Relentless

by Patricia Haley

  “Is there anyone else in the house?” Neither Deacon nor his wife was composed well enough to readily respond. “I asked who else is in the house.”

  “No one else,” Deacon blurted out, glad his children were at school.

  In an instant, the officer had cuffs on the deacon. “Call Maxwell Montgomery,” he told his wife. “Don’t worry, honey, this is a mistake,” he said. “I’ll go down to the police station and get this resolved.” His words seemed to comfort his wife. As he got into the car a flood of what-ifs drowned him. He blocked the flow of negativity. He’d made the right decision in reporting the bishop and Minister Simmons. There was no need for second-guessing. The truth was out in the open. He couldn’t retreat, not now, not when the church needed at least one leader to step up and let righteousness prevail. It would only take one. He relaxed in the seat. He was that one.

  Chapter 41

  Pastor Harris had been at home in his study for over two hours. The songs of praise and worship were echoing softly. His wife had come to the door repeatedly to see if he was ready for a break. He read the morning paper, which was plastered with the continued headlines about Bishop Jones and his church. When Pastor Harris finally emerged from his study, the smell of coffee lured him into the kitchen. “That smells good,” he told his wife, drawing in a big whiff.

  “Dear, you look so weary,” she exclaimed softly, turning away from the stove as he walked toward her. “Sit down, and I’ll get you a cup of coffee and something to eat.”

  “Thanks, toast and coffee is fine. I just finished my three-day fast, and I don’t feel much like eating.”

  “I know, you never do, but you have to eat something. You didn’t sleep well last night either. So much tossing and turning, and I know you got up at four this morning and came downstairs.”

  “I didn’t want to disturb you, but Greater Metropolitan is weighing heavily on my heart.”

  “There’s so much talk going on,” his wife said.

  “I know, and for some reason, I can’t get Maxwell Montgomery off my mind either. God is pressing me to pray for him and extend fellowship. I would rather have nothing to do with him and his obsession. He just seems like such a malicious man. Maybe I should say a troubled man.” Pastor Harris turned up the cup and took a sip of his coffee while glaring out the bay window. The sun was shining brightly and a bird landed on the window ledge. Pastor Harris drew closer and the bird didn’t move. It sat there completely unintimidated. The bird flapped its wings and flew near Pastor Harris, chirped and then flew away.

  “I’ve got to call Maxwell Montgomery, and I’ve got to do it today,” Pastor Harris said.

  “If God has him on your heart, be obedient,” his wife added.

  Harris had only taken two bites of the toast when he got up and dumped it in the trash.

  “Dear, you need to eat. I’ll cut up some fresh fruit, okay?”

  “I’ll eat later. I’ve got to take care of God’s business before I do anything else.” He took her into his arms and held her tightly. “I thank God for blessing me with a loving supportive wife who I can always count on.” In her arms he drew the strength needed to pick up the phone and make a necessary call. The cordless phone sitting on the island in the kitchen rang. “I’ll get it,” Harris told his wife, releasing his hold on her. “Hello, Pastor Harris speaking.”

  “Pastor, this is Sister Nelson.”

  “What can I do for you?” the pastor asked his longstanding member.

  “Praise the Lord, Pastor. I hope you’re praying for those folks over at Greater Metropolitan. What a mess for their bishop to be caught up in, selling drugs in the church; shame on him. That whole church is going to fall apart with the bishop in jail. I always knew something wasn’t right over there. They’re too big and have too much money from what I hear.” She sighed and continued. “Anyway—”

  Pastor Harris rubbed his forehead and sliced into his parishioner before she could go any further. “Sister Nelson, in a crisis like this we need to fast and pray for those of us who have made mistakes. None of us are perfect, and we all need God’s strength and direction. When one church is under attack and falls, the entire body of Christ and the community is impacted.”

