by T. K. Chapin
“The camera?”
“Yeah. They took the battery out.”
“Okay. What’s the plan now?”
“We have to come up with one. I didn’t have a backup plan.”
“No. No more plans, just get me to Blake. I need to talk to him. They’re going to talk to—”
A knock on my door interrupted me.
“Who’s that?” Rick asked.
“I don’t know. I’ll call you back.”
Getting up off the couch, I headed to the front door and answered it. It was Pastor Clarkson.
“Hi, Pastor,” I said, keeping a hand on the door.
He shook his head and jarred the door open, pushing it. Stepping inside, he continued into the kitchen. “Don’t try to play me, Micah. I know it was you who planted it.” He set down the cross on the countertop as he turned around to face me. His face looked weighted with guilt as he let out a sigh and went over to the living room. As he sat down on the couch, he said, “It all started innocently.”
Coming into the living room, I sat on the edge of the recliner and listened.
He shook his head and said, “It started a few years back when attendance started to dwindle.” He paused, sounding hesitant to continue. “Charlie knew this guy that used to be in the mafia in Brooklyn. The whole money laundering thing was supposed to get us a cut and just help the church get by while we—”
“Did you ever mention the financial struggle to the congregation?”
“Oh, yes. Heavens, yes. Several times, in fact.” He shook his head and raised his eyes to meet mine. They watered as he continued. “Nobody cared. Or at least, nobody could afford to care the way we needed.”
“God did, and the way you handled it wasn’t right.”
“It wasn’t right.” He sniffed. “Things got really bad when the pressure grew from the group we were cleaning the money for.”
“What group?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know who they are. Just know they were putting pressure on Charlie to increase the amounts we were donating weekly to the fake charity.”
“You guys couldn’t stop?”
“Charlie didn’t want to. He liked the increased amounts because it meant a better profit on the back end.”
“For the church?”
The pastor looked down and brought his hands together as more tears started to come. Shaking his head, he said, “No. We were all taking a cut.”
“You and Charlie?”
“Yeah. And a couple of the other deacons.”
“Jeez,” I replied, leaning back into my chair. “This is bad. Really bad.”
“I know,” he replied, looking up at me.
“Why are you telling me all this?” I asked.
“I wanted to confess. I don’t want to hide anymore.”
“Why now?”
“Seeing that camera yesterday . . .”
“Yesterday?”
“Yeah. I knew it wasn’t mine when you were standing at my bookshelf. I’ve had the same stuff up on that shelf for years. How do you think Charlie recognized it so easily today?”
“Why leave it for Charlie?”
He shrugged. “I needed to let the whole thing fall apart. Hoped he’d have a change a heart.”
“Ahh.” Rick’s plan was stupid, I thought to myself.
“Anyway. When I saw it, I knew you were already onto me. Really, I felt relieved. You gave me a reason to do this. Confess it all and turn myself in.”
“What about the judge? Won’t he just release you?”
“What? Why would he do that?”
“My contact says you guys have the judge in your pocket.”
“That’s not true. Charlie and he are good friends, but it’s not that kind of thing. We’re men of God, not hardened criminals.”
“That makes sense,” I said.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t call myself a man of God anymore.”
My heart softened—divinely inspired, I’m sure of it. Looking at the broken pastor, I said, “God forgives us. What y’all did wasn’t good. But that doesn’t mean God can’t forgive it.”
Shaking his head, he looked at me. “I don’t know about that.”
“I do.”
I could suddenly hear police sirens in the distance. They grew louder and louder. I looked at the Pastor. “You called?”
“Yeah. Right before I knocked on your door.” Standing up, he extended a hand out to me. I shook his hand and his lips trembled as he became more nervous. We could hear the cops getting out of their cars outside and approaching the door.
A knock came on the door. Muffled, I could hear the cop on the other side. “Mr. Freeman. We’re here for the arrest of a Dennis A. Clarkson.”
