Between Brothers

by C. Kelly Robinson

  “Come in, Mr. Barnes and Ms. Richards. Can you wait here while I go and look up your files? You guys never send the same person for checks, but I’ll look at the authorized checklist to verify you’re on there. I’ll just be one minute.”

  Larry’s mind whirred into action. “Uh.” There was no way they’d complete their mission if Betty checked that list. How to keep this train from going off track?

  “I feel faint.” Sheila touched her hand to her forehead, affecting the believable aura of someone growing green around the gills. “Where is your nearest rest—”

  Larry was overcome with admiration as Sheila spewed what had to be her entire breakfast across Betty’s pantsuit, the goo and spittle running down to join the puddle that lay at her own feet. She slumped quickly to the floor. “Oh, I knew something looked funny about that bagel I bought this morning . . .”

  Revolted but concerned, Betty blinked rapidly before coming to. “Oh, dear, let, let me help you up and show you to the ladies’ room. We’ve both got some cleaning to do! Oh, dear . . .” She stopped in the midst of pulling Sheila to her feet, seemingly realizing that a trip to the rest room would leave the office exposed to the strange black man. “Um, Mr. Barnes, would you stay here and watch the office while I take your associate to get cleaned up quick? There’s no cash or anything in here, so there’s no real danger.”

  Larry stifled a smirk at her candor. “Um, no problem, ma’am. I’m really sorry. Ms. Richards just found out she was pregnant a few days ago. You know how it is.” He flashed a wink at Sheila as she scowled at him from behind Betty’s trusting face.

  As soon as the door shut behind him, Larry moved into warp speed. He had glimpsed three tall shelves full of large plastic binders as soon as they stepped into the central lobby. Surrounding the lobby were five cubicles that separated the bean counters from one another. He burst past the first cubicle to the row of shelves and quickly scanned the titles printed on the side of each binder. Not until he had come to the third shelf did he see the magic words: Check Register. He grabbed hungrily at the most recent register and placed it on the shelf at eye level. He didn’t really think Eldridge would have been arrogant enough to cut Orange’s checks out of Develcorp’s account, but he figured anything was possible; he had a feeling Eldridge was no Einstein.

  By the time Betty knocked at the office door several minutes later, Larry was standing calmly against the wall just inside the main entrance, in plain view. He imagined he was the perfect picture of innocence. “Uh, is everyone okay now?”

  Whisking her rotund form into the office, Betty smiled innocently. “Well, I don’t reek anymore, and Ms. Richards is past the worst of it, aren’t you, dear?”

  Proffering a weak smile, Sheila reached for Betty’s hand. “Thank you so much, Betty. I really have to go home and rest. I’ll go lie down in the lobby while I let Calvin get the check.” She shot Larry a smile that dared him to get out of that one.

  Moving suddenly to help prop Sheila up, Larry smiled sheepishly at Betty, glad he’d done his homework. “Actually, Betty, I’m embarrassed to admit something. While you were in the rest room, I opened up my wallet to get you something to reimburse you for the cost of that lovely suit. I don’t imagine those types of stains come out easily.”

  Betty’s eyes brightened as Larry handed her two hundred-dollar bills. He had guessed right; she probably knew the market value of that pantsuit wasn’t half of what she was getting. “Oh, oh, Calvin, this isn’t necessary—”

  “But it is. You didn’t have to be so gracious to us. Besides which, looking into my wallet revealed the embarrassing fact that I don’t have my driver’s license on me today. Unfortunately, company policy forbids me from taking any property of the company to my house, so I’d have to deposit the check today. I can’t very well do that without my license and account information now, can I?” Larry threw out a goofy chuckle.

  Betty bought it. “Oh, dear, well, what can you do? Sorry you had to go through this trouble. We’ll have the check when you come back Monday.” She fingered Larry’s C-notes. “You two have a good weekend now.”

  As they made their way toward Eldridge’s office, Sheila elbowed Larry. “You’re just a born liar, aren’t you? If this wasn’t for such a good cause, I’d report you to the Highland student body!”

