After giving Nisha a bath and letting the baby splash and play in the tub for a while, she dried her off, dressed her in a clean diaper and onesie, and put her back into her playpen. But Marquise still wasn’t home, making her feel even more anxious.
She returned to the window and glanced out. “Boy-o,” she said, sighing loudly as she picked up her cell phone. She paused, then dropped it on the couch. No, he’s just running behind. I’m sure he’ll call if there’s a major problem. She sat on the couch next to her phone and turned on the local evening news, which she’d recorded.
As expected, the news anchors began with a follow-up story to the Darrelle Moseley shooting. “Early Saturday morning, the mother of Darrelle Moseley collapsed at her home,” one of the anchors reported. “Family members claim that the 911 dispatchers did not send an ambulance after Mrs. Moseley’s daughter-in-law’s call. ABC has obtained the taped conversation between the emergency dispatcher and Mrs. Moseley’s daughter-in-law.”
Keiana watched and listened as the conversation typed out onto the screen. “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“Please, please can you send someone over? My mother-in-law has fallen on the floor. She couldn’t get her words out a minute ago. Please send someone, quick! Oh, hurry! We lost Darrelle; we can’t lose his mama, too.”
“Ma’am, okay, ma’am, is she breathing? Check and see if she’s breathing.”
“Oh, no! Mama —” The voice broke off. In the background, a second voice could be heard forming indistinguishable words. Then came sounds of commotion, and the line went dead.
The camera went back to the news anchor who said, “Felicia Moseley is in the critical-care unit at Mercy Hospital.”
Keiana’s heart dropped at the news. She covered her mouth with both her hands and stood. “Oh my goodness!” She paced back and forth nervously and then grabbed the remote once again, this time turning it to CNN live news to see if they were reporting the latest updates. It wasn’t long before the coverage on Mannford began.
“Police in Mannford are bracing for a second day of protests following the fatal shooting of an African-American man, Darrelle Moseley,” the anchor said. “Friday night, several protesters clashed with police. The protesters broke windows at dozens of businesses and threw objects at law enforcement, who moved in and arrested more than thirty. A small group of protesters is currently gathering in downtown Mannford. Authorities are gearing up for the possibility of a second night of violent protests.”
Footage of Friday night’s protests, along with live shots of the crowd currently gathered in downtown Mannford, made Keiana extremely nervous. Her heart beat wildly. “Oh my goodness,” she whispered. She tried unsuccessfully to take her eyes off the live scene, afraid that she might see Marquise in their midst. The screen showed the gathered crowd as they shouted and paced angrily, growing increasingly agitated by the moment.
“Marquise, where are you?” She shouted and grabbed her cell phone. With trembling hands, she speed-dialed Marquise’s number.
No answer.
She willed herself to calm down. She was making assumptions, that was all. She didn’t know for sure that he was there or that he wasn’t. “Maybe he’s still at the barbershop.” She anxiously called the number for the House of Fade but received no answer there, either. She tried Marquise’s cell again, but it rang and rang and then went to voicemail.
Unsure of what to do and feeling that something bad was afoot, she prayed for the second time in as many years. “He’s late, Lord. He’s never this late. Please keep Marquise safe. Wherever he is, Lord, please keep him safe and bring him home to me and baby Nisha.”
“Mama Jones’s casserole was so delicious. That was really kind of her to bring it, wasn’t it, sweetheart?” Al said.
“It was so delish.” Misty smiled, patting her belly. Then she began to gather their plates.
“Honey, are you kidding me? Go relax. I’ll do the dishes.” Al kissed his wife and urged her toward the living-room couch.
“Thank you, sweetheart. I won’t argue.” Misty giggled and skipped into the living room where she plopped onto the couch.
Al whistled while carrying the plates into the kitchen. As he washed the dinner dishes, he began to feel compelled to head to the church. At first he shrugged it away, but the feeling kept nagging at him. He laid the dishes aside.
“Misty, let’s go,” he said. “Let’s go!”
“What? Let’s go where? I’m supposed to be relaxing, remember?” Misty said looking confused.
