by Dijorn Moss
Chapter Eleven
Spider is a six foot white boy decorated in tattoos from his neck down to his arms. He wears a black Oakland A’s baseball cap and a black sweatshirt. Some of his tattoos can’t be covered with a hood sweatshirt, and creep out the sides of his neck and hands. Arguably, Spider is the best bounty hunter on the West Coast.
Spider grew up in Lexington, Kentucky, where hunting is as much of a necessity as chores and church. I met Spider fifteen years ago in college, where he studied criminal justice. At first I thought he was a classic tale of a white boy who wanted to be black, but Spider has an edge and realness to him. Spider dropped out of college after his sophomore year and started experimenting with drugs. I found Spider five years ago at the MacArthur BART station begging for change. After an extensive conversation, he got saved.
That seems like a lifetime ago. Spider is unable to become a lawyer because he has a criminal record. He then decided to go into law enforcement, and became a bounty hunter. Today, Spider serves cookies to underprivileged kids. He volunteers with an inner-city program as a way to tap into the softer side of an otherwise tough exterior.
I know working to catch criminals can take its toll on an individual, so volunteering at community centers reminds Spider that he is helping to create a better environment for these children.
“Argh!” a little kid yells as he runs toward Spider.
Spider picks the boy up by one hand and holds him to the ceiling. “I got you now.”
“I’m stronger than you,” the little kid says as he tried to squirm out of Spider’s massive grip.
Moments later, Spider puts the little kid down and is relieved of his duties by this Hispanic lady and proceeds to take out the trash. I figure this is a good time to approach Spider. I follow him outside of the building, where there is a beat-up Dumpster with chipped paint that is waiting to be filled. Spider’s back is turned.
“You think in a room filled with kids I can’t spot an unshaved man in a suit?”
I follow his smart remark with a playful combination to the ribs. In a real fight, where I gave up four inches in height and fifty pounds in weight, I would’ve been beaten to a point beyond recognition. Spider welcomes the playful exchange with a combination of his own before giving me a hug.
“What’s up, brotha?” Spider says. He breaks away and examines me. “You look like crap, as usual.”
“What can I say? It suits me.”
“So what are you doing here?” Spider tosses the garbage bag into the Dumpster.
“Work. I’m helping a church out.”
Spider fixes his lips. Though he does not know what I do officially, Spider knows that I am not a straight-laced preacher.
“So why are you out here in San Leandro? You missed me?”
“Of course not.” I shrug my shoulders. “I got a job for you.”
“A job? What kind of job?” Spider asks.
“One that suits your particular skill set.”
“What, a member of the church stole the offering?” Spider lets out a laugh and I let out a smirk.
“Is he or she running from the law?” Spider asks.
“Worse, his wife.”
Spider lets out a sadistic laugh. “That may be harder to find.”
“I figured that.” I reach into my jacket and remove an envelope and toss it to Spider. “That’s ten grand. Half now, half when the job is complete.”
Spider opens the envelope and examines the stack of one-hundred-dollar bills. Missing persons is not my thing. I moonlight as a minister, so if I pay Spider twenty grand from a hundred fifty grand to find Tony Robinson, it is worth it.
“That’s a lot of scratch to find a husband.”
“What can I say? She really wants to reconcile things. Listen, I just need you to knock on a couple of doors. Check the airports, bus depots, to see if he might’ve left town. We’ll get together later and compare notes.”
“Okay, I got you. When was the last time she saw him?” Spider puts the envelope in his front pocket.
“Two weeks ago.”
Spider lets out a whistle. He and I both know the complexity that comes with a search for a man who has gone missing for more than two weeks. “He could be anywhere.”
“I spoke with his coworker and his coach. He’s still here in town, I think. At least, he was a week ago.”
“If he’s here, I’ll find him. I’ll need information.”
I reach into my jacket and pull out another envelope that has more information in it. I spent last night compiling information from Tony Robinson’s driver’s license and bank statements. Name it and I have it in the file. Pastor Robinson was instrumental in my acquisition of the information; she did not spare any information.
“Okay. I’ll get started. But if he’s skipped town, then you got to make travel arrangements for me to get him.”
“I can manage that.” I shrug my shoulders again.
Now that I have Spider-man on the trail, the rest of this job will be a piece of cake.
I arrive back at the church and enter a midsized sanctuary. The pulpit has a one-step platform with a diamond-shaped middle where the pulpit is located. There are pews with purple padding that matches the drapes. Purple is a color of divinity, royalty, and the Los Angeles Lakers, but it is not a color that summons men. I wish that men didn’t pay attention to such trivial things as the décor of a church, but they do. We’re taught to walk by faith and not by sight, but that biblical principle is easier said than done.
I walk into a meeting already in progress. Pastor Robinson, Minister Blackwell, and a man who I have not previously met are in the front pew. The man gets up and walks over to me.
“Hi, I’m Minister Mackie.” He shakes my hand. “I feel like I’m meeting Davy Crockett.”
“I’m not sure if I should take it as a compliment.” I’m not used to people being happy to see me. I am usually treated like a necessary family event. People are nervous and on edge when I’m here and happy when I am gone.
