by Carl Weber
I glanced at my watch and announced, “Oops. I gotta get home.”
He looked disappointed, but he didn’t press the issue. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“So, what’s your favorite kind of food?” I asked, making small talk to ease the tension as we got back in his car. I knew he felt let down, but I wanted to make sure he was willing to continue with the status quo. Plenty of guys will never talk to you again once you put them in the friend zone. Fortunately, Pippie wasn’t one of them.
“It changes week to week. Today it might be this”—he held up the last bite of his second patty and popped it into his mouth—“but you never know in New York, because there’s so much to choose from. You can get a lot of good eats in Virginia, but nothing like here in the city. I wanna introduce you to all of them—Cuban, Dominican, Russian, Korean, Caribbean, Ethiopian—”
“You still haven’t told me your favorite,” I interrupted, because he sounded like he was still trying to steer the conversation toward a date.
He took the hint and slowed his roll a little. “When I was locked up, the one thing I craved was some barbecue. Man, I dreamed about ribs. Even woke up drooling a few times,” he said with a laugh.
“If you love BBQ so much, why’d you leave the South? Everyone knows the best ribs are down South.”
He laughed. “There’s some truth to that, but you’ve never been to Poor Freddie’s rib shack. Our next little field trip is going to be there.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice!” I said, not worrying about his intentions for the moment. If there was one thing I loved, it was some good barbecue.
“Bring your appetite and some napkins,” he said as we turned the corner onto my block.
“Well, thanks for the ride,” I said. “It’s good to know I can rely on someone.” As much as I was worried about how it would complicate things, I really was glad to have gotten to know Pippie. I’d never really had a male friend. Without thinking about it, I leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
As I turned to open the door, I spotted Lynn sitting on the front steps. She’d obviously seen me kiss him, because her face was contorted into a nasty scowl.
“Oh shit,” I mumbled under my breath.
“You all right?” Pippie asked. He followed my gaze and noticed Lynn. “Not sure who that is, but she sure looks pissed.”
“I forgot that I was supposed to meet a friend after work.” He had no idea the nightmare I was walking into.
“It’s my fault. You want me to go over to her and apologize? She doesn’t look too happy.”
“No, it’s not a big deal.” Pippie talking to Lynn would make it worse. He couldn’t hide his crush on me, and that would only piss her off more. “I owe her some money and was supposed to meet her for dinner to pay it back. I’ll handle her.”
“Okay, then. I’m gonna go on and get back to the church. See you tomorrow.”
“Sure thing. I’ll see you tomorrow, Pippie.” I got out of the car and prepared myself to face Lynn’s wrath.
Monique
28
TK barely acknowledged me during the ride over to Mount Olive Church, but after the blowup at Jackson’s office earlier, I was surprised he’d even agreed to wait for me. It gave me a glimmer of hope—our marriage was rocky, but not dead. I guess the news of Clifford Jr.’s death had shocked him out of his rage. Death had a way of putting everything into perspective.
I couldn’t fathom why anybody would want to kill Cliff. I’d met him when TK and I attended an event held by his youth group, and he seemed perfectly nice. His father told TK he was grooming him to one day take over their church. This was a young man who had his whole life ahead of him, and I couldn’t begin to imagine the pain his parents were experiencing. Times like this made it hard to have faith in the human race.
When we arrived at the church, the parking lot was full. Inside the church, the entrance to the sanctuary had been taped off. I saw a group of police officers in there, probably working to gather evidence. I shivered at the thought that the body must have been discovered in there, in a place reserved for holy things, not murder.
An officer guided us into the rec room, where clusters of people were standing around in shock, crying, talking, and just being there to support Pastor White and his wife, First Lady Vanessa. TK headed right over to Pastor White, and I went to see the first lady.
“Monique.” Vanessa greeted me with a warm, tearful hug as soon as I approached. Out of all the first ladies I’d had to deal with in New York, she had been the first one to accept and embrace me. We’d actually become friends, having lunch together once in a while.
“I am so sorry for your loss. Clifford was such a nice young man. This was just…” I stopped, at a loss for the words to verbalize a tragedy so horrendous that no parent should ever have to experience it.
“Thank you for coming.” She gave me a half smile then pulled back, attempting to maintain her control. We were both wiping away tears.
“Vanessa, you don’t have to be strong for any of us. Right now it’s our job to be here for you in whatever capacity you need. Let us be your rock the way you’ve been for so many.” The women around me started chiming in with “Amen” and “Yes, Lord.” We were all in agreement on this. Being the first lady of a megachurch, I knew from experience that Vanessa’s life was spent in service to those in her congregation.
“Thank you.” She pulled me close again, and this time she really allowed me to hug her tight.
By the time I headed over to TK and Reverend White, the group of women had swelled around Vanessa, offering her comfort. I could see that TK and Reverend White were in a serious discussion. I almost stopped, but then my husband caught my eye and motioned for me to join them.
“Pastor, I am so sorry for your loss.” I hugged Pastor White. Unlike his wife, Clifford didn’t show his emotions on his face. If you didn’t know he was the grieving father, you might think he was just another one of the supportive clergy that seemed to be hanging around.
