Come Sunday Morning (17 page)

After a series of painful spasms and agonizing groans, the heaving in his stomach gradually subsided, but feelings of fright and dread continued. “Danny, where are you?” he said out loud. “Don't leave me like this.”

Hezekiah's body was drenched in sweat as he collapsed backward onto the tiled bathroom floor. He could hear his secretary pounding from outside the office door.

“Pastor Cleaveland!” came a panicked shout through the locked door. “Are you all right, sir? Pastor Cleaveland, please open the door!”

Hezekiah's white shirt clung to his body, wet and transparent from fluids he had released. His chest heaved up and down, gasping for air, and lifeless arms stretched at his sides.

He stared at the darkened light fixture above and surrendered to the overpowering need to cry, to mourn. His body convulsed again, not from the need to reject unwanted liquid, but to acknowledge the grief that flooded his heart. To mourn the loss of an essence that had been so painfully torn from his body. Hezekiah felt a familiar emptiness, which the last year with Danny had allowed him to forget. The void that Danny had so lovingly filled, the hollow that called for no one but him. At that moment Hezekiah felt that Danny was gone, and he was alone again.

 

Hezekiah stepped from the rear of the double-parked limousine. The curtains to Danny's apartment were open. He looked to the window for the familiar figure of Parker sitting on the sill. He was not there. Hezekiah rang the bell, then knocked loudly. There was no response. He leaned over the wrought-iron railing and peered into the window. The apartment was just as he had remembered, but Danny was nowhere to be seen.

Hezekiah walked to the car, when he heard, “Excuse me! Are you looking for Danny?”

Hezekiah looked up and saw an old man standing in the window above Danny's apartment. “Yes, I am. Have you seen him today?”

“Not today. But he…Hey, you're the pastor, Hezekiah Cleaveland.” The man turned and yelled to someone in the apartment. “Norma, come here. Look, it's Hezekiah Cleaveland. I told you I saw him here the other week.” Ray looked again to Hezekiah and said, “Norma watches you and your wife on TV all the time. She even sends you money.”

An equally aged Norma joined her husband in the window to gawk at Hezekiah.

“I'm sorry. She didn't believe me when I told her that I saw you here before. I'm Ray Somner, and this is my wife, Norma.”

Hezekiah smiled politely. “You were about to say something about Danny.”

“Oh yeah. Strangest thing. He left a note under our door this morning asking us to take care of his cat 'cause he wouldn't be coming back soon. I hope he's okay. He's a real nice kid. Works with the homeless, you know.”

Hezekiah walked up the steps toward the couple. “Yes, I know. Would you mind if I saw the note? He's a friend, and I'm a little concerned about him.”

“Sure. Norma, go get the note. It's over there on the table.”

Hezekiah read the shaky print as Norma and Ray vowed their support for his new cathedral.

“Do you have Parker?”

“Yeah, we used our spare key to get him. He's in the kitchen right now, eating. Do you want to see him?”

“No. That won't be necessary. Will he be able to stay with you until Danny returns? He loves that cat.”

“No problem. What's going on? Maybe we ought to call the police or something. This isn't like him to leave without telling us where he's going.”

“Yes, that might be a good idea. If you hear from Danny, would you please tell him I came by?”

“Of course we will, sir. I hope nothing has happened to him.”

“I hope not too. It was a pleasure meeting you both.”

“Likewise, Pastor.”

When Hezekiah reached the car, he heard one of the two shout from the window, “Good luck with the…” Dino slammed the car door before the final word could be heard.

Dino turned the car onto Crenshaw Boulevard. Hezekiah looked out the window through weary eyes and asked, “Where are you going? I just want to go home.”

“Pastor Cleaveland,” Dino said, holding up a sheet of paper, “your schedule says you have a meeting with a group of homeless advocates at the community center near the church in ten minutes. Would you like for me to call ahead and tell your advance man that you will not be coming?”

The muscles in Hezekiah's stomach churned again. “No. I should go. Take me there.”

 

All heads in the room turned to the door when Hezekiah entered the community center in the South Central part of town. Folding chairs were placed auditorium-style in the center of the hall.

Clusters of people lined the perimeter walls, and the chairs were filled with a mix of homeless people and educated young men and women—many who had used their degrees from Brown and Harvard to advocate for the rights of the city's poor and disabled.

“Oh good, the pastor has arrived,” a frail-looking man with thin hair said, addressing the audience. “Hello Reverend. For a moment there we thought you were going to be a no-show.”

Hezekiah nodded his head in acknowledgment and moved toward the front of the room.

