The Banks Sisters

by Nikki Turner

  “How are you holding up?” Katrina approached and asked Me-Ma. “If I were you, I’d be all to pieces,” she said. “But you look so calm. You don’t show one ounce of weariness on your face.”

  Me-Ma was a genuine, kind-hearted woman, but she didn’t take mess from a soul. She had seen a lot of foolishness and BS in her day. Me-Ma looked the young lady up and down, Keisha she thought her name was. Me-Ma had seen napkins with more material than the girl’s skirt, leaving nothing to the imagination, except the price to further explore.

  “Listen baby, I hear what they saying, but I know I got God on my side and God has the world in his hands including my grand-daughter. And baby I got faith, and with God who am I afraid of?” she confidently asked.

  Me-Ma knew the hot little heifer was only being nosey because the bank robbery was all everybody was talking about and the rumors were spreading faster than an STD in a whorehouse.

  “It was an inside job. A million dollars was in the safe.... the bank robbers were Gangsta Disciples from Chicago . . . one of them got away, with the million dollars . . .”

  But the one that bothered her the most, “Everyone inside the bank was killed, execution style. . . .”

  The story snowballed one after another, each one wilder than the one preceding it. The church held night services three times a week but today’s service it was a different kind of energy. As long as it didn’t involve them personally, gratuitous violence compelled people to want to talk about it. It didn’t matter if it was a bar, on a street corner, or inside a church—human nature was human nature . . . it didn’t change.

  Me-Ma took a seat on the pew along with a deep breath, and tried to control her mind from wondering to that place of what if?

  “Devil get ye behind me.” Me-Ma started to quietly, say to God, “Lord if it was your will, to take her Lord, I just ask you to give me the strength, Lord Jesus.”

  Then she felt someone put their hands around her from the back. Me-Ma looked up and Simone was standing there and embraced her with a hug.

  With the sight of Simone, Me-Ma, started screaming, “Thank! You! Jesus!” at the top of her lungs. “Thank you Jesus! Halllllleeeluujah!” she said four more times. “My God! My God!” She shook her head and tears begin to form in her eyes.

  This prompted all the prayer warriors to start shouting all around the church, Me-Ma fell to the ground and begin crying, thanking God.

  The Praise and Worship team surrounded and started singing the gospel hymn, “He has done great things for me. . . Greeaaaat thinggsss . . .”

  The rest of the church members started having a big Holy Ghost party while Bunny sat in the last pew of the church with eyes hidden behind her big Chloé sunglasses not effected by the way the Holy Ghost filled the place of worship.

  The people shouted around the church and Simone wanted to join them but she felt weird singing with a church choir she hadn’t sang with in so long. The only reason she was even there tonight was because she wanted to personally tell Me-Ma that she was okay. It was just something about the pastor that she couldn’t put her finger on.

  Pastor Cassius’ church was filled with a diverse group of colorful characters, of all ages, nationalities, and from all walks of life. The people there were very radical and the fact that they were so dramatic in their acts of praising the Lord, and not to mention, Pastor Cassius, the leader and creator of the whole production, his animated over the top personality, it made Simone wonder if it could really be legit? Or was it a scam or a show?

  Pastor Cassius was a whole other story, he was so flamboyant and in her eyes, everything about him screamed nothing short of a seasoned, homosexual pimp—pimping the pulpit.

  He had mastered the Bible. He knew it, in and out, and could recite it back and forth. His “game” and passion for the “Lord” was so airtight, that one couldn’t help but to respect the self proclaimed “Man of God.”

  With the most beautiful coc0a skin that looked like it was softer than a baby’s butt, he was definitely an attractive man, to the point that all of his “primping”: the arching of the eyebrows, his big full lips permanently greased with ChapStick along with the pedicures and manicures twice a week, combined with his metrosexual tendencies turned his handsomeness into pretty.

