by Dijorn Moss
There was no more resistance. Will patted the man’s pockets. He grabbed the keys from the front pocket and drove off in the van. He exited the parking lot and merged onto South Street. Will tried to shake off the events that had just unfolded, but that was foolish on his part. He embraced a smooth ride until he flipped on the radio. He heard a lot of rambling and hollering.
“What’s this he listens to? Lil’ Jon?” Will turned up the stereo. It became clear that the speaker was not a rapper, but a preacher with a thick Southern accent.
“One sin! One sin is enough to get you tossed into the fires of hell. So you have to ask yourself before you commit that sin, is it worth it? Is it worth it to burn in hell for all of eternity?”
Somebody should have told the preacher that we’re in hell already, Will thought. Preachers who spent all their time talking about a better life after this life were basically admitting that this life was a mess. Will did not know what would happen after he died. He really didn’t care. All he wanted was to be away from this world.
“These chicken-neck pastors want to teach milk and honey. Well, you can’t get to heaven living like the devil. It’s either holiness or hell,” the preacher roared.
Will tried to recall what would qualify as a sin. He used profanity, but then he thought about the Bible and it didn’t say anything about profanity being a sin. He smoked weed, but that came from the ground, so it was natural. If God did not want Will to smoke, he should not have created weed. He could not put his finger on any sin he could have possibly committed.
He had sex, but he always used a condom, so God would appreciate safe sex. Besides, sexuality was normal and natural. He could not wrap his brain around any outright sins, but he could not fathom why, on the inside, he had this burning desire to confess. It wasn’t the type of burn that consumes, but the type that lingers until it becomes a gray cloud in one’s soul.
Will changed the station, but came across another fire-breathing Christian.
“Jesus comes like a thief in the night. You never know when. It could be at this very moment and you want Him to say, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant.’ You do not, and I repeat, you do not want Him to say, ‘depart from me, I never knew you.’”
Will’s body temperature shot up 400 degrees. His pores started to open up and drops of sweat started to leak out. Will turned off the radio. That last line stuck with him. He could not understand what would make Jesus say He never knew someone. What could a person possibly do that was that consequential? That was when Will came to the conclusion that God was a cold piece of work.
He patted his pocket for a blunt, found one, and inserted it between his black lips. He patted his pocket again for his nickel-plated lighter, but to no avail. The events of tonight had been too much for Will to deal with without smoking.
“Where my lighter go?” Will said to himself. He never left the house without his lighter, so the fact that he had a blunt in his mouth with no lighter was very strange. What was also strange was that the cigarette lighter in the car had been removed. So he assumed that Christians did not smoke. Just then, he spotted a liquor store beyond the intersection. The dirty neon sign was popping on and off like a beacon.
Will pulled off of South Street and into the parking lot. The liquor store sat on the corner of a strip mall, next door to a Mexican restaurant and cleaners. Will entered the liquor store with purpose, but got sidetracked.
From the corner of his eye, he saw a magazine with a girl who had a behind the size of two basketballs on the cover. The magazine stood out in the midst of the other adult material. Above the magazine section stood a sign that gave a five-minute time limit for reading the material.
Judging by the condition of the magazines, the liquor store’s clientele either didn’t see the sign or didn’t care much for the rules. He scanned through the magazine, then placed it back on the shelf as he made his way to the cash register.
“Lighter,” Will said as more of a demand than a request.
The white guy at the cash register handed Will a lighter in exchange for a five dollar bill. Will took the change and made his way back to the van. He got back inside, felt his pocket, and retrieved his blunt. Blunt in his mouth, Will was ready to smoke, but he hesitated. He felt the urge to turn the radio back on.
Will had never heard preachers speak with such passion and conviction. Most of the preachers he encountered were what he liked to call the Liquor Store preachers. They would preach the gospel and then ask for an offering so they could buy beer. Will turned on the radio and a more mellow voice spoke.
“We all mess up sometimes. Lord knows I do, but the scripture says that the Lord makes us new mercies every day. So you do not have to carry your past into your future. You can decide to land anew and God is waiting for you. No matter what you’ve done.”
Tears started to well up in Will’s eyes. He came face-to-face with the person he had become: taking things that did not belong to him and using a survival-of-the-fittest mentality that rationalized his actions. But in this hot van he was struck with the realization that his petty crimes had impacted countless lives.
Who knew what that man with the van was about to do? Now he lay in the middle of the street, beaten, and for what? Who knew how much debt people accumulated to buy a replacement car because their insurance policy may not have covered the ones he’d stolen from them? Who knew how many jobs were lost because of the cars he’d stolen? What if someone was one tardy away from being fired by an inflexible boss, and Will had stolen his only means of transportation? Will had become (it would be funny if it weren’t so sad) a menace to society.
“Don’t wait, tomorrow is not promised. Make a choice to accept Jesus as your Lord and Savior, and He will remove your sins. You might not feel like you deserve it, but the scripture says that His ways are not your ways.”
Will crossed Paramount Street and turned down a poorly lit alley. A group of guys hung out underneath a streetlight. They wore all black, with beanies. A little flicker of light indicated that they had been smoking. Will pulled up and turned off the lights when he got near the group. He hopped out of the van and exchanged fist bumps with the group.
