Friends & Foes

by ReShonda Tate Billingsley

  Rachel paused, blinked, thought. “You made up some excuse not to go with me into Pastor Griffith’s building.” She frowned. “What’s really going on, Jasmine?”

  Jasmine sighed. “Look, Rachel, I was in New York, minding my own business. If I was trying to do something to you, I wouldn’t have flown halfway across the country to help you. If I was trying to hurt you, I wouldn’t have come up with all of these ideas. So you need to know, if you keep coming at me like this, I’ll just get on the plane, go home, and maybe send you a letter when you get your prison number assigned. Because if you don’t take care of this, trust . . . you will end up in jail.”

  Rachel’s lips were pressed together as if she was holding back the verbal whip-ass she wanted to give to Jasmine. She slammed the door, then trotted across the wide street. Rachel had to pass one, two, then three buildings before she got to the walk-up that was Eleanor’s.

  Jasmine laughed as Rachel disappeared behind the glass door of the building. Rachel may have destroyed the server, but this was still working out. Depending on how that server worked, Rachel could very well be on the video today. (Jasmine had taken great pains to stay out of sight when she broke the table.) So it would still show that Rachel was in the building, just not on the day the pastor disappeared. But the question would be raised . . . What was she doing back?

  And even without the server, the concierge still saw her and Jasmine was sure that the valet did, too, since Rachel had parked the car and was wearing the stand-out ghetto ninja gear. Yup, two people would be able to say that Rachel had been back in Chicago asking crazy questions. And now Eleanor would make three. When Jasmine contacted the police anonymously and put them on Rachel’s trail, there would be enough questions as to why this woman was so interested in videos and the missing pastor.

  As she waited, Jasmine glanced around. Eleanor may have only lived five miles from her father, but this was a world away. Just blocks from where the Robert Taylor homes had stood, the neighborhood still hadn’t gone through gentrification and as Jasmine took in the brick building with cardboard covering some of the windows that she sat in front of, she wondered if she should have gone with Rachel, rather than just sit here like a target.

  Glancing at the ignition, she frowned. Dang . . . Rachel had taken the key. She tightened her coat around her as if that would give her some kind of protection. She should have told Rachel to just ask a question or two and not sit down for a cup of tea.

  Jasmine’s gaze moved to the other side of the street and her eyes fixed on two men approaching. There was nothing that made either of them stand out or seem out of place. Two black men, in their twenties, one with a short haircut, the other with locks. One tall and lean, the other muscular. Both in jeans and dark leather jackets.

  Nothing special, except for the way they walked. Their swagger was tough, determined, as if they were on their way to take care of serious business.

  Jasmine checked the car locks, just to make sure that she was safe inside. The moment she turned her eyes back to Eleanor’s building, the door opened and Rachel walked out.

  That was fast, Jasmine thought and wondered if Eleanor had even been home. Whatever. Sitting in that rental car had Jasmine ready to agree with Rachel. It was time to get out of Chicago.

  But then . . .

  Rachel took two steps down just as the men Jasmine had seen jumped in front of her. She watched Rachel try to sidestep out of their way, but they blocked her.

  There were words. Rachel backed up. Then there was the scream.

  Jasmine grabbed the handle of the rental car, jumped out, and yelled, “Hey!” She dashed across the street as fast as her boots allowed, yelling all the way. “Hey! Get away from her!”

  She was still feet away when the men stepped back, jumped down the steps, and ran in the opposite direction. Jasmine’s gaze followed them, but that was as close to the thugs as she planned to get.

  She ran the rest of the way to Rachel. “Are you okay?” Jasmine asked.

  Rachel stood frozen, with her back pressed against the brick wall. Her eyes were filled with tears and her lips trembled.

  “It’s okay,” Jasmine said softly. If she had liked the girl just a little bit more, she would have given her a hug. Instead, she came close as she rounded her arm across Rachel’s shoulders. “You’re okay,” she assured her as she led her down the steps.

