by Dijorn Moss
“Thank you, sir,” I say.
“No problem, Nic.”
John turns around and grabs a Styrofoam cup and pours. He knows just how I like my coffee: French Vanilla cream and two sugars.
“The Lakers lost last night,” he says.
“I heard. That’s starting to become a regular occurrence.”
“Yeah, they need trades and a new coach.” He hands me the coffee.
“Gracias. I’m going to go in the back, and when my friend arrives, just tell her to meet me in the back,” I say.
“I got you.”
I walk into Johnny’s office and remove the stack of newspapers in his chair which I place on his desk. I’m glad the actual donut shop is not a reflection of Johnny’s office. Just when I’m getting comfortable eating my donut and drinking my coffee, in walks Special Agent Kim West with a Muslim shawl wrapped around her head. Kim can’t be any taller than five feet two, with a mocha complexion and almond-shaped eyes.
“You picked a great time to cash in on your favor. I’m risking having my cover blown for you,” she says. Kim gives me a stern look. I did take an inopportune time to cash in on a favor, but it’s necessary.
“I know, but this couldn’t wait.”
“Is it a matter of national security?” she asks.
“Not exactly.”
“Well, then, it could wait. The only reason why I’m here is because I’m a woman of my word and the text message suggests that you’re in trouble,” Kim says.
“I wasn’t aware that I was,” I say.
Kim rolls her eyes. We have very few things in common—but one of those things is hating when people insult our intelligence.
“You sent a text in all lower case. You never send texts in lower case unless you are in a rush, which suggests anxiety. You also misspelled the word urgent which you never do. In fact, you never use the word urgent in your texts. You spelled need with an extra ‘e,’ and you sent me two follow-up texts within twenty minutes of each other. Don’t play with me.” Kim bats her eyes at me.
I don’t know what division Kim works for in the FBI, but given her sharp analytical abilities, I think it’s safe to say that she’s a criminal profiler. At the same time, she’s undercover, and I can’t tell what she does, but I know one thing: I hate being beholden to anyone.
“Funny, I don’t recall me saying it could wait or giving you a hard time when you needed me to get your brother into seminary,” I say.
For all of my skills in the dark arts of being a fixer, I do have one skill that stands on the right side of the light. I have tremendous pull with faculties throughout the country. Kim’s brother wanted to attend Full Gospel Seminary, a prominent school located out in Dallas, and I got him in. Of course, for the last three years, Kim has owed me a favor that I never cashed in on until today. It’s not every day a federal agent is in debt to me, so I know that I can’t waste a favor on something frivolous.
“Seriously? You’re going to threaten a woman with a glock pistol strapped to her? Do you know I can make one phone call to my buddies in the NSA and have you put on a no-fly list? Don’t play with me, Nic. Now what do you need?”
Brilliant, sexy, and feisty, Kim is the ideal woman for me if it weren’t for her profession and the fact that she does keep her gun on her at all times. I’m also afraid she would dig up stuff about my past I would rather keep hidden.
“I have a family that I will need witness protection for, and I need you to get ahold of your contacts at the marshals’ office.”
“Hold up.” Kim puts her hands up. “I’m going to stop you right there. I owe you a favor, not the U.S. Marshal. The marshals are not at your disposal, and I’m not just going to contact the marshals’ office. I need a reason.”
“I’m about to hand Randall Knott’s head on a silver platter to your people, but before I do that, I need WITSEC in place for this family.”
“Randall Knott . . . the billionaire?” Kim asks.
I give her a head nod, and we both know a billionaire has the resources to make someone disappear instantly. Even government protection is no guarantee of safety, but I have to provide Trevor and his family with some kind of protection.
The look on Kim’s face suggests that I gave her a good enough reason. She bats her eyes at me, then extends her hand as a gesture for me to show her what I have on Knott. I hand her the file Trevor gave me. Kim starts to scan the file, and her eyes widen at the sight of the information contained within the file.
“How credible is your source?” Kim asks.
“He’s been discredited,” I say.
“You sure it’s legitimate?”
“It is.”
“If you’re wrong about Knott he’s going to set fire to everything and everyone you touch.”
“Must you be so cynical?” I ask.
“I only take Christ for His word. The list ends there,” she says.
“It’s a legit source,” I say.
“You sure you won’t need WITSEC?” Kim asks.
“I can take care of myself, but my friend needs a clean slate for his wife, his daughter, and himself.”
Kim scans over the documents again before she closes the file and hands it back to me. “No promises. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you.”
“This is a pretty big favor, so you’re going to owe me.”
“I got you. If you ever need to get away somewhere and relax, I know a place in the Bahamas, and I know a lady with a beautiful spot to rent.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Kim folds her arms. I guess she’s not sure what to do next. “Listen, Nic, I have to be back before sunrise.”
“What are you up to?” I ask.
“None of your business. I mean, stay in your lane. You do you, and I’m going to do me.”
Kim heads out the door, but stops to look back at me. “Be careful, Nic.”
“You too.”
We both told each other to be careful, but the truth is, both Kim and I have a knack for running into danger instead of running from it.
