No Sin in Paradise (17 page)

Three days later, I get a text from Paul who I delivered Trevor's file to. I click on the link, and there is Paul's article showing a shamed Randall Knott in handcuffs. He will be charged for extortion and racketeering. He should be charged for murder as well, but there wasn't enough to make that charge stick. It doesn't matter though, the Lord will return before Randall Knott gets out of prison. Justice served in some form is better than no justice at all.

I've been back in L.A. for a week, and I wish I was back at the island. I didn't miss the traffic, and I'm ready to go crazy sitting on the 105 freeway. It's two o'clock in the afternoon, and it's still bumper-to-bumper traffic. What is even more frustrating is my exit is the next exit. I have to go to the Forum to meet up with Pastor Bryant. He's in town for a conference, and we have some unfinished business to settle.

I pull into a front parking space and walk up the steps to the entrance. I remember coming to the Forum for years and going to the Laker games. This place is a landmark, but over the years, it has lost its luster. Pastor Bryant meets me on the steps.

“I should start calling you the Formidable Nic Dungy,” Pastor Bryant says.

I still respect Pastor Bryant, but after today, I wouldn't be sad if I didn't see him again until the Rapture. Bryant removes an envelope from his coat pocket and hands it tome.

“As promised,” he says.

I open the envelope and see that it's a check for $1.5 million.

“This is more than I expected.”

“That's because I need you to do one more thing, but when I tell you, I believe you will want to do it for free.”

“You have
got
to be kidding me,” I say.

Pastor Bryant is not taken aback by my response. He knows what I've been through and that he doesn't have the right to ask any more of me. I don't care how many zeros he puts on the check.

“Randall Knott is not the only guilty party in this. There are others,” he says.

This is the part in the story where the hero takes the $1.5 million-dollar check, rips it up, and throws it into Pastor Bryant's face . . . but I'm not a hero. I put that check in my pocket because I've earned it.

“You mean your friends from the Cloth? What happened? Were they not radical enough for you?”

Bryant purses his lips. I know that his involvement in the Cloth is a sensitive issue.

“Cole went to them after he met with the witch doctor. He told them that he was out. He felt like he should've left a long time ago. He knew what Knott was up to, and he didn't want any part of it. He tried to reason with the rest of us, but we weren't having it.”

Pastor Cole wasn't as lucky as Bryant. He didn't even get the chance to be free from the Cloth. Bryant is enjoying a freedom that should've been Pastor Cole's as well.

“This isn't a simple request,” I say.

“Hence, the reason for the extra money,” Bryant says.

“I don't think you understand the gravity of what you're asking me. If I pull back the veil, then the church is going to suffer. Do you realize that's going to shine a spotlight on all of your ministries?”

Pastor Bryant leans in closer to me with his hands clasped together in prayer. “These men called Cole their brother, their leader. When he was found dead, whatever suspicions they had, they swept them under a rug. I don't care if it gives the church a black eye. The church will survive and thrive so long as Christ is lifted up; it will draw men to Him.”

If Christ be lifted up, I will draw all men.
I don't know where or when this concept got lost, but it's time to rediscover it. Maybe the church community can be rebuilt by following these profound words of the Gospel.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Bring them down. They're all here in L.A. They have even rented a suite in Hollywood,” Pastor Bryant says.

I normally don't play in my own backyard because there is too much of a blowback if things goes south, but the Cloth being in L.A. is too good to pass up. I also have the home court advantage, and I can use my wide range of contacts.

“I'll see what I can do,” I say.

“I have faith that you'll do your level best.”

I walk away and head to the car with a $1.5 million-dollar check in my possession and a chance to bring a powerful organization down. First, I'm going to stop by the bank.

 

 

Later on that night, I find myself outside the Grand Hotel in Hollywood. While it's not the most luxurious spot, compared to the W Hotel and other prominent spots, the Grand Hotel does have a rich history. Back in the day, names like Frank Sinatra, Doris Day, and Steve McQueen used to frequent this hotel. Nowadays, it just stands out like a relic from the past in an otherwise, fast-paced modern era.

I pull into the parking lot behind the hotel. The parking lot may not be full, but the fleet of cars outside tells the story of what type of guests occupy the Grand Hotel. Ferraris, Bentleys, Maseratis and Range Rovers, a Mercedes and Lexus in this parking lot seem like average cars. In fact, I'm afraid that my BMW doesn't pass the luxury test.

According to Bryant, whenever the Cloth is in town, they would rent two extended SUVs and drive up to this very hotel. Near the back exit are two black SUVs. They are here, and they have the trucks positioned so that they can leave at a moment's notice. I grab a phone and send a quick text to my friend.

After I press
SEND
, I send one more text message to my source on the inside. Then I get out of the car and head toward the back exit. The clock is ticking, and it's a gamble if these guys are not doing anything but reading the Bible or praying or playing cards. My source from inside the hotel comes out of the back exit.

Mike Austin is a young man that used to attend the church that I was a minister at before I went into the problem-solving business. I actually helped him get a job at the Westin Hotel in downtown Long Beach. He worked there for a few years until he applied for a position as a concierge at the Grand Hotel.

Tall and handsome, he has grown into a fine young man and a vital source to tearing down this organization. I love having the home court advantage.

“Good to see you, Mr. Dungy,” Mike says.

“Hey, Mike, how's your mom?”

“God is good. Her cancer is in remission.”