“I don’t know what is going on, but the Holy Spirit is impressing on me that we need to get down to the church. Right now.”
Misty immediately jumped up. “Let’s go,” she said, grabbing her purse.
Soon they had arrived at the church. “I feel like we need to turn on all the lights,” Al said in an urgent tone. “Please help.”
“All of them?”
“All of them.” He didn’t understand why that would be necessary or even important, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the Holy Spirit wanted it that way.
Misty hurried to comply.
With every light on in the building, Al and Misty went to the sanctuary and knelt at the altar. They began to pray — for what exactly, they didn’t know. But for fifteen, thirty, forty-five minutes, they prayed fervently. “Jesus, Jesus. Whatever the need is, help, heal, remedy, deliver. We know that You can do it. Perform a good and perfect work here, Lord God, a mighty work. We put our trust in You and ask that You send angels to assist. Thank You, Lord, in Jesus’ mighty name.”
The Holy God, the Ancient of Days, spoke the word and dispatched mighty angels. In the twinkling of an eye, they left — flying swiftly and powerfully to fight, to aid, and to comfort.
Chapter
23
8:50 P.M.
Pure adrenaline kicked in. Marquise sprinted through the darkness past several houses. He heard the mayor shout, “Quick, get in the car. We’ll block him off down there.”
Marquise’s heart sped up. He leapt over a fence and then over another into a backyard. His SUV’s key remote slid out from his hands, forcing him to stop abruptly.
“Oh, crap,” he blurted. He turned on his cellphone’s flashlight trying to find where the remote had landed. His heart pounded as he fumbled in the grass. Just as he spotted the remote, he heard growling. He snatched up his keys and dashed just ahead of two pit bulls who were rushing ferociously toward him, barking all the way. Marquise took a flying leap up and over the fence. He made his getaway as the dogs continued to bark viciously through the fence.
“Whew,” he panted, relieved for a slim moment, and then sprinted forward. His breath now came in short, quick whiffs. Sweat poured from his brow. Just a few yards from his SUV, the dark sedan came speeding down the street. With a trembling hand, he opened the car remotely, jumped in, and slammed the door. A bullet pierced his passenger-side windshield. Marquise floored it with the sedan in hot pursuit.
Deshaun sat in the front seat with Jonathon, Truman in the back. “Well, what do you know? That’s that nigga Marquise. Nigga cut Deshaun’s hair. Always lookin’ down his nose at Deshaun. Let’s go get him,” Deshaun said, pulling out his gun. “Pop a cap in his butt!”
“The-the, barber?” Truman yelled from the backseat, his voice shaking.
“Yeah, May-Or. That’s the nigga. One and the same!”
“Why? Why is he spying on us?” he asked incredulously.
“Nigga don’t know nothing about you. He thinks he’s trying to fix me, fix Mannford! Who does he think he is? He ain’t no betta than me! Let’s go get his butt!” Deshaun pounded the dashboard.
Nina watched Deshaun and the mayor and his driver run to the mayor’s car and take off. She wasn’t sure what the scene was all about, but she knew it couldn’t be good. She walked into the front room where Deshaun kept hi
s guns. In his hurry to leave, he had left his cell phone behind. She thought back to earlier that day when he’d pushed her to the floor and threatened to kick the mess out of her.
“I don’t like no dang bullies,” she whispered, rubbing at her sore, newly tattooed arm. Seeing her opportunity to get him back, she dialed 911.
“Nine-one-one,” the dispatcher answered. “What’s your emergency?”
“You betta listen up. Somethin’s goin’ down now real serious. Deshaun over here slingin’ drugs on Cherry Street. All kinda drugs. Homeboy got him a whole lotta weapons ta’ boot!” Nina gave the address, a complete description of Deshaun, and the type of car they’d taken off in.
“Okay, ma’am. We’re dispatching units right now.”
