The building, with its second floor of illegal efficiency apartments, had survived twenty-five years. It had more health violations and pest exterminations than any law allowed. Yet the local police and health department employees, along with several misfits, ate side by side. The only things separating them were huge bottles of Pepto Bismol and bottles of Hell Naw Hot Sauce.
Because the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays were approaching, the Soul Food Shanty hung its usual mismatched holiday decorations. The owner kept it simple. There was one large cherub holding the horn of plenty purchased years ago from a craft show. It was made of felt and covered a hole in the wall by the kitchen. That was the Soul Food Shanty’s contribution to the holiday spirit.
Despite the Shanty’s lack of style and ambience, it offered privacy if one didn’t mind the noise from the kitchen. Seated at a table for one was Crossing Over Sanctuary’s member Trustee Freddie Noel.
Fifteen years ago, he’d arrived from Harlem, New York, with nothing more than a thank you Jesus for Your grace and mercy, and forty dollars. That same day, he moved into one of the Soul Food Shanty’s upstairs rooms, and downstairs was where he ate every day.
Back in Harlem, he’d spent most of his adult life working as a janitor for a large department store that never paid much. So, as bad as times were, he knew a thing or two about stretching fifteen cents into a dollar.
At one time, financially, things looked like they’d change for him after he’d had an accident that involved a huge bus. The accident was reported in all the newspapers and on television. The company’s drunken bus driver sideswiped the trustee’s car, totaling the car and the trustee. He’d spent months in full body traction and when it was removed, he still walked around with one arm bent at the elbow and one leg bent at the knee like a dancing robot on a Soul Train line. Finally, through prayer and physical therapy Trustee Noel regained a semblance of a walk, although he still galloped when he ran.
He’d sued the bus company almost five years ago for reckless endangerment and won. The bus company appealed immediately and hadn’t stopped appealing since. Most folks long ago dismissed any notion that the payout he’d won against a big bus company plagued with worrisome appeals would ever happen. As far as his church was concerned, he would remain broke and ugly. And it certainly made it easy to understand why Bea chose him to hang coats at the upcoming Seniors Prom.
That morning, just as every morning, Trustee Noel sat down to eat alone. As usual, when he ate he always ordered whatever was calorie-laden in the hope of gaining weight. He alternated between a platter of pig’s feet fajitas, turnip greens with jalapeno peppers, sweet tea, and buttery pound cake for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Of course, his taste in foods were as left-to-center as his looks and he remained reed thin.
He had no appetite. What he did have, however, was something that weeks ago had changed his life forever, but he’d refused to believe until he saw it for himself.
“Are you having coffee this cold morning or iced tea?” The question came from Chef Porky LaPierre, the short, dark, and squatty owner of the Soul Food Shanty. He stood blinking his one good eye that made him look like a human traffic light. He also held a large dented tin can with puffs of smoke struggling to escape from whatever was in it that passed for coffee. “And I can’t keep reheating those pigs feet until you decide to eat while you take up space in my establishment.”
“Just sit the pot right here.” Trustee Noel pointed to an uncluttered spot on the small round table. “Don’t worry about the rest of the order. I’ll take it with me.”
“You can take it wherever you want to, but you ain’t taking it upstairs to your room. You know I don’t allow no eating in your room. It costs extra for the exterminator if he has to climb stairs.” Without saying a word Chef Porky turned around, returning to whatever concoction he’d been creating before.
Freddie Noel never touched his coffee. He stretched and tried to alleviate some of the back pain he’d felt since he woke from sleeping on that lumpy bed mattress. Having gotten as comfortable as he could, he looked again at the letter he’d quickly brushed aside when Chef Porky appeared. He didn’t need the man in his business. Yet if Freddie had read the letter once, he’d read it one hundred times since he received it weeks ago. His skinny hand swept slowly across the letter’s official logo.
