Relentless (9 page)

Bishop Jones unlocked his office door, turned on the light, and planted himself in the chair behind his desk. Minister Simmons stopped a few feet in front of the bishop's desk.

“I've told you how the drug process works. I don't know what else you want me to tell you.” Simmons hunched his shoulders up and down.

Bishop struggled to find balance between reprimanding with a heavy hand versus mentoring a young minister who was clearly misguided. Compassion compelled him to see beyond the flesh. If someone had helped Bishop in his early years, many mistakes could have been avoided. “Look, I don't condone what you've been doing, but I want to understand your situation. It's too bad you took this route to solve your problem.”

“It's not what you think,” Simmons replied glancing down at his watch.

“Really, well let me be the judge.”

Simmons paced the floor and began spilling out a story layered with a tone of irritation. “The supplier is a guy I knew from college. He told me about the venture, and I got involved.”

Sound of the minister's voice faded for Bishop Jones as the pangs of his money woes grew. He was committed to completing the multimillion dollar church expansion project. They'd secured most of the property but that was only one phase. $2 million was required to break ground. Bishop had been sleeping with that number for months. Campaigns and various fundraisers had produced most of the funds, except $200,000.

“The money just rolls in,” Simmons uttered.

Bishop Jones tussled with the notion. His spirit told him not to entertain the thought but his flesh and desperation spoke equally as loud, telling him not to pass up this one-time opportunity. His internal war raged as justification took center stage in his conscience.

Money coming into the church from Simmons's drug setup definitely wouldn't be a God-given miracle. But, perhaps, a manmade miracle could suffice. Bishop Jones shook his head, rebuking the temptation. Casting down the seed of temptation was his best and only option if he was going to triumph this round.

“That's how it happened. I'm not proud to say it, but my bills and needs were long and my money was short, real short. I was in trouble financially, and this was my opportunity to make some quick money. I'm doing it on a small scale. If need be, I could kick it up a notch and there would be more money to go around,” Simmons said staring directly at Bishop Jones.

Bishop Jones swiveled his chair to the left and peered from the window, quickly breaking their visual connection for a few seconds. “Sit down, Simmons. You've paced the floor enough. You're making me dizzy.”

Simmons shifted the watch on his wrist and stepped closer to the bishop's desk. “I really need to go.”

The bishop slammed his heavy hand onto the top of his desk and jumped up. “I said sit down,” he bellowed. Silence flooded the office. Simmons claimed a seat as Bishop Jones rose and pressed both knuckles against the desk. Simmons sat up with his spine straight and eyelids widened. Resolve rose in Bishop as he spoke, unencumbered. “I don't see how you can justify your behavior in this church,” he shouted. His sharp stare threatened to slice Simmons in half.

“Fifty or sixty thousand dollars in just a few months is a lot of money. Like I said, I'm not proud of this but a man has to take care of home any way he can. I guess necessity is a powerful incentive.”

Bishop Jones recognized the cry of necessity. It was a loud and constantly compelling voice which was crying out this second in the secret places of his mind. Could this be the financial breakthrough he'd been seeking? No didn't leap to the forefront. Bishop couldn't bask in self-righteousness knowing he was so close to falling into the same hole Simmons was wading in. Quick, interest-free, and steady money?

“Can I go?” Simmons said with a noticeable edge.

“Shhh, I'm thinking,” Bishop fired at him.

Simmons interrupted Bishop again. “As for Jill, well, I made a mistake. Trust me when I tell you that. I love my—” His chirping cell phone cut him off. “Excuse me, Bishop. This is my wife.” Simmons moved toward the door with his back to Bishop, and answered his phone.

Bishop stared at the back of Simmons's head for a few seconds then plopped into his seat. Moonlight lit up the blanket of darkness claiming the sky, summoning him to the window near his desk. He massaged his temples with the fingertips of both hands, desiring to pluck faithless images from his mind. Necessity continued warring with righteousness, but Bishop's spirit wasn't giving in.

He sighed and drew in a deep breath.

Escaping the torment pursuing him, he turned his whole body quickly from the window. His gaze fell squarely on the family photos lining his desk. He snatched up the picture frame displaying his grandson for the knockout blow. This expansion project had to work. His gaze lingered on his wife. She spoke to his heart like no other person could. Bishop pounded his forehead with the heel of his hand thrice to silence his confusion. He set the frame down then planted both palms flat on top of the desk as he leaned in. “Let's wrap this up.”

Minister Simmons whirled his body around facing the bishop. His eyeballs were bulging with one hand flailing in the air, pleading for Bishop to stop talking. “Honey, I've got to go. I promise; I'll be on my way home in just a few minutes.”

Bishop's tenacity gurgled up out of his soul, plowing through boulders of worry labeled debt and insufficient capital. “Minister Simmons, this business of yours ends tonight. You need money and the church needs money. Still, it is never right to do the wrong thing even if it's for what appears to be a good reason. If money is an issue for you, we'll just have to deal with it.”