“Wait, now. That ain’t all. Y’all probably not gonna believe this, but Ima tell you anyways. Yo mayor — yeah, you heard it right — yo mayor of this city and a cop he hangs out with are with Deshaun. They in that cop’s unmarked car. All three of ’em out chasin’ some dude who caught them red-handed over here. They chasin’ that dude right now. Ain’t gon’ be pretty when they catch up to him. Y’all better send po-po quick, cause when they catch up to him, they gonna straight-up kill him. Better hurry.”
Nina hung up and calmly walked into Deshaun’s kitchen. She wrapped the cellphone in a dish towel and took a heavy skillet to it. She then threw the towel and the phone’s remains into the compactor. “Ain’t bout’ to give Deshaun or them po-po any way to catch up wit’ me,” Nina mumbled, wiping her hands on her shirt. She then turned her attention to the back room where she padded quickly to meet up with the other women. “If y’all coming, you best come on,” she said quickly. “Police gon’ pro’bly be here in a hot minute.” She grabbed what little belonged to her — a few pieces of clothing and some cheap jewelry — and threw it all into a duffel bag. She looked around at the women, who stood confused and clearly unsure of what to do. When they didn’t move, Nina glided past them.
“Bye! Y’all stupid,” she said, as she walked out the back door into the night.
Marquise pressed the pedal all the way down against the floor of the Escalade, causing the vehicle to fishtail on the rain-slick road. He tensed up on the steering wheel, working hard to bring the SUV back under control and glanced in his rearview mirror. Alarmed, he could see the black sedan, not far behind. Tears welled up at the corner of his eyes as he thought about Keiana and Nisha. At that moment, Marquise prayed — something he hadn’t done in years.
“I love my girls, Lord,” he said. “Help me. I’ll give You my life, marry Keiana. Nisha deserves a legit daddy. Save me, Lord! Please!”
Marquise made a tight right turn, barely missing a big elm tree. He glanced quickly behind him to see that the dark sedan was forced to continue driving straight ahead. He looked up the road, trying to decide what to do next. In the distance, he saw a small, brightly lit building. As he got closer, he saw that it was a church. He passed it but then quickly threw the SUV in reverse and backed up into a group of trees that would serve to obscure his SUV. Maybe the church would offer him a safe haven.
What on earth? he wondered. His heart pounded. The question briefly flitted through his mind about why the church had all its lights on — especially when only one car sat in the parking lot.
He hoped he could make it into the church before Deshaun and the mayor caught up to him and saw him running. As he got out of the Escalade, the foliage he had parked in scratched his face and arms, but he barely noticed. Instead, he sprinted toward the church’s front door.
He grabbed the door, expecting it to be unlocked, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Shoot!” He pounded on the doors. “Come on, come on! Somebody gotta be in there.” He looked back at the street, relieved to see it still empty. Again he pounded as hard as he could.
Suddenly a tall, slim man with glasses opened the doors and ushered him in as if he were expecting him.
“Quick, man! Turn the lights off,” Marquise whispered. “Turn all the lights off.” He could barely squeak out another word since his heart felt as though it was going to beat up and out of his chest. He watched the man quickly lock the door and was amazed that neither the man nor the woman who was with him asked for any explanation. Instead, they seemed determined to heed his pleas.
Marquise ran behind the two as they hurried through the church to turn off all the lights. Now standing in the dark, with only dim light from the outside streetlights shining in, the man approached Marquise and whispered to follow him and the woman into what seemed to be the church’s sanctuary.
Truman leaned his head back on the seat cushions as they sped recklessly along Mannford’s highest point, Settler’s Peak. He peered out the car’s window down at a vista of city’s lights and the skyline as they continued to careen down the street.
Deshaun’s angry shouts to hurry and Jonathon’s intensely set jaw faded into the background. To the mayor, the view of his city and its beautiful bright lights were all that mattered now.
“I made Mannford what it is,” Truman said aloud. “Look at the skyline, Jonathon, Deshaun. I’m the force behind all this,” Truman declared, sweeping his arm around.
Even though the men ignored him, he nodded. He feared the imminent end of his reign as mayor. If they didn’t catch Marquise, things would never be the same. And if they did catch him, well, Deshaun and Jonathon would make sure that the barber would never be able to tell a soul. He hated to think of this man’s demise.
