Triage: A Thriller (Shell Series)

by Phillip Thomas Duck

  Noah Avery said, “What did you just call Bishop?”

  “Reverend Ike,” Bishop Donald Holliday said.

  “Who?” Noah replied.

  “He preached prosperity gospel,” I said. “Meanwhile he seemed to be the only one getting rich. Some people believed him to be a huckster. People would send in money and he’d send them prayer cloths.”

  “Bishop, we should have this man held accountable for all he’s said and done here today.”

  Bishop Donald Theodore Holliday leaned forward in his chair and placed his hands on his desk. He drummed his fingers and looked at me thoughtfully.

  “Sermon tapes, books, DVDs, the new prayer cloth,” I said.

  “You don’t strike me as unsuccessful, judging by your attire and diction,” the Bishop said, coming alive with his booming rhythmic voice. “So I’m wondering, if not jealousy, what fuels your ire?”

  “Darren Sweet. Nevada Barnes,” I said.

  “I’m getting security, Bishop.”

  “Calm yourself, Noah,” Bishop said while raising a reassuring hand.

  “Bishop…”

  The Bishop’s eyes narrowed as he regarded me. “My lovely wife is aware of my personal failings—long before I’d accepted Christ, mind you. I have given y’all all the money I will give. So you will have to look elsewhere to execute your blackmail scheme I’m afraid.”

  “How does your growing congregation feel about your personal failings?”

  “Bishop…”

  “I’m prepared to address them as well, if need be. Blessed is the man who trusteth in the Lord and whose hope the Lord is.”

  “Jeremiah 17:7,” I said. “Always cite your sources, Bishop.”

  That brought a smile to the Bishop’s eyes. Noah frowned and seemed to freeze in place. Siobhan turned in her seat and looked at me.

  “Your scriptural wisdom makes the events of this glorious Sunday all the more troubling.”

  “I had nothing to do with whatever between you and Darren and Nevada. And I’m not here to blackmail you, Bishop.”

  “What then?”

  “I have knowledge that some harm has come to Mr. Sweet. And Ms. Barnes is missing.”

  “And you think…” he said.

  “I think I just told you that two of your love children are in great trouble and you seem unbothered by the news.”

  “They blackmailed me lest you forget.”

  “Lacking a bit of benevolent forgiveness, Bishop?” I said, smiling.

  “I haven’t harmed either of them,” he said.

  “Besides not acknowledging them as your children or being a part of their lives you mean?”

  His first real smile. “Touché.”

  “How much money did you give them?”

  “You don’t need to answer that, Bishop,” Noah said.

  “Two hundred thousand.”

  “Bishop…”

  “First installment of how many?” I asked.

  “They haven’t asked for more. And as I made clear to you—I wouldn’t provide more. I’m upset at myself for giving in to their initial demand.”

  “Upset enough to do what, Bishop?”

  “Bishop…”

  “Upset enough to voice my frustration with the decision,” he answered.

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.” He focused his eyes on Siobhan. “I’ve been rude. This stunt has upset me greatly. Usually I am upbeat after a good sermon. And the Lord helped me deliver a good one today. Anyway, how are you, young lady?”

  “Fine,” she said. “I enjoyed your sermon.”

  “The Parable of the Persistent Friend is fruitful ground,” he said, smiling. “Ask and you shall receive, seek and you shall find, knock and the door shall be opened.”

  “You grew tired of Mr. Sweet and Ms. Barnes asking, Bishop?” I said.

  “I told you they haven’t asked for any more.”

  “You’re dirty,” I said.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

  “Bent, crooked, immoral.”

  “I’m getting security, Bishop.” Noah’s walkie-talkie squawked.

  “Corrupt, fraudulent, nefarious…”

  Siobhan whispered my name. The door behind us blew in on its hinges. Noah Avery shouted something I didn’t bothering listening to. Bishop Donald Theodore Holliday resumed his recline in the leather chair, lacing his hands behind his head once more.

  “What have you done to Nevada Barnes?” I yelled as I was yanked from my seat.