  At the car, Jasmine put Rachel into the passenger seat. Then she took the key and slid into the driver’s side. It wasn’t until she tried to stick the key into the lock that Jasmine realized her hands were shaking, too.

  “What was that?” Jasmine asked as she twisted the car away from the curb. She wanted to ask Rachel more, but she also wanted to get away from this place as fast as she could. “What did they want? Your wallet?”

  The light was red at the end of the street and Jasmine was tempted to run through it anyway. But as she waited, she turned to Rachel who sat still stiff, still stunned.

  “It’s okay, Rachel,” Jasmine said, wishing there was more that she could have done to assure her. “You got away. You’re safe. All they did was take your wallet, right?”

  For the first time, Rachel moved. She shook her head, and now the tears fell from her eyes. “They didn’t want my wallet.”

  Oh, God! This was going to be even more traumatic. Were they going to try to rape her?

  Rachel said, “They told me that they know what’s going on with Pastor Griffith and if I didn’t tell them what they wanted to know, that I would be the one who would end up dead next.”

  “What?” Now Jasmine was really trembling.

  “They said they knew I’d come back to take care of the business and they wanted to know what I knew.”

  “What kind of business? What are you supposed to know?”

  “I don’t know,” Rachel cried. “But they think I’m involved. Jasmine, what is going on?”

  She wanted to cry with Rachel. This was not the way this was supposed to go down. All Jasmine wanted was to get Rachel in a little bit of trouble. Just enough to make Lester have to step down.

  But this was much more than trouble. This was knee-deep danger. Jasmine shook her head. This was exactly what Mae Frances had warned her about.

  “I’m afraid, Jasmine,” Rachel whispered. “How did they know I was in Chicago? How did they know that I was going to be at Eleanor’s apartment at that moment?”

  “Did you talk to Eleanor?”

  Rachel shook her head. “She wasn’t home, but I left her a note.” She paused and hit herself on her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Oh, no. I left my name and cell number for her to call me. So those thugs have my information. Who are these people and what am I gonna do?”

  It was her tone, it was the way she sat, it was her tears that flowed faster than any river that made Jasmine’s heart break. But she had to give it to the girl; at least Rachel was still standing. Jasmine was sure that she would’ve fainted if those men had stepped to her that way, with all of that information.

  “Don’t worry, Rachel,” Jasmine said sincerely. “We’re going to figure this out. I promise you. I’m going to help you.”

  And when the light turned green, Jasmine sped through the intersection, knowing that she’d just told Rachel the truth. This was one of those situations where she could pick on Rachel, she could bring Rachel down, but no one else could.

  Jasmine had no idea how she was going to make her promise come true, but she would.

  From this point forward, she and Rachel would be on the same team. No longer enemies, though Jasmine wasn’t trying to be the girl’s friend. At least not completely.

  No, they wouldn’t be friends, but they wouldn’t be enemies, either. They’d be frenemies, just doing whatever they had to do to make this right.

  Chapter

  SEVENTEEN

  Rachel toyed with the spinach salad that sat in front of her. She felt like they needed to be doing something—searching for clues, calling for help . . .
running for the hills—anything but sitting in this restaurant, sipping tea and wolfing down salads.

  “Rachel, you have to eat something,” Jasmine said. Her tone was gentle, yet persuasive. It almost reminded Rachel of her mother. Rachel felt her eyes mist at the thought of her mother. Loretta Jackson was probably turning over in her grave at the predicament her daughter had found herself in.

  “I told you, I’m not hungry,” Rachel muttered, moving the leaves around with her fork.

  Jasmine reached over and gently touched Rachel’s hand. “You’ve got to keep your strength up.”

  Rachel glanced up at Jasmine and for the first time since she’d met the woman, she felt a real connection. She didn’t know if it was just because they were bonded by this disaster, or if Jasmine was being genuine. Either way, she was simply grateful for Jasmine’s presence.

  “I just don’t have an appetite,” Rachel finally replied.

  “I understand that,” Jasmine responded. “But you’re not going to be able to think straight if you’re famished. We’ve been running around all day and you haven’t eaten anything.”

