by Dijorn Moss
“You have this aura of a civil servant.”
“I thought that’s what a politician is.”
“Don’t be silly, darling. Every politician says he is a civil servant because the truth is too much for the voters to bear.” She leans into my ear. “The truth is that they are addicted to power.”
Ms. Fuller giggles as if she just let me in on an earth-shattering secret. Truth is, Ms. Fuller is not telling me something I don’t already know, but I’ll play the game nonetheless.
We dance until the end of the song, and then I bow to Ms. Fuller, who happens to be a pretty good dancer, and I got a chance to relive my youth. As I exit the ballroom, I see another servant with his eyes dead set on me.
“Mr. Dungy, Mr. Knott requests your presence at once.”
“Certainly.” I turn to Ms. Fuller and shake her hand. “It was an honor, Ms. Fuller.”
“Hon, the pleasure was all mine,” she says.
I follow the servant up the stairs through a long, dark hallway. The rest of the house is lit up, but this part of the house is dark. It’s dark so that none of the guests can wonder off upstairs unless they are being escorted by one of Knott’s servants. I’m starting to think that this is a game of Clue. After the long hallway, we then made sharp turns to the right, then down another hallway, and then a turn to the left before descending down a set of stairs where a door sits on the opposite end of the stairs.
The servant opens the door, and cigar smoke greets me as I walk into the room. Once inside, I realize that the real party was happening within this room. All of the pastors from the conference except Pastor Bryant are in attendance. Some were smoking cigars, others were enjoying the young ladies who pranced around in their lingerie. I guess this is how members of the Cloth unwind. They are too caught up in their own decadence to notice that an outsider was in their mix.
I walk over to the bar and pour myself a brandy. I’m in a room full of wolves that left their sheep’s clothing at the door. I wish a scene like this disturbed me, but it doesn’t. Over the years, I’ve grown cold, and there are very few things that surprise me now.
“What are you doing here?”
I turn around, and there stands Pastor Jackson, only he doesn’t have a smile on his face like he did the last time.
“Knott invited me.”
“Knott’s out of his mind inviting you. You’re not even a member.”
I take a good hard swallow of my brandy. “Do you think Knott cares anything about your organization?”
“Of course not. There’s not a single person in here that thinks Knott has our best interests at heart. His concern is with lining his own pockets, and as long as he lines mine and this organization’s, then we are cool.”
“What about saving souls and preaching the Gospel? Has that gotten lost in the business of making money?” I ask.
“Not for a second. One of the main complaints about the church is how it’s always asking people for money. Now, those same people don’t have problems dropping their children off at day care or having a free meal during the holidays, but let us ask them to help out, and all of sudden, they want to call us crooks. The Cloth generates enough income through our various enterprises to help keep our ministries thriving.”
“It sounds too good to be true. What’s the catch?” I ask.
“There is no catch. You see how the members worship the leaders as if they were Jesus Himself. That kind of pressure would crush a lesser man. I protect my brothers. I don’t exploit them.”
“I’m sure you don’t . . . for a handsome fee,” I say.
“And like you do your work for free? When is the last time you got a check postmarked from heaven? It takes money to change lives, and you of all people should know that.”
“I guess.” I start to scan the room to see who else has been invited to this meeting.
“You know, we both have common interests. If you want to be a part of the Cloth, I can pull some strings.”
Before I can answer Pastor Jackson’s question with an empathic “no,” a set of double doors opens up, and Randall Knott enters in a black tuxedo with a cigar and a drink in his hands.
“Gentlemen, thank you for waiting. If you wouldn’t mind following me into the next room we can begin our presentation.” Knott holds up his hands. “Not to worry, these lovely ladies will be waiting for you when we get back.”
The men laugh, and then follow Knott into the next room. I trail behind the rest of the men, and as soon as I walk through the door, another assistant closes the door and shuts all of us in.
“Gentlemen, thank you for coming. I know that’s it sad to lose a brother and a business partner like Pastor Cole. Why don’t we have a moment of silence to remember him?”
Every man bows his head, including Knott. Knott doesn’t strike me as a religious man, but a shrewd businessman who will adapt to his environment to ensure his bottom line. If we were all rabbis, he would probably have a yarmulke on his head.
“Well, I thank you again, and I know that it’s rough, but what I have to show you will be well worth it.”
Randall walks behind a table that has a sheet over it. He pulls back the sheet like a magician revealing a trick. It’s a replica of Crystal Cove, only there is a huge hotel in the corner of the island.
“I present Paradise Towers’ Hotel and Casino. This will be the premiere destination on Crystal Cove,” Knott says.
The other men in the room were amazed while I was repulsed.
“We are talking about a five-star resort with quality gambling and a beautiful view. All I ask from you gentlemen is half a million dollars per member buy in and you will, in return, receive a take of the house.”
“How are you planning to pay out our profits?” one minister asked.
“The same as usual, through Cayman accounts that will be established through shell corporations.”
The men start to nod their heads in agreement. A hotel casino on an island is a great way to make a profit.