Why did you do that, Marquise? You had no business being there. Now you’re going to have to deal with the consequences.
Truman pulled out the bag of cocaine and looked at it. “Yes, I built this city,” he said, reaching into the bag to grabbing a hefty dose of powder — which he sniffed. He placed his head back on the seat and waited for the effects to take over his stare still fixed on Mannford’s city lights.
“I think we may have lost him,” Jonathon said.
“Naw, man!” Deshaun said. “Circle around. He got to be around here somewhere. That nigga wasn’t that far ahead of us. When we find him, Deshaun gon’ personally put a bullet straight through his skull. He don’t know who he messin’ with.” He pounded the dashboard again several more times.
Jonathon turned the car around and began to snake his way through the neighborhood. He turned on his high beams and drove slowly down each street.
“Wait, what was that? Back up, man!” Deshaun said.
Truman felt the car slip into reverse as Jonathon backed up slowly.
“There he is! There he is! You see his Escalade. It’s right there behind those trees.”
“Yeah, I see it now,” Jonathon answered.
“Nigga’s in that church!” Deshaun laughed. “He hidin’ in that church! Let’s go get him!”
Truman slumped farther down on the backseat. “I’ll wait out here,” he said, his speech beginning to slur.
Chapter
24
9:10 P.M.
Al and Misty sat dumbfounded, trying to take in Marquise’s wild account of what had just occurred. “Are you sure, sir?” Al said. “Maybe it was somebody who just looked like Mayor Henderson.”
Marquise said nothing. Instead, he shook his head sadly, and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. After a few seconds, he turned the phone in Al and Misty’s direction. They watched the video in stunned silence.
“Hey, Trummy and Johnnie, you two back?” yelled one scantily clad female on the video.
“You know you all coked up — steady and ready to party,” shouted another. “Get in here.”
Al rubbed his head and breathed in sharply. “Oh my goodness; oh my.” He looked back and forth between Misty and Marquise. A heaviness washed over him. “Lord, help me, help us, help the mayor. And help . . . help Mannford, Lord God,” he whispered.
After the video ended, they all sat back, s
haking from the shock.
“This is unreal.” Al put his face in his hands.
“Without a doubt,” Marquise said. “The shock value is out da roof, man. Mayor of Mannford, Truman Henderson,” Marquise said in a strangled voice.
Al and Misty both nodded sadly.
As Al began to speak, bright headlights shone in through the sanctuary windows. For a moment, Al, Misty, and Marquise sat frozen, listening to a car’s engine rev loudly, its tires violently crunching the gravel as the vehicle circled the church. Al grabbed Misty and Marquise’s arms. “Get down,” he said. Even though he assumed whoever was in the car couldn’t see them sitting there, he didn’t want to take any chances. After watching that video, he had no doubt why the car was there.
They quickly crouched down between the pews. “Lord, help us,” Al prayed with fervency. If they ever needed protection, it was definitely now. “Deliver us from the hands of wicked men. Let your angels surround us and protect us.”
Al jumped as the doors of the church shook forcefully.
“Marquise, Nicka, I know you are in there,” a voice shouted. “You best bring your butt out here — now! We will straight up wreck this joint. You can come out alive now or be pulled out dead later!”
Al glanced at Marquise who was punching numbers into his cell phone.
In the silence of the room, Al could hear the phone ring. He hoped Marquise was dialing 9-1-1.
“Marquise, where you at, boy?”
Marquise interrupted her. “Keiana — Keiana! Listen, baby,” he whispered, his words coming out quickly. “Send the police to —” he looked at Al with an unspoken question.
Al immediately understood why Marquise had called Keiana instead of dialing 9-1-1. He is saying goodbye. Help us, God. Al swallowed hard, then answered Marquise. “Mannford Christian Fellowship, 3434 East Thirty-fourth Avenue.”
“Did you get that, baby?” Marquise asked into the phone. He quickly repeated Al’s words. “They’ve caught up to me. They’re shaking on the door.”
Three Nights In Mannford Page 13