“That’s my cue,” the pastor said. Turning, he went to the door and opened it. “That’s me,” he said, turning around to face me as he put his hands behind his back for the cops to cuff him.
Watching as the cops hauled him out to the police cruiser, I couldn’t help but admire the man in a way. That took guts and strength to give himself up like that. Rick’s amateur plan didn’t even work; he could have easily gotten away.
Going back inside, I sat down and called Rick, letting him know the news about the Pastor.
“That’s a little strange. He just folded, confessed and turned himself in?”
“I know, right?”
“Hmm. Did he mention anything about Charlie turning himself in?”
“No,” I replied.
“Let’s hang tight and see what Charlie does.”
“What about the judge not being in his pocket? Can’t Blake just get his brother now?”
“I don’t know what Blake would want to do.”
“All right.”
“We’ll see what happens. Just relax. It’s not over yet.”
After getting off the phone with Rick, I phoned Denise. She was relieved to hear that the pastor had turned himself in, but she was worried.
“And Charlie? What about him, Micah?”
“I don’t know . . .”
“You didn’t think about that and what would happen with William.”
“No, I didn’t.” Getting up, I grabbed my keys from off the counter and headed for the door. “I’m going down to their house.”
I hung up with Denise and hurried down the street in my truck. My heart pounded as I headed down toward William’s house. Thoughts of Charlie hurting William again raced through my mind. I prayed God would protect him.
Arriving to the house, I made haste to the front door and knocked. There was no answer. I knocked again. Again there was no answer.
“Where are you?” I said out loud as I turned around and thought of William.
Walking back out to my truck, a black Town Car pulled up next to my truck and stopped. A window went down, and the man I had seen from the church the other day stuck his head out the window. “You made a serious mistake.” He moved out of the way of the window to roll it up, and I saw a glimpse of William. He was bound and gagged, struggling to move as the window rolled back up. I ran out to the car, but it took off down the street before I could catch the plate numbers.
“Please protect him, Lord!” I pleaded as I looked up to the sky. “Please . . .” Stopping in the middle of the street, I called the police and let them know what I had seen. They said they’d be on the lookout for the car.
CHAPTER 18
Getting back over to my place, I saw Joe sitting on my front porch. Not this again, I thought to myself as I got out of my truck. I slammed my truck door shut and said, “Go home, Joe. I don’t want to hear it.”
He shook his head. “You were right about the pastor.” Standing up, he continued, “I owe you an apology.”
“Ah. You must have heard,” I replied as I walked over to the porch.
“Yep, I was a bit skeptical until I saw Charlie blazing down Ocean Shores Boulevard looking freaked out. Take it he’s in on this too?”
“How long ago did you see him?”
“I don’t know, like five minutes ago. Why?”
Turning, I ran back to my truck.
“Micah,” Joe shouted from the steps.
Stopping as I opened the door, I looked back at Joe.
“Can I go with you?”
“No, I’m okay.”
He hurried over to the truck and said, “These people mean a lot more to me than to you. Please let me go. I might be able to help.”
“All right. You can come. Just don’t question my decisions or what I’m doing.”
He nodded and climbed in the passenger side.
We hurried down Ocean Shores Boulevard and then out to Highway 115 that led out of town. The truck was relatively quiet as we drove for the first ten minutes. Then, he broke the silence. “Hard to believe,” he said.
“Yeah. It’s all kind of weird for a church.”
He shook his head. “These guys have been leaders for a long time.”
I looked over at him for a moment and then back at the road. “Don’t let it get you down. People make mistakes, man.”
“Not like this. Not Christians, anyways.”
“C’mon. Christians aren’t perfect.”
“No. But they aren’t corrupt.”
“Corruption happens. We can’t let the troubles of this world take our joy of God away.” The words sank into my soul as they rolled off my tongue. I glanced over at Joe again; he nodded as he seemed to be deep in thought. “Bad things happen. Even to Christians.”
