Street of Angels

by Joe Derkacht

  She took a dainty bite of potatoes, not really enjoying them. Since childhood she had loved fried potatoes smothered in ketchup, but Erwin disapproved, said it was low-class to eat potatoes that way. How he had come to that conclusion she didn’t know, unless it was because of growing up dirt poor himself. Her own father, a college professor, and her mother, a bookkeeper, had never disparaged her love of the marriage between potatoes and ketchup. Unfortunately, she no longer lived in her father and mother’s house.

  “Did you find what you’re looking for?” She asked. He turned another page, the rustle of papers his only response. Unconsciously, Sharese lay her hand across her belly and felt the tightness there. She had wanted to tell him of her suspicions last week after their dinner with Rev. Champion and Theodora, but after he’d stormed from their house she had been too afraid to bring up the matter of missing her period.

  “I thought I’d try Sister Theodora’s stroganoff recipe tonight,” she commented. She knew it was the wrong thing to say almost before it had popped from her mouth. Her breath caught in her throat as the rustle of pages ceased. While the upraised paper concealed his facial expression, his whitened knuckles betrayed him.

  The moment passed without comment, and he resumed his search. She was able to breathe again, to go on eating, with difficulty gulping down her eggs and potatoes. She eyed the remaining slice of ham and wondered if she should eat it. Perhaps she was eating for two?

  Erwin folded the newspaper and rolled it as neatly as it had come, as only a former, experienced newspaper boy could do, and slid the rubber band back on. He set it beside his plate the same as every morning, and slid his chair out and replaced it, snugging it against the table.

  “Did you really like that slop of Theodora’s?” He asked.

  She glanced up, startled by his question. She braced herself and would have shot back a rejoinder, but the malice she saw in his eyes, before he spun away, left her speechless. A cold sensation emanated from her heart and spread into her limbs. She heard him as he went from room to room, slamming a succession of doors, and wished he had left for the morning. Not for the morning only, she told herself.

  “By the way--” he said, upon his return to the dining room, with black leather briefcase in hand.

  Cautiously looking up, she thought she didn’t care what he might say. Again, she wished only that the moment was over and he was out the door and she could be by herself for a few hours.

  “Last night--” he paused, gauging the impact of his words. “Last night I noticed you’re lookin’ fat, woman. You should do something about that.”

  Satisfied his arrows had struck their mark, he left. The front door slammed behind him.

  Finally.

  He actually relished the fact of her imperfection and enjoyed his cruel remark. She could still see his lips curling into a sneer, as he told her she was fat. For a minute or more she sat as though stunned by a physical blow, wanting to burst out in tears yet unable to do more than whimper.

  Perhaps it was the ham, drizzled in honey, calling out to her from the serving plate, that broke the spell. Reaching with her fork, she slid it onto her plate. She cut it into several pieces and shoved them one after another into her mouth, chewing methodically, deliberately, not enjoying it in the least.

  So he thought she was fat, did he, that she should do something about it? If that was what he wanted, she knew how to oblige him. There were old recipes of her mother’s that she thought she could never again allow herself to try, among them fudge brownies and German Chocolate Cake, and fudgie s’mores and coconut macaroons, and--well, the list went on and on. She could bake for hours and have the kitchen counters and dining room table filled with samplings of the leftovers by the time he returned from his duties at church.

  #

  Erwin smirked as the screen door closed behind him. The smirk remained, too, as he snatched the magazines and other mail from the black enamel mailbox bolted to the brick facade of his house. The magazines would give him something to read at the office while he waited for calls to come in. He placed the briefcase on the passenger seat of his white Monte Carlo and dropped the mail on top. Whistling tunelessly, he went around to the driver side and opened the door. He continued to whistle as he backed his car from the driveway.

