“Reverend Grayson Young.” A bald, fat man called out to him. “Well suh, I can’t believe someone like you, after all these months, would come back down here to get down. I still can’t believe it’s you preaching all that fire and brimstone from the pulpit of New Hope.” He stopped and gave a conspiring wink. “I sometime catch the second service on television when I can’t make it to my own church.” He followed his revelation with laughter that sounded more like snorting as he extended a hand. “At least you don’t have to worry about these others knowing who you really are. Trust me, none of them go or even think about church. Your secret has been and will be safe with me.”
Reverend Young just stared in disgust. The weight of the gun lessened, but his anger grew as he mumbled, “Who gives a damn who recognizes me? Just stick to the plan, Reverend. Just stick to the plan. She’s waiting for you.”
Reverend Young’s head jerked suddenly and he looked back toward the entrance to the Sweet Bush. His ears picked up the taunting from the outside wind as it made a wooshing sound for his ears alone. “For God is not mocked,” he heard the wind say.
He staggered slightly, placing his hand that held the gun behind him. He planned to harm any avenging angels should God decide to send them.
Reverend Grayson Young had played spiritual tag with his Heavenly Father one time too many. He’d preached one way and lived another. Year after year, Sunday after Sunday, he’d called upon his congregation to give up their evil ways. He’d condemned those who stepped out of the bounds of marriage to fulfill their lust, although he’d stepped out to the point of no longer wanting his wife.
That night all accounts needed settling. He’d discovered that for almost a year it was possible that his wife, First Lady Chyna, might’ve done just as much tipping as he. He’d had her followed one evening, and it seemed that she favored the Sweet Bush, too. And the reverend couldn’t take that.
He set about lighting parts of the Sweet Bush afire with the lit candles that just moments before were ambience.
“I’m fired up and I’ve come to kill my wife!” the reverend yelled, waving his gun in the air, sending petrified Sweet Bush patrons looking for the exits.
DAFINA BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 2011 by Pat G’Orge-Walker
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ISBN: 978-0-7582-8707-6
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