God Only Knows

by Xavier Knight

  “Okay, got it,” Cassie said, her mouth turning down into an annoyed grimace.

  When they stepped into Bar Louie, a contemporary restaurant with a lengthy bar at its front entrance, they spied Whitlock at a back table. Dressed in a beige suit and white oxford shirt, he had a fresh haircut, his blond curls shorn into a tight crew cut. As he waved the women over, Cassie saw Whitlock’s eyes narrow in on Julia with unashamed pleasure.

  “So the puzzle pieces continue to fall into place,” he said, shaking Julia’s hand after she had introduced herself. “I’ve heard of you, Dr. Turner. I didn’t realize you were an alumnus of the school, though. You were with Cassie and Eddie’s class?”

  “That’s the only reason I returned to Dayton,” Julia said, shrugging and probably trying to hide the ill will Cassie knew coursed through her friend’s veins. “I still believe there’s something worth saving in this city.”

  “That’s pretty cool,” Whitlock replied, returning to his seat once the ladies had taken theirs. Kicking one leg over the other, he leaned back slightly. “Here I thought the only natives who stayed around this place were like me —those who’ve never seen anything better.” He rapped his knuckles on the table, glancing between the two ladies. “So . . . who wants to explain what we’re talking about today?”

  “Julia is here,” Cassie said, her back stiffening and her tone sounding frosty even to her own ears, “because I have told her about your beliefs concerning what happened to Eddie —”

  A hand raised, Whitlock pivoted toward Julia. “Were you there that night or not, ma’am?”

  Julia let her eyes lock with Cassie’s for a second before meeting Whitlock’s stare head-on. “I was with Cassie, Toya, and Terry that night, Detective.”

  Whitlock sat up in his seat again, tented his hands as he leaned in. “So, as opposed to Cassie, what information can you share with me?”

  “Well, I thought you should know,” Julia replied, once they had all placed drink orders with their waitress, “that we have nothing further to share with you at this moment.”

  Whitlock’s smirk was offset by a stormy glare. “What?”

  “You see, Detective,” Julia continued, “it has come to my attention that you’ve been subjecting my dear friend to harassment of just about every kind. As a matter of fact, the more Cassie shares about your interactions, the more I’ve become convinced that you’re not able to be an honest broker here.”

  “Oh, I see,” Whitlock replied, his head snapping back so quickly Cassie almost missed it. His hands folded before him, he rolled his shoulders as he said, “If Cassie feels I’m abusing my authority, Dr. Turner, she’s more than welcome to report me to the authorities.” Seemingly regaining confidence, he smiled as he glanced in Cassie’s direction. “Of course, she might not enjoy explaining the subject of our conversations.”

  “You’ve been preying on me,” Cassie said, turning in her seat so that more than her stare faced Whitlock down. “If your only concern was getting justice for Eddie, you should have reported your evidence to your superiors as soon as you got it.”

  Whitlock’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t even think you have a right to tell me how to prosecute —”

  “Detective.” Ignoring Cassie’s quiet gasp, Julia planted one hand atop Whitlock’s. Maintaining eye contact with him, she said, “Don’t forget that Cassie and I, along with our entire Christian Light class, spent four years praying for Eddie’s recovery. We can’t know the unique pains you suffered seeing him linger in such a condition, but I can honestly say none of us have forgotten what happened to him.”

  Pausing in apparent surprise that he hadn’t slapped her hand away, Julia continued. “Cassie and I want you to know that while we won’t allow you to continue playing head games on us, we are going to set the wheels of justice into motion. As Christians, frankly, we should have had the courage to do this years ago.”

  Squirming visibly, Whitlock shyly removed his hand from beneath Julia’s. A finger brushing the bridge of his nose, he asked, “So you’re turning yourselves in?”

  “She never said that,” Cassie said defiantly.

  “What I am saying,” Julia replied, a slight move of her hand signaling Cassie to calm down, “is that Cassie and I have retained representation from two different criminal defense attorneys. We are having ongoing discussions with them, to understand the best way in which to share our knowledge of that night’s events with the authorities.”