  Bishop didn’t answer. He looked at me with pity.

  Siobhan stood without help and was quietly ushered from the room by the elbow. I was being dragged from the room.

  On my way through the door and back into the corridor I noticed a handsome picture frame on the wall. The Bishop, his wife, and a young woman I presumed to be his daughter.

  THIRTY-ONE

  ARTISANAT’S IMMEDIATE NEIGHBORS WERE a check cashing outfit and a graphics design office. Farther down the stretch, there was a used bookstore, a Japanese steakhouse, and a twenty-four hour Laundromat. All of the businesses had appeal of a sort, but Artisanat was clearly the standout among them. The storefront windows were clean enough to allow me a perfect view of the displays therein even from a good distance. The awning was a deep burgundy with cursive handwriting done in a contrasting white. The entry door wasn’t full glass, but a mahogany wood frame with a large window cut-out.

  “I don’t feel good about this, Shell.”

  “We’ve had a day to process everything,” I said without looking at Siobhan. “There’s no other way.”

  “I can’t imagine Bishop Holliday’s daughter is involved in any of this mess.”

  “All things truly wicked start from an innocence.”

  “What?”

  “Ernest Hemingway,” I said.

  “You can quote literary greats. Wonderful,” she replied. “Things got away from you yesterday at the church. I just don’t want the same to happen here with this girl.”

  “Woman,” I corrected.

  “Whatever.”

  “You’re surly. I suppose that says something about me. You’d think a night of lovemaking would’ve satiated you.”

  She blushed and held on to any reply.

  “When Holliday mentioned his daughter, and her business, during the sermon, I could see and hear his obvious pride. He’s involved somehow with what happened to Sweet and what’s happening with Nevada, Siobhan. Getting him to talk obviously isn’t going to be easy. I have to apply some pressure. If it makes you feel any better, anything that happens from here on is on my conscience.”

  “If only it were that simple.”

  “I won’t harm this woman. She’s just a pawn.”

  She sighed. “I know in my head this probably has to be part of it but…”

  I reached over and touched her hand. “I won’t harm her.”

  “What is your plan, then?”

  “Figure it out as we go. Come on.”

  At that I opened my door and stepped out. It took several moments before Siobhan did the same on her side. Looking back, I should have followed her lead rather than my own reckless abandon. Figure it out as we go. A failure to plan is a plan for failure. Those aren’t my words but words that have endured for many seasons. There’s a reason why they’ve stood the test of time. They’re true.

  “I can’t imagine I’ll be much help,” Siobhan said. Her voice floated to me, soft and as abstract as clouds.

  “Just keep me honest,” I said, smiling. The smile as counterfeit as the words behind it.

  A bell sounded as we walked into Artisanat. Candace Holliday looked up from a magazine as we entered. She didn’t smile or greet us with a gesture or words. She had light brown coloring and a pleasant round face. More of her mother’s features than she had of the great Bishop Donald Theodore Holliday. In the picture frame hanging in the Bishop’s office she appeared to have his bearing, though. However, in person she seemed smaller, less
substantial.

  “I’m interested in a handcrafted bracelet,” I said once I realized she wouldn’t speak unless spoken to.

  “For her?” she replied, nodding at Siobhan.

  “Yes.”

  “Come over here.”

  We moved to meet her at a large glass case lined with velvet.

  “My wife’s birthday,” I offered. “She doesn’t trust me to pick out her jewelry so I dropped the pretense and just brought her along.”

  Candace Holliday nodded. “Good thinking.”

  Siobhan and I shared a quick glance. “What would you recommend?” I asked Candace.

  “For her,” she said, not looking at either Siobhan or myself. “Maybe vibrant coral. It’s one of my cheaper pieces. You two don’t look as though you’ve been at it long.”

  I frowned. “Excuse me?”

  Candace finally looked at me. “Oh,” she said, visibly shaken. “I said something wrong. I’m very sorry. I am. I’m sorry. I have some expensive pieces too. Turquoise and sterling silver, right here. It’s almost two hundred dollars. Or maybe pearls and sapphires? That one’s a hundred and forty-five dollars.”