  Whistling always seemed to help him think. Maybe it was time to make his next move, expand his horizons, he decided. He was sure many of Cedric’s congregation really didn’t like the idea of sharing facilities with Flowers Avenue Baptist Church. A few well-placed phone calls would begin the exodus in short order. Could be he should have made those calls earlier, but at that point it had seemed too early, like it might raise suspicions. By now, though, enough time had passed for Cedric’s flock to see how really miserable it was to beg from whitey. At first the exodus would be a trickle, he figured. But once they told their friends and had a chance to hear him preach, the trickle would quickly turn into a real gully-washer.

  It might be smart to invite Cedric to preach a time or two, he told himself, as he swung the Monte Carlo into the church parking lot. Divert the old boy’s suspicions by making him feel good and at the same time show the community a united front. Maybe take an offering or two for Alliance’s rebuilding--that would be a good gesture. Yeah, two offerings, that should do it. With the majority of Alliance attending his church, which was barely two miles from Cedric’s burned out hulk of a building, the added tithes and offerings would quickly make up for the loss of income from one or two services. Now that was foresight, he grinned. If they rebuilt Alliance, which he doubted, an old has-been like Cedric would never win back anyone but the old timers, people in their walkers and wheel chairs, people so dyed in the wool and loyal that he wouldn’t want to keep them as a part of his church anyhow.

  Exulting in the fact he wouldn’t be stuck with a Chevy much longer, he pulled the keys from the ignition of his Monte Carlo. With the added tithes and offerings he could move up to a Cadillac or maybe a Continental. He went around to the passenger side to slide out his briefcase and the mail stacked on top. In his happy preoccupation, the mail slid out of his hands to the pavement. A gust of wind caught several letters and blew them across the parking lot, forcing him to chase after them before they could end up in the street. He muttered and scowled, all too conscious of how undignified he must appear to passersby. By the time he returned to his car, letters in hand, beads of perspiration had sprung out on his forehead.

  Afraid his voice might carry to the street, he cursed under his breath. He had scuffed his shoes in his wild scramble for the mail. What was worse, he had stumbled on the sidewalk and gouged the toe of his right loafer. If it was one thing he detested, it was shoes that didn’t have an absolutely perfect shine to them. You could never really bring up a proper shine from scuffed or gouged leather, even if the soles of the shoes were stamped with those all important words, Made In Italy.

  The magazines and heavier envelopes still lay where he had dropped them. Among them, there was a large manila envelope addressed to him in block lettering. An inexplicable thrill of fear shot through him as he picked it up. The postmark was Calneh, no return address. Not from any business, that was certain. Block letters, in black felt marker, no less, made it seem like somebody wanted to deliberately disguise the handwriting?

  He bent back the clasp and tore open the flap, anxious to see the contents. He recognized the pictures at once; hadn’t he just picked up the same ones from the developer last week? The additional pictures, which someone had taken of him as he admired Alliance’s skeletal remains, put his heart in his throat. His hands trembled as he shoved the pictures into the envelope and grabbed his other mail along with his briefcase. Suddenly, his bladder felt ready to burst. He ran for the church, careless of his precious shoes, hoping desperately that the secretaries had left the door unlocked.

  “Thank God!” He cried, violently throwing open the door.

  At
the far end of the building, startled secretaries and a church janitor remarked among themselves that it was surely the sincerest shout of praise they had ever heard from Brother Erwin.

  On the street a gray, nondescript sedan pulled away from the curb and took the next turn toward Calneh’s city center.

  ****

  Chapter 33

  It didn’t matter how weary Theodora was from the day’s activities (made up mostly of visits to sick church folk laid up in the hospital or confined to their homes, and a stop at the church’s volunteer-run thrift store for a couple of hours to encourage the workers), as always she was careful to compose herself before she picked up the ringing phone.

  “Hello?”