“You’re right. Just hard to chew.” He appeared to think for a moment longer, and then he suddenly smacked the dash. His eyes watered and he looked over at me. “Was my dad in on this?”
“I don’t know, man,” I replied, shaking my head as we rounded the bend in the highway. “Not sure how many deacons or people are part of this.”
“Hey! There’s Charlie!” Joe said, pointing out the windshield at the gray sedan in front of us.
Getting to the left side of the lane we were in on the two-lane highway, I checked for oncoming traffic. There wasn’t any, so I pulled over into the left lane and pulled up beside Charlie’s car.
Joe rolled down his window and started yelling at him. “Pull over!”
Charlie yanked on his steering wheel and smashed into the truck, sending me veering off the road. We hit the gravel and nearly hit the guard rail, but I was able to pull back onto the road without losing much speed. A semi-truck was coming down the road then, so I got back behind Charlie.
“He’s not stopping,” Joe shouted over at me.
“We’ll follow him,” I said confidently. My phone rang. Pulling it out, I tossed it over to Joe. “Who is it?”
Looking at the screen, he replied, “Rick?”
I reached over and grabbed the phone and answered. “I’m following Charlie.”
“Don’t let him out of your sight.”
“I won’t.”
“Did he have William?”
“I don’t know, but he could be leading us to the dude that does.”
“What dude?”
“I don’t know! A dude! Pudgy. Short hair. Balding. I saw him at Charlie’s house when I went over there looking for him.”
“Riccardo,” Rick said confidently.
“Who’s Rick?” Joe asked from beside me, interrupting the phone call.
“He’s helping,” I replied, pulling my face away from the phone for a moment.
“Ask him if my dad was involved in all this.”
“What’s his dad’s name?” Rick asked, hearing the question.
“Ralph Edmunds,” I said.
“Doesn’t ring a bell. Hey. Keep your eyes on Charlie; I’m going to work on finding Riccardo.”
“The police are already on the pursuit.”
Rick laughed. “Okay. I’m still going to be looking for him. No offense to the men in blue, but . . .”
Charlie suddenly veered off the road and down a gravel road to the right. He did it so quickly that I didn’t have time to react and follow. Looking into my rearview mirror for a moment, I saw it was clear and slammed on my breaks. “I gotta go,” I said to Rick and hung up the phone. Tossing it onto the dash, I put my arm over the bench of the truck seat and threw the truck into reverse. Backing all the way up to the turn Charlie took, I put the truck into drive and began down the gravel road.
The cab of the truck rattled as we went down the bumpy road and Joe clutched onto the door. “I don’t like this . . . I have a bad feeling.”
“It’s fine.” I leaned down to the seat and pulled the nine millimeter that I had strapped under the driver’s seat. Handing it to him, I said, “God and guns are the only protection we need.”
He set it down on the seat between us and said, “You go ahead and handle the gun; I’ll do the praying.”
Driving down the path, we came into a thick patch of trees and the gravel turned to dirt. A few minutes later, we emerged out of the trees and arrived at a log cabin by the North Bay shoreline. Smoke billowed from the chimney and Charlie’s car sat parked out front.
Joe looked over at me. “I’m going to hang back and keep praying. You know. Safely in the truck.”
“You offered help. You’re going to help.” I smiled. Parking the truck, I grabbed the gun and put it in my belt behind my back and got out.
Joe got out a moment later. He came around to the front of the truck and to my side. Leaning into my ear, he said, “Something’s off here. It’s gotta be a trap. Right?”
“I’d suspect,” I replied in a quieted voice. Taking a step toward the log cabin, I moved my hand to my back and relaxed my palm against the gun. Praying, I asked God for confidence and wisdom. My heart pounded as I approached the front door of the cabin.
“I’ll be back here,” Joe said, staying at the truck.
