

  “Yes, I’m sure. This is the only way. Now get out of here.”

  Darnel stepped toward me, and although I longed to hug my son one more time, I backed away. “Don’t touch me. I don’t want any bloo
d on your clothes.”

  “I love you, Dad,” he cried, and those words meant everything to me.

  “I love you, too, son. I always have.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” he tried one more time.

  “Yes, I do. You would do the same for your son.” I tried to smile as I motioned for him to leave. “I love you. Now get the hell out of here and make me proud.”

  With that, Darnel walked out. I didn’t move until I saw him get in his car and drive away.

  I made a final sweep through the apartment to be sure all evidence of Darnel’s presence was erased. I was wearing Darnel’s shoes, but just to be safe, I trampled over the bloody footprint I found until it was nothing but a red smear. I wiped all the surfaces in the apartment—doorknobs, furniture, countertops, and window-sills—any place Darnel might have touched. Back in the bedroom, I picked up the knife and wiped Darnel’s fingerprints off of it; then, fighting back the nausea, I laid my hand in a pool of blood to place my own bloody prints on the knife.

  Next, I delicately lifted Keisha’s nude body and wrapped it in the Oriental rug that lay on the bedroom floor. I wanted the police to think I had tried to hide my crime at first. The more guilty I looked, the less likely they would be to do a thorough crime scene investigation.

  Last, I said a quick prayer. “Lord, please help me pull this off. Let my son go on and live a good life. I’ve had a good life, and I thank you, Lord. I just need you to help me one more time.”

  Satisfied, I picked up the phone and dialed 911. An operator answered.

  “Emergency operator. How may I help you?”

  I took a deep, calming breath before I spoke. “My name is James Black. I’ve just murdered two people.”

  My son was safe and his life would go on. I had no regrets. I was at peace.

  Carl Weber takes readers back to church with

  THE CHOIR DIRECTOR

  Coming in February 2011 from Dafina Books

  Prologue

  I stepped off the elevator and onto the third-floor hospice unit of Jamaica Hospital, holding my wife’s hand. As Monique and I walked down the hall, I recognized the pungent odor of medical disinfectant. It didn’t matter what hospice I visited; the smell was always the same, and it seemed to embed itself in my nostrils. I hated it because it always reminded me of the imminent deaths of the people in the rooms around me. Oh, I learned to tolerate it over the years, especially since visiting people in their last days was part of the job of being pastor of First Jamaica Ministries, the largest church in Queens, New York. But today’s visit wasn’t to just any old parishioner on their deathbed. No, today’s visit was with my best friend, James Black, who was dying of cancer.

  “T. K., Monique, get your behinds in here,” James coughed out when he saw us standing in the entrance to his room.

  Despite his condition, it was obvious he was glad to see us. As we entered the room, Monique’s grip tightened around my hand as she struggled to hold back her surprise at just how bad James looked. I had tried to prepare my wife before we arrived, but words couldn’t describe how badly my good friend had deteriorated.

  This was the first time Monique had seen him since he pled guilty to murder charges a little over a year ago. I still couldn’t believe he’d gone to jail for a crime he hadn’t even committed. He’d been given a twenty-year sentence, but I pulled some strings after a recent visit when I heard his prognosis, and he was released for medical reasons. The cancer had taken a vibrant, six-foot-tall, two-hundred-pound man and virtually turned him into a talking skeleton. Even more unbelievable was the fact that his hair was completely white. He seemed to have aged twenty years in a year’s time.

  It didn’t take my wife long to gather her composure. In a matter of seconds, she leaned in and wrapped her arms around James to give him a kiss on the cheek. She shot me a pointed look when she spotted a picture of his two grown children sitting on the night table beside his bed. Monique hated the idea that his daughter and son were both missing in action and hadn’t come to see their father once since his arrest. I couldn’t say I blamed her, but I knew a little more about the situation than she did. I ’d made a promise to James not to share what I knew, even with her.

  “So, Monique, how are you?” James asked as she took a seat in the chair beside his bed. “You’re looking good as ever.” He turned his head toward me and winked. “No offense, old friend, but your wife just gets finer and you get older.”

  “None taken.” I chuckled. “I think she looks pretty good myself. That’s why I married her, remember? And as far as getting old, well, I’m like a bottle of wine. I get better with time.”

