Still reeling from the impact of Whitlock’s semi-Oprah moment, Maxwell tried to focus. “I —I understand.” Crossing his arms, he let his back rest against the wall as he stared back at the detective. “Look, I know how it feels to think your parents don’t respect the fact that you’re all grown-up, to have them looking out for you when you don’t feel you need it.”
Whitlock gave that funny smirk again. “It’s like you’re reading my mind, Doc.”
“I guess my point,” Maxwell said, “is that I realize your mother’s concerns may not be warranted. As one who knew your brother, I always wondered whether there was a deeper truth to what happened.” He inhaled, full of curiosity, but not certain he wanted the answer. “Have you actually identified some suspects?”
A hand raised, Whitlock said, “Doctor, so we’re clear, I appreciate you trying to help my mother out. But if I tell you anything, I can’t give you the slightest bit of information about an ongoing investigation.”
“I understand,” Maxwell replied. “I guess what I’m really wondering is whether this investigation is yours alone, or whether if I walk out this door and ask your supervising officer, he would verify that he’s aware of it too.”
Whitlock’s eyes narrowed and he took a step toward Maxwell. “Are you threatening me?”
Maxwell stood tall on his own feet, removing his back from its perch against the wall. “I’m asking a question, Detective, one whose answer could put your mother at ease.”
Whitlock frowned as he paced slowly around his own chair. “How would that work exactly?”
“Look,” Maxwell said, “you mother’s main fear is that you’re going off half-cocked on some misguided mission to avenge Eddie. I’m saying if you can look me in the eye and tell me that you’re operating with the approval of your superiors, and that you’ve got some actual suspects under investigation, I’ll tell your mother she can relax.”
Whitlock walked around to Maxwell’s side of the table, then took a seat against it. Arms crossed, he stared toward the ground, his tone at the volume of a whisper. “How’s this? I have more than one witness indicating that my brother was attacked in some way by a group of your fellow classmates the night of his accident. I am still very much building the case, sir, but rest assured that I do have some very real suspects in view, some of them based on their own statements to me.”
My classmates? Ears ringing, Maxwell tried to focus on being true to his word. “That sounds pretty convincing. So you’ve obtained agreement from your superiors that this merits a formal investigation, a reopening of the case?”
Arms hanging loose at his side, Whitlock walked to within an inch of Maxwell’s wingtip shoes. “The case isn’t completely built yet, Doc.” Matching Maxwell’s stare, he said, “I’ve already told you more than I should have, given that you could walk out of here and tell my lieutenant, for all I know. I’m asking you not to do that. Give me a few days; I’m confident I’ll have enough evidence then to present it to my superiors.”
Maxwell crossed his arms. “How will I know you’ve done this?”
Whitlock cocked an eyebrow. “Do you read the papers, watch the news? Because, believe me, when the media gets a wind of who these suspects are, they’ll eat this investigation up.”
22
This has been really nice,” Julia said to Maxwell, shifting so that she was facing him more directly as they stood amidst the standing-room-only crowd in the sanctuary of Bread of Life, Jake’s church. “Thank you for the invitation.”
“No, let me thank you,” Maxwell replied as he continued clapping for the gospel hip-hop act that had just completed its set. After what had turned out to be an enjoyable platonic date, he grappled with whether to come totally clean about their mission tonight. He decided again not to go into it, though, for fear of ruining a good time.
“I want to make sure you get to say hi to Jake,” he said once a closing prayer had been offered by the church’s youth minister. “Lyle’s around here somewhere too, in his capacity as a deacon.”
Julia squinted playfully. “That’s interesting. Lyle’s a deacon, and you aren’t? Aren’t you a member here too? Why wouldn’t you qualify?”
“Slow down.” Maxwell smiled, stepping aside to let Julia exit their pew first. “I’ve only been back in Dayton a few months. I haven’t formally joined any church yet. I’m kind of migrating back and forth between Bread of Life and Omega.”