“Now that Pastor Cleaveland is here I think we'll hold our other agenda items until later and give him the opportunity to speak,” the meeting facilitator continued. “I know you all have a lot to ask him, but please hold your questions until he has finished.” With a grand sweep of his arm, he yielded the floor to Hezekiah.

“Good evening, everyone,” Hezekiah said, standing before the crowd. “Thank you all for coming out to discuss this very important issue with me. As many of you may know, I have always been very concerned about the issues faced by homeless people in Los Angeles and in this country.

“New Testament Cathedral had spent the last ten years giving money to local feeding programs and shelters. Members of my congregation volunteer their time at many social service programs around the city, and my wife and I sit on the board of several national programs whose missions are to serve homeless men, women, and children. We've held countless meetings with merchants, concerned citizens, and members of the faith community, listening to your concerns and—”

“We're tired of you just listening,” a heavily bearded man interjected. “You're spending millions of dollars to build a shrine to yourself, and all you can do for the homeless is sponsor a food drive once a year so your members can drop dented cans of tuna in a box in your lobby. When are you going to do something that would help the homeless people that live on the streets all around your new church?”

The facilitator jumped to his feet. “Please, there will be plenty of time for questions after he's done.”

Hezekiah proceeded with his speech. “There's no question that homelessness is a growing problem, not only here but all over the city. That is why I've recently instructed our accountants to increase the amount of money we donate annually to social service programs.”

“We don't need your money. We need you to build more shelters and affordable housing instead of a massive glass church for rich people,” came a shout from another part of the room.

An elderly woman near the front stood to her feet and said, “How can you justify spending forty-five million dollars on a building that will only be open on Sunday mornings when you know that every night, of every year, thousands of men, women, and children live and die on the streets of this city?”

Angry-faced people shook their heads and blurted out expressions of agreement.

Hezekiah raised his hands. “Please, please, everyone. I know this is a very difficult situation, but there are also factions in this city that believe the homeless have a constitutional right to live on the streets. You cannot force anyone to go into a shelter who does not want to go.”

“That's bullshit and you know it!” shouted a homeless man near the rear. “You think I want to sleep under a bush and wash myself in park bathrooms? The problem is there's just not enough shelter beds in this city, and people like you, who could help to do something about it, prefer to ignore us and pretend it's our choice to live on the streets.”

The crowd grew increasingly agitated. Random comments came from every direction:

“If you won't do anything about it, then maybe we should organize protests every Sunday morning on the steps of your church.”

“You're a hypocrite. You claim to care about the homeless, but you only care about money.”

“You could have built thousands of units of affordable housing with the money you're wasting on that church.”

The effusive charm and quick wit that had served Hezekiah well his entire life now eluded him. He stood pummeled by the barrage of complaints and threats. Dino walked slowly toward the front of the room and positioned himself firmly a few feet from Hezekiah.

“Pastor Cleaveland,” said the facilitator above the shouts. “Are you going to respond? These people are angry and frustrated. They deserve some answers.”

The room fell silent. Hezekiah looked into the angry faces.

“I think I've heard enough,” he said with a scowl. “For some reason you people are under the misguided impression that I need your permission to build New Testament Cathedral. Well, for your information I don't. We have every permit required by law. We own the property, and at this point no one can stop the project. I came to meet with you as a courtesy, but I'm not in the mood to tolerate your abuse and misguided anger. You should direct it at the mayor and city council, not at me.”

Gasps were heard throughout, but Hezekiah continued. “I don't pretend to have the solution to homelessness, and I don't know of anyone who does. I do know, however, that protesting and focusing your anger toward me is not the solution. It may get you on the six o'clock news, but it does nothing to help the people you claim to be advocating for.”

Hezekiah turned to the stunned facilitator. “Mr. Facilitator,” he said mockingly, “please do not invite me or anyone else from my church to these meetings again.”

Hezekiah began to walk toward the exit. He stopped at the door and turned back to the stunned crowd and said, “Also, the next time I see any of you protesting on my property, I'm going the have the police throw you in jail for trespassing. Good night.”

Hezekiah exited the room, with Dino walking protectively behind. A chorus of jeers and threats erupted.

“We're going to shut you down, Hezekiah Cleaveland.”

“You've got no right to talk to us like that. We're good people.”

“I've never been so insulted in my life.”

The words of indignation were ignored. When they stepped into the cold night air, Dino asked, “Reverend, are you all right?”

“No, I'm not all right,” Hezekiah said, turning up his collar. “Just take me back to the Adams District.”

 

For the second time that day Dino stopped the car in front of Danny's home. Hezekiah could see Norma and Ray peeking through the curtains of their apartment. From the rear of the limousine Hezekiah stared into Danny's window. Nothing had changed. The lights had not been turned on. The day's mail was still in the box, and Parker was not on the sill.

