The Choir Director 2 (23 page)

“He saw me at the church while I was trying to take care of your Tia problem,” she admitted.

“My Tia problem?” I repeated, and then it dawned on me what she was implying. “Oh, Lord. Please tell me you weren't doing what I think you were.”

She gave me a look that confirmed my fear. “I almost had her, Des. I had the belt around her neck. She would be gone right now if the fuckin' bishop hadn't rolled up on me.”

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit! What the fuck were you thinking?” I yelled.

“Desiree, I'm sorry, but you did say to take care of her.”

“Yeah, but I didn't say kill her, dammit!” Now I was the one pacing back and forth frantically. “Did he see your face?”

Her shoulders slumped. “Yeah. He looked right in my eyes,” she said in total defeat. She had fucked up beyond belief.

“We've gotta go,” I said.

“Where?”

“To see my uncle. He's gotta pack up that office and disappear before the shit hits the fan. Thanks to you and him, our timetable just got sped up.”

“Hey, baby. It's me. Please, please, please call me back. I know I've fucked up, and I would do anything to take that back, but I can't do anything if you don't call me. Please!” I hung up the phone, wondering if Selena would even listen to this or the other fifteen voice mail messages I'd left her since she kicked me out a few days ago. I'd already given up on texting, because that wasn't getting any response either. I picked up the phone to dial her again, but what was the point? If she didn't want to talk to me, then she didn't have to. It wasn't like I could go to her mother's house and talk to her. Tank was living there, too, ready to rip my head off if I came anywhere close to his sister.

I put down my cell and picked up my Starbucks latte out of the cup holder, staring out at the small two-story office building. I'd been sitting outside Jackson's office for an hour. I still couldn't believe a big-time agent would set up shop on a nondescript street in Queens. He would have to be getting his clients some killer deals for them to come to this rinky-dink joint when they could be with management firms in the heart of Manhattan. This location was just one of the many things about him that just didn't add up.

Now that I was no longer managing Aaron or the choir, I had plenty of time on my hands to figure out just what the fuck Jackson was up to. I didn't necessarily know what I expected to find, but I just couldn't shake the gnawing feeling that the dude was hiding something. After sitting outside his office for two hours, though, I was starting to get the feeling that this was not the way to gather information.

On the off chance that he might have some useful information, I decided to call Bentley Simpson, who had been my mentor when I first got into the entertainment business. I'd started out in Atlanta, representing some young actors trying to break into the business. An established agent, Bentley had taken a liking to me and kind of taken me under his wing. “Black folks have to stick together down here in Black Hollywood,” he'd told me. I hadn't spoken to him more than once or twice since moving north to represent Aaron and the choir, but I still had major respect for Bentley. Maybe he knew something about Jackson, or could at least help me put a finger on what was off about this guy.

“Ross Parker, how the hell are you?” he said when he answered. I was happy to know he still had my name programmed into his phone. “Tell me you're calling with some good news.”

“Isn't my call good news enough?” I joked. “How the hell are you doing since your retirement?”

“Hell, not as good as you. When are you gonna bring that boy out here and take over our choir, put it on the map?” he pressed me. Bentley was on the board and very involved with his church in LA. It had a celebrity-filled congregation, and photographers lined up outside the doors every Sunday to catch a glimpse of the black Atlanta elite. Bentley had been after me to convince Aaron to take over his church choir ever since.

“You know we can't leave,” I said, neglecting to tell him that I was no longer managing Aaron. It would be too embarrassing to admit to Bentley, a powerhouse in the business who never would have allowed himself to be duped by someone like Jackson. “And besides, I don't trust those Atlanta tornadoes,” I said with a laugh.

“You get used to them. It's just a little rocking and rolling on the road. Now, I know that Bishop Wilson runs a megachurch, but we have a
mega
megachurch. The deal we could offer you two would blow your mind,” he bragged, always the super salesman.

“Listen, we just signed a deal with Johnson Morris Agency,” I said, avoiding the whole truth again.

“You mean the Johnson Morris Endeavor agency? They merged a couple of years ago. Now they're bigger and better.”

“Oh, yeah. That's right.” I didn't want to admit I hadn't known about the merger. Alarm bells were ringing in my head, though. Jackson had presented himself as coming from Johnson Morris; never once had he mentioned Endeavor. Just one more thing about him that was suspect.

“Listen, Bentley, I was wondering if you knew an agent by the name of Jackson Young. He's in his early forties, supersmooth. I know you agents are tough, but this guy is something else.” I didn't want to come out and call the guy an asshole, just in case they were close friends or something.

“Jackson Young! Whew, I haven't heard that name in a couple of years, and frankly, I'm perfectly okay with that. Talk about a shark. He gives new meaning to the phrase ‘by any means necessary.' That guy will sell out his mother for the chance to make money.” Okay, so now I definitely knew they weren't friends! Everything he said about Jackson squared with the impression I had of him. I guess this guy made enemies wherever he went.