“Do they have any idea who might have done this?” I asked.
Reverend White shook his head. “Far as I know, Cliff didn’t have any enemies. People liked him. I mean, everywhere he went he made friends. I just don’t understand this.”
“We are going to find out who did this. That’s a promise,” TK said.
We looked up just as two plainclothes cops were heading in our direction.
“Pastor White, I’m Detective Turner, and this is my partner, Detective Dugan.” The man who spoke could have been straight out of central casting under “big-city detective, medium build, dark hair, and a thick Brooklyn accent.” His partner looked like he’d be more comfortable behind the desk in a law firm. “Our captain asked us to bring you up to speed. Is there somewhere we can talk alone?”
“Bishop Wilson and his wife are like family. You can speak freely in front of them,” Clifford replied. “Have you gentlemen arrested anyone?”
“No, sir, our investigation is still in its preliminary stages, but we will do everything we can to solve this crime,” Detective Dugan answered.
“Well, do you have any leads?” TK questioned. My husband was not letting them leave without getting some answers for his friend.
“Well, possibly. We’re just not quite sure how it fits in.”
“What lead?” Clifford asked. The detective hesitated for a moment. I got the sense that this was more information than they would usually share about a case. TK and Clifford were men who commanded a certain amount of respect, however, and the detective soon gave in and discussed what little the police knew so far.
“There was a murder in Queens a couple of days ago with a very similar MO. A young Jamaican-American male about the same age was found dead of a single gunshot wound. Same caliber gun, and like your son’s murder, there was nothing of note taken.”
“Do you think the same person who killed him also shot my son?” Pastor White asked.
“It’s poss
ible. Did you or your son know a man by the name of Vincent Taylor? He was a bartender in Queens.”
“Vinnie Taylor. Big, burly guy?” Clifford blurted out in recognition. He wasn’t the only one who recognized the name.
“Yes. Do you know him?”
Clifford’s face revealed his emotion for the first time. “Yes, Vinnie and Cliff played football together. Do you think their deaths are connected?”
I couldn’t concentrate on the detective’s reply. In my mind, I was back in my house with Tia, the night that Jackson and I found her racing out of her rapist’s apartment. She was an emotional wreck that night, and half of what she said sounded like the ravings of a madwoman, but I clearly heard her say the name Vinnie Taylor more than once. Given the fact that Tia had first spotted her rapist working at a bar during her bachelorette party, I felt certain that this dead bartender from Queens was the same guy. I forced myself to tune back in to what the detectives were saying.
“We’re waiting to get the ballistics report to see if the same gun was used in both crimes.”
“This just doesn’t make sense,” Pastor White said sadly.
“Were your son and Mr. Taylor close? Did they keep in touch?” Detective Turner asked. Pastor White shook his head.
“Cliff tried to bring Vinnie into the church, but he had other interests. They hadn’t seen each other in person in years because Vinnie had taken a pretty dark path into drugs and alcohol.”
“All right. We’ll let you know something as soon as we get the report,” Dugan said.
“They seem to be on it,” TK said after the two detectives were gone.
Pastor White didn’t answer. The news that his son’s murder might be related to another killing had pushed him over the edge. He looked like he was on the verge of breaking down. TK recognized this, and offered to take Clifford into his office so he could grieve in private for a while.
“Thank you, TK,” Clifford said. “I think I will take a few minutes away from my congregation, but there’s no need for you to escort me. I appreciate your coming.”
“Absolutely,” TK said, pulling Clifford in for a hug. “I’m here whenever you need me. You or Vanessa.”
After Clifford left, TK turned to me and said, “Let’s go.” His tone still held a little of the chill from our earlier fight, but I had faith that we would be okay.
As we exited the church, TK spotted Jeff Watson, a police officer who also happened to be a member at our church and the coach of our youth basketball team. “Hold on,” he said to me.
I followed him over to the police car, where Jeff was standing with a fellow officer.
“Jeff, can I have a word with you?”
Jeff excused himself from the other officer and stepped aside with us.
“Bishop Wilson, good to see you, sir.” He offered his hand.
“You too,” TK said, then wasted no time with small talk. “The black clergy community is extremely tight knit. We’re like family, so I need you to tell me whatever you can about Cliff’s murder. I hear it’s possibly related to another recent murder.”
Unlike the other detectives, Jeff didn’t hesitate to share what he knew. “Look, this isn’t for public consumption, but both this man and the murder victim in Queens were found with the letter R written in blood on their foreheads. We don’t know what the significance of the letter is yet. That’s all we have so far, Bishop, but I will make sure to keep you in the loop.”
“That’s all I ask,” TK replied.
“You know, while I have you here, Bishop, do you have a minute to discuss some issues with the basketball team? A few of the boys have been getting to practice late, and I’m worried about what they might be getting into.”
Of course, TK obliged him. My husband was dedicated to all the members of our congregation, but he felt an extra responsibility for the young men who could so easily fall prey to the many temptations out there on the streets.
