Like Sheep Gone Astray (40 page)

“What dollar amount can be placed on dreams come true and hope renewed? How do you compute the bottom line of a human being's restoration?

“If you believe that it shouldn't be done, there is nothing else I can say to you. If you believe that it can't be done, then let me offer you some living proof: Hello everyone. I'm Eric Johnson and I am
here
today.”

He picked up his briefcase and walked out of the hushed room, making no eye contact with all the eyes that followed him out to the hallway. Once there, he let out a deep breath, almost doubling over in the release of air. A cup of water, a bite to eat might calm his bubbling nerves. Eric felt numb as he headed for the nearby cafeteria. A small crowd of people had gathered around a television set.

“What? I know him. He goes to my church. He's one of the ministers.” A young woman in an apron and net cap pointed to the tiny black-and-white screen.

“What's going on?” Eric moved closer to see. “Did something happen?”

“Police brutality, my brother, caught on tape.” A hefty man with flowing dreadlocks was shaking his head. “The news just cut in with some amateur video somebody taped over on the outer loop. That redheaded sheriff is out there acting like a maniac as usual, but he messed up this time. His victim, I heard, is a minister, so you know Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton are probably on their way down the interstate as we speak.”

Eric looked at the video, showed over and over again.

“Ooh.” The man next to him grimaced. “Look at that upper cut, and the man ain't even resisting.”

Eric watched as the video was shown again in slow motion with second-by-second commentary. The frame stopped precisely at the moment when the officer lashed a pair of handcuffs at the motorist's neck. The picture was magnified, the look of pain and anguish on the man's brown face frozen for further remarks by the news reporters.

“Isn't that Anthony Murdock?” Eric recognized the baby-faced features.

“That's him.” The food worker nodded. “Like I said, he's the youth pastor at my church.”

“What did he do?”

“I don't know. They're not saying, and I can't imagine what he did to get beat up and arrested like that.”

Cherisse was still looking off in the direction the limo had left although five minutes had passed. With a loud sigh and a shrug of her shoulders, she fumbled for her house keys in her purse. There was no point in waiting outside for Terri to return from wherever she was going; that could be days. She was going to have to spend her evening friend-free. She was just starting up the manicured walkway toward the steps when a gleaming white stretch limo pulled to a stop beside Terri's parked Lexus.

“Huh?” Cherisse turned back to investigate. As she rushed over, Reginald Savant stepped out of the rear door. He turned and scanned the entire length of the parking lot until his eyes rested on Cherisse. A scowl was on his face.

“Where's Terri?”

“Uh, in the limo you sent her?”

“The limo I sent her?”

“Yeah, you know the raggedy rust-mobile that just whisked her away a few minutes ago?” Cherisse pointed down the tree-lined street. The afternoon traffic was beginning to pick up.

“Raggedy rust-mobile? What are you talking about? This limo was the best I could find on short notice. The only thing missing is a Jacuzzi in the backseat.”

“So you come rolling up here in a suite of luxury on wheels while my girl gets the best of 1985 on hubcaps?”

“Cherisse, what are you talking about? I have come here myself in this limo to pick up Terri and escort her personally to the best day spa this side of the country. I know I'm a little late, but some things were beyond my control. Can you just tell me where Terri is so we can go? Her flight leaves in thirty minutes.”

“And what I'm telling you is that she already left in a limo she said you sent.”

Reggie and Cherisse looked at each other a hard minute, until realization set in.

“What kind of limo was it again?” They both jumped into the oversized Lincoln.

Terri did not like the way the driver smelled. She felt like she was locked in a grandmother's closet, suffocating under the sharp scent of mothballs and mildew. And where did this chauffeur learn to drive? The way he was bucking and shifting, Terri wondered if he had ever been behind the wheel of a car larger than a Volkswagen Beetle. Maybe this was not such a good idea.
Are you sure that you can trust Reggie like this
? Cherisse's voice replayed over and over in her mind. If this was his idea of a trip to relaxation and luxury, then she was going to have to reevaluate his judgment.