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  “I use many different base materials: sterling silver, brass, gold, leather, wax-coated linen. I enhance my pieces with unique stones, or beads, or charms, wire-wrapping techniques…”

  “It’s all very beautiful work,” I said as she paused for a breath.

  “…I incorporate leather, wood, and wire wraps to give them a unique feel. You can’t find anything like them anywhere else.”

  “Beautiful, as I said.”

  “The stones…quartz, turquoise, chalcedony.” She paused again, a pained expression on her face. She wasn’t looking up as she spoke. Eye contact, I realized, was a real challenge for her. Siobhan gripped my hand. I gripped back. “Chalcedony is a form of silica,” she continued. “You wouldn’t know that. It has a waxy luster, translucent or semitransparent. A wide spectrum of colors. White to gray, grayish-blue or a shade of brown that ranges from pale to nearly black. You wouldn’t know any of this.”

  “Actually, I—”

  “I also use red and green garnet from time to time. And iolite. Iolite is—”

  My turn to cut her off. “Also known as water-sapphire or Vikings’ Compass. Comes from the Greek word for violet. An inexpensive substitute for sapphire.”

  Candace glanced at me a fleeting moment before lowering her eyes again. “That’s pretty good. You’ve been to prison?”

  “What?”

  “My daddy does a prison ministry,” she said. “He’s a…I shouldn’t talk about him. The prisoners I can talk about. They tend to read a lot. They’re very smart. I’m sorry.”

  Siobhan whispered my name.

  The entrance bell sang a soft melody.

  A booming voice groaned out, “No.”

  Candace Holliday looked up.

  I turned around.

  Bishop Donald Theodore Holliday stood in the doorway glaring at me.

  “SHE HAS ASPERGER’S,” he said in a tired voice a few moments later. Siobhan had remained inside the jewelry store with Candace. Bishop and I sat in his car—a Chrysler 300 with all the trimmings. “She’s brilliant…in some things. And troubled in others. The typical challenges of a person with Asperger’s. Socially awkward at times, lack of empathy, inability to listen to others. I bought her the store so she could express herself through the jewelry but…” He cleared something from his throat and wiped at his eyes. “On days like today I wonder at my sanity in doing so. Candace designs the jewelry and mostly stays in the background of the business. The girl she has working sales couldn’t work today, though, so Candace had to man the store. I was coming to check on her. My wife says I’m overprotective but…” His voice broke.

  “I wasn’t looking to harm her, Bishop. I thought she’d be able to offer some insight.”

  “She knows nothing, Shell.”

  “What do you know?”

  He sighed. “I was twenty-four, hadn’t accomplished much and yet most that knew me then would probably say I’d already reached my full potential.” He smiled. His charisma couldn’t be denied. I remained silent not because I didn’t have anything to offer but rather to hear only what he had to say. “Her name was Gabrielle Sweet and the last name did her justice. Big Angela Davis afro. Built like Pam Grier. Smart as a whip. I get lightheaded all these years later just picturing her. She was the aggressor. She’d undress me and lay me across the bed and lower herself on me and…Afterward she’d read Scripture and talk about our wedding. It was too heavy for me. When she told me she was pregnant I…it was an ugly scene. I panicked. I tried to correct it later but she’d lost all faith in me. She kept some dignity about her and went her own way.”

  “Nevada’s mother?”

  “Vivian Barnes,” he said, smiling once more. “Even more beautiful than Gabrielle, which I thought impossible until I met Vivian. Her eyes alone, Lord.”

  I swallowed.

  “Vivian and I would’ve gotten married if she’d accepted my proposal.” He must have noticed the surprise on my face because he nodded and chuckled softly. “That’s right. I’d learned from my mistakes with Gabrielle. I wasn’t keen on letting another beautiful woman get away from me. I asked Vivian to marry me. Several times. She said I had too much ugly inside of me. Her words. I immediately started working to get rid of the ugly. I picked up Gabrielle’s Bible and started reading it. I needed a blueprint. Then Vivian found out she was pregnant and that ended all hope for us.”