“I'll be praying for her,” I say.

I reach into my pocket and peel out three one hundred-dollar bills and hand them to Mike who flashes a Kool-Aid smile.

“Thanks, Mr. Dungy.” Mike examines the money before he puts it in his pocket.

“The extra hundred is for your mother. Get her some flowers for me.”

“Will do.” Mike hands me a room key. “They're in the penthouse suite.”

“I appreciate this, Mike. Now go on back to your shift. There is going to be some fireworks, but not to worry. This city loves scandals, and the number of guests that come to your hotel as a result of this scandal will likely triple.”

Mike gives me a head nod and shows me the way to the elevator. I walk into the hotel through the back entrance and pass through the kitchen on my way to the service elevator.

No one seems to notice me. I step inside and press the letter
P
for the penthouse and use the special key to close the elevator door and have it take me up to the top floor.

My mind races through a hundred different scenarios, and none of them have a happy ending. This present trial and tribulation has caused me to lose faith in a favorable outcome, among other things. I arrive at the penthouse floor and step off the elevator. At the end of the hall is a security guard outside of the door. I didn't expect to see a guard; I didn't plan to encounter one either. I walk toward the door and try to think up a plan to get inside. I have to get inside in order for my plan to work.

“Boy, it's is difficult to find this place,” I say to the guard.

“Who are you?” the guard asks.

“Who am I? Are you
kidding
me? I'm Minister Nicodemus Dungy, and I'm here for the party. Why else would I be here?”

“I'm not supposed to let anyone in.”

“Of course not. You're not supposed to let anyone in that's
not
about the Cloth's business.”

The guard's eyes enlarged. I can tell he's turning over in his mind that if I'm not a member of the Cloth, then how do I know about them and why am I here?

“You got a name, slick?” I ask.

“Kent.”

“Are we taking care of you? I mean, are we paying you well?”

Kent shrugs his shoulders. “Y'all paying me all right.”

That's all I need to hear. I reach into my pocket and pull out two one hundred-dollar bills. I fold them and extend them out to Kent. “A little extra something for you and we put this whole thing behind us.”

Kent hesitates before he takes the money, then he opens the door. I walk in, and this time, I'm not surprised to see drinking, smoking, and naked girls being chased around by so-called men of God. I slam the door shut, and get their attention. Pastor Jackson is sitting down smoking a cigar with a half-naked Asian girl on his lap.

“What do you want, Nic?” Pastor Jackson asks.

“I just want to simply bring that which is dark to the light.”

The men start laughing. I'm sure that they think they are above the law and that they have God in their back pocket.

“Last I checked, you weren't invited to this party,” another pastor says.

“I guess you haven't heard the news. Randall Knott was arrested this morning and charged, so your casino adventure is on hold for at least the next forty years.”

“What do we care for? We didn't cut him a check. There'll be other opportunities,” Jackson says.

“It doesn't bother you one bit that Cole lost his life dealing with Knott?”

“It was Cole's idea to deal with Knott. You can't dance with the devil and expect to lead,” Jackson says.

The men start laughing again, and I'm getting that sour taste in my mouth that proceeds throwing up.

“Now don't let the door hit you where the good Lord split you,” Jackson says.

The men enjoy their laugh, and I get a text telling me that my friend is outside.

“Enjoy the laugh, because like I said, I'm here to let in the light.” I walk over and open the door.

A cameraman comes bursting in, taking photos, with my friend Paul trying to get past Kent. The pastors and girls try to scramble and hide. I walk over to Kent, who has Paul in a full nelson and put my hand on his shoulder.

“The police are on their way. Leave now or go to jail,” I say.

It takes only a moment for Kent to realize what I am telling him, then he releases Paul and disappears. After Paul shakes off Kent's assault, he then walks into the room.

“Now,
this
is my kind of party,” Paul says as the shameful pastors still try to run and hide. “Don't worry, gentlemen, we have all of your pictures, and they will be in the paper tomorrow morning, but that's the
least
of your problems.”

Paul is right, that is the least of their worries. I gave Paul the order to call the police just as soon as he met up with Mike and got the penthouse key. The Cloth is going down for embezzlement, among other things.

“Big mistake, Nic,” Jackson says to me from the other side of the room. “Big mistake!”

He may be right. It's a mistake to set fire to my profession and expose a dirty, dark secret within the church. It is a mistake, but for now . . . It feels
good
.

Hours later, with a slew of reporters at the scene, I have a cigarette and watch as members of the Cloth are packed away in police vans. Most of them have their heads down to cover up their image, except for Pastor Jackson. Pastor Jackson has his head held high. He does not feel shame for what he has done, and I don't know whether to applaud him for his conviction or to be repulsed by it. Paul emerges from the slew of reporters.

“Two great stories in one week. You're back on my Christmas list, my friend,” he says with a grin.

“That's all I wanted for Christmas,” I say.

“You know, they're going to crucify you. You're not going to be able to do what you do anymore now that they can't trust you.”

“It doesn't matter, I'm thinking about retiring anyway.”

“Really?” Paul asks.

I take a puff of my cigarette and let the smoke out. “I've seen too much, and I have done too much. I want my remaining days on this earth to be peaceful.”

“Good luck with that,” Paul says.

“I don't believe in luck. I believe in God's will.”

“Well, since you're retired, I might as well buy you a burger down the street.”

“That sounds like a good idea.”