  Me-Ma, who was a wise woman, swore up and down that he was a good man that God himself rescued from the harsh world, and he was nothing short but a walking and living testament of what God can do. But Simone never trusted him, with a name like Cassius Street, who could blame her?

  Though all these things were true and correct in Simone’s eyes, but she couldn’t help herself, she had in fact, been blessed and God had spared her from wild bullets that had her name on it. The only exclamation was, that it wasn’t God who had jammed the gun of the robber when she thought she was breathing her last breath.

  Because of God and Jesus Christ, she was able to live on and see another day and that alone was enough reason to praise the Lord. So, she joined in and gave thanks to the Lord.

  Pastor Cassius in his fitted straight leg jeans and cowboy boots stood before Simone, and said with the rest of the church-goers watching and listening to every word about to proceed from his mouth.

  “My brothers and sisters, what we have just witnessed with our own eyes is nothing less than the work of the Most High. It’s God’s unchanging grace. It was only our prayers that lead God to allow not one strand be removed from our sister Simone’s head. In the midst of a war at her workplace, in the midst of the crossfires and gunshots and coworkers falling to her left,” he dramatically shifted his weight to his left, “and to her right,” then did the same thing with the right side of his body.

  “Ain’t God good?” The members started to clap and shout.

  His words got the prayer service patrons, even more riled up, the Holy Ghost took over, shouting, praising, and shouting took place for another forty-five minutes. Finally, resulting to a love offering of $212 taken up by Pastor Cassius for Simone.

  After the big Holy Ghost party was over, she stood at the door to give, hugs and thanks to the church folks for praying for her. Then Me-Ma whispered, “Make sure you thank Pastor here, baby.”

  Simone shot a look at Bunny that said, “Rescue me,” but Bunny with a smirk on her face, just dropped her head but not before giving her a look that said, “I can’t help you with this big sister.”

  “Thank you Pastor for everything,” Simone said. “I really appreciate your prayers and everything you did,” she shook his hand, and before she knew it, he had taken her into his arms.

  “We hug around here.”

  “Well, thank you so much for your prayers.”

  “It was most definitely my pleasure.” He flashed his pearly whites at her.

  “And I think Pastor has something for you,” Me-Ma added.

  “Oh yes,” Me-Ma voice prompted his memory, “Yes,” he nodded. “Let’s head to my study. Sister, we took a love offering for you and your family.”

  “Thank you.” Simone was surprised, at the thoughtfulness of the pastor. She’d always passionately thought he was a money hungry ex-pimp, drug dealer who was only into the ministry because of the lure of a greater hustler. She hated the fact that maybe she’d have to admit that pastor may actually be all right after all. Or maybe God was just dealing with him in his own way.

  She had to admit, Well, I guess if you think and speak something so long, you start to believe it yourself. maybe God is really working on him. She thought to herself as she followed him to his study.

  “I think it’s about $212 and of course you’d bless the church with half of that.”

  That’s a new policy, Simone thought to herself, they took up the love offering for me and my family and I have to let the church keep half. Well I guess half of something is better than nothing. But with this man right here, it’s always something, she thought, but instead just responded, “Yes, of course Pastor Cassius.”

  “You have to be strong and just have
faith as you go through this. And know that all of the feelings you are having, God brought you through that ordeal today, he will bring you through feelings of any aftermath you may experience from here on out,” he told her as he led her to his study.

  “That’s right Pastor, Amen.” Me-Ma cosigned while Simone just listened as he continued.

  “See you have to remember that the devil doesn’t show up in a red cape and horns. He comes in all kinds of disguises to distract you and throw you off course. You must yield to temptation,” he said as he opened the door to his office.

  And they all got the surprise of their life.

  “Oh, Jesus no,” Pastor put his hand up and turned his back.

  Katrina was in the pastor’s steady buck, naked, legs spread eagled wide with a pair of red stilettos on her feet.