***
A Gulfstream 650 jet is like having a portable condominium. Randall Knott decorated the interior of the plane in an egg-shell white. I was enjoying a drink and watching CNN when Randall Knott walks on board.
“I wasn’t aware that I had an extra passenger,” Knott says.
“So where are you headed, Knott? Dubai? Hong Kong, or somewhere else where there’s no extradition?”
“Listen, Nic, I know we haven’t had a chance to hash out the details surrounding the casino and your involvement, but I promise you that we’ll work it out as soon as I get back.”
“I’m not worried about it because there’s not going to be a casino deal. In fact, your schedule is going to be pretty open for the next few decades.”
“Listen, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I don’t appreciate you coming onto my plane unannounced.”
I take a sip of the drink. I love having a self-proclaimed master of the universe by the stones. “You have very expensive taste when it comes to Hennessey, Mr. Knott. Beauté du Siècle. That has to set you back, what, a hundred grand?”
“Get off my plane right now!” Knott says.
“This is the same liquor you had Cameron deliver to his brother Demetrius. Only that bottle was laced with poison,” I say before I pour the glass out on the carpet.
“What the—” Knott advances toward me, but I stand up, and he realizes that while he may have more money than me, he’ll lose in a hand-to-hand fight.
“I’m calling the police.”
“You don’t get it, do you? Where’s your pilot? Where’s the flight attendant?” I ask.
“What are you talking about?” Knott is befuddled.
“Take a look outside of the window.”
Knott follows my instructions and looks outside his window. FBI agents scramble outside of his plane.
“The feds gave me the honor of telling you that you’re going t
o spend the rest of your life in prison. Extortion, racketeering—you name it, but you and I both know that there is another jacket you deserve to wear—murderer.”
“Murderer?” Knott says.
“You used Cameron to do your dirty work, and he killed three people and tried to kill me.”
“You could’ve come to me, and we could’ve worked something out,” Knott says.
“As you can see, this is not something that you can just cut the check for and it’s over and done with,” I say.
Knott looks at me, and then he looks outside the window. Agents are now outside of their cars positioned to take him down as soon as he steps off the plane. He starts to laugh.
“Hot darn, boy, you’re good. Naïve, though. I won’t spend a day in prison, and if I do, it’ll be better than the slum you live in.”
“Even if you buy your way out of prison, you still won’t escape God and His laws.”
Knott gives me a dismissive wave as he heads toward the door. “You better hope that God protects you, because you had a brilliant opening move, Nic, but I will get the checkmate. Just you wait and see.”
Knott walks out of his plane like he’s a politician greeting his loyal constituents. As soon as he touches the ground, the feds move in and arrest him. Knott has a smile on his face the whole time, as if he knew a punch line to a joke we haven’t heard. I have a seat and pour a glass of this very fine Hennessey. I’m quitting after this drink. I’m going to sober up and this isn’t a bad way to go before I go back on the wagon.
Chapter Thirty
Three days later, I get a text from Paul who I delivered Trevor’s file to. I click on the link, and there is Paul’s article showing a shamed Randall Knott in handcuffs. He will be charged for extortion and racketeering. He should be charged for murder as well, but there wasn’t enough to make that charge stick. It doesn’t matter though, the Lord will return before Randall Knott gets out of prison. Justice served in some form is better than no justice at all.
I’ve been back in L.A. for a week, and I wish I was back at the island. I didn’t miss the traffic, and I’m ready to go crazy sitting on the 105 freeway. It’s two o’clock in the afternoon, and it’s still bumper-to-bumper traffic. What is even more frustrating is my exit is the next exit. I have to go to the Forum to meet up with Pastor Bryant. He’s in town for a conference, and we have some unfinished business to settle.
I pull into a front parking space and walk up the steps to the entrance. I remember coming to the Forum for years and going to the Laker games. This place is a landmark, but over the years, it has lost its luster. Pastor Bryant meets me on the steps.
“I should start calling you the Formidable Nic Dungy,” Pastor Bryant says.
I still respect Pastor Bryant, but after today, I wouldn’t be sad if I didn’t see him again until the Rapture. Bryant removes an envelope from his coat pocket and hands it tome.
“As promised,” he says.
I open the envelope and see that it’s a check for $1.5 million.
“This is more than I expected.”
“That’s because I need you to do one more thing, but when I tell you, I believe you will want to do it for free.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” I say.
Pastor Bryant is not taken aback by my response. He knows what I’ve been through and that he doesn’t have the right to ask any more of me. I don’t care how many zeros he puts on the check.
“Randall Knott is not the only guilty party in this. There are others,” he says.
This is the part in the story where the hero takes the $1.5 million-dollar check, rips it up, and throws it into Pastor Bryant’s face . . . but I’m not a hero. I put that check in my pocket because I’ve earned it.
“You mean your friends from the Cloth? What happened? Were they not radical enough for you?”
Bryant purses his lips. I know that his involvement in the Cloth is a sensitive issue.
“Cole went to them after he met with the witch doctor. He told them that he was out. He felt like he should’ve left a long time ago. He knew what Knott was up to, and he didn’t want any part of it. He tried to reason with the rest of us, but we weren’t having it.”