Where is he?
Hezekiah thought.
God, please let him be all right.

The car was silent for several minutes, when Dino looked into the rearview mirror.

“Pastor Cleaveland, would you like me to knock on the door? Maybe he came back while we were away.”

Hezekiah could see compassion and knowing in the reflection of Dino's eyes through the mirror. He simply responded, “No, Dino. I don't think he's coming back. I just want to sit here for a few more minutes. But thank you. Thank you very much.”

Hezekiah's cell phone rang four times, but he did not answer it. The caller tried again. On the third ring Hezekiah picked it up. “Hello, what is it?”

“Hezekiah, it's Percy. Where are you? I've been trying to reach you all night. We have to talk.”

“Now isn't a good time, Percy. Can I call you back in—”

“This will only take a minute. Now listen to me closely. I know about you and Danny St. John.”

Hezekiah did not respond. He did not care.

“If that story appears in the paper, all hell is going to break loose,” Percy continued. “You have to be prepared to respond. Have Naomi call a press conference for tomorrow afternoon so you can publicly deny everything. We can't afford to let this go without a statement from you. If you don't refute the accusations, everyone will assume they're true.”

“I can't. I don't think I can face the public just yet. Danny is missing. No one seems to know where he is.”

“You need to forget about him, Hezekiah. The rest of your career will depend on how you handle what's about to come your way over the next few days. If you mess this up, it's over. I'm going to try and talk some sense into Lance Savage. I don't know if he'll listen to reason. You should go home and get some rest. I'll call you in the morning. And by the way, make sure Samantha is standing with you in the pulpit on Sunday.”

“I don't think she will, Percy.”

“Why not?”

“Because she knows the story is true. What am I going to do, Percy? My life is falling apart. It's over. I don't think I can take any more.”

“It's not over. We're going to fight this together, Hezekiah. It's going to be difficult, but we can get through this if you can just tough out the next few days.”

Hezekiah did not hear the final words of encouragement. He looked for the last time into Danny's window and said, “I have to go now, Percy. Just do whatever you think is necessary. I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

K
enneth Davis had tried, unsuccessfully, to reach Lance Savage all afternoon. He tried Lance's number again and was greeted with, “Lance Savage here. How can I help you?”

“Mr. Savage, this is Reverend Kenneth Davis. I'm an associate pastor at New Testament—”

Lance interrupted, “I know who you are Reverend Davis. What can I do for you?”

“I'd like to meet with you to discuss the article you're working on. Would that be possible sometime today?”

“There's nothing more to discuss. Besides, it's too late.” Lance looked at his watch. “I've already submitted it to my editor.”

“Now, we both know it's never too late to stop a story from going to press. I have a proposition for you that might convince you to put an end to this whole unfortunate misunderstanding.”

“What kind of proposition?”

“A proposition that would be mutually beneficial to all parties involved, especially for you.”

Lance was intrigued. He looked at his watch again and said, “All right, Reverend Davis.”

“Please, Lance, call me Kenneth.”

“Okay, Kenneth, I was just about to head home. You can meet me there in one hour.”

Lance gave his home address and the two men exchanged civil good-byes.

After disconnecting, Kenneth immediately called Percy Pryce.

“Percy, I finally got us a face-to-face with Lance Savage. Meet me in front of the church in thirty minutes.”

“What did he say? Is he going to take the money?”

“We didn't get that far. At least he's willing to listen to what we have to offer.”

Lance lived in a 1920s bungalow on the canals in Venice. Cars sped along the narrow street within ten feet of his front door. It was a small house with a permanent dampness in the air.

Lance, wearing faded jogging shorts and a wrinkled T-shirt, answered the door. “Hello, Kenneth. You didn't say you were bringing Reverend Pryce with you. Is he here in an official capacity?”

“No, he's not,” Kenneth said as the two men entered the cluttered bungalow. “And neither am I. We're not here to speak on behalf of the New Testament Cathedral, or Hezekiah. We only represent ourselves.”

“Have a seat, gentlemen. Can I get you a beer, or maybe something stronger?”

“No, thank you,” Kenneth said. “We don't plan on staying long.”

Lance retrieved a beer he had already begun and sat on a leather sofa next to Percy. Kenneth lowered his body into a chair in front of them and laid a briefcase on the floor at his feet.

Kenneth calmly began to speak. “I think it goes without saying that we would appreciate it if whatever we discuss does not leave this room. As far as anyone is concerned, this meeting never took place, and if you ever repeat anything we say, we will deny it.”