“What’s this?” D-Loc asked him.
D-Loc was the Untouchable’s leader. He put in enough work to get everyone’s respect in the hood. Even though he was only twenty-four years old, Will saw him as a father figure. Shaped like a bowling pin, only the whites in D-Loc’s eyes stood out. A chill swept through Will’s body whenever he stared at D-Loc for a long period of time.
“I had a problem with the other car,” Will said.
“Oh, so you steal a church van?” D-Loc said.
Will couldn’t care less about stealing a church van, as he thought about the Mustang GT he had to abandon in order to keep from being caught. “Look, I can get you another whip. Just give me a minute.”
“It’ll do,” D-Loc said.
Of course Will knew that a minivan and a drive-by were exclusive concepts. They needed something with some muscle and a little bit of a pickup.
“Give me twenty minutes; I’ll find you something better,” Will said.
“We don’t have time to waste, so you got twenty minutes before we leave.” D-Loc looked at the minivan.
Will watched as D-Loc scanned his crew’s eyes. J-Rock had just been put on, and the drive-by that was about to occur was his initiation. Droopy was a veteran street soldier. D-Loc handed Will a chrome pistol.
“It ain’t a fancy tool kit, but it’ll get the job done,” D-Loc said.
Despite being in a gang, Will did not like guns. Guns were a magnet for trouble; however, he could not afford for his crew to do a drive-by in a church van. So Will took the gun and wedged it into the front part of his pants.
“We ain’t called Untouchables for no reason. We live this, we breathe this, and each and every one of us is willing to die for the set. So when I look into your eyes, I better not see fear. There ain’t no room for fear,” D-Loc said
.
D-Loc could inspire the smallest guy in the room to feel like a giant. D-Loc had given Will’s father his word that Will would never have to kill anyone. He used Will to steal cars and allowed his other compos to put in work.
“Nobody messes with the Untouchables because they know that we ain’t the ones, man. We strike fear in their hearts, and you know what?” D-Loc pointed to his head. “That stays with them longer. It messes with their head, man, they because know when they see you on the streets, they see death.”
While D-Loc spoke, guns were passed like an offering plate. From sawed-off shotguns to nine millimeters, this looked more like soldiers going to Iraq than doing a drive-by. Will was not off the hook for the evening. After some mumbled good-byes, Will made his way back toward South Street on foot. The wind started to make its presence known as it began to shake the trees. Will always tried to see what lurked in the shadows.
He never knew what could prey on him as he tried to walk toward the intersection. Maybe the preacher man’s devil lurked in the shadows. He approached the corner of South and Paramount. The plan was to jack the first car he saw and get off of the creepy block. He waited for the right car to stop by the gas station across the street, where the gas attendant never got involved with any carjacking. The owner didn’t even have security cameras to turn over to the police. A few minutes later, a champagne Cadillac pulled into the gas station, and a robust man in a wool jacket got out and began pumping gas.
“That’s what’s up,” Will said to himself.
Will crossed the empty street and made his way up to the gas station lot. The guy had his back to Will, and he had no clue what was about to happen. Will grabbed his gun, pulled back the handle, and got within inches of the guy. The guy turned around with a weird, contorted look on his face.
“Check this out, playboy, we can either do this the easy way and you give me the keys, or I can go old school and put the gun in your face,” Will said.
Fear was evident on the guy’s face, to the point where he froze up. In Will’s peripheral, he saw a black-and-white squad car approaching the gas station.
“Can you believe this?” Will pointed the gun at the guy’s chest. “Get in the car. Now!”
The guy got into car from the driver’s side, and slid his way into the passenger seat. Will entered the car on the driver’s side with his gun in hand, and pointed it toward the guy’s abdomen.
“Oh, Jesus, please don’t shoot me. Jesus. Oh, Lord!” the guy yelled.
“Shut up!” Will placed the gun on his lap and turned on the ignition. The police car was at the pump behind Will. This would have to be Will’s worst string of bad luck.
The Cadillac slowly pulled away from the gas station. Will could see the dashboard glow of the cop’s computer. Two pros, he mused, going about their work. One jacking and the other filling out paperwork. The night was unusual to say the least.
“What’s your name?” Will asked.
“Chauncey. Deacon Chauncey McClendon,” Chauncey replied. He had a look of utter terror in his eyes. “If you need money I would be happy to give it to you.”
“I do need money, but I don’t want your money.” Will looked at him in a way that started to freak the man out. “Listen, I need you to be cool. I don’t want to hurt you. I just need your car.”
Will could tell that statement relaxed Chauncey a little.
“Listen, I know this is awkward, but I really am trying to get to this church event. I should’ve left hours ago, but I was held up.”
“You’re real religious?”
“I’m not religious; I have a relationship with God.”
This statement raised an awkward look from Will. “How’s that?”
“Well, religion is based on a set of rules used to control people, and God is about setting people free.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” Will said.
“Well, maybe you can come with me to the Men’s Retreat,” Chauncey said joyously.
“Men’s Retreat!” Will said, almost bursting a seam from laughing so hard.