“Thanks, man. That's kind of what I thought. Just wanted to make sure I wasn't jumping to conclusions.”

“Anytime,” he said. “Listen, I've got to run, but give me a call next time you're headed out to ATL. I'll take you and your wife out to this jazz club that just opened up. Place is jumping every night of the week.”

Again, I couldn't bear to tell him the truth about me and Selena. Damn, I really had fallen far since the last time I spoke to Bentley.

“Sure thing, Bentley,” I said, trying to keep the feeling of failure out of my voice. “I'll be in touch.”

I was about to end the call, when Bentley spoke up. “Hey, Ross, just do me a favor, okay?”

“What's that?”

“Jackson Young is dangerous and connected, so please just stay the hell out of that white boy's way.” With that, he hung up.

Still holding my phone, I stared up at the office building with Bentley's words echoing in my head.
White boy.

Unless dude had the best tan in the world, there was no way that the man in this office in Queens was Jackson Young from Johnson Morris. This was even bigger than I'd imagined. That loudmouth motherfucker was a sham, a bragging flimflam artist. Of course, now the question was: Who the hell was he? And what did he want with Aaron and the choir?

I leaned back in my seat, running through everything I knew about this guy—what little there was. I remembered the first day he'd shown up in the bishop's office, right after Tia left Aaron at the altar. What a fucked-up time to show up and make a proposal like he did. And then to ogle the bishop's wife the way he did…That was it! This wasn't about the choir at all.

I snatched up my phone to call Aaron. He could help me make sense of all of this. Together we could make a plan to put a stop to all of this shit before it tore apart the whole church.

Aaron's cell went immediately to voice mail, which meant he'd turned it off. He usually kept that thing on and as close to him as possible. He never said it, but I knew it was because he was still hoping Tia would call him one day. Why today, of all days, had he turned it off?

A car pulled up near the spot where I'd been sitting for two hours. Two women got out, and as they passed by my car, I had to do a double take. One of them was Desiree, the new church secretary. What a weird coincidence that she was in the same neighborhood as Jackson Young's office. I wondered if she lived in one of the nearby apartments.

She was caught up in a conversation with the other woman, so she didn't notice me. It was just as well, because I sure didn't want to explain what I was doing there.

Things got even more interesting when I watched the two of them cross the street. If I hadn't seen them up close, I would have thought the other woman was a sixteen-year-old boy, with her buzzed hair, baseball cap, and baggy jeans. The boyish one reached out and took Desiree's hand, which was intriguing enough, but I nearly lost it when they stopped on the sidewalk and she pulled Desiree in for a kiss. I'm not talking about no peck on the cheek, either. These two were going at it, tongue and all. You could not have paid me to believe that the demure church girl who worked in the bishop's office was into this kind of shit if I hadn't just seen it with my own eyes.

When I tore my eyes away from their activity, it finally dawned on me that their presence in this neighborhood was not a coincidence. Their make-out session was happening right in front of the entrance to Jackson's office.

“What the fuck is going on?” I asked myself out loud. How the hell was Desiree connected to Jackson Young? I was starting to get a really bad feeling that this whole thing was much bigger than just me losing Aaron and the choir.

I opened my phone's camera app and started recording. They finally broke the kiss, the butch one wiping her mouth, and then they entered Jackson's office together. I didn't know yet what the connection was between them and that motherfucker, but something told me this video would prove valuable later.

It was a little after nine in the morning when we climbed the stairs to Uncle Willie's office. After a long, frantic night of searching for him to no avail, we were running on pure adrenaline. We hadn't gone back to our place for fear that the cops would be out looking for Lynn. Instead, we'd fallen asleep with our clothes on in a sleazy motel, where I tossed and turned all night. My whole plan was falling apart, and now my first priority was to protect Lynn. If that meant giving Uncle Willie the money so that he would leave town, then so be it.

I had asked Lynn to wait for me at the motel, not wanting her anywhere near the office where the bishop knew she worked, but she wouldn't hear it. She wanted to protect me just as much as I wanted to protect her. She didn't say it, but I think she wanted one more chance to cuss Uncle Willie out before he left town. Those two had always had it out for each other.

Lynn pushed the door open and walked into his office first. Willie was leaning back in his overpriced Aeron chair, his feet propped up on the desk like some big shot. His face broke into a grin at the sight of the envelope I held in my hand.

“Glad to see you, girls.” He glanced at his watch. “And right at the start of business hours too. I'm happy that you're so punctual.” He laughed jovially, as if we were there for a social visit.

“Why the fuck weren't you answering your phone last night?” Lynn said.

Uncle Willie frowned at her. “Why is that any of your business?” He looked at me. “In fact, this is between me and my niece. Your ass doesn't need to be here at all.”

Lynn took a step toward him, her fists clenched. “Motherf—”

“Lynn, wait.” I stopped her with an outstretched hand. “Let's just give him the money so we can all get out of here.”