“How long would it take for it to be built?” Pastor Jackson asks.
“I have all the permits and paperwork drawn up, and we will break ground soon. My guess, within two years we will open the doors. You, gentlemen, would have a free suite available whenever you are in town.”
The men are nodding their heads in agreement once again. There’s no way that any of these men invest in a casino in Vegas or Atlantic City; too much exposure. On a small island, however, they can operate under the radar.
“Two years seems like a long time to get a return on our investment, and a casino seems too risky.”
“I know it’s a gamble.” Knott laughs at his own bad joke. “But in all seriousness, the reason why you guys are silent partners is so that the public will not get wind of your investment. But think about the things you can do with the money that will come rolling in from this casino once it opens.”
“What about Pastor Cole?” another member asks. “Was he on board?”
That question brought a sour look to Knott’s face. He could handle any question that these so-called leaders were asking except for the obvious proverbial elephant in the room.
“Listen, fellas, full disclosure,” Knott says as he put his cigar out in a nearby crystal ashtray.
He puts his head down like he’s going to make a full confession to the murder of Pastor Cole. He then looks up and starts to blink his eyes as if to fight back the tears. I guess it’s hard for the devil to cry on cue.
“We’ve benefited a great deal from our business endeavors,” Knott says.
The members in the room start to nod and mumble in agreement. I’m the only reserved one of the bunch that’s not buying this act.
“You know the locals here have a saying. When someone is being greedy, they call that person ‘big-eyed.’ Well, there’s no simple way to put it, but that’s what the case was for Pastor Cole.”
Incredible, not only did Knott have the audacity to make such an erroneous claim, but the men in the room bought it
, hook, line, and sinker. This is the closest thing to an out-of-body experience I have ever felt.
“You gentlemen voted him as your leader, so I proposed this deal to him first. He wanted to cut you guys out of the deal for a bigger piece for himself. I rejected his offer because that was the right thing to do. Now what happened to Cole was tragic, and Lord knows what other deals he was involved in, but may God rest his soul.”
The whole room has become ablaze with chatter about Cole and his supposed “side deal” with Knott. I don’t buy it, and I think that Pastor Cole might have rejected Knott’s proposal.
“And, brothers, this is too good of a deal not to let you get a chance to invest. Just think of the people you can help with this money,” Knott says.
A closer look at the model and I realize that Randall Knott plans to break ground on the land where Janae’s house sits, which means she is all that is standing in his way.
“Then why is he here?” Pastor Jackson points directly at me.
For the first time, the gentlemen realize that I’m in the room, and they start to become nervous. Shows you how quick things can change. A minute ago, Pastor Jackson offered me a membership into the Cloth. Now he has just thrown me under the bus.
“I have retained his services to help make sure that all of our business transactions see the light of day.”
I wasn’t aware that I have even accepted an offer, or been offered one, but that’s neither here nor there, I guess. I now know what Randall Knott is planning with the Cloth. I now know why Pastor Cole was killed, and I now need to get to Janae before she’s next on the list.
Chapter Twenty-two
I am in a daze on the boat ride back from Knott’s home. I can’t believe that this group of so-called men of God are getting into bed with Randall Knott to build a casino. Lord knows how many bribes and threats Randall had to lay out in order to put this venture in play. None of these men who called themselves Pastor Cole’s friend were even disgusted by the business proposal. All they see is dollar signs in their greed, and they plan to take from their churches’ tithes and offerings to fulfill their greed. Of course, greed is an insatiable desire.
“Are you sure that this is where you want to stop?” my driver asks.
I snap out of my trance and see Janae’s home coming into the horizon. I need to warn her.
“Yes, just for a brief moment I need to see someone,” I say.
The boat pulls up to the dock, and this time I don’t have to jump out and swim. Janae’s house still looks like a jack o’ lantern, but I’m not worried about that now. My main concern is getting her to leave before something happens to her. I hop out of the boat and make my way to the house. A shadowy figure moves out to the front door.
“Minister, didn’t expect to see you. You want me to tell you your future?”
If she didn’t see me coming, I doubt she can tell my future.
“I’m not interested in any of that foolishness. I’m here to warn you. Randall Knott plans to build a hotel casino right on your land, and I’m afraid he’ll stop at nothing to do it.”
It was as if I didn’t say anything. Janae turns around and goes inside the house.
“You need to leave,” I say as I enter the house behind her.
“Oh no, death is coming, and it don’t matter where I go; it’ll find me.”
I walk over to her table, and it looks like she’s been playing with her tarot cards again. This time, she has the fool, judgment, and death cards laid out.
“It doesn’t have to find you tonight. I have a boat outside. You can come with me, and we can figure something out.”
“You’d be the smartest man in the world if you can figure out how to outsmart death,” Janae says. “Many men try to outrun death, and they end up right into him.”
I’m not in the mood for Janae’s spooky talk. I need her to come with me until I can figure this whole thing out. “We need to go, now!”
Janae doesn’t respond. Instead, she just picks up the picture of her two boys. She smiles, and her smile is not sadistic, but endearing.
“What happened to them?”