  “Oh, I know, Pastor. But—”

  Pastor Harris cut her off again, determined to make his point. “Let’s pray for Greater Metropolitan and its leadership. Pray that this situation will come to a quick resolution and those members and the community will hold on to its faith in God. I believe Bishop Jones has assigned one of his senior ministers to reside over Greater Metropolitan until this situation is resolved.” Pastor Harris shot his wife a quick glance shaking his head in disappointment. “We cannot be part of the failure. We must stand together. I’m counting on you, Sister Nelson, to rebuke gossip and negativity about this situation anytime you hear or see it. I trust you will do that. I know you’re calling to talk with my wife. She’s standing right here. Have a blessed day, Sister,” he rattled off, refusing to let her spew another word of frivolous religious rhetoric.

  Pastor Harris handed the phone to his wife, kissed her on the cheek and retreated to the desk in his study. He panned his various pictures hanging on the wall. There were pictures of him preaching to large congregations, meeting with state dignitaries, but it was the one taken with Bishop Ellis Jones that resonated. Their churches and two others had held the largest recorded tent revival in the city’s Fairmount Park several years ago. People were everywhere. Many souls had been saved.

  Pastor Harris grieved for Bishop Ellis. Regardless of what he’d done, there had to be some godliness in him if he was leading people to salvation. The devil might get credit for doing many things, but saving souls from the pit of hell wasn’t one of them. Only God got that honor, and praise be to those who were committed to sharing the good news of Jesus Christ with other people. Pastor Harris believed Bishop was in that group. He wouldn’t judge another man’s struggle.

  Harris’s thoughts shifted to Maxwell Montgomery and the comments he’d made about Greater Metropolitan in recent months. The harsh and unrelenting tone bothered the pastor. He understood the attorney had a job to do, but the bitterness behind his motives was troubling. Pastor Harris prayed briefly and then picked up the phone to his private line. His faith echoed that no man was beyond God’s redeeming power.

  He continued to pray as he dialed the phone. “This is Pastor Renaldo Harris. May I please speak with Maxwell Montgomery?” He didn’t have to wait long before a man on the other end greeted him.

  “Pastor Harris, good afternoon. What can I do for you?”

  The pastor was surprised at the warm tone coming from the attorney. He felt God was already at work preparing a smooth path for their conversation. “Mr. Montgomery, thank you for taking my call.” Pastor leaned forward planting his elbows onto his desk. “I called to thank you for your efforts in the community. It is imperative that there be integrity and accountability in the church. This is the only way the community will see the church as an oasis and a resting place.”

  “Thanks for the acknowledgment; just doing my job.”

  Pastor noticed another bird sitting on the windowsill as he listened to Maxwell talk about the widespread corruption in the church. Not sure if it was the same bird, he glided to the window. The bird didn’t move, but it chirped as Pastor Harris saw a colorful rainbow gleaming beyond the bright sunlight. Inspired, he continued. “I would love to have you visit my church. I know you are a busy man, but I hope you take a Sunday off to stop in. I am sure you will be blessed.”

  “Hmm,” Maxwell responded after a few seconds. “You could look up and see me in the audience one day. I just might find a reason to stop by.”

  Pastor Harris thought he heard sarcasm bubbling up in Maxwell’s tone. He pressed forward anyway. “I certainly hope so. Actually, you’ve been on my mind quite heavily. I believe God wants to do something in your life. Heal something, restore something; God definitely has a plan for you. I will be praying for
you, and I hope to see you soon.”

  Several moments of hush hovered then Maxwell’s voice came forth. “Have a good day.”

  Pastor hung up the phone and slid to his knees in prayer. He could already tell that dealing with Maxwell Montgomery was going to require a heavy dose of patience and prayer. He hoped God would reveal a plan and show him what to do next. He believed God was going to deal with Maxwell Montgomery in some way. He didn’t know when or how, but he was confident God was using him to reach the attorney. By faith he was ready for whatever lay ahead.

  Chapter 42

  Sonya was overwhelmed. There was a flurry of activity in the office. The phone was constantly ringing since the arrests had been made at Greater Metropolitan. Briefs had to be filed and depositions had to be taken. Thank goodness she’d gotten permission to hire a temporary office assistant who could help take calls, run errands, get documents to the courthouse, and do whatever else had to be done on short notice.