“Well, it’s because you’re about to make the devil mad.” Minister Mackie flashes me a Kool-Aid smile.
The rest of the people in the room do not share Minister Mackie’s enthusiasm. I feel like I make the devil laugh more than anything with my futile attempts. It is only on those rare occasions when I make a connection with my clients that it feels like I am doing real damage in the kingdom.
“So what’s up?”
“We have a problem,” Minister Blackwell says.
“Well, we don’t have time to fool around so let’s hear it.”
“The associate pastor is not ready,” Pastor Robinson says sternly.
This is the part that I hate the most about my job: pastors and their authority. A pastor who is full of pride is very toxic in this kind of situation, where they have to take direction from someone else. I put my hands in my pockets and walked over to Pastor Robinson. “And why is the associate pastor not prepared to assume a role that he was supposed to be prepared for?”
“Because I made him the associate pastor without any intentions of him taking over in my absence. In the beginning it was hard to get someone to be committed to a woman pastor. Mitchell was committed and I made him Pastor. It was an emotional decision and not a spiritual one and I realize that now.”
Pastor Robinson made a common problem that so many pastors make. They make decisions based on emotions and rationale. Rarely do they take into account what God’s Word says about wisdom and using wisdom and spiritual conviction during the process of picking leaders.
“So what’s wrong with him?” I ask.
“He doesn’t have good communication skills.”
I laugh to myself and begin to pace the floor. A pastor with poor communication skills is the same as a baseball player with no hand-to-eye coordination. It’s a small wonder how this ministry grew to its current size given that so many poor decisions were made in the flesh and not the spirit. The three ministers shake their heads and look at ea
ch other.
“Is Bible Study tonight?” I ask.
“At seven P.M.,” Minister Blackwell says.
“I’ll sit in and observe how things run and we’ll go from there,” I reply.
“Okay,” Pastor Robinson says.
I can tell that Pastor Robinson is reluctant to give up her pulpit, but I can’t consider her feelings while trying to resolve her issue.
“May I have a moment with Pastor Robinson?” I say to Minister Blackwell and Minister Mackie.
Minister Blackwell and Minister Mackie look at Pastor Robinson, who then gives them a head nod and the two men leave without any resistance. I wait until the men have left the sanctuary before I go and have a seat along the front pew. I tap an empty space on the pew for Pastor Robinson to have a seat next to me, and she does after a moment of hesitation.
“I have to be honest with you; your ministry is not in the best of shape,” I say.
“You should’ve seen the look on folks’ faces when I told them God called me to the ministry. I still remember what I had on: a black T-shirt with hot pink in the design. I also had the hot pink shorts to match and, boy, was they short.”
I chuckle because even in the most progressive church, Pastor Robinson’s outfit would’ve been unacceptable.
“But God called me and I answered the call, but no one wanted to support me in ministry except for Pastor McMurray, Minister Blackwell, and Minister Mackie. They stuck with me through thick and thin and I rewarded them for that.”
“I can imagine how hard it must’ve been for you, but when it’s God’s will, you have to trust that even when it looks grim.”
Pastor Robinson has tears and she reaches into her suit jacket and removes some tissue. Pastor Robinson wipes her eyes and I can tell that her tears are not over who she named Associate Pastor.
“Sometimes I hate being good at my job,” I say, but I don’t wait for a response. “I can tell when someone’s lying and I can tell when someone is hiding something.”
“Minister Dungy, I don’t have time for this. If you have something to say then say it.”
“You need to make time, but all I’ve observed in the brief time that I have been here is that you’re less concerned about finding your husband than you are about who teaches tonight’s Bible Study.”
Pastor Robinson avoids eye contact with me. She just sits there with her head down. “Tony was against me going into the ministry. Sometimes my husband can throw a fit like a little kid. It took awhile for him to let me go to seminary. I think he figured that I would quit just as soon as it got hard like I did with everything else.” Pastor Robinson shakes her head and chuckles to herself. “I showed him, and even now, he still has his reservations; but I thought we were past this.”
There is something in her tone and her words that convey to me a cryptic message. Pastor Robinson is not beside herself over her husband’s disappearance. “This isn’t the first time he has left has he?”
Pastor Robinson shakes her head. “Nope. This is the longest, but Tony has a habit of disappearing for a week. Then he shows up and doesn’t want to talk about where he’s been. I put up with it because he’s my husband and I love him.”
Pastor Robinson wipes her eyes. “I forgive him and I try to refocus my attention on the ministry. Tony leaving is his way of getting back at me for not doing things his way, but this latest disappearing act is his longest.”
“So you’re thinking he’ll come back?”
“Of course, because he’s in love,” Pastor Robinson replies.
“So then why hire me?” I shrug my shoulders.
“Because I’m not some naïve twenty-three-year-old who ain’t got anything better to do than run behind some man. I have a ministry to run and I was told that you’re good at handling these matters discreetly.”
“I can and I will, but I need for you to be ready to know what to say to your husband when I do find him.”
“So your friend is looking for him?” Pastor Robinson asks.
“He’s on the case and you should be ready to reconcile with your husband.”
