No Sin in Paradise (12 page)

I arrive at the police station expecting that the process of getting Donny Moses released would be seamless since it was Knott who put him there in the first place. Imagine my surprise when I arrive at the front desk and see that no one is here. A bell sits in front of me, so I start to ring it, and I keep ringing it until a police officer comes running out of the back room and snatches the bell from me.

“What you banging on me bell like that for?”

“I'm sorry. It's just that no one was here,” I say.

“Of course someone is here. What do you think? We leave the prisoners here by themselves?”

“I didn't mean it like that.”

“Who done hammered up all my bread, man?” The officer holds up a plate with only the crumbs on it. He then turns around before he sets his sights back on me. “Was it you?”

“No,” I say while being thrown off by his question.

He stares at me for a long minute. “What do you want?”

“I'm here to pick up Donny Moses. He's supposed to be released.”

The man starts rummaging through papers looking for something I don't know what.

“Daniel,” he calls out to the back.

There is some rumbling in the background and soon a man twice the size of the officer appears with his shirt not tucked in. He sizes me up.

“What does he want?” he says.

“Hey, man, did you yam up all me bread?” the short officer asks.

“What do you keep accusing me for?” the tall officer says.

“Because I saw you last time when you did it. Do I go around and eat your food?”

“No.”

“Then why don't you respect me?”

“What you jamming me up for? I said I didn't do it,” the tall officer states.

“Gentlemen, I'm sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if one of you can get Donny for me and we can be on our way.”

“We don't take orders from you. You can pick him up after lunch,” the officer replied.

“When's lunch?”

“Now!” the men say in unison.

 

 

Two hours later I am standing outside of the police station when Donny Moses walks out. He is not happy to see me, but at least he's free and today's incident is all behind him.

“Did you have anything to do with this?” he asks.

“Donny, listen, there are no easy answers,” I say.

Donny holds up his hands and stops me. I can see in his eyes that he's trying to keep his anger at bay. I have to be delicate with my words.

“I've never spent a night in jail before, never—not until I had you as a client. In one week, my life has gone to hell, and I have you to thank for it.”

Donny starts walking down the steps toward me. His fists are clenched, and his body language tells me I need to get out of the way. But I stand firm, and I pray that he will listen to reason.

“Hey, Donny, I'm sorry about this whole incident.”

Donny walks up to me and plants his fist square in my jaw. I drop to one knee from the impact.

“Don't come anywhere near me or my business ever again! Do you understand?”

I give a head nod in agreement. I'm trying to shake off the sting of Donny's punch, but it's clear that I will be feeling the aftermath of that punch long after he has left. Donny keeps walking. I want to follow him and talk with him, but I'm afraid he will give me another stern warning.

From the police station I went to Sammy's house. I figure he is the only Moses that will speak to me at this point. I don't know what I expect to come from this conversation, all I know is that I hope to clear the air and make something right, naïve as that may be, but it is the truth.

“I got some fresh trout I just finished cooking.” Sammy opens the door for me.

I go inside the house and, as usual, Sammy has not bothered to clean. Newspapers and fishing gear cluttered all over the place, but the one place that is clean is his kitchen table. There are only two chairs, which confirms that Sammy doesn't get much company.

“Have a seat, Doc.” Sammy points to one of the chairs.

I take a seat, and soon, Sammy places a plate of fresh fried fish in front of me. It smells good, and I'm sure it's delicious.

“So I hear you made a big stink of things,” he says.

“That's a mild way of putting it.” I take a bite into my fish. This meal is the highlight of my day.

“I want to thank you for getting my boy out.”

“He shouldn't have been there to begin with, but your son already thanked me with his fist.”

“He holds grudges. I tried to tell him that the longer he holds on to something, the heavier the weight.”

I'm not someone who cries a lot. In fact, aside from my mother's funeral, I can count the number of times I've cried, but at this moment, I feel every emotion except for the tears.