Terri tried to make herself comfortable in the torn vinyl seat, but the yellow stuffing was bunched up in a hard knot against the small of her back. This was ridiculous. She was two seconds away from telling the driver to turn around and take her back home when she noticed that they had passed the exit for the airport.

“Excuse me.” Terri rolled her eyes as she called out to the driver. “I'm sorry, but I think you were supposed to take that last right.”

“Don't tell me what to do, tramp!” The driver snatched off his glasses and freed the triangular cap from his head. Loose, wavy blond hair tracks fell out. “I can't believe you had the nerve to call Reggie when I'm standing right next to him and he's going to make arrangements for
you
to get the royal treatment!”

Nikki Galloway. Terri reached for the car-door handle, but speed and nausea held her back. “Stop the car. Right now. Let me out.” She spoke calmly. This girl had too many loose bolts Terri did not want to rattle, not at sixty-five miles an hour.

“No. We are going to finish this once and for all. I've got a job to do, and I'm not going to let you get in my way.” Nikki laid her foot on the accelerator and the car bucked like a crippled stallion. “Oops.”

“You can at least tell me where we're going.” No need to fight the girl in a moving car on the freeway. Terri was patient. She could wait. “Where are you taking me?”

“Don't worry about it. Now shut up.”

His head felt like it had been split in two. Anthony's eyes blinked open. He wanted to massage the back of his skull, but something was keeping him from doing that.

“Wha—” He sat upright, realizing his hands were still cuffed. “What's going on?” Anthony struggled to make sense out of the world whizzing by him at top speed. It took him a few seconds to conclude that he was back in Sheriff Malloy's cruiser, only this time the lights and siren were on full blast. He was about to close his eyes and let his aching head succumb to the piercing noise and bright flashes, but he realized the car was slowing down. Straight ahead was the police headquarters, and a mob of cameras and reporters surrounded the entrance. His head hurt too much to figure out what was going on.

Malloy suddenly veered away from the front driveway of the headquarters, turning instead into an alley that took them to a back entrance. Before the car came to a complete stop, it seemed he was getting out and pulling Anthony with him through a door. Next thing he knew, Anthony was on the floor of a holding cell. Several officers surrounded him, all talking at once. Anthony could not make sense out of the confusion as he felt like he was being passed around from one hand to another. Someone was wiping his head, his mouth. Voices shouted over each other and Anthony tasted his own blood. He closed his eyes and just as suddenly as there had been chaos, he was alone in the metal block.

“Can I make my phone call?” His eyes were barely open, his voice a dry whisper as he spoke to no one in particular.

His answer came in the exclamations of Councilman Banks.

“Anthony! Are you okay?” He was standing there, reaching both arms through the jail cell, as if the mere act of extending his arms could equal the warmth of a hug. “I came down here as soon as I saw it on the news! Don't worry. I'm getting you out of here right now. I'll make sure you get the best lawyer, and the cop who did this to you will be switching places with you before you can spell lawsuit!”

Anthony could see the deep anger in Walter's eyes, hear the fury in his throat. This was the no-nonsense Banks, the-don't-play-with-me-I'll-get-the-job-done activist attitude that had won him his seat on the council time after time.

Even as he spoke, Sheriff Malloy was approaching the cell. “Don't think that just because Mr. Murdock is on one side and you're on the other that you're out of the woods with me, Walter. I've got what I need for Anthony, but I'm still working on you.”

“Do you really think I'm taking a word you say seriously after what you have done to him?”

“And just what have I done? Nobody can prove anything!”

“There's a video being aired on the five-o-clock news throughout the state that in the public's mind will be proof enough.”

Sheriff Malloy fell silent at Walter's words. He had been forced to change his original plans once he realized the media had caught on to him. He'd had no choice but to bring Anthony to the station.

“I'm posting bail for you, Anthony. I don't want you to worry about any of this. I'm getting a plan together now to deal with this nonsense. There's no way that you will ever set foot in a courtroom. Let him out. This should not have happened.” The last comment was said to Malloy, who was fingering through a large set of keys.

“Take him.” Malloy studied Anthony's disheveled and wounded frame through the metal bars. “I had nothing to do with his condition,” he asserted as if it were truth. “Don't think this is over.”