  Rachel exhaled briefly, then forced a forkful of spinach into her mouth. She chewed, swallowed, then said, “So what’s the plan?” At this point Rachel had no clue what they were doing. If she had it her way, she’d go straight to the airport, get on a plane, and head back to Houston like she’d never known anyone named Pastor Earl Griffith. But Jasmine was right. Her ignoring it didn’t mean it would go away. She couldn’t take this drama back to Houston and embarrass Lester, her father, and her whole church family. No, she and Jasmine needed to figure out what in the world was going on. Those men today had looked like they weren’t playing around; and the fact that they knew Rachel was in Chicago, let alone at Eleanor’s apartment, meant that these weren’t some two-bit hustlers.

  “I don’t have a plan because I thought we were getting the video, talking to Eleanor, and leaving,” Jasmine said.

  “Then what are we going to do?” Rachel said.

  “That’s what we’re here to talk about,” Jasmine snapped.

  Any other time, Rachel might have told Jasmine off for snapping at her, but the situation was tense, so Jasmine’s angst was understandable. “The first question is, Who would want Pastor Griffith dead?” Rachel finally said.

  Jasmine’s eyes flashed knowingly and Rachel leaned in and narrowed her eyes. “Jasmine, do you know something?”

  Jasmine didn’t respond as she tensed up.

  “This is serious. If you know something, you need to tell me,” Rachel said in a panic. If Jasmine knew something and was leading her further into danger . . .

  Suddenly, Jasmine relaxed. “Of course I don’t know anything. I know what you know.”

  Rachel was just about to say something else when her cell phone vibrated. She glanced down, noticed the 312 number, and froze.

  “It’s a Chicago number,” Rachel said softly.

  Jasmine motioned for her to answer it. “It’s probably Eleanor.”

  Rachel inhaled slowly. Of course it was Eleanor. She had just left the woman a note to call.

  She picked up the phone and spoke into it. “Hello.”

  “Yeah, this is Eleanor Griffith,” the woman said. She sounded young and her tone was ripe with worry. “I got your message. Why are you asking about my father? Do you know where he is?”

  Rachel paused as she tried to gather her thoughts. “Umm, I’m with the American Baptist Coalition,” she stammered, shrugging at Jasmine. Shoot, she hadn’t thought a lot of this whole plan all the way through. She just wanted to clear her name. “Well, we were just concerned. We heard that your father was missing.”

  The woman let out a small sob, like she’d been holding it in. “He is. And my gut tells me something is wrong. He wouldn’t have just up and disappeared.”

  Jasmine eyed Rachel, probably anxious to know what the woman was saying.

  “So, do you have any idea what could’ve happened to him?”

  “I don’t know. I filed a police report this morning.”

  “Can you think of anyone who would want to harm him?”

  “No. My father worked hard in the church. He committed his life to God, to the church. And he was very proud of me. I had an event that he was supposed to be at and he didn’t show up.” She was actually in full-fledged crying mode now.

  “Maybe something just came up,” Rachel said.

  “That’s what I thought at first. But my dad checked on me every day,” she said, her voice cracking. “I haven’t heard from him. Something is not right.”

  “Maybe he’s with some friends.” Rachel knew she didn’t sound convincing, but she had to try to gather as much information as she could.

  “I’ve talked to everyone. No one has heard from him. His girlfriend doesn’t even know where he is.”

  Rachel raised an eyebrow. Girlfriend? She didn’t know Pastor Griffith had a girlfriend.

  “Look, I gotta go,” Eleanor continued. “I thought you might’ve had some information or something.”

  “No, we just wanted to offer our assistance. Let us know if there’s anything we can do to help.”

  Rachel hung up and relayed the details of the conversation to Jasmine.

  “Okay, so that means neither Eleanor nor the police are on to you,” Jasmine said.

  “On to me?” Rachel hated that Jasmine made it sound like she was some kind of criminal hiding from police.

  “Ladies, is there anything else I can get for you?” the waitress asked, approaching their table. Both Rachel and Jasmine turned to reply when Rachel’s eyes caught the television just above the bar.