The South Carolina State Lottery congratulates you on being the sole validated winner of ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-FIVE MILLION dollars. Because you’ve elected to have a one time pay out, your net winnings amount to SIXTY-FIVE MILLION DOLLARS. Enclosed please find your check in the amount of same . . .
His hands shook. In his mind, the rustling sound of paper was certain to bring attention his way so he quickly dropped the lottery notice back onto the table. Freddie reached up and began to twirl a small and thinning silver sprig of hair. He looked almost childish as calmness slowly spread over him and a grin surfaced. The only thing he didn’t do, at that moment, was suck his thumb. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and tried to suppress a smile.
Chapter 7
An hour had passed since the Reverend asked Sister Betty to wait and, instead, he was the one who waited. He did so at the behest of the bank’s owners. He sat inside one of the huge bank offices where all he did was pray, and count ceiling tiles.
While the reverend fidgeted and fretted waiting on the bankers, Sister Betty remained in the outer reception area, and pulled out her spray canister of holy oil. If it went down badly inside for the pastor, she had her finger on the trigger. She’d douse any demon in the vicinity.
They were almost an hour and a half late, but finally, the owners of the bank filed through the door. “We hope you haven’t waited too long.” The insincere concern came from the one of the Cheater brothers named Skimp. “How are you? We haven’t seen one another since the church contracted the land you’ve designated as the Promised Land.”
The we in question that almost caused the reverend to backslide on the spot were the albino Cheater brothers, Skimp, Slump, and Ted. They were billionaire triplets and owners of the bank.
“Please follow us to our office,” the second Cheater brother, Slump, said as he got in lockstep with his brothers.
The main office of the Cheater brothers had dark oak wood-paneled walls and thick black carpeting that came up to the ankle. Crystal chandeliers hung every few feet, and floor-to-ceiling palms graced each corner. In the middle of the monstrosity of a room stood a huge, glass-encased carving of a Mississippi riverboat. Reverend Tom couldn’t speak. He’d never seen such opulence and could’ve forgiven them for all their slights when he saw the walls adorned with Renoirs alongside famous Louisiana artists R. C. Davis and William Hemmerling.
In unison, the Cheater brothers, with their pinkish-red skin hanging beneath their chins like a turkey’s wattle, leaned back in their chairs and took ugly to another level. They knew they were ugly, but it didn’t matter. They were number two on the Filthy Rich Billionaire list.
However, time was money and so for the first time the unified Cheater brothers showed emotion. They rolled their chairs closer and one of them spoke the name many feared: Mother Sasha Pray Onn.
The atmosphere turned toxic and almost freezing cold at the same time. It was as though they were all in church and Sasha had just walked in and taken her place on the Mothers pew.
Slump’s beady eyes suddenly turned into orbs of anger. He began twisting in a chair that looked as if it would topple from his weight. “That woman had the audacity to accuse our upstanding and fine reputation as bankers of swindling, as well as aiding and abetting your church!”
Ted Cheater interrupted and almost broke out in hives as he recalled Sasha’s outburst. “And then she pounced upon the customer service representative and scared that poor woman to death as she demanded an audit for her one hundred forty dollars and twenty-six cents tithe.”
He swelled with anger, “She can’t play a playa! We ain’t rolling wit that!” His puffy pink hands
flew immediately to his mouth. He glanced quickly at his brothers and back at the reverend. No doubt, he was shocked that his first billion dollars hadn’t completely erased his New Orleans gangster tendencies or hidden his appreciation for the rich rappers.
Skimp Cheater couldn’t speak. He’d punked out already from the moment they’d mentioned Sasha’s name.
It became the reverend’s turn for temporary amusement. What they were upset with Sasha about was nothing new. She kept folks upset about one thing or another.
From that moment on, the reverend tried to take advantage of what he saw as the brothers’ weakened condition. However, every time he tried to turn the conversation around to the community’s need for the Promised Land development, the Cheater brothers rebuffed him.
Finally, Reverend Tom had enough. “The Devil is a liar!” His eyes blazed, and his lips curled with anger as he blurted out the familiar exorcism.