“I know it's not.” Walter glared at him. Half an hour later, Anthony walked out of the headquarters behind the councilman through an emergency exit.

“I don't feel like dealing with anyone, the press, the media. I knew exposure was coming, but I don't have any statements prepared.” His voice was strong, although his body ached.
Confidence
. “The only person I want to talk to right now is my heavenly Advocate. I'm going to need the best legal services of my life, and the way I see it, the same One who pled my sin case before a righteous Almighty God will help me through these charges.”

Walter was preoccupied with planning.

“I've already started contacting lawyers for you. One in particular from Baltimore”—he looked quickly at a business card—”said he could meet with both of us tonight. I figured you wouldn't want to be dealing with the general public so I arranged for him to meet us at a safe, private place halfway between here and his office, about thirty minutes away.”

“That sounds good.” Anthony's nods were firm, focused. Before the crowd of onlookers and microphones and cameras could catch on, Walter's Lincoln Town Car had disappeared into the rush-hour traffic.

I'm standing between the pillars. Now it's time to start pushing them down. Lord, give me Your strength in Jesus' name
. Anthony closed his eyes, then quickly reopened them. He had to stay alert.

“Thank you, Jesus!” Gloria's hands were shaking as she cut through the last thread of the thick rope. Her hands were free. She massaged her wrists, wincing at the sharp pain that still throbbed through them. She gave a quick look around for her shoes, grateful that the one-inch-heeled black leather pumps would not slow her down too much.

“Now I can get out of here.” She grabbed her purse and headed for the broken exit sign. Stairs. There was no way she was going to stand still and wait for an elevator. She was outside before she had a second thought.

Gloria felt helpless standing at the bus stop. Few cars and fewer people were around, so she started walking.

“Excuse me, ma'am. Do you need a ride?”

She never heard the taxi come, but when the car door opened she was convinced that cab drivers were angels.

“Where to?” The driver started the meter.

What was closer? She checked her watch and calculated the distances instantaneously in her mind. “Take me to Second Baptist Church on Valley Road.” Anthony should be at the funeral by now. If he wasn't, then she'd continue on to Councilman Banks's office.

The yellow cab pulled in front of the sanctuary just as the mourners emerged from the front door. Six men held on to either side of a silver casket; Pastor Green in a flowing black robe led the procession. A long, single line of women carrying flower arrangements of varying shapes and sizes followed close behind. Gloria pressed her lips together and held back a tear at the image of sweet Kellye Porter walking expressionless, supported on either side by two women she did not recognize. A rich alto hum floated in the otherwise quiet breeze.

She waited for the last of the procession to pass before joining the end of the line. They were all headed to the cemetery behind the church, where tall white crypts overshadowed engraved memorial markers on the sloping grass. Gloria scanned the crowd for Anthony as everyone formed a semicircle around a green canopy. Kellye and the two women with her sat in metal folding chairs under the shade; the flowers, the pastor, and funeral attendants surrounded the coffin.

As tissues dabbed eyes and a solemn hush wrapped around Pastor Green's words, Gloria peeked over a shoulder to read the obituary on the program. She had never known Minister Porter's relatives outside of Kellye. They had no children, as Gloria had suspected. She was reading the list of survivors in the final paragraph of the obituary. Besides Kellye, only two other names were listed: a sister, Mabel Bernice Linstead; and a niece, Denise Towanda Razi, both of Sharen, South Carolina.

Razi
.

Gloria almost snatched the folded paper from Winston's Funeral Home out of the hand of the woman in front of her. She stared back at the two women flanking Kellye. The interment was over, and all three were heading back in her direction. As they passed, she could not help but wonder whether the older of the two unknown women was glaring at her.

“Sister Porter.” Gloria quickly grasped the grieving widow in a gentle yet firm hug. “You are in my prayers. All of you.” They were standing in between two slightly sloped mounds, simple white crosses on either side.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Kellye softly blew her nose.

“I did not know Minister Porter hailed from down South, but I should have known. He had a way about him that wasn't as hurried as it is up here in the Mid-Atlantic.”