“Yes, it’s a time when men get together to get close with God.”
“Let me get this straight, you claim to be in a relationship with God, and now you want me to go away with you to a Men’s Retreat with nothing but men?”
“Yeah!”
“That sounds a little suspect.”
Silence set in as neither one of them could figure out what to say or where they were going. Will appreciated the moment of quiet.
This guy is definitely in a cult or something.
“Are you going to kill me?” Chauncey asked.
“If you keep asking stupid questions, then yes, I will.”
“Can I at least ask where we are going? South branches up ahead.”
Pops had a point. Will did not have a clue where he was going. But the farther they drove, the more he felt the flux of the night churning in his stomach: the preaching, the tacky minivan, the liquor store, D-Loc, the gas station, this guy sitting next to him. Things were too hot for Will. It was too much for this nineteen-year-old to process. But a chance to get away from it all was more appealing. Will would go anywhere if he could be free from worry for just one night. A church event didn’t seem too bad.
“I got to make a stop before we go to this Men’s Retreat.” Will was shocked by his own words.
This Cadillac was definitely a getaway car, but for whom? For the first time, Will considered that there may be a force greater than himself that was moving him away from his surroundings and into the unknown.
Chapter Seven
Jamal dreamt of one day being able to afford to eat at the Gardens restaurant inside of the Four Seasons. The ambiance of the room, which was decorated with contemporary art-work and natural lighting, made Jamal feel a little out of place. His prayer partner, Quincy, was generous enough to take him out for a celebration for being offered a promotion. Jamal was not sure if he was being completely honest with Quincy, since he had not decided to take the promotion yet.
The other day, the DNA test results threw Jamal’s entire world off of its balance. He searched for a way to put everything back into perspective while he indulged in a juicy, medium rare, sixty-day dry-aged rib eye steak.
“I’ve seen a lot of sports companies crumble, but Pinnacle Sportswear has a strong foundation. You’ll do great in their marketing department.” Quincy held up a glass of Chianti. “To a skyrocketing career.” Quincy took a sip.
Jamal gave Quincy a toast with his iced tea. He did not mind that Quincy was a social drinker, but bad things happened whenever Jamal drank. For the most part Jamal was mild mannered, but whenever he drank, his temper became short, so he just avoided alcohol all together.
“So you know the Men’s Retreat is this weekend.” Jamal was unsure if Quincy had even signed up.
“You know I just got back in town and I am about to close a major deal. I’m thinking about kicking back this weekend and maybe watching the football games.”
Quincy had not been to church in a few Sundays, and just this week there had been rumors swirling about Quincy and Karen’s marriage being in trouble. Karen had walked around Wednesday night’s Bible Study like a woman who lost her husband to the world. Jamal noticed her asking for prayer from Pastor Dawkins. He even noticed her with Pastor Dawkins and other ministers, seeking counseling.
He knew his buddy was always busy, but even the task of rebuilding Long Beach was not big enough where Quincy could not squeeze in a few hours for church. Jamal was not married, so he did not know if the conversation may have been above his pay grade, so he simply asked, “How’s Karen?”
Jamal knew the question threw Quincy for a loop, because Quincy contorted his face in disbelief. Something was definitely wrong, and Jamal was curious to get to the bottom of it.
“I don‘t know.” Quincy shrugged and took a bite of his salmon.
How come he doesn’t know how his wife is doing? Jamal thought. Something must have be
en wrong on the home front, but Quincy seemed indifferent. “Man, what you mean you don’t know? She’s your wife.”
“I don’t know!” Quincy looked around the room. Jamal saw that Quincy’s aggressive tone did not startle any of the dinner guests. “I haven’t been home the last couple of days. I don’t know how Karen is and I don’t care.”
“What’s going on, man? Talk to me. I’m your prayer partner.”
Jamal was not offended when Quincy laughed at the term “prayer partner” in truth, Jamal only saw Quincy pray over food.
“Look, Jamal, I like you. You’re a good kid. But I have to be honest with you; all those times I attended those Men’s Retreats and prayer breakfasts was all for show. I mean, I believe in God and all, but I’m not as into it as you are.”
Nothing about what Quincy just said came as a shock to Jamal. Most men who attended the events at church did so to appease their wives. Quincy was not the exception.
“Look, J-Money, I’m not going to play games with you. Karen and I are getting a divorce.” Quincy’s voice was very callous.
Jamal was not stupid as much as he was hopeful. He may have even been a little naive. He was not surprised by Quincy’s announcement, but disappointed. He wanted to believe that marriages in this day and age ran the distance. He wanted to believe that when two people made a vow before God, that that vow was stronger than any force on earth. No, Jamal was not surprised by the news of Quincy’s divorce to Karen. The news was just a punch in the gut.
“It’s not something I really feel like talking about. You know, we’re both adults and we just have to take responsibility for our actions.”
Another blow to the gut. Quincy knew that their prayer partner relationship was a sham, but Jamal had felt that at least he could be someone Quincy could confide in. He’d guessed wrong. Now foolishness set in. With the exception of the matter between him and Chantel, Jamal had been an open book to Quincy.