  “Katrina!” Pastor Cassius yelled out. Katrina was so startled to suddenly find herself with an audience that she fell off the desk and crawled under it to shield her naked body.

  “I am so sorry about that Me-Ma, I had no idea she was even in there,” a startled Pastor Cassius tried to explain as he closed the door behind him.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself.” Me-Ma screamed through the closed door and finished with, “Devil I rebuke you in the name of Jesus.” Simone couldn’t contain herself and burst out into laughter, damn that was too funny and so wrong for church.

  Me-Ma pleaded the blood of Jesus while Simone got her cash from the reverend and headed back home. She still had to prepare for the aftermath of the bank’s bullshit in the morning. Even though she didn’t plan on working there anymore, she still had to return tomorrow to finish the line of questioning and sign paperwork.

  -6-

  The Step Monster

  Bunny took Simone back up to the bank the next morning, so she could get her car from up there. There was a big police crime command center on wheels still outside of the bank to try to collect evidence.

  As soon as she got there she was whisked away inside, for the next two hours, they begin to ask her pretty much the same questions they’d asked her the day before.

  By the time the police were done interviewing all of the bank’s employees, Simone was exhausted and beyond ready to go. She asked one of the men who seemed to be in charge, “How much longer do I have to be here?”

  Agent Mark Dugan scrutinized, Simone carefully with his hazel, quick eyes. “You’re Ms. Banks, right? The twenty-nine-year old U of R graduate? And it was your first day at the bank?” He couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she was and chastised himself for being momentarily distracted by it .

  “Correct. Correct. And correct,” Simone said, a little nervous, but even more impressed. Dugan hadn’t been the officer who’d questioned her earlier, yet he ran off her information without the aid of any notes. “I’m a suspect now?” she joked, but was serious.

  Agent Dugan shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks before saying, “It’s my job to know who is who and what is what,” he said with a corky smile. “Actually, we have everything we need from you. And to answer your question—No. You’re not a suspect.”

  “Well, what about my pocketbook? One of the robbers had taken my purse and I haven’t seen it since.”

  “Your pocketbook isn’t a suspect either,” the officer said with a smirk on his face.

  Handsome and a sense of humor she thought to herself, “What I meant to say is, may I please have my purse back so I can go on with my life,” Simone said in a serious tone. She refused to let the officer see that he was having an effect on her.

  Agent Dungan, who resembled a younger Denzel Washington, was being a comedian, “I’m sorry. I was just trying to make light of the situation. . . .”

  Simone had a feeling she wasn’t going to like what he was going to say next.

  “Your purse is evidence. Therefore, we’re going to have to hold on to it for a while.”

  And she was right. She wasn’t happy. She looked at him, and said as humble as she knew how. “Look I really need my stuff. My wallet, keys and cell phone. I can’t drive my car without my keys.”

  After a few seconds of thought, Agent Dugan offered a compromise. “I can get your keys and your phone, but that’s it.”

  “That would be greatly appreciated detetective.”

  Simone went to tell Bunny, who had been waiting patiently, “He’s going to get my keys and my phone, but that’s all. Everything else is being held,” she sighed, “for God knows how long.”

  “That’s some bullshit,” Bunny said exactly what Simone was thinking, but wouldn’t say out loud.

  “I agree, but this is the struggle.”

  “I know, sis. But it’s going to be okay.” Bunny tried to convince her sister, then asked, “You need money?”

  “No, Buns, I’m good. I have that money the church gave me,” she said, knowing she should have taken her sister up on the offer, but she didn’t want to accept the dirty money.

  “Girl, let me help you. After all that’s what sisters are for.”

  “Bunny, I appreciate you, but I will make a way.”

  “How? You just said you’re not going back to work again.” She looked into her sister’s eyes and saw how petrified she was at the sight of being back at the scene of yesterday’s nightmare. “And I don’t think your trust fund has magically reappeared yet. And even if you do get interviews, that whole thing is a process, it’s not like you are going to be able to get paid right away. And honestly I don’t know how far your check for one day at the bank will stretch. So let me help you.”