  Whitlock blinked twice and took a long swig from his glass of Scotch. “I —I guess that makes sense.” He stroked his chin absentmindedly. “You’re sure —both of you —that you’re willing to risk your jobs, your families, in order to admit to knowledge of what happened to Eddie?”

  “You’re not listening,” Cassie replied, barely repressing the urge to wag a finger. “We’re not saying we had a thing to do with Eddie winding up in front of that truck, just that we might have relevant information about things that happened earlier that night.”

  Julia’s eyes flashed with an instruction. You’ve said more than enough. Aloud she said, “The point is, Detective, if you want information from us, you can now contact our attorneys.” She locked eyes with Cassie, and they simultaneously grabbed their respective attorneys’ cards from their purses, sliding them across the table to Whitlock.

  The women waited patiently as the detective cleared his throat several times, cursed low under his breath, and traced his fingers over the attorneys’ names. “I know both of these guys,” he said finally. “They’re good.”

  He looked up for the first time since receiving what was clearly unwelcome news. “Gotta admit, the last thing I expected was that you’d agree to flush yourselves out.” Whitlock glanced at the ceiling, and for the first time since she had met him, Cassie saw in Peter Whitlock’s eyes the lost stare of a confused teenager. “My, uh, mother always talks about some Scripture that says vengeance is God’s duty to handle, that we should trust Him to handle justice.”

  Cassie couldn’t take her eyes off the detective, but she willed herself to keep her mouth shut. If Peter Whitlock was about to be positively inspired by his dear mother’s words, her affirmation of them would interrupt the entire process.

  Still silent, Whitlock leaned back in his seat and began clapping. Cassie finally let herself see the change that had occurred in his eyes; the conflicted stare had hardened into a sarcastic glare. “Kudos, ladies,” he said, clapping louder still, as a few nearby patrons turned his way. “Quite a curveball you served up, but I hope you realize it changes nothing.”

  “I don’t think you’ve taken the time yet to let this sink in,” Julia replied, her back arching, though she kept her tone even. “Don’t you understand that this is a major step we’ve taken?”

  Whitlock shot Julia a look loaded with contempt. “So we’re clear —as the one whose family member was irreparably harmed, I’ll make the call on when a major step has been taken.” He flicked his eyes toward Cassie, seemingly encouraging her to take him on before slowly rising from his seat. “I have to hit the little boys’ room, ladies. If you want to waste some more time trying to snow me, I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Cassie glanced at her watch, trying to look nonchalant even as her heart beat faster with despair. “We have another fifteen minutes.”

  “I’m much faster than that,” Whitlock said, a dry chuckle competing with the wary look in his eyes. “I’ll be right back.”

  When the detective had walked off, Julia reached over and clamped onto her friend’s nearest elbow. “Don’t give up yet.”

  Cassie shook her head. “I have to trust the power of prayer,” she said. “I’ve been praying Ephesians 3:20 —Paul’s promise about God’s ability to do exceedingly and abundantly more than we can ask or imagine —for the past week now. I know God can bring out the best in people, even someone like Whitlock.”

  Julia took a sip of her water. “We have to remember, he’s more of a victim in all this than we’ve ever been. He sti
ll thinks his kid brother was a pure innocent. He probably has no idea how Eddie tried to violate you, how ready he was to cut all of us when we caught him with you.”

  Cassie hung her head, emotional fatigue finally catching up to her. “I know, but, sweet Lord, he’s made it hard for me to remember all that.”

  Julia placed a hand to her friend’s neck, massaging lightly as she asked, “Have you set your first appointment with your attorney yet? I scheduled my first sit-down with Mr. Christopher for Tuesday.”

  “I go in Monday.” Cassie exhaled a deep breath. “I sure hope they have good news for us about the statute of limitations. If that has run out, maybe we can get Toya and Terry to go ahead and get representation too. They’re going to have to do it eventually, to keep anyone like Whitlock from coming after them too.”

  The two friends were so deep into their deliberations that it took another ten minutes for them to realize that Whitlock had never returned. “This is not cute,” Julia said, checking her watch. “I have to pick Amber up right on schedule from dance practice.”