“I know that look. I know that look very well, and I can tell, you will get through it.”

“I pray that I will, but this is beyond me.”

“Nothing is beyond God. I don't know what trouble you're in, but I know that if you keep pressing, you'll get through. It won't be easy, and it may take a huge sacrifice on your part, but you'll get through it.”

“How can you be so sure?” I ask.

“Because one thing that I know to be true is that few men make their mistake going toward God. Their mistakes occur when they try to go
away
from Him.”

Sammy is a flawed man, but so I am, sitting in his small kitchen eating fish. I felt a sense of hope that I could weather this storm. Maybe I can still turn things around.

For about an hour, Sammy and I play cards and share stories until we heard a weird sound coming from the side of his house.

“What's going on?” I say.

Sammy and I get up and walk over to the window. We see Donny Moses with a baseball bat in his hands, and he's taking swings at Sammy's boat.

“Lord have mercy!” Sammy runs outside, and I follow.

By the time we get to the side of the house where the boat is, Donny has already done a number on the boat. The windshields are broken, and the front end has also been damaged.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Son, what are you doing?”

“Seven years! Seven years! FAA inspections, maintenance, customs, and flying prima donnas around. Seven years—and my business is ruined all because of you,” Donny points at Sammy, then he points at me, “and him. What am I supposed to do now?”

Donny takes a few more whacks at the boat, and though it pains Sammy to watch his life's work get destroyed, he didn't want to feel the wrath of his son. I didn't want to incur Donny's wrath either, but I couldn't let this father-and-son relationship become even more strained. As Donny picked up the bat to swing once again, I dart right in front of the boat.

“Enough,” I say.

Anyone who claims that the eyes are not the window to a man's soul is a liar. I look into Donny's eyes and see rage that has built up to the point where he could take my head off at any moment's notice without hesitation.

“I'm sorry. Lord knows I didn't want any of this to happen. I'm trying to do the Lord's will.”

Donny starts to chuckle, then his chuckle turns into a full-blown hysterical laugh.

“I don't know whose will you're doing, but it's not the Lord's.”

“You're probably right, but what you're doing isn't God's will either.”

I take a look at Sammy. His mouth is shut, and he is not uttering a word. I don't know if it's because of his son or the boat. I look back at Donny. He has now dropped his baseball stance, but the bat is still secure in his hands.

“You are father and son, and there is no logical reason why you two should be at odds with each other.”

“Don't try to turn this around. This is about you and me.”

“If it was just about you and me, then you wouldn't be here. You've held anger toward your father for years, and this is your opportunity to let the anger out.”

My words cause Donny to drop his bat. At least I don't have to worry about my head being taken off, but I still had Donny's wrath to consider.

“I carried a whole lot of anger for my father and most of it was justified. But when he died, something happened. It doesn't take away all the hurt and pain of what my father caused, but when he died, it also took away the chance for a moment. I just wanted a moment when he and I were not enemies, but could actually be friends and maybe even father and son.”

For the first time, father and son made eye contact. Thank God for small miracles.

“Let me be clear, this beef between you and me has nothing to do with the money you squandered. It has
everything
to do with you never wanting to take responsibility for your actions,” Donny says.

“Me?” Sammy has a legitimate look of shock plastered over his face.

“Yes, you. Even now, you still don't take responsibility for what happened between you and Mom.”

Donny mentioning his mother turns an otherwise easygoing Sammy furious. Sammy takes off his baseball cap and rubs his head. I guess he's trying to figure out how to respond to his son's claim.

“You know, for a smart man, you have a short memory. The day I left, do you remember that?” Sammy says.

“Of course, I remember. I was thirteen. How could I forget?”

“I took you to the park, remember? We tossed the football around, and then afterward, we sat on the bleachers and talked.”

“I remember all of this. What's the point?” Donny asks.