  “Who are you to talk, Miss Hurl-on-Request! How in the hell did you do that?”

  “Let’s just say years of growing up around my ignorant male cousins finally paid off. But I’m still not in your league!”

  Larry pulled her back into the dark corner opposite Eldridge’s office. “Nobody does it better, baby. Signed, sealed, and delivered, I have pages from Develcorp’s check registers from the last four months, showing disbursements to one Rolly V. Orange! We’re in there!”

  Sheila lowered her voice to match his. “Should we get out of here while we can, then? Would it be best to give this info to Sheryl Gibson, and let her handle it from here?”

  Larry’s blood was reaching a pleasant boil now, adrenaline from the mounting discoveries bolstering his already bold nature. “Why make Sheryl do unnecessary work, girl? Watch and learn.”

  “Larry!” Sheila hesitated as Larry strode toward the dark corner office, strutting like a peacock at a county fair. She whispered aloud to herself, “This fool’s out of his mind!”

  Resolute, Larry faced the cherry-wood door and knocked authoritatively. “Mr. Eldridge?”

  As Sheila materialized at his side, the massive door swung open, powered by an automatic button. A quick look around revealed an office that would have made Larry senior jealous. It was the size of a small apartment, bordered on two sides by full-length windows that afforded sweeping views of the White House, the Washington Monument, and the flight of airplanes heading in and out of National Airport. To the far left was a large aquarium, teeming with fluorescent rocks, large goldfish, and an odd assortment of other swimming creatures. The mahogany-paneled wall above the aquarium was the only one that held any fixtures, namely, pictures of Eldridge with a heavyset woman and four young adults who looked like Eldridge had spit them out himself.

  Eldridge sat to the far left, at his desk; it was obvious he had been tunneling through piles of paperwork before pausing to admit his unexpected visitors. Surveying his gaunt face and knitted brow, Larry was tempted to feel sorry for the crook.

  “Who the hell are you?” Eldridge was confused by the sight of two black kids invading his space. The receptionist had said an official from HealthNotes was here. He had never worked with either of the children before him. He bolted from his chair defensively. “I’ll have security come up here right now, I don’t know you—”

  “Buzz, take a good look.” Larry sauntered up to the entrepreneur’s desk, fingering the buttons on his Hugo Boss jacket. “You know me, hell, you’ve probably studied every aspect of my life these past few weeks. Don’t play shy now.”

  Balling his fists, Eldridge was unable to stop his face from turning an even paler shade than normal. “Whitaker!”

  Sheila watched in amazement. “This guy actually knows who you are?”

  Larry stood in front of the large desk, arching his back and smiling calmly. “Of course he does, Sheila. He knows me, Brandon, Terence, and O. J., too. Don’t you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Eldridge was fuming. He wanted them out, but he was afraid to push this Whitaker kid too far. How much did he know?

  Larry began to pace Eldridge’s office as if they were business associates. “Buzz, let’s not play games. Not only am I hip to what you’ve done to throw me and my housemates off the track of your schemes, I have proof of your little games. Rolly Orange confessed to everything.”

  Eldridge folded his arms tightly. He was walking a tightrope, but no kid was going to intimidate him. “I don’t know who you’re talking about, son. And if you ever claim this conversation took place, I will deny it until the day I die. Take a guess as to whose word will stand up in court
between the two of us.”

  Unable to conceal the smoking gun, Larry snatched the check-register copies from his jacket pocket. “What’ll the court think of these, Buzz?”

  Feeling his breath grow acrid, Eldridge asserted a brave face. “Would you like me to pull one of those check copies for you, Silver Spoon? Let me assure you, each of those checks is made out to Rolly Orange, officer of Ellis Community Center. The center’s account number is even specified on every copy.”

  Holding to his best poker face, Larry smacked his lips. “What?”

  “That’s right, Einstein. Those checks are made out to support the center in its mission. I’ve been a faithful supporter for several months.”