  Simone took into consideration what her sister was saying, and knew she was speaking the truth. As bad as she did need the help, she would feel like a hypocrite if she took the money knowing where it came from.

  “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you offering me money, but really sis, I will be okay.”

  “I know you don’t want to take it because you feel like it’s blood money, but look money is money. Shit,” Bunny sucked her teeth. “It all spends.”

  “You are right,” Simone agreed, but still had to kindly decline her sister’s offer, “and if I happen to change my mind, will the offer still stand?”

  “And you know this, sis.”

  Simone looked at Bunny, “Thanks Buns. I love you.” She leaned inside the car and gave her a hug.

  “Ms. Banks,” the detective called out to her.

  Simone turned to look back to him, and he had her keys. She turned to Bunny told her that she would be okay, bye and had to go around the other side of the bank to get her car.

  After finally getting her keys, Simone bailed out of the bank as fast as her Gucci sneakers would carry her. Outside, was a circus of news reporters and yellow tape separating the crime scene from a growing number of curious onlookers. She still felt like it was still the day before. She couldn’t bare to look at the bank’s surroundings. She couldn’t get the scene from yesterday out of her mind. There were dead bodies under white sheets, pools of congealed blood, and bullet casings everywhere. The air smelled of death and anxiousness. Simone tried to block it all out, damn near running to her car like an immigrant escaping from a third-world country.

  “Miss . . . Miss . . .” one reporter noticed her, prompting the rest of the media frenzy to go after her. It was a good thing that she had a great head start in front of them.

  Once she made it to her car, a Mercedes C-350 convertible, she sped off. The Mercedes, as if on autopilot, navigated itself to her father’s house. The house Simone had grown up in, the house that now legally, belonged to her stepmother, Marjorie.

  Simone would’ve gave anything to have been able to talk to her dad. He always knew exactly what to say to her, regardless of the situation. No problem was too big, or too small for daddy dearest. And on those rare occasions when Simon, her father, couldn’t physically fix what was bothering her, he comforted her with the perfect words, hug, or ear to make her feel better.

  But those moments were gone...
. forever.

  Simon was dead. He’d passed six months ago and that had to be the absolute worst day of her life. She took a deep breath as she parked in front of her father’s mansion. She hadn’t been there since the day of the burial when his wife basically packed all her stuff and kicked her out of the house. She hated having to humble herself to ask her stepmother for help but under the circumstances, she didn’t have much of a choice.

  Standing on the porch in a funk, Simone punched her key into the deadbolt lock and nothing happened. She wiggled it. Still nothing. Odd, she thought. This was the same exact key she’d been using since she was nine when her father and her first moved into the house. She removed the key from the lock, looked at it, then tried it again.

  And at that moment, when the lock still refused to cooperate, reality plowed into her like a dump truck carrying a load of shit. And she didn’t want to believe the ugly truth—the place where Simone had grown up in and had once called home no longer welcomed her.

  Simone had been front and center at her father’s funeral, burial, and wake but for some reason, the full reality hadn’t hit her until right at this very moment where her key no longer worked in his house. Her dad was dead. Gone for good. And he wasn’t coming back. Deep down, at that very moment, she felt a part of herself softly die.

  She was on the brink of breaking down like a discarded, broken lawn chair when the front door flung open. Simone, reaching deep within herself, pulled herself together. Even if it killed me, she thought, she wouldn’t give Marjorie, the satisfaction of seeing her looking like a stray animal on the porch yearning to be rescued.

  Marjorie stepped out onto the porch, the picture of smugness. “Simone darling,” her exaggerated tone reminded Simone of the late Eartha Kitt. “The doorbell works just fine,” she said, pushing the button with her pink and white French-manicured index finger to demonstrate, just in case Simone hadn’t for some reason understood.