Pastor Cole wasn’t as lucky as Bryant. He didn’t even get the chance to be free from the Cloth. Bryant is enjoying a freedom that should’ve been Pastor Cole’s as well.
“This isn’t a simple request,” I say.
“Hence, the reason for the extra money,” Bryant says.
“I don’t think you understand the gravity of what you’re asking me. If I pull back the veil, then the church is going to suffer. Do you realize that’s going to shine a spotlight on all of your ministries?”
Pastor Bryant leans in closer to me with his hands clasped together in prayer. “These men called Cole their brother, their leader. When he was found dead, whatever suspicions they had, they swept them under a rug. I don’t care if it gives the church a black eye. The church will survive and thrive so long as Christ is lifted up; it will draw men to Him.”
If Christ be lifted up, I will draw all men. I don’t know where or when this concept got lost, but it’s time to rediscover it. Maybe the church community can be rebuilt by following these profound words of the Gospel.
“What do you need me to do?”
“Bring them down. They’re all here in L.A. They have even rented a suite in Hollywood,” Pastor Bryant says.
I normally don’t play in my own backyard because there is too much of a blowback if things goes south, but the Cloth being in L.A. is too good to pass up. I also have the home court advantage, and I can use my wide range of contacts.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I say.
“I have faith that you’ll do your level best.”
I walk away and head to the car with a $1.5 million-dollar check in my possession and a chance to bring a powerful organization down. First, I’m going to stop by the bank.
Later on that night, I find myself outside the Grand Hotel in Hollywood. While it’s not the most luxurious spot, compared to the W Hotel and other prominent spots, the Grand Hotel does have a rich history. Back in the day, names like Frank Sinatra, Doris Day, and Steve McQueen used to frequent this hotel. Nowadays, it just stands out like a relic from the past in an otherwise, fast-paced modern era.
I pull into the parking lot behind the hotel. The parking lot may not be full, but the fleet of cars outside tells the story of what type of guests occupy the Grand Hotel. Ferraris, Bentleys, Maseratis and Range Rovers, a Mercedes and Lexus in this parking lot seem like average cars. In fact, I’m afraid that my BMW doesn’t pass the luxury test.
According to Bryant, whenever the Cloth is in town, they would rent two extended SUVs and drive up to this very hotel. Near the back exit are two black SUVs. They are here, and they have the trucks positioned so that they can leave at a moment’s notice. I grab a phone and send a quick text to my friend.
Be here in 10 minutes
Nic
After I press SEND, I send one more text message to my source on the inside. Then I get out of the car and head toward the back exit. The clock is ticking, and it’s a gamble if these guys are not doing anything but reading the Bible or praying or playing cards. My source from inside the hotel comes out of the back exit.
Mike Austin is a young man that used to attend the church that I was a minister at before I went into the problem-solving business. I actually helped him get a job at the Westin Hotel in downtown Long Beach. He worked there for a few years until he applied for a position as a concierge at the Grand Hotel.
Tall and handsome, he has grown into a fine young man and a vital source to tearing down this organization. I love having the home court advantage.
“Good to see you, Mr. Dungy,” Mike says.
“Hey, Mike, how’s your mom?”
“God is good. Her cancer is in remission.”
“I’ll be praying for her,” I say.
I reach into my pocket and peel o
ut three one hundred-dollar bills and hand them to Mike who flashes a Kool-Aid smile.
“Thanks, Mr. Dungy.” Mike examines the money before he puts it in his pocket.
“The extra hundred is for your mother. Get her some flowers for me.”
“Will do.” Mike hands me a room key. “They’re in the penthouse suite.”
“I appreciate this, Mike. Now go on back to your shift. There is going to be some fireworks, but not to worry. This city loves scandals, and the number of guests that come to your hotel as a result of this scandal will likely triple.”
Mike gives me a head nod and shows me the way to the elevator. I walk into the hotel through the back entrance and pass through the kitchen on my way to the service elevator.
No one seems to notice me. I step inside and press the letter P for the penthouse and use the special key to close the elevator door and have it take me up to the top floor.
My mind races through a hundred different scenarios, and none of them have a happy ending. This present trial and tribulation has caused me to lose faith in a favorable outcome, among other things. I arrive at the penthouse floor and step off the elevator. At the end of the hall is a security guard outside of the door. I didn’t expect to see a guard; I didn’t plan to encounter one either. I walk toward the door and try to think up a plan to get inside. I have to get inside in order for my plan to work.
“Boy, it’s is difficult to find this place,” I say to the guard.
“Who are you?” the guard asks.
“Who am I? Are you kidding me? I’m Minister Nicodemus Dungy, and I’m here for the party. Why else would I be here?”
“I’m not supposed to let anyone in.”
“Of course not. You’re not supposed to let anyone in that’s not about the Cloth’s business.”
The guard’s eyes enlarged. I can tell he’s turning over in his mind that if I’m not a member of the Cloth, then how do I know about them and why am I here?
“You got a name, slick?” I ask.
“Kent.”