  “Oh, my God!” Rachel jumped up and raced to the bar.

  Jasmine, who’d quickly followed her, said, “What?”

  “Look,” Rachel said, pointing to the TV. It was the local nightly news and the anchor was talking as a picture of Pastor Griffith flashed on the screen. “Can you turn that up, please?” Rachel asked the bartender, who picked up the remote and pumped up the volume.

  “A Southeast minister is missing tonight and authorities need your help in locating the woman last seen with him. Prominent pastor Earl Griffith was last seen at his home in the exclusive South Shore Drive community. Police aren’t saying foul play is involved, but they tell WGN that they are looking to question an unidentified woman who is believed to have been with the minister just before he came up missing. The woman is described as a black female, about five-six, one hundred and forty pounds, with curly brown hair.”

  Rachel watched in stunned horror as the anchor continued talking. “Police say they may be close to identifying the woman, but have yet to release those details. Of course, we’ll stay on top of the story and keep you posted.”

  “Jasmine, what are we going to d—” Rachel turned around to face Jasmine and was shocked to find her gone. Jasmine was back at their table, gathering up her things.

  “Did you see that?” Rachel asked, pointing toward the TV.

  Jasmine took out two twenties and tossed them on the table. “I saw it.”

  “So what are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m going home.” She started walking toward the exit.

  Rachel grabbed her arm. “You can’t leave.”

  Jasmine spun toward her. Rachel couldn’t be sure, but was that fear she saw in Jasmine’s eyes?

  “Look, Rachel, this is turning into more than I bargained for. I want to help you.” She took a deep breath. “I mean, I never thought I’d be saying this, but I genuinely do want to help. But this”—she pointed to the TV—“I can’t get caught up in this madness.”

  Rachel couldn’t help it. The dam burst and all the tears came flooding out.

  Jasmine released a small groan, then stepped toward Rachel and took her into her arms. “Okay, please stop crying,” she said, awkwardly rubbing Rachel’s back. Rachel wanted to stop, but everything just came to a peak. The whole day had been too much and now
the one person she had in her corner was about to bail on her. She simply didn’t have the strength to go through this alone.

  “I-I’m sorry,” Rachel sniffed, trying to pull herself together.

  Jasmine exhaled, shifted her purse to her other arm, and said, “Don’t be. Like I said, we’ll figure this out.”

  “Y-you’re not going to leave?”

  It took everything in her power, but Jasmine finally said, “No, I told you we’re, we’re”—she cleared her throat, swallowed—“we’re a team,” she continued. “We’ll figure this out, together.”

  Chapter

  EIGHTEEN

  I’m not sure,” Jasmine said into the phone as she paced the width of the hotel room. “I don’t know how much longer Yvette wants me to be here.”

  “Well, what is it exactly that Yvette wants you to do?” her husband asked.

  “A couple of interviews,” Jasmine said, purposefully being vague with Hosea. “And she might even get us another shot with Oprah. But if she does, it’ll have to happen quickly. That’s why she wants me to stay close by, you know?”

  Jasmine had tried to leave her lying-to-my-husband-all-the-time days behind, but there was always something that pulled her back to the woman she used to be. This wasn’t her fault; she hated that the lies slipped so easily from her mouth, but these untruths were being told for a good cause.

  “Okay, darlin’,” Hosea said, sounding as if he believed every word Jasmine said. “But tell Yvette to hurry up. The kids miss you and I miss you the most.”

  “There you go. Making me want to hop on the next plane back to New York.”

  “It’s true,” he said. “This house is not the same without you.”

  “Well, I’ll call tonight so that I can speak to Jacquie and Zaya. And maybe by then, I’ll have a better idea on when I’ll be home.”

  “Perfect,” he said. “Oh, and call Mae Frances. When I told her this morning that you’d gone back to Chicago, she was upset.”

  “Really?” Jasmine closed her eyes as she remembered the last conversation she’d had with her best friend two days ago. The conversation that had warned her to stay away from Chicago. The conversation that had warned her that there was so much danger here.