None of those three human turkeys moved.
And that’s when the palm of one of the reverend’s hands hit the arm of the chair, sounding as though a whip had cut the air. He was so angry even his complexion seemed to change as though his face was a kaleidoscope, red to brown and back to red again. “Y’all think I’m supposed to just sit and wait until y’all get good and ready to discuss your unfairness? My God won’t tolerate doing His anointed harm.”
Reverend Tom cut the histrionics when he saw they still appeared united as one unmovable and unsympathetic unit. He decided to try another tactic. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.” The apology was insincere, but necessary at that moment. “It is just that this development comes as a total surprise. Please allow me to explain in a more Christian-like fashion.”
He leaned with his palms on the table and stared at the men. “I come to you now, as a man of God, just as I did three years ago. I humbly ask you to reconsider and give the church at least a six month extension before you exercise the option to use a forty-five-day notice to call in the loan. We are a church trying to do God’s work for the community. The community’s monies keep this bank solvent. Moreover, you only stand to gain if we complete the building project.”
Seeing the resignation on the reverend’s face finally provoked the Cheater brothers to move. One by one they leaned across the table and laid the thick files down in front of the reverend. Looking from one to the other without saying a word, they waited a moment or two before they nodded together in agreement.
Skimp Cheater was the first to speak. “We’ve heard everything you said.”
Slump Cheater tapped his brother on the wrist to keep him from going further. He leaned forward and clasped his hands while peering over glasses that somehow slid down and rested upon the tip of his beak-like nose. “Just like you, Reverend Thumb—”
“It’s Reverend Tom.”
“Okay,” Slump said softly. “Didn’t mean to mispronounce your name, Reverend Tom Thumb. I, too, believe in a higher being and huge depositors.”
As if on cue, Ted Cheater interrupted and blurted, “It’s almost two o’clock. It’s time to seek that higher being and another huge depositor.” He quickly leaned over in his seat and grabbed the nearby remote control before he continued. “Our answer,” Ted’s voice rose, “to put it quite bluntly, Reverend, is no!”
With their response given, the three Cheaters turned toward a wall-mounted television and turned up the volume loud enough to dispel any demons left from their meeting, along with the Reverend Tom. They sat on the edge of their seats. They listened and watched as the financial commentator frantically tossed papers onto the floor, then a second later a bell clanged in homage to their personal god.
“Please leave,” Skimp ordered when he noticed the reverend had not yet budged. “I’m sure when you want to confer with your God, you too, like privacy. We require the same with our higher being, the Wall Street Stock Market.”
“Oh, by the way,” Ted added. “To show we’re not totally heartless, since Christmas is on a Saturday this year and we’ll be closed—”
“We’ll give you until Monday, the twenty-seventh,” Slump said quickly. “Have a Merry Thanksgiving and a Happy Christmas or a pleasant Felicidades or whatever. We know we will.”
Even through the heavy oak door, which he slammed as hard as he could, Reverend Tom heard the three turkey trolls snickering. His burden was now so heavy he could hardly lift his head. He could not believe God had allowed this to happen.
He walked back into the waiting area where he found Sister Betty still waiting. She had her hands clasped in prayer and hadn’t looked up yet. He let out a loud cough to catch her attention. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”
“It’s not a problem,” Sister Betty replied as she struggled to stand on her stiff legs. “I’ve been praying and I believe I may have a way to quash Bea and Sasha’s craziness.”
At first, the reverend didn’t answer. At that moment, he was still too livid and disappointed at how he’d represented God.
“Did you hear me, son?”
Reverend Tom looked at Sister Betty and tried to bring a smile to his face. “I’m sorry. What is your plan?”
“I’ll tell you, but I want you to release me from babysitting those two.”
“What is your plan?” Reverend Tom repeated. He really wasn’t in a compromising mood.
Sister Betty peered into his eyes and saw a defeated man looking back. She decided to revisit the deal later. “I’ve already put it into place, but we need to make a stop on the way back.”