“I don't regret marrying your mother. If not for her, there would be no you. I bring up that moment, because even on one of the worst days of my life, I still wouldn't have traded it away. Playing football with you still made my life worth living.”

Donny puts his head down and wipes his face. He doesn't want to show emotions in front of his father.

“I'm sorry. I didn't know how to say it until now,” Sammy says.

“Don't miss your moment,” I tell Donny.

These two have a lot to talk about, and they don't need me there as they hash things out. I start to walk away.

“Where are you going? This isn't over,” Donny says.

“You're right, it's not. I got to make things right first.”

I keep walking because in a few hours I have a party to attend and tycoon to bring down.

When I packed for this trip, I packed a light jacket because the nights on the island are warm. Tonight, I need a suit, and since the only suit I have is the one I bought earlier, I decide to wear it again. Tonight, I will uncover the reason why Pastor Cole was murdered . . . one way or another. Randall Knott perceives me to be a man of value, and I must keep up that appearance.

A sleek boat splits the waves wide open as it jets toward the dock. It's not easy to spot this boat in the cloak of night. As the boat approaches, nerves start to build up in the pit of my stomach. I don't know what I will have to do tonight, but I pray that the Lord will see me through an otherwise impossible situation.

The boat pulls into the dock, and I realize that there is no turning back now.

“Minister Nicodemus Dungy?” the Haitian driver asks.

“Yes. I'm Minister Dungy.”

“Mr. Knott is expecting your company. Right this way, sir.”

After a little hesitation, I finally decide to step onto the boat. I won't find out anything staying home.

“Compliments of Mr. Knott.” The driver points to a bottle of champagne and caviar.

I'm not a fan of either, but as we cruise along the ocean, it's hard to imagine a better way to enjoy the evening. Of course, for me, it's Victory. She would have loved being in the boat headed to a black tie affair.

We cruise along in utter blackness for fifteen minutes until I start to see a light. The closer we travel toward it, the brighter the light gets. It can serve as a beacon to any vessel lost at sea. A few minutes more of travel and the structure starts to take shape. This must be our destination because the building is a mansion with Greek pillars, which is signature Randall Knott. It's clear Randall has more money than he knows what to do with it. The man owns two mansions on the same island, one at the top of the hill and one at the bottom. I guess he chose to ditch the traditional Christmas lighting in exchange for regular bright lights.

The boat pulls into the port, and there is a cute Haitian girl waiting for me with a clipboard.

“Name?” she asks.

“Nicodemus Dungy.” I flash her my passport.

The young lady scans her clipboard until she arrives at my name. “Enjoy your evening, Mr. Dungy.”

“Thank you very much.”

I walk up the dock toward the house. I could have sworn I was walking into heaven with how bright the house is and how vibrant the music is. As I enter the home, to the left is a banquet-size dining room, and to the right is a dance floor with a twelve-piece band. It must be an unwritten rule that if you are rich, then you must have two winding staircases in your home.

I wasn't hungry, so I walk over to the ballroom and watch as the couples danced. They were doing the Viennese Waltz which reminds me of my mother, the dance instructor. I used to think that the dance was boring; I didn't realize how graceful the dance truly is and the need to be graceful.

“Want to dance, handsome?”

I turn around. To my surprise there stands Maggie Fuller. She hails from Texas and was the wife of the former governor. Fuller is an heiress to the oil tycoon James Fuller. Even with her divorce, Fuller is still very much influential in the political world. If a candidate wanted to win the middle-aged white women's vote, they would need both Maggie's money and influence.

“It would be an honor.” I take Ms. Fuller by the hand, and we begin to waltz.

“First time I'm seeing you at one of these events,” she says.

“First I was invited to one.”

“Well, I know this much, you're not a politician,” Ms. Fuller says before I spin her around.

“What gave me away?”

“You have this aura of a civil servant.”

“I thought that's what a politician is.”