  “Excuse me, Sonya,” the temp said, sitting at a makeshift desk and call center. “There’s a Steve Burton on line one.”

  Sonya was instantly nervous, searching the room to see if her boss was in the vicinity. She didn’t see him and was slightly relieved but not totally safe. “I’ll take the call in the library. Please forward the call in there for me.” Sonya thanked her assistant and rushed to the phone. She entered the library as the phone rang and grabbed it right away. “Uncle Steve, why are you calling me here?” she said, basically whispering.

  “They’re only letting me make one call.”

  “Who?” she asked desperate to get off the line.

  “I’ve been arrested. I’m in jail at the Roundhouse downtown.”

  Sonya gasped and dropped to a seat. “Oh no, Uncle Steve, what happened? What are you doing in jail?” Her uncle had always been a good, honest, churchgoing man. She couldn’t imagine any reason for him to be locked up, none. “It must be some mistake.”

  “I sure hope so,” he said.

  “Seriously, what are you doing down there?” she asked.

  “I was arrested along with the other church leaders.”

  “Those people were arrested a week ago. Are you telling me you’ve been downtown almost a week?” she said, no longer concerned with keeping her voice low.

  “Oh no, I came down this morning.”

  “Wow.”

  “Look, I don’t have much time. I’m calling because Mr. Montgomery agreed to help me if I needed it and clearly I do.”

  Sonya was sick at the thought of her dear uncle being locked up. She’d totally forgotten about her boss and all of his connections until her uncle mentioned his name. He was definitely the answer. He didn’t handle criminal cases, but he could recommend someone who did. “Let me go get him. He has to help you, Uncle.”

  “Sonya,” he blurted, “don’t tell him we’re related.”

  “I’m not worried about him knowing anymore. My top priority is getting you out. I don’t care about the rest.”

  “I’ll be fine, but I don’t want you to lose your job behind this. Please, do me a favor and don’t tell him we’re related, please, niece.”

  “All right, I won’t say anything unless I have to. Hold on before your call gets cut off.”

  She dashed from the room and went straight to her boss’s office. Sonya knocked rapidly and repeatedly until Maxwell opened his door.

  “Sonya, what’s going on? Can I help you?” he asked clearly agitated by her persistence.

  “Deacon Burton is on the phone. He’s been arrested and wants to speak with you.”

  “Really, arrested. Hmm,” he said seemingly surprised.

  She was anxious to get him on the phone. Her uncle’s call had probably ended already, but they could get him back on the line. Maxwell Montgomery had deep connections at City Hall, and she needed him to use each one to get her uncle out. He was an innocent man and didn’t deserve to spend a second more down there. She knew her boss would take care of this and her disposition settled. “He wants to speak with you.”

  “Me?” he said moving away from the door and toward his desk.

  “Yes, you,” she said firmly. “He said you offered to help him.”

  Maxwell returned to his desk and began typing into his electronic tablet. “I don’t know why he called me. I can’t help him.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked becoming more antsy and irritated. For sure her uncle’s call had been terminated by now. “He seemed pretty sure you could help him.”

  “I may have spoken hastily when I made the offer. Clearly Bishop Jones and his entire staff are dealing with a litany of charges. I couldn’t help him if I wanted to. He needs an attorney who practices criminal law, not a civil lawyer.”

  “Will you at least take the call and give him some hope?”

  “No, I won’t, and why do you care so much about what happens to the deacon?”

  This was her moment to come clean and let him know they were related. She was ready to open her mouth and let the truth soar, but her uncle’s voice rang in her ear forcing Sonya to keep quiet on the matter. “He seemed to believe you made him a promise. I truly believe he’s counting on you.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear that, but I can give you the name of a good defense attorney if it will help.”