Uncle Willie nodded. “Yes, you can give me my bonus, and then you two can get to steppin'. I need to go buy myself a fly new suit before I go pay a visit to Monique tonight.”

“No, motherfucker, it's not gonna go down that way,” Lynn said. “She's gonna give your greedy ass that money, but only on one condition.”

“What might that be?” he asked with a condescending smirk. He clearly thought he was in control of this situation, and seemed to be amused by the idea of us making any demands on him.

“You take the money and get the hell out of town.”

He looked at me. “Is your girl stupid, Desiree? Didn't you explain everything to her? I'm going to get Monique; there is no way in hell I'm leaving town.”

Lynn charged at his desk and got in his personal space. “Yes, you are leaving town. Some things came up, and you need to be out of this office in the next ten minutes.”

Even with Lynn right up in his face, he didn't lose his cool. He took his feet off the desk and sat up, folding his hands calmly in front of him. He looked at me and asked, “What is she talking about?”

“She had a little run-in with Tia last night.”

“So, what does that have to do with me? If anything, she's the one who should be getting out of town.”

“It's more serious than that,” I said, wishing he would stop asking questions and just get going.

“What are you not telling me?” he asked suspiciously. “How do I know y'all aren't just making up this shit to cut me out?”

I sighed, realizing it was stupid of me to ever think he would leave just because I told him to. “Okay, it was more than a run-in. She tried to kill Tia.”

He actually laughed. “Damn, girl, you have absolutely no self-control, do you? The army taught you well. You're a killing machine.”

“Willie, shut up and listen for once, will you? The bishop spotted Lynn, and he knows she was working as your secretary. The cops could show up here at any time.”

“Oh, now I see your dilemma, but I still don't see what that has to do with me. I'll just tell the cops I fired her. Maybe I'll even tell them she tried to attack me, and now she's going after my clients at First Jamaica Ministries.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Lynn yelled at him, her chest heaving up and down. She looked like she was about ready to explode.

“I've got other interests in New York, namely Monique Wilson. I'm not leaving because you fucked up.”

“Look, Uncle Willie, just take the check and get the hell outta here,” I pleaded. The way Lynn's temper was escalating, things could only get worse. I envisioned the cops busting in while the two of them were in the middle of a fistfight.

“I told you that he was a selfish, limp-dick motherfucker,” Lynn snapped.

“And you're a stupid dike who can't do anything right,” he shot back. “I don't know how my niece can stand your ass. To tell you the truth, I was rooting for that boy Pippie to get with her.”

That was it. Lynn snapped, and she was over the desk and on top of him in no time. It happened so fast I didn't have time to react. Uncle Willie reacted, though. He threw Lynn off of him, and she landed on her ass, angrier than a hornet.

Uncle Willie stood over her, laughing. “Ha! Some soldier you are. You'll be dead in no time when they deploy your ass back to the Middle East.”

In a rage, Lynn jumped up from the floor, pulled a knife out of her jacket, and dove at Willie.

“Lynn, no!” I screamed, but it was too late. She had already plunged the blade into his chest.

“I
am
a motherfuckin' soldier. What you got to say about that now?” she yelled.

There was silence from Willie.

She turned around to me, a wild look in her eyes. The knife was still sticking out of Willie's chest.

“What did you just do?” I whispered as I backed away from her slowly, bumping into the wall behind me.

Lynn came toward me, holding out her hand, but I was too afraid to move. “Come on, Des. He's not a threat to you anymore,” she said, still hyped up on adrenaline.

I shook my head. How the hell had everything gone so far off the rails? I couldn't move. I just needed a minute to think.

“Come on, babe,” she said. “We just have to— Oh, shit! We have to go now!” she yelled as she looked out the window behind me.

The alarm in her voice shocked me out of my stupor. “Oh my God. The cops are here?”

“No,” she said, grabbing my hand and dragging me out of the office and into the ladies' room across the hall. “The bishop is coming in the building.”

As we crouched down in the bathroom, we heard slow footsteps passing by the door. My breathing became more rapid; I felt like I was on the verge of a panic attack.

Lynn put her hands on my shoulders and whispered, “Des, calm down. I got this. You know I will always protect you.”

She cracked open the door and peeked down the hall. “He just went in the office,” she said. “We don't have much time.”

I didn't know what her plan was, but I was incapable of doing anything at this point, so I had to put all my trust in her. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed 911.

In a panicky voice, she whispered, “Yes, I just saw a man with a knife go into 207-97 Street in Forest Hills, second floor, screaming and shouting like a lunatic. He said he was going to kill the man inside. Hello? Hel—”

I watched her hang up the phone in the middle of her last “hello” then pull out the battery. She turned to me, giving me a smile that was meant to reassure me: She would always take care of me.

“It's now or never. It's time to go finish what we started. Take care of the last part of your plan and get the hell out of New York.”

I nodded, and she grabbed my hand. With one last look down the hall to be sure the coast was clear, we bolted out of the building.