“Fair enough,” Lance said, setting the beer bottle on a side table.

“First of all, we'd like for you to tell us exactly what it is that you know about this affair Hezekiah is allegedly involved in, and with whom,” Kenneth stated.

“All right, it will soon be public information, anyway. Your pastor has been involved with a Mr. Danny St. John for the last year. They see each other no less than twice a week. Usually, they meet at Danny's apartment in the Adams District. They also have lunch together on occasions at various restaurants around the city. Danny is an outreach worker in downtown Los Angeles. He's twenty-eight, and quite a looker, if I might add. Is there anything else you would like to know?” Lance added smugly.

“Yes,” Percy said. “Everything you've just told us sounds relatively innocent. But it doesn't prove that the relationship was sexual in nature?”

“I agree,” Kenneth chimed in. “There's no law against Hezekiah having a male friend. He's been to my home dozens of times and we often dine out together. That doesn't make it sexual.”

Lance stood up and walked to a desk under a window overlooking the canals. He opened a drawer and retrieved a stack of papers held together by a metal clasp. He then thumbed through the stack, pulled a sheet out and handed it to Percy.

Percy read the e-mail silently:

Percy handed the e-mail to Kenneth, who proceeded to read as well.

“Would you like to see more? That's one of the tamer ones. There's a few in there that give you the size of each of their members, and one in particular that goes into great detail about where Danny likes for Hezekiah to put his finger when he's about to come.”

Percy quickly held up his hand and said, “No, that won't be necessary.”

“One thing I can assure you is that none of the more graphic details of their relationship will be in the article. I don't think the public is ready to hear what Hezekiah does when he's about to come,” Lance said with a sly smile.

“This is so unseemly,” Percy said in disgust. “I can't believe the
Los Angeles Chronicle
would stoop to gutter journalism like this. It's no better than the supermarket tabloids.”

“Pathetic, isn't it?” Lance agreed sarcastically. “It's a new day in journalism. The public craves shit like this, and if we want to stay in business, we've got to keep up with the times. No pun intended.”

“I'm glad you think this is funny,” Kenneth said angrily. “You don't seem to realize how many people will be hurt if this story is released. Hezekiah will be ruined. His wife and daughter will be devastated. The future of New Testament Cathedral will be placed in extreme jeopardy, and millions of people all over the country will lose a man they deeply love, and many will possibly also lose their faith in God.”

“I'm sorry, gentlemen, but Hezekiah should have thought of all that before he, so indiscreetly, got involved with a man,” Lance said as he sat back down. “I'm a reporter and I report the news. And this is definitely news.”

Kenneth proceeded diplomatically with his appeal. “You are obviously aware that the story would cause immeasurable damage to Hezekiah and New Testament Cathedral.”

“I am.”

“Is there any way we can appeal to your moral consciousness?” Kenneth asked passionately. “Surely, you must feel some moral obligation to your fellow man. Hezekiah made a mistake, but who among us hasn't? I'm sure you've done many things that you're not proud of. How would you like it if they were splashed all over the front page?”

“I would hate that, but you fail to recognize a few significant differences between Hezekiah and myself. I don't claim any sort of moral authority. I'm not married. I'm not the head of a multimillion-dollar empire, and even more important, I am not on television twenty-four hours a day around the country preaching about the evils of sin.”

“Point taken,” Kenneth conceded. “Then, let's approach this from a different angle. Needless to say, we want to put this entire ugly situation behind us all as soon, and as quietly, as possible. To that end, we are prepared to offer you one hundred seventy-five thousand dollars to forget you ever heard the name of Danny St. John.”

Kenneth retrieved the briefcase from the floor and placed it on the coffee table. He opened it to reveal stacks of one-hundred-dollar bills bound by white paper strips.

Lance sat erect. “You've got to be shit'n me,” he said, laughing. “You think saving your boy's ass is only worth one hundred seventy-five thousand dollars?”

“That's all we are able to come up with.”

Lance stood up and walked toward the door. “You and I both know that's not true. New Testament brings in more than that just from the interest you earn on money collected in the Sunday-morning offering plate. Gentlemen,” he said, “I think you've wasted enough of my time. I would appreciate it if you'd leave my home.”

Percy jumped from the sofa. “You fucking piece of shit,” he said, pointing his finger. “Now it's clear to me what this is all about. You're trying to get rich off the backs of Hezekiah and New Testament Cathedral. That whole speech about ‘the news' was a bunch of bullshit. You don't give a fuck about the news,” he said angrily. “It's all about money.”

“That's some strong language for a man of God,” Lance said. “I'm impressed.”