  It didn’t matter she felt limp as a noodle and that her feet were dog tired, that she needed a few moments of respite, perhaps a cup of tea or coffee, and to fix her makeup and put a brush to her hair. She had learned early in the ministry that a false note in one’s voice or the lack of a smile, even if the party on the other end of the line couldn’t see it, was apt to start tongues wagging and fingers pointing or bitter complaints. The pastor and his wife were cold and distant, or maybe they had been fighting, or if they couldn’t get the victory, then who could? The list was endless. People were fickle, people were easily offended, people were angry at all sorts of things. Some of them just wanted to gossip, some of them wanted to know why this or that couldn’t be fixed right away, some of them wanted to know why they were always asking for money, some wanted to know why they hadn’t been picked for the choir solo, some wanted to tell what was wrong with the Sunday sermon or the Thursday (formerly Wednesday) night Bible study.

  Nonetheless, whatever the situation might be, without that initial smile and the friendly greeting, in person or over the phone, you just couldn’t reach first base. You couldn’t discover if there was genuine ministry to be done, whether someone needed help through prayer, kind words, instruction from the scriptures, the offer of a few dollars or a meal, or just to be listened to. A friendly smile and a cheery greeting at least opened the door, and Theodora gave it unfailingly. A little fatigue wasn’t about to stop her, not when she could always remind herself of the fact that Christ’s sacrifice on the cross and His resurrection made the problems of this world pale beside them. The afflictions of this world were light, compared to the glory of the world to come.

  Still, it was a shock to pick up the phone and answer sweetly, only to have a torrent of curses pour from the receiver. Her body stiffened and her nervous system locked up, paralyzing her so that she could not even squeak out an answer or slam the phone down in the cradle. It was like one of those nightmares where an evil presence comes into the room and leans over your bed, while you’re powerless to move.

  Sudden warmth spread down one leg and snapped her unseen bonds. She threw the phone at the cradle, not caring whether it actually connected to silence the voice, and ran for the bathroom. Her bladder had been full when she came through the door of her house and heard the phone ringing. Now it wasn’t. She kicked her shoes off and stripped in the shower. The jets of cool water washed away shame, fear, embarrassment. But they couldn’t reach where she had been wounded most.

  She had dealt with prank phone calls before, some obscene, some silly. But this one had been far worse than a simple prank call. Whoever had been on the other end of the phone line, he seemed to have a direct connection with hell itself. The anger had been volcanic, the rage and hatred beyond description. She could honestly say she had never experienced anything like it in all her life.

  When she came from the shower, she felt close to collapse. No one except Cedric knew how terribly the fire at the church had affected her, nor that she was the more deeply wounded of the two, especially with the aftermath of the expired insurance so heavily upon her heart and mind, and the demands of the ministry continuing as before, in fact growing, with the drive to rebuild.

  She supposed she shouldn’t have let it bother her, she thought, as she patted her face dry on a towel and brushed her hair. It was just a phone call, some poor lunatic, that was all. But telling herself didn’t really help; she felt like glass ready to shatter, or like someone whose insides have been clawed by a wild animal.

  Theodora went back to the living room, where she had taken the phone call, and sat on the couch, arms crossed over her chest to hug herself for warmth. Daylight faded, assisted by dark rain clouds, and she didn’t move to switch on any of the table lamps. Tears trickled down her face.

  That was the sort of condition in which Cedric found her that evening, as he came into the house, turning lights on as he entered each room. He looked at his wife in consternation, and heard the wail of the off-hook signal from the phone. He placed the receiver in its cradle, before hurrying to the sofa to wrap her in his arms. A dart of fear passed through his mind--he had ministered to rape victims before, and this seemed to be the same. But if she had been raped, why were her clothes in order and her hair perfectly in place?

  She sobbed uncontrollably against his shoulder. The phone rang. At first he ignored it. But Theodora stiffened in his arms. He could feel her tremors. The phone, the off-hook signal. Was that what this was all about? Had someone called with news about one of the boys? Had there been an accident?

  He let her go and reached for the phone. Dread crept down his spine. “Hello,” he said, his voice husky with emotion.

  The screams began at once, obscenities pouring forth like water from a high-pressure fire hose. He listened until he recognized the voice and then calmly hung up. The ringer could not be turned off, which made it necessary to slip the phone line from its wall jack. He regretted leaving her side, but both the kitchen phone and bedroom phone were newer, with ringers he could switch off.