  A chill formed at the base of Cassie’s spine. “You think this is another head game? He just walked out, to show he could care less that we have attorneys now?”

  “Hey, I need help in here!” A loud male voice rang out from the hallway around the corner, and a short, skinny waiter burst into view. Hopping up and down, he yelled toward a hostess who was staring at him in shock. “Lauren, get a couple of the busboys back here! There’s a fight in the men’s room!”

  “What in the —” The words weren’t out of Julia’s mouth before she and Cassie had dashed from their seats. Nearly running the frantic waiter over, they craned their necks toward the restroom door.

  “Ladies, please” was all the waiter got out before two chunky Hispanic busboys blew past all three of them. Stranded there with the waiter, Cassie balled her fists anxiously as the sounds of a major scuffle emanated from the restroom. Pushing, shoving, punching, cursing, and slamming spilled out into the hallway; then the smaller busboy finally emerged with Whitlock in tow, an arm around his neck as a form of control.

  “I’m not telling you again!” His back pressed against the nearest wall, Whitlock spat his words into the younger man’s face. “I am an officer of the law! You better be a legal immigrant, boy!”

  A youthful-looking man in a shirt and tie broke through the crowd, coming to Whitlock’s side. “Sir,” he said respectfully, “I’ll have to ask you to calm down right now. If you are a policeman, you’ll have a chance to prove it. Greene County police are on their way here right now.”

  “I’m the one who was attacked!” Whitlock’s eyes bulged with indignation as he jammed a finger toward the restroom. “I had just spent good money in this restaurant, innocently went to use the bathroom, and this maniac was waiting outside my stall when I stepped out.”

  “Tell it right!” A husky voice boomed out in response from inside the men’s room. Cassie’s heart sank immediately with recognition, but it didn’t stop the horror that filled her when the other busboy emerged with Marcus following a step behind, his suit jacket ripped down one shoulder and his tie askew. Though he was calmer in spirit than Whitlock, Cassie could sense her husband’s struggle to hold himself together. Loitering behind the busboy, he stayed on the opposite side of the hallway, but he kept his eyes locked to Whitlock’s fiery glare.

  His back to Cassie, Marcus directed his comments to the restaurant manager. “I didn’t lay a hand on him, sir. I was just having a conversation.”

  The air filled with police sirens, and Cassie and Julia turned to see the front door fly open. Three police officers hustled toward them, bringing the restaurant to a hush as they came closer.

  Despair overtaking her, Cassie could no longer see or hear Julia as she turned back toward the arguing men. “Marcus!”

  As if he hadn’t realized she might still be in the restaurant, Cassie’s husband froze in midsentence. Pivoting toward the sound of her voice, he softened his glare momentarily as their eyes met. “Baby.”

  “What are you doing? I was handling it, Marcus. I really was.”

  Marcus’s eyes now focused over the top of Cassie’s head, likely on the officers shoving their way through the crowd beside her. His eyes were once again an impenetrable shield. “I’m a man, Cassie,” he said as an officer yanked him back against a wall, “and a man protects his family.”

  19

  As was often the case, Maxwell found himself alone in a room with a bare-chested woman. Lala Jackson was twenty-six, tall enough to play in the WNBA, and had a figure designed to torment any man who dared look on her without lust. As Lala’s bra fell to the floor, Maxwell struggled valiantly to focus on the undergarment instead of on the young woman’s breasts.

  Unlike most patients, Lala had suddenly disrobed without invitation.

  “I thought you said you have a sore throat,” Maxwell said weakly, eyes dancing between the floor and the spotless chocolate-brown skin on Lala’s beaming face.

  “Well, yes,” the Wright State graduate student replied, sighing and arching her back as she settled against the examination chair. “It’s not just that, though, Doctor. My breasts have been a little sore too. Would that be related?”

  “To the sore throat?” As Lala’s honeysuckle perfume teased his nostrils, Maxwell scratched the tip of his nose, frustrated with himself. He knew good and well that the smirk he had just barely stifled had already traveled into his eyes, was probably encouraging the flirty looks this woman was shooting him. “Totally unprofessional,” the Spirit said within. “You want another lawsuit on your hands?”