Simmons took four brisk steps toward the bishop's desk. “But, money doesn't have to be an issue for either of us or the church,” he said shrugging his shoulders.

Bishop thrust his body forward pointing his finger toward Simmons. “Stop. Stop, right now. Not another word.” The bishop stepped from behind his desk.

“Okay, okay, I'll stop. But, I don't know that I can just cut it off like that,” Simmons argued, snapping his fingers in the bishop's face. “I've got an awful lot of product to get rid of.”

In two seconds, Bishop Jones was toe-to-toe with Simmons. He could see the twitching in the young minister's eye. “Get rid of it. I don't care how you do it. Flush the crap down the toilet; toss it in the Delaware River; give it back to your friend; or bury it in your backyard. Just get rid of it if you want to remain on staff here, and I'm not playing around,” he scolded. “We are men of God.” Simmons took a step back, creating a small amount of space between him and Bishop. “Act like it.” Bishop drew in a loud breath that inflated his chest. He exhaled slowly speaking more deliberately. “Get a second job and streamline your expenses,” he suggested. Absolutely exhausted, Bishop Jones retreated to his desk and dropped down into his chair. “I can bump up your salary an extra few thousand dollars. However, you have to figure out what it will take to live within your means.”

“What about Jill? She's involved in this thing too,” Simmons replied.

“You just do what it takes to terminate your end. I'll take care of her. And from now on keep your eyes and heart where it's supposed to be. If I find out about any more issues, you will be removed from the ministerial team.” Simmons let his gaze slump. “We can't lead God's people if we are not allowing God to lead us. Do you understand, Minister?”

Simmons plucked his keys from his jacket pocket. “Yes, Bishop, I hear you.”

“I need to hear you say the words.”

“I'll put an end to the prescription med thing.”

“Tonight, Minister Simmons.”

“Tonight, Bishop; I'll do it tonight.”

“Go home to your wife.”

Simmons didn't respond. Bishop watched him take hurried steps to get out, glancing back with a blank stare.

Squeezing his eyelids tightly, Bishop Jones prayed aloud as the door closed shut, hoping Simmons was to be trusted with disbanding the drug operation. If not, Bishop wasn't worried. It was on God to handle the wayward young leader. He'd done his part by admonishing the minister. Bishop would have to rely on faith for the rest, just like he'd do with the expansion project. “Heavenly Father, give me the strength needed to continue resisting the devil's temptation. Help me to stand steadfast, my feet immovable from what I know to be right. Your Word and promise, I know to be true. If this expansion project is your will, then I am confident you will provide the necessary resources. Amen.”

Bishop Jones lifted the picture frame from his desk again. Slowly, his thumb traced the curvature of his wife's face. God, his family, and his commitment to both would remain intact. He put the frame back in its rightful place next to his Bible. His cell phoned chimed as he turned out the light and locked his office door. “Sorry, I'm so late, sweetie. I'm on my way home,” he told his wife and left. His body was worn out but his spirit was energized and leaping for joy.

Just as Maxwell backed out his driveway, his cell phone rang. Who could possibly be calling him at daybreak on a Saturday morning? Garrett's name flashed across the screen. Maxwell answered eagerly. “Garrett, what's up, man? It must be something good if you're calling this early on the weekend. Talk to me.”

“I thought twice about calling you before eight, but I knew you wouldn't want me to sit on some serious information.”

“You know it. What's going on?”

“This is going to make your head spin. I know it's early but can you meet me at your office?”

“Yes,” Maxwell exclaimed, pushing the heel of his hand into the steering wheel. “I'm already in the car. See you in twenty minutes.” A warm sensation washed over Maxwell. It felt like satisfaction. His curiosity soared wondering what secrets Garrett had unearthed. Maxwell relaxed in his seat and leaned onto the armrest acknowledging that his short ride would most likely account for the only free minutes he'd get today. He decided to check his personal voicemails, which his tight schedule had forced him to completely ignore the day before. He fast-forwarded and deleted several messages, stopping when he heard Nicole's voice. He listened to half the content before deleting and making a mental note to call her later. He continued with the routine of fast-forwarding and deleting. None of the messages were pressing, until he got to the last one and it made him sit up straight.

“Uncle Max, my birthday is tomorrow. I'm having cake and ice cream and a party, too. You have to come, Uncle Max. You have to come.” His nephew's voice melted away his staunch disposition.

The call continued. “Hey, Maxwell, this is Christine. Tyree wouldn't take no for an answer. He just had to call you. Does his determination remind you of anyone? His party is at six tomorrow, here at the house. I left you a message and we sent an invitation to your office since we don't have any other address for you. How crazy is that? I don't even know where my own brother lives because you are determined to keep us at a distance. Anyway, I haven't heard from you. I thought I would make one last attempt. Hope to see you. Take care.”