“Amber’s trying to get me to switch our membership to Omega,” Julia said, shaking her head. “Their youth ministry is something else, she just may talk me into it yet.” She checked her watch. “I don’t mean to be rude, Maxwell, but it’s a long haul from here back to the city. I don’t really have time to wade through a receiving line in order to shake Jake’s hand.”
“Then let’s move on him now,” Maxwell said, gently clasping hands with Julia and guiding her past one clump of people, then another. Finally they stood just behind Jake, who continued to patiently endure the complaints of a twenty-something mother, one who seemed upset about her son being disciplined recently in Sunday school. Maxwell hovered behind his friend for a few seconds, then tapped him on the shoulder.
“Hey there,” Jake replied when he turned to face Maxwell. “Didn’t I tell you it would be a good show?”
“Yup.” Maxwell stood just in front of Julia, eager to delay Jake’s recognition of her. “Makes me all the more happy I brought a date.”
“Ah,” Jake replied after turning back to ask the complaining mother to give him a minute. “So where’s the lucky lady? She wouldn’t happen to be anyone I know, eh?”
“Let’s see,” Maxwell said, brow furrowed for effect as he ushered Julia over to his friend. “You remember Julia Turner, or should I say Dr. Julia Turner?”
Jake’s eyes grew wide for a fraction of a second, but he recovered quickly as he shook hands with Julia. “Dr. Turner, it’s good seeing you. I think we run across each other every few months or so. Guess that has to do with us both being servants of the people.”
“Servants of the people, or politicians?” Julia replied, a wry smile on her lips. “I guess we’re really both when it comes down to it.”
“Well, again, good seeing you,” Jake said, his dazed expression making Maxwell momentarily embarrassed for him.
Once Julia and Jake had shaken hands good-bye, Maxwell extended one of his own to the pastor. “Once I walk Julia to her car, can I get a minute of your time? Have an important question for you.”
The wary look in Jake’s eyes indicated he knew the topic. “Give me five minutes and come by my office,” he said. “Have a good night, Julia.”
Jake was seated at his desk when his secretary let Maxwell in. Keeping his back to his visitor, he asked, “You think she had any idea how uncomfortable that exchange was?”
“Oh, no doubt.” Maxwell marched around the desk, planted his feet once he stood opposite Jake’s plush leather chair. “Did you get my point, matchmaker extraordinaire?”
“You were crystal-clear,” Jake replied, pulling a Snickers bar from a hidden desk drawer. “I get it. You’re in love with Dr. Turner, to the point that a supermodel-type like young Lala pales by comparison.” He snared a huge bite of the chocolate. “It’s your world, Maxwell. I pray you two are happy.”
Maxwell reared back, searching his friend’s face as if it were a puzzle. “Just what were you guys thinking, sending her over to hit on me?”
“Excuse me, Malcolm X, but you’re the one who was on his high horse about finally dating black women. I just thought before you walked the aisle with Julia, you might sample a few more options.”
“Jake, this doesn’t make sense.” Maxwell paced to his friend’s office window, balled hands on his own hips. “All I ever said is that I should have the right to date Julia, and that her color shouldn’t be an obstacle.” He turned back toward Jake. “Why is this such a big deal to you?”
“It’s . . . not.” Matching Maxwell’s cold stare, Jake stood, his
tie swinging with his sudden movements. “I told you, man —”
The office door swung open suddenly, and Lyle barged across the threshold. “Here you are,” he said, stepping swiftly toward Jake’s desk. Standing on the balls of his feet, eyes hopping back and forth between his two friends, Lyle pointed at Maxwell. “I knew you were up to no good when I saw you take a seat with Julia.”
Maxwell put his hands on his hips and frowned up at Lyle. “I have this covered, okay? I know you helped put that Lala girl up to flashing me, Lyle —”
“Hey,” Lyle replied, “we had no clue she was gonna go buck wild like that.”
“Whatever. Bottom line, I know you’re not the one driving this. Jake’s been the one acting pissy from the moment I mentioned dating Julia. Why are you all up in my business, Pastor?”
Lyle looked over at Jake, eyes narrowing. “Yeah, man, why are you all up in his business?”
“Stay out of this, Lyle,” Jake replied. Maxwell was surprised to hear Jake’s tone fill with noticeable anger.