  “I doubt there’s any relationship,” he said, fully intending to heed the voice as soon as he could do so with a little sensitivity. “Get her out of here.” The only question was whether he should step out right this minute and get a staffer in here for extra protection. He was only alone with Lala because Imani, his assigned nurse, had called in sick this morning.

  “Shouldn’t you touch them now, Doctor?” Lala glanced between her chest and Maxwell, the invitation setting him on fire as his eyes danced across the drop of sweat budding on one breast. “I mean, I thought that’s what you do when any area of the body’s ailing a patient.”

  “Time to bail.”

  “Lala,” Maxwell said, sighing, “I think you should know that this makes me uncomfortable. You never mentioned anything about sore breasts, not when you called to schedule the appointment, nor when you spoke with the nurse who took your blood pressure. Can you tell me what’s going on here?”

  The young lady slipped down off the examination chair, her glide so fast that Maxwell barely caught it until she was inches from him. “Okay, Dr. Simon. I didn’t come here to disrespect your place of business. Nothing has to happen here, but I thought I’d at least let you see what I’ve got going on. How else can I make sure you ask me out?”

  Maxwell set her folder aside, then nodded toward Lala’s bra and blouse. “Why don’t you make use of those while we continue this conversation?”

  By the time the young woman was fully dressed again and primping her hair in the room’s corner mirror, Maxwell checked his watch but asked, “Can I ask why you thought I’d respond to such an inappropriate move? I hope there aren’t rumors floating around about how I treat my female patients.”

  “No, no,” Lala replied, turning and grabbing his elbow. “Doctor, please don’t hate me. I really hope you’ll take my number and give me a call soon. I’m not a hoochie, really.”

  “So again I ask,” Maxwell quipped, allowing himself the repressed smirk from earlier, “who gave you the idea I’d respond to such a risqué move?”

  Lala shrugged as she said, “You know Lyle Sharp?”

  “He’s only one of my best friends.” Maxwell shook his head. What a surprise —Lyle had sent a likely former conquest toward his pitiful single friend. “How do you know him?”

  “I met him through my pastor, actually,” Lala said, chuckling. “Jak
e Campbell? I had told him about my need to meet some ‘black men working,’ and he and Lyle told me about you. They told me about all your important work here, and how you’re looking to start dating sisters.”

  Maxwell raised an eyebrow, trying to believe what he was hearing. “Jake is a pastor, Lala, a full-time servant of God. Did you tell him you were going to win me over with a striptease?”

  “Oh, no!” Lala put a hand to her mouth in shock. “Pastor Jake would never be down with that. This just kind of . . . came to me on the way over here.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  Even if his friend hadn’t sanctioned Lala’s nude seduction, Jake’s involvement still rubbed Maxwell the wrong way. He hadn’t forgotten the testy conversation he’d had with the pastor a week earlier, shortly after he had first told both friends that he intended to take Julia out on a date.

  “Don’t do it,” Jake had said when they had met for an early Saturday breakfast. “Don’t sell yourself short, man. You’re Maxwell Simon, you hear me? Why would you want to date a woman you barely knew existed back in the day?”

  “People grow up, Jake,” Maxwell replied, his eyes growing wide as his friend slathered his pancakes in butter and syrup. “Slow down there, big boy. The body’s a temple, Pastor.”

  Jake poured another dollop of syrup onto his plate, seemingly oblivious. “Were you, uh, hiding some attraction to Julia and her girls all these years? I seem to recall you laughing at all the jokes Lyle and I made about how tore-down looking they were back then.”

  “We were children,” Maxwell replied.

  “Well, time may have passed, but not all that much has changed. You told me yourself the woman had a major chip on her shoulder the first time you reintroduced yourself to her. Julia, Toya, Terry —all of them were always mean. Angry black women.”

  “I think ‘angry’ is the right word,” Maxwell said. “And let’s not act like they didn’t have reason to be. We treated them like they were invisible, Jake.”

  “Like you just said, Doc, we were kids back then,” Jake said, his eyes on his fork and knife as they sliced and diced his food into cubes. “God covered that and has long since forgiven. You don’t need to atone by dating one of them, Maxwell.”