  Her uncle wasn’t rich. There wasn’t money hanging from trees in her family. Where was Uncle Steve going to get big money for a real lawyer? Sonya was fuming. Mostly she felt guilty. It was her suggestion that he expose Greater Metropolitan. She was the one who pushed her uncle into meeting Mr. Montgomery and setting the legal action in motion. She winced at the price he was paying for being honest: a couple of nights in jail and no lawyer.

  “Thanks,” she said refraining from slamming the door off the hinges. She was steaming mad and practically running to the library only to find the line dead. She stood with the phone in her hand, pondering what to do. Her uncle needed her help and he’d have it; that was, right after she crafted her resignation letter. She’d start looking for a new job immediately. Once she got the new job, Sonya planned to hand this jerk her letter. She didn’t give two hoots about the amount of work in the queue, especially the Greater Metropolitan civil complaint they were pushing to complete and get filed. There was no way he could handle the load without her. Too bad for him. He’d better work it out with the new temp who came onboard yesterday. His needs were no longer her concern.

  She relished the image of informing him about her resignation. Then he’d get a taste of what it felt like to need help, expect it, but not get it. He’ll get his, she thought, placing the phone receiver back into its base. Not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon.

  Maxwell wanted to bask in glory after Sonya left his office. The bishop and his ministerial staff were eventually going from jail to prison for a few years. He wanted to be ecstatic, truly Maxwell did, but the joy wasn’t rising. He actually felt sorry for Deacon Burton. From what he could tell the man appeared to be pretty decent. It was as if the deacon was plastered in his mind. The image wouldn’t dissipate. Although he wasn’t happy about the predicament, Maxwell knew he couldn’t offer any assistance to the deacon without compromising the entire case and creating a conflict of interest. He’d worked too many years and had given up too much to lose perspective now. Maxwell kicked Burton out of his conscience and attempted to get back to work.

  He sighed poring over his laptop not making much progress. He was bound by the past and the grip was tightening. His father had been a decent man too, but it hadn’t saved him from prison. He scratched across his forehead with eyelids shut. Where was the help when his parents were facing prison time? No one stepped in and rescued them just because they seemed to be good people. Nobody cared about the two children they were leaving orphaned at home. Well, practically orphaned. They had no choice but to live with an aunt until their mother was released. His aunt wasn’t nurturing. He and Christine didn’t go off to school with a hug and kiss, the way their mom h
ad sent them out of the house each morning. Their aunt didn’t have much patience or money and the stench of her cigarette smoke and beer bottles made living with her unbearable. Maxwell drew in a gasp of air. To heck with Greater Metropolitan; he didn’t owe any of them a single act of kindness. Let them reap precisely what they’d sown: zero compassion.

  The only victims truly worthy of his help were people like Jill and the business owners who were unfairly rezoned from their property. They rightfully deserved substantial settlements, which were expected to bankrupt the bishop. Maxwell had no problem relying on favors when he’d asked that Jill’s involvement in the prescription drug scheme be reduced to a low-grade misdemeanor with five years probation, no fines, and no jail time. In exchange, Maxwell turned over every shred of evidence he and Garrett had gathered, saving the prosecutor months of work. Maxwell didn’t hesitate in securing the deal for Jill, although he felt the city was getting more than they deserved. He didn’t care. Jill was worth saving. He would take care of her on the civil case too. If Maxwell had his way, her restitution would also cover her stay at the best rehab facility in North America. More than getting a fat paycheck, he wanted Jill to get her life back. He made a mental note. Regardless of what happened in court, he would make sure she got treatment on his nickel for her kid’s sake. If he could save one child from being separated from a parent who actually cared, then his effort had paid off by the billions.

  Sonya knocked on the door breaking his concentration. “Yes, what do you need?” he asked somewhat agitated, flopping back and forth from the tablet to his laptop. He wasn’t interested in bantering about the deacon again and hoped she got the hint.

  “I’ll be out for the afternoon.”

  “Seriously, we have a boatload of work to get done.”

  “The temp will be here. Maybe she won’t mind picking up the extra hours,” Sonya said with a weird tone of complacency.

  “Is she a paralegal? Exactly how much can she do without your direct supervision?”