“I am.” Pastor Robinson rolls her eyes.
“I hope for your sake you’re right.”
“God bless you and welcome to Jubilee.” A beautiful greeter leads me to an usher who leads me to the sanctuary. I enter the sanctuary and see the praise team engaged in praise and worship while one-third of the congregation sit and clap their hands. I take a seat at the back pew. To me the best seat in the house is the back of the church. I find out a lot about a church and its effectiveness from the back row. I can tell if someone pays attention to the service or if they just text. I can even read the faces of the people sitting in the pulpit and tell if they are into the service, as well. The back row gives me the most objective view of the church.
Pastor Robinson sits in her chair with a Bible on her lap. She looks prepared to preach, and only time will tell if Robinson will play ball. At the musician station I notice the drummer, Jeremy, stare at Pastor Robinson like a work of art. Jeremy is about as subtle as a marching band.
“You notice that this is like the third week since First Gentleman has been here?” an elderly sister of the church says to another woman.
“I hear that he left the pastor for another woman. Most men can’t handle an anointed woman.”
I start to chuckle, loud enough to get the two women’s attention and to get the women to shut up. The women have the nerve to look offended and I have the nerve to look at them like they are crazy.
“Praise the Lord. To God be the glory!” Minister Blackwell says. “Give an honor to God and our praise team is anointed.”
I let out a smirk. So many Christians speak in Christianese and their halfhearted replies do not move me.
“Well, it’s time to eat. Let’s give an honor to our associate pastor, Pastor McMurray.” Minister Blackwell starts clapping and the sanctuary turns hollow. Whenever a church has a pulpit hog, the members become skeptical of hearing anyone else.
Pastor McMurray approaches the pulpit. He looks nervous, which is somewhat understandable. Based on Pastor Robinson’s assessment of McMurray’s communication skills, he is not used to being in front of a group of people, no matter how small of a group.
“Lord, let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in thy sight.”
Amen.
The associate pastor concludes the prayer and I can see pages of the Bible turn. I even hear devices being powered on and Bibles pulled up. The scripture will be taken from Proverbs 4. Proverbs 4 is a smart choice for a passage of scripture that focuses on wisdom.
It is not long before the pastor starts sweating profusely. I am at the back of the sanctuary and I can see it. It kind of reminds me of the time my parents took me to SeaWorld and how the front row was reserved for people who really wanted to get wet by Shamu.
“And, see . . . see . . . see the Bible . . .” Nothing in Pastor McMurray’s speech indicates that he has a speech impediment, but, boy, when he starts to stutter, the members of the congregation start to hold up one finger and make an abrupt exit.
Jeremy gets up and heads out of the sanctuary. I think that this will be a good time to fact check Pastor Robinson’s story. Pastor Robinson claims that there is nothing going on between her and Jeremy. I need to see for myself. I get up and follow Jeremy out of the sanctuary and outside of the church.
I keep a safe distance as I follow Jeremy around the corner. The church is located in a former industrial building and thus is surrounded by industrial buildings.
I follow Jeremy around a carpentry building and discover that Jeremy is about to light something that isn’t a cigarette. Jeremy is startled when he sees me out of his periphery.
“Oh shoot! My bad, man.”
“Oh, no need to apologize. I snuck up on you,” I say as I take another step.
“I’ve been struggling with this for a while.” Jeremy holds up the joint. “I keep praying for God to take
the taste out of my mouth.”
Like I said, most Christians have perfected Christianese and not the Christian way of living. Jeremy could quit smoking weed anytime he gets ready. Jeremy struggles because he wants to, just like I give in to a lot of my vices.
“You’re a minster who’s visiting aren’t you? Pastor Robinson told me.”
“Are you and Pastor Robinson close?” I asked.
“She’s real supportive of me,” Jeremy says and I can see the admiration on his face.
What I also see is a small smile creep from his mouth. Jeremy zones out as if he is reliving a good dream or fantasy.
“What about Mr. Robinson?” I ask.
“What?” Jeremy snaps out of his fantasy.
“The first gentleman, Tony Robinson. Is he also supportive of you?”
Jeremy sits there and shakes his head. “No, not really. He doesn’t say anything to me. And I don’t say anything to him, but he’s cool though.”
Jeremy’s words are weighed by bitterness. Jeremy never makes eye contact, which means that he either has poor manners or that he is hiding something.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” I ask.
Jeremy laughs at my absurd question. “Naw, man, I don’t. I’m focused on my school, playing ball, and my relationship with God.”
“But you are in love with someone aren’t you?” I ask, and my question causes Jeremy to zone out again.
“I don’t know! I don’t know what I feel. It’s just crazy to feel something and not know what it is.”
I extend my hand and, after a moment, Jeremy hands me the joint. I put it out under my foot. “I hear you’re a terrific basketball player with a bright future.”
“Yeah. I want to go to Duke,” Jeremy says.
“A bit of advice: leave things that can hinder your career alone. You see in the news all the time athletes with extraordinary abilities and huge character flaws. Your talent will only take you so far; your character will take you the rest of the way. If God has given you a vision then God will complete it, so long as you stay on the right path.”