  “For the several months since Orange came aboard, to help reduce any suspicion of your culpability. Buzz, you sly dog, you! That’s a nice cover, but you’ve got one problem. Rolly’s already told me about the way he set up a separate account in the Ellis Center’s name. He puts these checks in and then makes withdrawals for his personal use. I ain’t no fool, now.” Larry grinned as widely as he could, knowing every word was bull. He was bluffing worse than a poker player with a hand full of twos.

  Eldridge placed a hand over the speaker button of his phone. “You two can leave now, on your own, or you can leave with the aid of security. Take your pick.”

  Defying the lack of evidence before him, Larry fired his last shot. “Buzz, I suggest you enjoy taking the liberty to call security. This time tomorrow, Rolly Orange will be hidden away by the police, and they’ll be comin’ to shut you down. You always knew Orange would be the weak link, didn’t you? For the record, don’t think he caved in for the hell of it. Apparently one of his kids found out about his extra income, and one thing led to another.”

  Eldridge stood firm against the desk, trying to compose himself. This jerk kid handled himself extremely well. He was either handing him a well-spun load of bull or telling him the painful truth. “I don’t understand! How did you find all this out?”

  Larry turned and headed for the door with Sheila in tow.

  “Two things, Buzz. First, you and Orange’s little pack of lies endangered my campaign. Nobody screws up the Whitaker Master Plan without paying a price. We Whitakers believe in winning at any cost.”

  Scratching at his crew cut, Eldridge frowned. “What’s your second point, young man? I don’t have time for your little games.”

  Undaunted, Larry threw in a final bluff. “Well, Buzz, Rolly Orange discovered a conscience. He talked to me this morning, before going to the cops. Said he couldn’t let a group of young brothers, fellow Highland men, be caught up in this mess. Guess race still matters, huh?”

  Before he could undo the damage he hoped he’d done, Larry turned and disappeared out the door, with Sheila close behind. As they hightailed their way to the elevators, the crash of shattering glass—Eldridge’s aquarium?—ripped through the hallway. Larry pumped his fist enthusiastically. Mission accomplished!

  CHAPTER 28

  . . . . . . . . . . . .

  REDEMPTION

  Pitch black was all that met him when he opened his eyes. As panic filled his soul, O. J. shook his aching head gently, praying for a ray of light to break through. Slowly, his prayer was answered as the circles of ebony gave way to shimmering, blurred waves of yellow, white, and blue. In seconds his vision was focused on the beige plaid wallpaper opposite his bed. His nostrils confirmed that he was in a hospital; the smells of antiseptic, liniments, and Pine-Sol bombarded him. He had been awake off and on several times today, but he had no clue how long he had been asleep this time. He could actually feel his spine pulsating, which was an improvement from the first time he had awakened. The doctor had told him that he was probably out of the woods, that his knife wound had been fully stitched and they expected him to regain full nerve sensitivity within two to three days. He hoped the doc was right. Graduation was coming up and he was scheduled to deliver his farewell sermon at Light in two weeks.

  “O. J.?”

  He knew immediately that the voice was his father’s, heavy with anxiety and exhaustion from a long day of travel. Wincing at the pain, O. J. pivoted his head carefully so he could meet his father’s smiling, weary eyes. “He-hey, Dad.”

  His father’s leathery face beamed as he leaned over the bed. “Oh, boy, I’m praisin’ God for your health! All through the morning and afternoon, while I was travelin’, I told the Lord! I told him, you promised me in your Word that anything I ask for within your will, I can know that I already have it! I knew you were gonna pull through this, boy! Doctor says it may take you a while to heal fully, but the most important thing is you got your life and all your faculties! I need to cut a Holy Ghost rug up in here right now!”

  A familiar feeling of comforting warmth overtook O. J. In his father’s presence it was impossible to keep from viewing life through spiritual eyeglasses. It wasn’t as if his father was a stranger to adversity. Knowing all that Pastor Peters had come through made his father’s faith one of the most inspiring elements of O. J.’s life, although he had never personally shared in that faith.

  Taking a seat beside the bed, Pastor Peters adopted a more somber tone. “So, how are you really feeling?”