“Don't be silly, darling. Every politician says he is a civil servant because the truth is too much for the voters to bear.” She leans into my ear. “The truth is that they are addicted to power.”

Ms. Fuller giggles as if she just let me in on an earth-shattering secret. Truth is, Ms. Fuller is not telling me something I don't already know, but I'll play the game nonetheless.

We dance until the end of the song, and then I bow to Ms. Fuller, who happens to be a pretty good dancer, and I got a chance to relive my youth. As I exit the ballroom, I see another servant with his eyes dead set on me.

“Mr. Dungy, Mr. Knott requests your presence at once.”

“Certainly.” I turn to Ms. Fuller and shake her hand. “It was an honor, Ms. Fuller.”

“Hon, the pleasure was all mine,” she says.

I follow the servant up the stairs through a long, dark hallway. The rest of the house is lit up, but this part of the house is dark. It's dark so that none of the guests can wonder off upstairs unless they are being escorted by one of Knott's servants. I'm starting to think that this is a game of Clue. After the long hallway, we then made sharp turns to the right, then down another hallway, and then a turn to the left before descending down a set of stairs where a door sits on the opposite end of the stairs.

The servant opens the door, and cigar smoke greets me as I walk into the room. Once inside, I realize that the
real
party was happening within this room. All of the pastors from the conference except Pastor Bryant are in attendance. Some were smoking cigars, others were enjoying the young ladies who pranced around in their lingerie. I guess this is how members of the Cloth unwind. They are too caught up in their own decadence to notice that an outsider was in their mix.

I walk over to the bar and pour myself a brandy. I'm in a room full of wolves that left their sheep's clothing at the door. I wish a scene like this disturbed me, but it doesn't. Over the years, I've grown cold, and there are very few things that surprise me now.

“What are you doing here?”

I turn around, and there stands Pastor Jackson, only he doesn't have a smile on his face like he did the last time.

“Knott invited me.”

“Knott's out of his mind inviting you. You're not even a member.”

I take a good hard swallow of my brandy. “Do you think Knott cares anything about your organization?”

“Of course not. There's not a single person in here that thinks Knott has our best interests at heart. His concern is with lining his own pockets, and as long as he lines mine and this organization's, then we are cool.”

“What about saving souls and preaching the Gospel? Has that gotten lost in the business of making money?” I ask.

“Not for a second. One of the main complaints about the church is how it's always asking people for money. Now, those same people don't have problems dropping their children off at day care or having a free meal during the holidays, but let us ask them to help out, and all of sudden, they want to call us crooks. The Cloth generates enough income through our various enterprises to help keep our ministries thriving.”

“It sounds too good to be true. What's the catch?” I ask.

“There is no catch. You see how the members worship the leaders as if they were Jesus Himself. That kind of pressure would crush a lesser man. I protect my brothers. I don't exploit them.”

“I'm sure you don't . . . for a handsome fee,” I say.

“And like you do your work for free? When is the last time you got a check postmarked from heaven? It takes money to change lives, and you of all people should know that.”

“I guess.” I start to scan the room to see who else has been invited to this meeting.

“You know, we both have common interests. If you want to be a part of the Cloth, I can pull some strings.”

Before I can answer Pastor Jackson's question with an empathic “no,” a set of double doors opens up, and Randall Knott enters in a black tuxedo with a cigar and a drink in his hands.

“Gentlemen, thank you for waiting. If you wouldn't mind following me into the next room we can begin our presentation.” Knott holds up his hands. “Not to worry, these lovely ladies will be waiting for you when we get back.”

The men laugh, and then follow Knott into the next room. I trail behind the rest of the men, and as soon as I walk through the door, another assistant closes the door and shuts all of us in.

“Gentlemen, thank you for coming. I know that's it sad to lose a brother and a business partner like Pastor Cole. Why don't we have a moment of silence to remember him?”