  “Mmph, you sure do, honey.” Monique gave me a smile, then turned her attention back to James. “To answer your question, I’m doing fine. What about you? How you doing? You look good.”

  James laughed. “Girl, I swear, you have fit right into that first lady’s role, haven’t you?”

  I watched my beautiful wife blush.

  James spoke gently to her. “Now, I know I look like crap, so you don’t have to lie to me, Mo.” He sighed. “I know my best days are behind me. I’ve made my peace with that a long time ago. I’m ready to die.”

  “Who said anything about you dying? You’re probably going to outlive us all, you old coot.” I was trying to break up the mood in a way only a true friend could do.

  “If I do live that long, it’s only to be a pain in your ass, T. K.,” he joked, forcing himself to sit up. My wife helped him by propping a pillow behind his neck. “But seriously, I’m tired and I’m ready to go home. I just hope the Lord’s willing to let me in the door.”

  I hated to hear him say things like that, so I tried to offer him some encouragement. “I don’t think you have to worry about that, James. I think you’ve sacrificed enough, don’t you? The Lord—”

  James shot me a glance that basically said, Let’s not go there. I nodded my head out of respect for his condition and his feelings, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. That man had sacrificed his entire life for the love of his family and had been willing to die in a jail cell because of it.

  James quickly changed the subject. “So, Mo, how about him? He taking care of you the way he’s supposed to?”

  She reached out to take my hand as she answered him. “I couldn’t have asked for a better man. I couldn’t have asked for a better life.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.” James nodded his approval. “Are those wenches in the church treating you all right? They’re not trying to run over you, are they? ’Cause all you have to do is kick one of them in the ass and the rest will fall right in line,” he said with a laugh.

  “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. I’ve got them right where I want them.” Monique and I had had a rocky start to our relationship, because certain members of the church—mostly female—thought her rumored past was too dicey for her to be considered a candidate for the role of first lady after my first wife died. She was strong, though, and had withstood the storm. Now she was well respected and loved by most church members. Even those who had been adamantly against our marriage knew enough to treat her cordially now, and they kept their opinions to themselves.

  “Besides,” she continued, “we have bigger problems than that at the church. With—” She stopped when I squeezed her hand, signaling for her to shut up, but it was too late. James’s body might have been failing him, but his mind was still sharp as ever.

  He sat up straight as a board, ignoring the pain. There were three things James loved most in this world: his two children and our church. He knew the ins and outs of church politics like nobody’s business. He’d been both a deacon and a member of the board of trustees just as long as I ’d been pastor, and we made quite a formidable team. But now, with him being sick, I didn’t have the heart to tell him what we had built together over the years was crumbling.

  “What’s going on at the church, T. K.?” He was staring directly at me, and his eyes did not budge from
my face.

  “It’s nothing, James, seriously. I can handle it.” I glanced down at my wife, who was trying to apologize with her eyes. I loved her to death, but just this once I wished she would have kept her big mouth shut.

  When I turned back to James, he was still staring at me, waiting for an answer.

  “What, do I look stupid? If it was nothing, you would have told me by now. Now, spill it. I wanna know what’s going on at my church.”

  My church. He was still claiming ownership in our church, despite the fact that most of our members had turned their backs on him when he was arrested for murder. If they only knew how selfless he really was.

  I began to pace back and forth in front of his bed. “James, you’ve got other things to worry about. You don’t need this nonsense. You need to concentrate on your health.”

  “Dammit, T. K. I’m dying. The only thing I got left is that church. Now, are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to make some calls and find out myself?”

  “Tell him, honey,” Monique prodded. “You two have always worked well together. Maybe he can help.”

  “Thank you, Mo,” James said matter-of-factly.

  I paced for a short while before I finally sat down next to my wife and looked at my friend, ready to tell him the truth. “The church is in trouble financially. We’re down about thirty-five percent in attendance and almost forty-two percent in revenue. The board’s already voted to close down the school next year.”

  “What? I built that school,” he said angrily. “We had plenty of money put aside in the school fund before I went to jail.”

  “Priorities changed when you left, James. I tried to keep things simple, but Trustee Wilcox was voted chairman, and he pushed to have money averted to the building of a new senior center.” I could see James running the numbers through his head. He’d always been good with figures, which was why he’d been elected chairman of the board of trustees despite his reputation as a womanizer.

  “You gotta be kidding me. What’s he trying to do, bankrupt the church?”