He'd heard the messages from his sister but had ignored them. Over the years, that had grown fairly easy to do, but Tyree's voice sliced past the secure façade and went straight to Maxwell's heart.

Traffic whizzed by as Maxwell reflected on the last time he'd seen Tyree. It had been awhile and it was one of his few regrets. But he didn't want to get caught up with the expectations of regular visits and phone calls. Tyree was too young to understand but his mother knew very well what the issues were. The remainder of his ride to work was consumed by an internal struggle. He didn't want to disappoint his nephew, but what was he supposed to do? Irritation and compassion wrestled within him. He was confident that whatever news Garrett had was big and would most likely demand his undivided attention. That meant another long day and breaking up the momentum with a party didn't factor into Maxwell's agenda. He tried settling on that reason, but it didn't stick. Truth had a way of surfacing, regardless of how deep it had been buried. Reality was that he didn't want to deal with his family, especially his father. Maxwell shook his head and pressed down on the accelerator. He watched his speedometer climb. Maybe he was trying to outrun his demons, yet they dogged him at every turn. The closer he got to the office, his domain, the more he was able to crush his spurts of emotional weakness.

Maxwell pulled into the parking lot next to Garrett's car. Minutes later they were upstairs in Maxwell's office behind closed doors. “Okay, what did you find out?” Maxwell asked sitting at his desk.

“Well, you were right. There are definitely some dirty dealings going on between Bishop Jones and Councilman Chambers. There have been over fifty property deeds filed in the name of Greater Metropolitan over the last eleven months alone and another thirteen last year. The properties were all sold way below market value.” Garrett pressed his index finger down hard onto the desk as he repeated the words, “Way below.”

Maxwell leaned forward planting his elbows into the desk. “I know he's tied up into something crooked. I can feel it,” he said slapping his hand across the desk. “Snakes don't change; they just shed their worthless skin, and slither on toward their next victim,” Maxwell said fixated on a paperclip he was twisting.

“I'm not following you,” Garrett muttered.

Understandably so since Maxwell was speaking of the bishop's past sins, ones he'd never shared with Garrett and never would.

“Oh, excuse me. I'm basically thinking out loud and obviously making no sense. Let's get back to business,” he said putting down the paperclip. “What else did you find out, because we'll need more,” Maxwell told Garrett with narrowed eyes and a pinched brow.

“Not a problem. Most of the property was bought from small local business owners in the neighborhood like barber shops, hair salons, little food joints, and even a few small churches. I also found out Chambers told some of the business owners that the zoning laws were going to change and their leases would not be renewed. Instead of closing their businesses and selling their inventory at a loss, they opted to take the buyout offered. I've got to poke around a little more because I hear that Chambers is also involved with several more zoning violations.” Garrett rubbed his hands together back and forth then announced, “Here's the best part.” He paused, dangling the information carrot in front of Maxwell.

“What is it? Tell me.”

“The title company that was used to broker all the deals is owned by Chambers' nephew.” Garrett leaned back in his chair, pushed his fist into the palm of his left hand, pointed both forefingers at Maxwell and said, “There's the smoking gun.”

Maxwell jumped up from his chair, walked around his desk and gave Garrett a high five. “I knew Chambers would live up to his reputation and that's going to work in our favor. You are worth every penny I'm paying you. How in the world did you get that information?” Maxwell began flailing his hands rapidly. “No, no, don't tell me. I don't need to know.” Maxwell started pacing his office floor, talking aloud and rattling off the next few things he felt needed to happen. He snatched up a pad from his desk and created a list. He wrote almost as fast as he was talking. “We've got to get the names of those business owners and start interviewing them to find out just what the details were behind those shady deals.” He stopped pacing for a moment. “Garrett, do you smell that?”

“What?”

“The stench of extortion, fraud, larceny, racketeering, coercion, and the list of possibilities is endless.” Maxwell resumed pacing with increased energy. “You got to love the bishop. He's making this so easy for us. The beauty is that we don't have to trump up charges. There is a plethora waiting for us,” Maxwell said, releasing a loud chuckle. “Garrett, all we need is a list of owners to get this show on the road.”

Garrett stood up, reached inside his jacket pocket, and pulled out a white envelope, which he tossed onto the desk. “Relax, I've already got it.” He reached over his left shoulder to pat himself on the back. “I guess I am worth the big bucks, huh?”

Maxwell grabbed the envelope, pulled out the paper and scoured every name from top to bottom. The excitement of what he was holding in his hands sent a rush of adrenaline through his body. He looked up at Garrett, snapped his fingers, and told him, “This is what I'm talking about. Man, you've just earned yourself a bonus.” With unquenchable vigor, ideas flowed and inspired Maxwell to get moving. He shook Garrett's hand firmly. He walked Garrett to the elevator praising him for his investigative skills. “For the record, you can call me at six o'clock in the morning any day of the week, including Saturday, if you've got the goods like you had today.”

“We'll see about that,” Garrett uttered igniting humor in both of them before departing.