Every man bows his head, including Knott. Knott doesn't strike me as a religious man, but a shrewd businessman who will adapt to his environment to ensure his bottom line. If we were all rabbis, he would probably have a yarmulke on his head.

“Well, I thank you again, and I know that it's rough, but what I have to show you will be well worth it.”

Randall walks behind a table that has a sheet over it. He pulls back the sheet like a magician revealing a trick. It's a replica of Crystal Cove, only there is a huge hotel in the corner of the island.

“I present Paradise Towers' Hotel and Casino. This will be the premiere destination on Crystal Cove,” Knott says.

The other men in the room were amazed while I was repulsed.

“We are talking about a five-star resort with quality gambling and a beautiful view. All I ask from you gentlemen is half a million dollars per member buy in and you will, in return, receive a take of the house.”

“How are you planning to pay out our profits?” one minister asked.

“The same as usual, through Cayman accounts that will be established through shell corporations.”

The men start to nod their heads in agreement. A hotel casino on an island is a great way to make a profit.

“How long would it take for it to be built?” Pastor Jackson asks.

“I have all the permits and paperwork drawn up, and we will break ground soon. My guess, within two years we will open the doors. You, gentlemen, would have a free suite available whenever you are in town.”

The men are nodding their heads in agreement once again. There's no way that any of these men invest in a casino in Vegas or Atlantic City; too much exposure. On a small island, however, they can operate under the radar.

“Two years seems like a long time to get a return on our investment, and a casino seems too risky.”

“I know it's a gamble.” Knott laughs at his own bad joke. “But in all seriousness, the reason why you guys are silent partners is so that the public will not get wind of your investment. But think about the things you can do with the money that will come rolling in from this casino once it opens.”

“What about Pastor Cole?” another member asks. “Was he on board?”

That question brought a sour look to Knott's face. He could handle any question that these so-called leaders were asking except for the obvious proverbial elephant in the room.

“Listen, fellas, full disclosure,” Knott says as he put his cigar out in a nearby crystal ashtray.

He puts his head down like he's going to make a full confession to the murder of Pastor Cole. He then looks up and starts to blink his eyes as if to fight back the tears. I guess it's hard for the devil to cry on cue.

“We've benefited a great deal from our business endeavors,” Knott says.

The members in the room start to nod and mumble in agreement. I'm the only reserved one of the bunch that's not buying this act.

“You know the locals here have a saying. When someone is being greedy, they call that person ‘big-eyed.' Well, there's no simple way to put it, but that's what the case was for Pastor Cole.”

Incredible, not only did Knott have the audacity to make such an erroneous claim, but the men in the room bought it, hook, line, and sinker. This is the closest thing to an out-of-body experience I have ever felt.

“You gentlemen voted him as your leader, so I proposed this deal to him first. He wanted to cut you guys out of the deal for a bigger piece for himself. I rejected his offer because that was the right thing to do. Now what happened to Cole was tragic, and Lord knows what other deals he was involved in, but may God rest his soul.”

The whole room has become ablaze with chatter about Cole and his supposed “side deal” with Knott. I don't buy it, and I think that Pastor Cole might have rejected Knott's proposal.

“And, brothers, this is too good of a deal not to let you get a chance to invest. Just think of the people you can help with this money,” Knott says.

A closer look at the model and I realize that Randall Knott plans to break ground on the land where Janae's house sits, which means she is all that is standing in his way.

“Then why is
he
here?” Pastor Jackson points directly at me.

For the first time, the gentlemen realize that I'm in the room, and they start to become nervous. Shows you how quick things can change. A minute ago, Pastor Jackson offered me a membership into the Cloth. Now he has just thrown me under the bus.

“I have retained his services to help make sure that all of our business transactions see the light of day.”

I wasn't aware that I have even accepted an offer, or been offered one, but that's neither here nor there, I guess. I now know what Randall Knott is planning with the Cloth. I now know why Pastor Cole was killed, and I now need to get to Janae before she's next on the list.