“Okay, what am I missing?” Maxwell looked between his two friends, nearly overwhelmed at the height of the wall separating them from him. “What do you know about Julia that I don’t? Is she still married? Is her ex a psychopath? Is she gay? What?”
“No,” Jake replied, swallowing the last of his Snickers and flicking the wrapper into a nearby trash basket. “None of that.”
“Ignore this knucklehead,” Lyle said, flicking an exasperated gaze toward Jake. “He’s a pastor, Maxwell, a man of the people. Overworked, underpaid, and in case he hasn’t mentioned, figuring out how to pay for daughter number five who’s due in about seven months.”
“Lyle,” Jake replied, standing and loosening his tie, “that’s not your business to share. I was going to tell Maxwell in another month, once Meghan hits her second trimester.”
“Makes sense,” Maxwell said, shaking his head and walking over toward Lyle, who was still standing near the office door. “You only tell your closest couple of friends about a pregnancy this early. I’m clearly not in that club.”
“Come on, Maxwell.” Jake raised his voice enough that Maxwell paused and turned back toward him. “It wasn’t like I planned to tell Lyle before you, it just came up in another conversation.”
“I’m sure it did,” Maxwell replied, pacing a path in front of Jake’s desk, his hands at his sides. “Probably in the same conversation where you told Lyle the real reason you think I should steer clear of Julia.” Snorting involuntarily in disgust, Maxwell pivoted toward the door.
“Hey.” Jake bolted from behind his desk, nearly meeting Maxwell at the door. Placing a hand to his friend’s shoulder, the pastor spoke in increasingly hushed tones. “You need to understand, man, this is complicated. I’m not trying to hate on Julia, okay? It’s just that there’s some things you don’t know, things that could get in the way of you two being happy.”
Maxwell turned cold eyes on Jake’s pleading ones. “Things such as what —exactly?”
Jake dared a glance toward Lyle before dropping his eyes to the floor. “I —I . . . well, it’s politics more than anything, I guess.” He glanced toward Lyle again before steadily matching Maxwell’s stare. “Between you and me, I think her mission to save Christian Light is doomed, totally misguided. I’ve held back on sounding too cynical about it out of respect for you, but, honestly, I think she’s wasting her time and that of all your fellow volunteers.”
Maxwell shook his head, looking from one friend to the other. “Is that it?” When Lyle shrugged and Jake nodded deliberately, he cuffed them each playfully on the shoulder. “Julia’s a big girl, she can take criticism worse than that.”
“Maybe she took early criticism from you,” Lyle said, “but she also used to have a crush on you. You think she’ll want to hear back talk from either of us?”
“No better time than now,” Maxwell said, pulling his cell phone from his jacket and pulling up Julia’s number, “to find out.”
23
I’m proud of you, son,” Marcus said as he and M.J. stepped from the family Escalade. “You’re responding to all this like a pro, a real champ.”
“Like I keep reminding you, Dad,” M.J. replied, “I’m a few months away from hitting the big one-eight. I know how to handle myself.” He was getting pretty tired of reminding the old man of this.
Marcus frowned as he stepped alongside his son. “Life is about more than ‘handling’ yourself. As heirs with Christ, it’s about knowing when to handle ourselves and when to let God handle things.”
“Oh.” M.J. tipped his head back, winking at his father. “Like you let God handle things with that crooked cop, huh?”
“I reacted in the flesh, and I was wrong,” Marcus replied, grimacing as the words escaped through his tightly set mouth. “So that’s a case where you can learn what not to do from my example. By threatening Whitlock, I only inflamed the situation. That’s also why your mother and I had to finally tell you exactly what was going on, when we would have preferred keeping you out of all this.”
“Dad, you’re not listening.” M.J. took his larger father by the shoulder, slowing him to a halt as Ohio State University football fans rushed past from every direction. “I can handle knowing about this maniac, the fact that he’s used me to threaten Mom if she won’t confess to hurting his brother. I just thank God that the situation is already resolved, now that she and Aunt Julia got those lawyers.”