  Another surprise. “Why?” I asked.

  “Same question I’ve always wondered about. Never did receive a suitable answer.”

  “I imagine you were upset when Darren and Nevada came to you.”

  “Quite the opposite, actually.”

  “What?”

  “I’m at peace, Shell. Have been for a long, long time. Nevertheless, that period was an unfinished part of my constitution. When Darren and Nevada came back into the picture I was hopeful we could all get some closure. I’d remained in contact with both of their mothers through the years. Provided for them financially from time to time. They were both insistent that I not be a part of the children’s lives, though. I told my wife of the situations even before we married. She was fine with it, too. When Noah told me a man and woman was trying to talk with me, claiming I was their father, I know I surprised him with my response. He thought it a hoax. When I acknowledged it was true he went from surprise to indignation to survival mode. He felt as though their presence would hurt the brand. I told him I cared little about any brand.”

  “So you were willing to talk with them?”

  “Willing? We all got together on a pretty consistent basis at first.”

  I frowned. Another revelation. “And then…”

  “Noah informed me they were making money demands. I can’t begin to tell you the hurt I felt. Ultimately I chose to forgive them and gave them the money. They felt slighted, hurt, abandoned. I get it. Some people attach monetary value to their pain. I never have, but I cannot outright dismiss those that do. I decided to pay my children their price.”

  “But you wouldn’t have paid again?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Why do you think they changed?”

  “I don’t. I believe it was there from the start. The Bible says the heart is deceitful and desperately wicked. I wanted the happy ending. Eternal optimist, you know? I was warned they might be trouble but…Jesus directed that we should forgive those who sin against us seven times seventy. Seven times seventy. I forgive them, Shell. My hope is the money will help them to someday forgive me.”

  I noticed that he spoke of them, always, in the present tense. “How was the money paid?”

  “Noah facilitated it with our financial people. I used my personal funds, didn’t touch the church’s money if that thought crosses your mind.”

  “And you haven’t heard from Darren or Nevada since?�
�

  His voice broke. “No.”

  “When was the money paid out?”

  “Three weeks ago?” he said, frowning as he tried to recall.

  “You haven’t harmed them?”

  “No.”

  “Uncle John, Wallace Devlin, Cole Enger?”

  “What?”

  “Ever heard any of those names?”

  “Enger, the councilman, of course.”

  “Uncle John? Wallace Devlin?”

  “No. Never.”

  “Enger and your son were lovers. Were you aware of that?”

  He shook his head and looked away. After a while he said, “You’ve caused me grievous harm, Shell. Treading in my daughter’s life. Dredging up painful parts of my life. Rubbing my son’s…sexual choices in my face. Accusing me of the unthinkable. If anything has happened to Darren and Nevada, God forbid it, I am not involved. I cannot abide any more of this, though. Noah was physically ill after you were removed from the church.”

  “I’ve noticed that your tone changes when you speak of Noah,” I said.

  “I suppose it does, Shell. He’s been a Godsend to the church and me personally. Once again, my wife accuses me of being too overprotective, but Noah had a very difficult childhood. A familiar story I guess. He’s like a son to me. I treat him as if he’s from my own blood. Overcompensating for what I missed out on probably.”

  “From Newark?” I asked carefully.

  He nodded. “McKinty Homes. They had a nasty shooting in the stairwell of one of the buildings recently. If you pay attention to the news at all you’ll come to realize that’s pretty commonplace there. That’s where Noah comes from, Shell. And yet he was able to rise above it all. He’s a remarkable young man. Seeing him ill yesterday further agitates my frustration with you. I’m done here.”

  “You didn’t say mister,” I said.

  “What?”

  “That’s more than once that you’ve referred to me as simply Shell.”

  He looked at me. “It’s the only name you go by. Nevada spoke of you.”

  And at that the Bishop eased from behind the wheel and moved toward Artisanat to check on Candace. I sat there with my thoughts for a long moment before letting myself out.

  THIRTY-TWO