“TK, I’m going to head back to the car while you two talk,” I said, relieved for the chance to separate from him for a minute. Jeff’s information about the murders had my heart slamming against my chest, and I had to make a phone call that I did not want TK to hear.
Jeff might not have known what the R stood for, but I feared that I did. It stood for “rapist”!
In the car, I struggled to pull myself together and make sense of what I’d just heard. When did Vinnie Taylor’s murder happen—and even more terrifying, was there some connection to the night Tia was there? I was ashamed to admit to myself that I’d never even asked Jackson about that night in front of Vinnie Taylor’s. What happened after Tia and I left him there? I’d been so busy caring for Tia that I’d kind of buried my head in the sand, preferring not to give any thought to a rapist. Jackson, too, seemed to have no interest in discussing that night. When we’d met to go over lines, he had been all about getting down to business. Neither one of us mentioned that night. With the news we’d just heard from Jeff, I needed some answers now. When I’d finally calmed down a little, I picked up my phone to call Jackson.
“Hello. You’ve reached Jackson Young, talent agent at Johnson Morris Agency. I’m away from my phone right now, so please leave a message.”
“Jackson, it’s Monique. I need to talk to you about something very important. Call me back as soon—”
TK’s hand on the door caused me to jump. I quickly ended the call and dropped the phone onto my lap.
“Who are you talking to?” TK snapped. The guilty expression on my face must have been a dead giveaway.
“Um, nobody,” was all I could muster.
He snatched the phone out of my hand. At this point, I was too emotionally spent to even protest. TK opened up the Recent Calls list and dialed the last number. He put the phone to his ear, and I knew the second Jackson’s voice mail recording started playing. The look of rage that came across TK’s face scared the crap out of me.
“After everything that happened today, you’re calling him?” he said. “You are not the woman I married.”
Aaron
29
Walking into the church for the first time since my altercation with Ross, I felt more uneasy than I’d ever felt in that building. The way people were quietly eyeing me as I made my way down the corridor, I was sure the gossip mill had been in full effect the past couple of days. Let them talk, I thought. It wasn’t like Ross deserved any less than my fist in his eye after the way he’d tried to sabotage me. I had nothing to be ashamed of, I decided, as I straightened my shoulders and marched down the hall toward the bishop’s office to share the good news about our choir’s future.
“He in?” I asked as I stopped at Desiree’s desk. She seemed like a nice enough girl, but I still had trouble even making eye contact with her, no matter how many times she’d tried to chat with me. To me that would always be Tia’s desk she was sitting at.
“Yes. Just knock on the door.”
“Thanks.” I moved past her and rapped on the door.
“Come in,” the bishop called out.
I entered his office to find him standing behind his desk, dressed in a wifebeater and dress pants. There was a large suitcase open on his desk, and he was sorting through a mountain of clothes. I won’t sugarcoat it; he didn’t look happy at all, and the whole thing just seemed strange for a man of his stature.
“You moving in?” I joked.
“Feels like it,” he said under his breath.
“What’s going on, Bishop?” I asked, taking a seat.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” He spoke in that authoritative tone that usually made people defer to him, but not this time.
“Wow, I remember saying the same thing to you. Remember?” He didn’t answer, but glanced up from his search long enough for me to see the pain in his eyes.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m your friend. I think I’ve proven that to you over the years.”
“I know you are, Aaron.” He sank down in his chair, took a deep breat
h, and let out a sigh. Suddenly he looked much older and wearier. Whatever the hell was going on, it was obviously taking a toll on him. “To make a long story short, Monique and I are having a lot of problems as of late. I’m thinking about filing for divorce.”
His words came as a complete shock. I knew there had been some tension between him and the first lady recently, but I had no idea it was that serious. “Nah, you don’t mean that,” I said, wishing for it to be true. If the bishop and Monique couldn’t make it, what the hell chance did the rest of us have?
“Yes, son, I did. I meant every word,” he said sadly.
“You wanna talk about it?”
“Thank you for your support, but I can’t talk about it right now,” he said, standing up again to return to his search through the suitcase. “Not sure if you heard, but Pastor White of Mount Olive, his son was murdered. I’m going to the wake, and I need to show up clearheaded and able to be of service to my friend. I can’t do that if I delve into my personal problems right now.”
I understood all too well how difficult it was to put on that professional face when you’re suffering on the inside. I had struggled with it myself the first time I faced my choir after Tia left me at the altar. It was best to let Bishop Wilson set aside thoughts of Monique for the moment.
“So, I do have some good news,” I said in an effort to change the subject.
“What’s that?” he asked as he put on a white dress shirt that frankly could have used a good pressing.
“I had dinner with Jackson Young last night, and—”
“Don’t mention that man’s name to me,” he said with a scowl.
“But—”
He cut me off again. “I’m starting to believe that Ross may have been right. I don’t think we should work with that guy.”
Now I was thoroughly confused. “What do you mean? We discussed this, and I thought you were on board with me signing the contract. I gave it to him last night.”