“The devil got to them, that’s what. I lost one of them years ago.”
Janae turns around and smiles at me. “He came twice.”
I’m confused about whom she’s referring to, and the look on my face must’ve conveyed it.
“Your friend the preacher. The first time he called himself trying to get me saved, when all the while he was trying to get me to accept Knott’s deal. The second time was different; he was different. He apologized and told me not to sell. Then the next day, he was dead.”
A cold chill swept over me at the grim details. In our first encounter, Janae did not mention to me that Pastor Cole visited her twice.
“Go on now; Janae is going to be all right.”
“I can’t leave you here.” I try to grab her arm, but she fights back.
“You can’t make me go either. Go. Be the man that you are and don’t worry about little old me.”
“You’re just going to sit here and await your fate?” I couldn’t make sense of Janae’s logic.
“You should learn to do the same.”
There is nothing I can say that would cause Janae to leave her home. I stand there for a minute trying to think of something I could say that will cause this woman to fight for her survival. Self-preservation is a common trait in the United States, but not for Janae. She will not be moved, and so I turn to walk out of her house. Before I leave Janae and walk back to the boat I pray that I’m wrong on my assessment of Knott.
“Is everything all right, sir?” the driver asks.
“No, no, it’s not, but there’s nothing we can do about it now. We just have to let things play out,” I say.
“Excuse me, sir?” the driver asks.
“Nothing, I’m sorry. I was just thinking out loud.”
Or maybe I’m still praying out loud, hoping that God hears me and will show grace and mercy to Janae. I also pray that I’m wrong and that Janae’s life is not in danger. I get into the boat and disappear in the night.
The next morning as I wake up, I do something I haven’t done since my arrival at the island. I turned on the TV. I guess I need to escape the worries of Janae and the death of Pastor Cole. I flip several channels until I arrived at a station that was playing a Pastor Cole sermon. What are the odds?
“Most people got this whole prosperity thing wrong, and I admit that I have, over the years, played a part in the misconception.”
I wonder if this is a recent sermon.
“Prosperity in the Kingdom of God means that God is with you in every aspect of your life. It means that you trust God wholeheartedly in every aspect of your life, and your faithfulness produces fruit.”
Janae is right. Pastor Cole had changed, and it’s tragic that the world didn’t get a chance to benefit from this change.
After the program, I went downstairs. Once again, Sammy and Adele are downstairs drinking coffee and talking. Only their conversation didn’t seem lighthearted.
“Why the sad faces?” I ask.
“Not sad, just shocked,” Adele says.
“What’s going on?”
“Demetrius and his mother Janae were found dead this morning,” Sammy says.
My heart drops at the news. I just saw Janae last night, and this morning, she’s gone. Randall Knott just killed two more people, and I can’t help but to feel partly responsible for it.
Chapter Twenty-three
I borrow Sammy’s truck and take the road that leads to Demetrius’s house. He survives being shot and almost drowns, only to have his life taken from him at a moment’s notice. I know not many people are going to shed a tear over his death, but it bothers me. No matter how deplorable of an individual he was, Demetrius was still a human being, and if he died without knowing Jesus and the power of His redemptive work, then the eternity that awaits Demetrius is far worse.
Demetrius’s death does pla
y a major shift in a larger, more disturbing narrative: someone is killing off anyone in connection with Pastor Cole’s murder. That means everyone, including myself, could be a target. I know that it’s someone that has been hired by Randall Knott, and there is enough separation between the assassin and Knott for plausible deniability.
I drive past the Dixon household. Both of their cars are in the driveway, which means that they either patched things up, or Mrs. Dixon has chosen to keep her affair a secret. I remember when the only thing that was impeding on my vacation was the affair between Prophet Chambers and Mrs. Dixon. How I wish I could trade problems. I know one thing: Victory would still be here if I had never taken on this job, now my life, as well as Adele’s and Sammy’s, are at risk.
I arrive at the top of the hill where Demetrius’s house is located. The door is wide open, and there are several cars parked between the driveway and the door. I see people running in and out of his house with flat-screen TVs, cigar boxes, and clothes. I don’t see any smoke, so there isn’t a fire. I get out of the car and start walking toward the front door. The man who drove me up to Demetrius’s place the other night comes out with a silver case.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Demetrius is dead.”
“I know, but what are you doing?”
“The police and the feds will be here to raid this place. Me and the guys are getting what’s owed to us. You’ll need to hurry up,” the driver says.
According to reports, Demetrius died at the hospital so that doesn’t make his house a crime scene, at least not yet. The driver didn’t wait for my reply. He hightailed it to the truck he picked me up in and left with the case in hand. Who knows what is in that case, but it’s enough for the driver to bypass the rest of the spoils. Demetrius once considered himself invincible and ruled with fear. It didn’t take long for his people to get over their fears and take what they felt belongs to them.
I walk into house and feel like I’m watching the Rodney King riot all over again. There are people running all over the place with items from the house in their hands. Jewelry—you name it—trying to pack as much stuff away before the authorities arrive to cart off the rest.