“Fuck you,” Percy continued. “If you have half a brain, you'll take the money and forget about this whole thing.”

“It'll take a lot more than that for me to forget Danny St. John. Try half a million, and then maybe we can talk.”

“You're out of your fucking mind,” Percy said, “if you think we're going to give you half a million.”

“I think that's a fair price, Reverend Pryce, especially considering it was your wife who got you into this sordid mess,” Lance replied as he opened the front door. “Now, if you don't mind.”

Percy looked stunned and then slammed the door shut. “What are you saying? My wife isn't involved in this.”

Lance walked away from the door to a nearby telephone. “Are you trying to tell me you didn't know she is the one who leaked the story?”

Percy bolted across the room and grabbed Lance by the shoulders. “My wife had nothing to do with this. You're lying. Don't listen to him, Reverend Davis. He's trying to get more money out of us.”

Reverend Davis stood and said, “Let him go, Percy. Right now it doesn't matter who leaked the story.” He then looked at Lance and said, “Five hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money. It'll take me some time to come up with it, but—”

“It matters to me,” Percy interrupted. He then pushed the now-shaking reporter against the wall, causing a picture to crash to the floor. “I'm not going to let this little bastard extort that kind of money out of us.”

“Reverend Pryce, you would be surprised at just how low your wife had to stoop to ensure that you become the next pastor of New Testament Cathedral. Take it from me, though. She knows her way around the front seat of a car.”

Lance began to walk away, but Percy grabbed his neck. The two men struggled.

“Percy, stop it,” Kenneth said, grabbing Percy by the shoulders. “Let him go. Let's go.”

But their scuffle only escalated. A lamp fell from a table. Stereo equipment and CDs lurched from their shelves from bumps leveled by slamming bodies. Lance struggled for release as Percy pushed him to the ground.

When Lance fell, his head banged against the coffee table, causing the briefcase, and all its contents, to topple onto the floor. The reporter lay motionless, with bundles of money scattered around his body.

“Oh God,” Kenneth said, kneeling next to Lance's limp body. “What have you done? He's not breathing.”

Kenneth tried to revive the limp body of Lance Savage, while Percy panted over his shoulder.

“Wake up,” Percy said through deep, anguished breaths. “He tripped. Make him get up, Kenneth.”

Kenneth shook Lance's shoulders, causing his head to flop from side to side. His arms hung limp and unresponsive to the additional abuse at the hands of such a large man.

“He's dead,” Kenneth finally said. “You killed him.”

“I barely touched him. You saw it. He must have tripped. Oh shit. I don't believe this is happening. What are we going to do?”

Without responding, Kenneth carelessly dropped the mass of flesh and immediately began gathering the fallen money, returning it to the case.

“Quick,” he said, “get all the money, and let's get out of here.”

“We can't just leave him here. We should call the police.”

“Are you crazy? You just killed a man for no reason. They'll put you in jail for the rest of your life. Let's just get out of here. Hopefully, no one saw us come in. They'll think he was killed by a burglar. Now, pull yourself together and help me pick up this money.”

Kenneth scanned the room, once the case was filled. Much of its contents lay scattered on the floor, along with the crumpled body. To his satisfaction it looked like the classic botched robbery scene he had seen so often on the evening news.

“If we pass anyone on the street, don't make eye contact with them, and try to look natural.”

Percy looked again at the devastation his hands had wrought and cried out, “I don't believe this is happening!”

Kenneth ran to the kitchen at the rear of the house and retrieved a dish towel from the sink. He opened the back door of the house and stepped onto the wooden porch, wrapped his hand in the dish towel and smashed a pane of glass in the back door. With his hand still covered he closed the door and stuffed the towel into his pocket. The broken glass crackled under his feet as he quickly left the room.

The two men exited the apartment through the door they had entered. Cars raced down the busy street at speeds that permitted no more than cursory glances. No pedestrians were in sight as Kenneth drove away.

“This never happened, Percy,” Kenneth said, looking directly ahead. “Do you understand? This never happened.”

Percy was in shock and did not respond.

“You have to put this out of your head. We were never there.”

“What if a neighbor saw us? What about Naomi and Catherine? They knew we were going to meet with him.”

“No one saw us,” Kenneth patiently said. “We were never in Venice. Don't ever mention this to anyone. Understand? I'll tell Naomi and Catherine that I wasn't able to contact him. If they question you, just tell them to talk to me.”

“I won't mention it. I understand. I just can't get his face out of my head. Why did he make me do it? I just snapped. I don't know what happened. He shouldn't have said those lies about Cynthia. She would never do anything so cruel. She loves Hezekiah and Samantha. This would have never happened if he had just taken the money.”