  O. J. tugged at his IV and shook his head. “Better, I think. Last time I woke up, Brandon was still here. I couldn’t even hold a real conversation with the brother.

  I was still woozy, I guess, from when they knocked me out and stitched up my wounds. He still around?”

  “No, he left a few minutes after I got here. It’s almost eight o’clock now, son. That boy stayed here the better part of the day with you, O. J. I thought you weren’t very close with any of your housemates.”

  “I-I really haven’t been. I got in on the house deal through Larry, we used to hit some of the same clubs freshman year. But Brandon’s saved, Dad, a real Goody Two-shoes, and I guess he proved it by looking out for me tonight.”

  “Well, praise the Lord! You never know where God has his people planted.”

  “Yeah, I suppose I’ll always owe the brother one now.” A wave of guilt swept over O. J. when he thought of how he’d taunted the Choirboy recently. And the brother had still watched his back.

  After a couple of minutes of relaxed silence passed, Peters rubbed his head of receding gray curls and said, “Now look, O. J., I’m not talkin’ about getting revenge here, but do you know who did this to you?”

  O. J. leaned back and shut his eyes tight. He’d had twelve hours of consciousness to accept reality. Keesa, a sister who adored him only months ago, had attempted to take his life. His initial reaction had been complete indignation. Who on God’s green earth did she think she was to threaten his life, his very existence, over a baby who most likely was not even his? His immediate thirst for justice had been followed by horror at the thought of what the attack would mean to his image, and his future, as a clergyman. Just about everyone had skeletons in the closet, but how many had been personally attacked by a member of their own flock? The tongues had no doubt been wagging even as he had lain there fighting for his life. He panicked at the thought of Pastor Grier’s reaction. Would he be too embarrassed to even allow O. J. back into the pulpit one last time? Would word even spread back to Atlanta, infecting his image in the minds of his home church and the other heavy-hitting clergy throughout the city? That thought alone had filled him with the desire to see Keesa Bishop pay the ultimate price for her sin against him.

  How had she even dared to go there, trying to take him out? He’d done nothing to her that he hadn’t done to tens of other women, in D.C. and back home. Granted, the only other time he’d been accused of fathering a child had been high school. Myrna Hillman had been his first, so it had been a unique sense of obligation that made him submit to a test in that case, only to find that her ex-boyfriend was the father. After that, he’d sworn he would never again let a woman yank his chain.

  How dare Keesa act like rejection was an excuse for violence! He’d never attacke
d any of the triflin’ little hos in his junior high classes, the skinny, pretty girls who had laughed at his pokey stomach and acne-ridden complexion. After a couple of years, their nos had turned to yeses, when he called himself to the ministry and quickly became the most sought-after teen preacher in Atlanta.

  By the time he’d graduated high school, O. J. had exacted his revenge. He’d had his way with one woman after another, before humiliating each one with sudden, vague rejection. That was how you got revenge—bringing someone to their knees emotionally, not knocking ’em upside the head with a blunt object.

  His father’s voice beckoned him from his reverie. “O. J.? Are you all right, son?”

  Returning to the present, O. J. opened his eyes slowly. “Dad, I-I can’t lie to you. I was attacked by a girl.”

  “Someone from the neighborhood? What did she want, money for drugs or something?”

  “No, no. She was after me.”

  His father’s face twisted into a confused frown. “After you? What do you mean, son?”

  “I mean she . . . she . . . uh, she was out to hurt me personally, maybe kill me.” Attempting to look his father in the eye, he returned his gaze to the end of his bed as he saw the look of horror on his face. “She’s been claimin’ that I got her pregnant, and I’ve been denying it.”

  His father’s eyes filled with hopeful desperation. “Oh, son, I could tell you some stories about crazy women in the church who think they can trap a preacher with wild allegations—”

  “Dad, these weren’t allegations.” O. J. choked the words out, feeling himself tear up. “I had my way with her, plenty of times. Sometimes without any protection.”

  Pastor Peters stepped back from the bed and ran his hand through the remains of his silvery Afro. “What . . . you . . . what are you saying, O. J.?”