“Sister Betty.” Reverend Tom’s shoulders seemed to disappear from weariness into his coat as they walked to the car. “I’m so tired. I’d rather just drop you off wherever you need to be and I’ll just go home.”
“Okay, I understand. On the way, if you just drop me off at the Shanty, I’ll call for a ride home.”
Reverend Tom’s eyes met hers. She had him and they both knew it. There was no way he’d ever drop her off at the Shanty in that part of town and let her catch a ride home.
By the time they left the bank, it was Life: 10 and the Reverend: 0.
Chapter 8
As soon as they arrived at the Soul Food Shanty, the rain tapered off. The reverend checked his watch. It was almost three o’clock and he’d accomplished nothing, yet he was hungry.
“You look famished,” Sister Betty said as though she read his mind. “Do you want to get something to eat inside while I’m here?”
“At the Soul Food Shanty?” The reverend’s disdain for the place showed as his clapped his hands and sneered. “I don’t fancy mystery meat and Alka Seltzer at the moment.”
Sister Betty pulled a handful of Now & Later candy squares from her coat pocket. “Here,” she offered. “Eat some now, and save some for later.”
Finally the reverend laughed. “Never mind, I’m not much for candy. Why don’t I drive on down the way and pick up something from a legitimate fast-food place. Can I get you something?”
Sister Betty quickly rattled off a list of what she wanted to eat. She chuckled, then quickly dismissed the reverend’s reminder that she’d tried to poison him with the Shanty’s food.
Inside the Shanty, Sister Betty found Porky at the cash register. They’d not seen each other in a while so they took a moment to catch up.
Having no success at getting the latest church gossip that he savored, Chef Porky pointed to the back of the room to where she could find Trustee Noel.
“Good afternoon, Trustee Noel.” Sister Betty smiled and motioned for Freddie to remain seated when he tried to stand. She dragged a chair from a nearby table and removed her coat and hat before she sat and placed them in her lap. “I was so surprised to get the telephone call from you.”
“It’s good to see you, Sister Betty.” Freddie took her coat, and belongings. He dragged another empty chair over and laid them across its back.
“I still don’t know how you knew I was at the bank when you called.”
“I didn’t know,” Freddie explained. “
I called about another matter and the receptionist mentioned that you and the pastor were there. I wanted to talk to you anyway, so I figured I’d just reach out to you while I could.”
“Well, did you have another dream or something?”
Sister Betty was good at interpreting dreams and he’d questioned her often. She figured he’d had a very exciting one when he insisted she come by.
It took a few minutes for Freddie to get to the point. Two seconds after he told her about the lottery winnings, Sister Betty’s wig almost flew off. Freddie then handed her the envelope from the South Carolina State Lottery Department as his proof.
“It’s because of how you interpreted that dream and the vision I last had. I did exactly as you told me to do on that piece of paper you handed me after Prophet Kay Pow breathed on me.”
Sister Betty started clawing at the torn tablecloth. She searched her mind from the forehead to the back of her neck and couldn’t remember telling him to gamble.
“What did I write?” she said. “Refresh my memory.”
“I can do better than that.” Freddie grinned. “I still got that piece of paper in my pocket. I’ve been carrying it around ever since you handed it to me.”
He pulled the faded small slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to Sister Betty. The first thing she noticed after changing her glasses twice was that it wasn’t her handwriting, but then she turned it over. On the far corner of the paper, she saw it.
“Oh, my Lord, Trustee,” Sister Betty whispered. “This is all a mistake.”
“How can millions of dollars be a mistake?” Freddie thought perhaps Sister Betty had lost her mojo with that crazy talk.
“Listen, Trustee Noel.” She looked around to make sure no one was within earshot before she spoke again. “Earlier in the service that Sunday, I needed something to write down the weekly assessment levied on my Missionary Board dues for our upcoming anniversary next May. I usually pay my dues once a year, but I’d forgotten and needed the breakdown.”
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