  Checking on her after his return from the bedroom, he decided it was safe to leave her alone for another minute or two, at least until he had made the necessary phone calls from his private, unlisted line in the spare bedroom. Sometimes he used the room to polish Bible lessons or to write the occasional article for publication. Time permitting, Theodora used the room for her sewing projects. When he rejoined Theodora at the sofa, she was still trembling. He used a tissue to wipe tears from her face.

  The doorbell rang, and he checked his watch. Less than ten minutes had passed, about typical in an emergency. He went to the door and ushered in Teddy and his wife, Rae. He apologized profusely for the inconvenience, and they profusely refused to accept.

  “Where is she?” Rae whispered.

  “On the sofa.”

  “I’ll make us some hot tea.”

  “That would be nice,” he said. She knew the layout of the kitchen and where everything could be found. He nodded gratefully, and she left the two men to themselves.

  “You sure you don’t need me comin’ along?” Teddy asked. “Haven’t done any headcrackin’ lately.”

  Cedric shook his head and smiled. “What makes you think there’ll be any of that?”

  “Just a feeling.”

  “Well forget about it, ‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.’” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll be back in--in an hour. Maybe less. Just sit tight and be prayin’, bro. Okay?”

  Teddy sighed with regret, swung the door open for him, and slapped him on the back for good luck.

  “You didn’t park behind me, did you?” Cedric asked before venturing out.

  “We walked over. Now git. Everything will be fine. I know I’m itchin’ to hear the whole story, you rushing out like this, Ceed.”

  He gave him a grin that he didn’t feel, and walked out to his Cadillac. Some stories you couldn’t tell anyone, not even to the head elder of the church, even if he was Theodora’s little brother. As he drove off, he wished he could have sent his brother-in-law in his place; Teddy had played right tackle for Grambling in his college days. What he was about to do might be more down Teddy’s alley than his own, no matter what the Book said about veng
eance.

  He didn’t have to honk the horn when he reached Chance Odoms’ house. Odoms waited at the curb, a rake-lean wraith in the dark, with glowing cigarette in hand. The detective flicked the cigarette into the gutter before folding himself into the Cadillac.

  Cedric glanced over and saw by the momentary illumination of the dome light that one of Chance’s guns peeped out from his unbuttoned suit coat. Not that a gun was necessary. Or guns. He knew Chance always carried more than one.

  They were silent all the way to Erwin’s house. It wasn’t until Cedric pulled to a stop behind Erwin’s Monte Carlo that either of them spoke.

  “I could always arrest him, you know,” Chance said. Out of habit, he patted his jacket to make sure his guns were in place.

  Cedric smiled grimly. “Thanks, I think. I’m of the opinion that my way is better. If he doesn’t listen to reason...”

  “Right. Otherwise I’m just along for the ride.”

  It was Sharese who answered the doorbell. Alarm registered briefly on her face, as she recognized the two men, but she opened the door wide instead of attempting to shut them out.

  “I imagine you want my--my husband,” she said, bitterness evident in her voice.

  Both men glanced at one another, and then nodded. Flour smudged the tip of her nose and dusted her pink apron, while the smell of baked goods--pies, cookies, candy, maybe even Big Mama’s Everlasting Rolls thrown in--wafted from the interior of the house, threatening to overpower their senses. They instantly felt their salivary glands kick into high gear.

  “He’s in back, probably still dialing, trying to reach you,” she told Cedric.

  He brushed past her and disappeared inside the house. Chance stayed with Sharese, and reached for a cigarette and his lighter.

  “Are you here to arrest him, Captain Odoms?” She asked.

  He angled his head for a look at her from the corner of one eye, as he exhaled a stream of blue smoke. She was a strikingly pretty woman, far too lovely, in his opinion, for the snake she had married. Her question hadn’t been out of idle curiosity; she hoped he was here to arrest him. What kind of fool, he wondered, was Erwin, that he would turn a sweet-faced creature like this against himself?