I nodded back at him and continued. Arriving at the front of the cabin, I knocked on the screen door. The metal rattled, and then slowly the door creaked open, but nobody was there.
Peeking in, I could see a gold haze of dust shine through the kitchen window. “Charlie?” I called out, keeping one hand behind my back on the gun. “Just want to chat.”
No response.
Turning around, I looked at Joe.
He shrugged. Then his eyes went wide just as a shot went off behind me.
I jumped off the steps and staggered backward away from the cabin. It was Charlie. He’d shot a bullet through the mesh in the screen door. Keeping the door shut, he said, “You’d better leave before the not-so-nice people show up. They won’t give you a warning shot.”
“We just want to chat,” I said, heart still pounding.
“You don’t understand,” Charlie replied, shaking his head as he dipped his chin. “You need to leave.”
Suddenly, the Town Car I had seen at Charlie’s appeared through the woods and came up to park beside Charlie’s vehicle.
“Well, well . . .” Riccardo said, getting out of the car.
Looking over at him, I saw William wasn’t in the back anymore, just a big, bald Hawaiian driver. “I just want the kid,” I said.
Riccardo shook his head as he walked toward me. His driver got out and stood with his arms crossed, remaining near the car.
“You made this easy for me,” he said, walking up to me.
He pulled a revolver from his coat and pointed it at my chest.
“Don’t,” Charlie said, pushing the screen door open and coming outside.
He looked over at Charlie with furrowed eyebrows. “You folding too? Like that pathetic pastor of yours?”
“There’s just no reason to kill him.”
“You churchies are all the same,” Riccardo replied. He raised his gun to Charlie and pulled the trigger.
He fell to the ground and began squirming as he grabbed his stomach where he had been shot. My heart raced as I moved my hand behind my back to grab my gun, waiting for the perfect moment to draw it.
Riccardo walked up to Charlie on the ground and pointed the gun at his head.
Suddenly, a ringing in my ear interrupted my train of thought and then a pulsing sensation came from the side of my arm. Looking down, I saw that I had been grazed with a bullet. Lifting my eyes, I saw the smoking gun of Riccardo’s driver, the Hawaiian. Then I fell to the ground.
“Micah!” Joe shouted.
Looking over to the truck as I lay on the ground, I saw Joe dart over to the driver that shot me. I watched him wrestle the giant to the ground. Riccardo watched but didn’t interrupt.
Then the driver’s gun went off.
I didn’t know or couldn’t tell who was shot. Then, Joe stood up.
Riccardo became enraged and turned to Charlie. Putting a bullet in his head, he killed him.
Then, Riccardo walked over to me and pushed the revolver into the side of my head. His eyes were full of evil and his face was red hot as he placed his finger on the trigger.
I prayed for my wife and William, that God would watch over them.
Then he pulled the trigger.
The gun jammed.
Looking over, I saw Joe as he pulled the trigger of the gun he had taken from the driver. The shot hit Riccardo in the chest and he crashed to the ground. Joe sprinted over and leaped through the air, landing on top of Riccardo. He began to punch him repeatedly in the face.
“Joe! Stop!” I shouted from the ground as I tried to sit up.
He paused and looked over at me.
“This isn’t you. Stop.”
“This scumbag doesn’t deserve to live!” he lashed out at me.
“Give him grace, not what he deserves. You already shot him.”
Letting go of Riccardo, Joe rose to his feet. Coming over to me, he bent a knee, and with trembling hands that were bloodied, he inspected my wound. “You’re lying here bleeding and still preachin’?” He laughed.
I smiled at him. “God still died for him.”
“True. We need to get you to a hospital.”
“Hold on,” I grunted. I began to inch toward Riccardo, but Joe helped me to my feet and the rest of the way. “The bullet only grazed me.”
“No. It’s in your arm.”
“Oh.” Dropping to my knees at Riccardo’s side, I pushed the thoughts of the wound out of my mind and asked Riccardo, “Where’s the boy?”