“Yes, well, it’s not a hundred percent resolved yet,” Marcus replied, patting his son’s back and heading toward the Buckeyes’ stadium again. “It will take some time to figure all the legal implications involved while your mother and Aunt Julia lay out the facts to their lawyers, and then to the police.”
“What are you saying?” M.J. felt his nostrils tighten. His parents had told him about the detective’s harassment of his mother, about the threats the cop had made on M.J.’s life, but he’d been given the impression that his mother was out of harm’s way. It wasn’t her fault that Whitlock’s little brother had been a perv all those years ago, a racist pig who’d viewed M.J.’s mother as an object he could just claim for his own. Punk had gotten what he deserved.
“M.J., never mind,” Marcus replied as they finally arrived at the stadium’s main gate. Zipping his winter coat all the way up to his chin, he surveyed the crowd around them. “Look, I didn’t mean to worry you further. Your mother will be fine, I’m sure of it. All she needs from you and me is to stay out of trouble.” His eyes scanned the horizon before them, blocks and blocks teeming with fans bundled in winter-weather coats colored in OSU scarlet and gray.
M.J. frowned but kept his thoughts to himself. Here he thought they’d leveled with him for once, treated him like an adult, and now it was clear his parents had been selective with the truth. Mom was probably still in some type of legal trouble, and he was supposed to do what —sit at home and pray about it?
As his eyes focused on Donald and Dante in the distance, the only figures in the crowd sporting black leather jackets and, in Dante’s case, sunglasses, M.J. remembered grimly the duty he was assigned today.
His father had been convinced an OSU game was a perfect setting for him to cut his cousin loose. “I don’t want you hanging out with him just anywhere, least of all anywhere right in Dayton,” Marcus had said when explaining how he’d come into four tickets to the Buckeyes’ last home game of the season. “This is a good way for us to gather as fathers and sons, keep the vibe positive, but to let you tell Dante in no uncertain terms that you can’t associate with him again, at least not until he truly cleans up his life.”
Slumped on his bed, M.J. had cast a weary gaze back at his dad. “What kind of a spiritual encouragement is that to him, to say I’m dissin’ him until he lives according to my view of what’s right?”
“M.J.,” Marcus had replied, failing to hide the impatience in his voice, “this is about you first and foremost. As much as we’ve talked about your interest in deepening your
walk with God, the one thing we’ve always stressed is that being ‘born again’ is more than just a catchphrase. When the Lord comes into your life, and when the Holy Spirit fills you, you become a new type of person. And that new type of person can’t have the same old friends from before.”
Around the end of the first quarter, M.J. had either built up his nerve, or was just ready to get it over with. Popping Dante’s shoulder, he nodded up toward the concession stands. “You wanna go grab some hot dogs?” Following his shorter, skinnier cousin up the aisleway, he struck just as they neared the first beer stand. “Yo, D,” he said, stepping back a few paces, “need to rap to you about all the stuff your pop and my parents have been trippin’ about.”
“Hey, man, I got it,” Dante replied, shrugging and reaching for his cell phone. “Ah, little shorty from last night ringin’ me up already.” He eyed the phone, then pocketed it again. “She can wait. I’m just telling you, M.J., I get it. I know your parents think I’m a bad influence on you.” He jabbed playfully, his fist landing lightly on his cousin’s shoulder. “You not gon’ let that cramp your style, though, right?”
“Well, it’s not that simple anymore, man.” M.J. was ashamed to feel his hands sliding deep into his jeans pockets, a sign of unusual anxiety on his part. “Dante, look, you’re my dog, you know that, and on top of that, we’re blood, so I’ll always be here for you. The thing is, man, I got to look out for myself at the same time. So what I’m sayin’ is, until you make some moves to stop the pushin’, until you can chill out some, my faith in God tells me I gotta keep some new company.”
“Keep some new company?” The crescent scar over his left eye dancing, Dante opened his mouth wide and roared in laughter. “Don’t tell me those words weren’t put in your mouth by one of your parents. Come on, baby, just be real with your old cuz.”
God Only Knows Page 14
