No Sin in Paradise (8 page)

It's around one o'clock in the morning when the phone rings, and it brings me out of my sleep. It takes a moment for my heart rate to settle down. I've been on edge a lot lately. I hope my cell hasn't woken up anyone else in the house. I take a look at the caller ID screen. It's Paul.

“What's up?” I say still half-asleep.

“Well, you called me needing information on Bishop Jackson, and I got something for you.”

Information on the island is scarce, and I'm not at home where I have access to all of my resources. I need Paul to get as much info as possible on Bishop Jackson. I have never had him as a client, but Bishop Jackson is notorious for saying things that are not pulpit appropriate.

“What do you have for me?”

“Not much that didn't make it to the papers. I'll e-mail you what I got. You can do with it whatever you want,” Paul says.

I'm thankful that Adele has Internet service, though it moves at a horse-and-buggy pace. I'll suffer through the service tomorrow as I print out Paul's e-mail.

“What else you got because you wouldn't call me unless you got something for me?”

“What do you know about Knott Corp. operations in Miami?” Paul asks.

“Very little, why?”

“Well, some unconfirmed sources say that Knott Corp. has taken some interest in the Bahamas, and they are seeking to purchase.”

That is interesting news to find out, though not surprising. I know Knott has a vested interest in the Bahamas, but I'm not sure of what or why.

I get up and walk out onto the terrace where my room is located. There's a table there, and on it is my pack of cigarettes and my lighter. I light my cigarette and release a smoke trail into the air.

“I'm spit balling here, but there may be a connection between Knott business dealings and Pastor Cole.”

“You may be right.”

I already knew this, but there may be something more that Pastor Cole was entangled in with Knott.

“Who are you talking to?”

I turn around and see Victory standing in the doorway.

“Let me call you back,” I say to Paul.

“Please don't,” Paul says sarcastically, and then hangs up the phone.

I hang up the phone and put out my cigarette. “I was talking to a friend.”

“You smoke?” Victory asks.

I take a look at the cigarette that I just put out. I don't really have anything to say. “Occasionally.”

“Nic, we need to have a real honest conversation.”

Victory walks in and has a seat on the miniature couch. I have a feeling that I'm not going to like this conversation, but this is a conversation that I can't avoid.

“What is going on with you?” she asks.

“I'm sorry about the smoking. I enjoy an occasional cigarette every now and then.”

Victory starts to shake her head. “I don't even know if I believe a word that you are saying right now. Do you drink?”

Now I know how my clients feel. Victory's line of questioning is making me feel uncomfortable. I want to tell the truth, but the truth is ugly, and I would prefer to tell Victory a beautiful lie.

“I've struggled with drinking. It's not something I'm proud of,” I say.

Victory gets up and begins to pace the floor. “Lord Jesus. This
always
happens to me.”

I don't know much about Victory's past. We have only scratched the surface with each other, but at this moment, both of our pasts are starting to rise up.

“When were you planning to tell me?”

“I wasn't.”

“You weren't? You weren't going to tell me?”

“No.”

Victory puts her hands on her head unable to fathom the words that I'm saying to her right now.

“I was hoping that you would never have to see this, that I would have been delivered and spare you any pain.”

“Am I that superficial? Do you think I can only handle certain parts of you?” Victory asks.

“Most people can't.”

“I consider myself a patient woman. I'm neither insecure nor jealous. I know my worth and my value, but the one thing I can't handle is being lied to.”

“I know, and I'm sorry,” I say.

“I've had my dark moments as well, and I know about addictions.”

“I'm sorry, I know this hasn't been the trip you had in mind but—”

Victory gives me a dismissive wave. She is through with the excuses and the lies. I can't blame her.

“Aside from the drinking and smoking, you have been in and out late at night and meeting with people who you can't talk about, which is amazing because from what I gather, this is your first time even visiting Crystal Cove. So I want you to be truthful, and I swear I can handle it. Who have you been seeing?”

“I don't understand.”

“Nic, we're not exclusive. I don't know what we are, but now is the time to be honest and straightforward with me about what you are doing.”

I can see how my dealing with Elisha and my late-night meeting with Demetrius can create a narrative that there's someone else who I'm seeing, but there isn't. All there is Victory. But what do I tell her? Do I tell her that I'm a church fixer, and the reason why I was in Sacramento a month ago was because her pastor's husband was missing? Do I tell her that a good portion of the pastors she respects and admires are former clients? Am I violating my clients' confidence by telling Victory the truth? Does it matter since if I resolve this issue, I plan to leave the game for good?

“You're doing that thing again where you don't respond, you just go into deep thought,” Victory says.

“I haven't been completely honest with you.”

“You have a firm grasp on the obvious.”

“I'm not seeing anyone. I am trying to uncover the mystery surrounding Pastor Cole's murder.”

“Are you a cop?”

I chuckle and shake my head. I'm not sure what I am anymore. “No, I'm not a cop; I'm what you call a ‘fixer.'”

“A fixer? I didn't know people like that really exist. Well, except maybe in politics. How does one become a fixer?”

“That's a long story that I will tell one day, but I can say it starts with trying to help, and then it geos south really quick.”

“So when we met in Sacramento, my pastor was one of your clients?”

“I can't disclose why I was in Sacramento. What I can tell you is that not in a million years did I expect to meet someone like you, and I've made it a rule not to get close, but you came into my life and shattered all of my rules.”

Victory does a slight cock of her head to the side with a smile. “I've been known to do that.”

At this moment, I don't think there is a strong enough word to describe what I'm feeling. There's something more I feel for her. I think I know what it is, but I'm terrified to say it. Saying that four-lettered word is dangerous because it makes me vulnerable, and I can't do what I do when I'm vulnerable.

“But this is different than fixing a problem at the church. This is dangerous. I mean, do you think the murderer is still on the island?”

“It's possible, but not to worry. I'm not trying to catch the killer. I just want to supply my employer with some information that can help him find the killer.”

“That's what a detective does. Maybe you should let them do their job.”

“I wish we lived in a world where the authorities cared about what happens in the church. Sadly, the police will probably declare this a cold case so that they can go on to more pressing issues.”

The way Victory contorts her face, I can tell she is turning over in her mind my conundrum. “Okay, well, then, if you must continue to go down this road, I want to help.”

“Victory, you can't. It can be dangerous.”

“If it's too much for me, then I will say it's too much.”

This is crazy to even consider it, but what choice do I have? “Okay, but you have to listen to me.”

Victory gives me a head nod in agreement, but I doubt she knows what she just agreed to. “I will follow your lead,” she says as she takes a seat on the couch, and I sit next to her.

“Addictions . . . What do you know about addiction?” I ask.

“In high school, I had a real bad addiction to smoking weed.”

“In high school?”

“Okay, maybe college.” She looks at me and sees that I'm not buying her story.

“Okay, until my late twenties, but then I found Jesus.”

We cap off our night with a laugh, and I couldn't think of a better way to end it.

 

 

Victory, Sammy, and I arrive at the airport, and it looks like Donny Moses has some company. He's surrounded by three thugs.

“Looky, looky here,” Sammy Moses says as he pulls up.

From a distance, I can tell that Donny Moses isn't intimidated by the thugs, even when one of them pulled out a knife that was visible from a distance.

“We should help him,” I say . . . and everyone is silent.

I don't hear any response, and I'm on the verge of losing my nerve, so I get out of the car and start to walk toward Donny.

I look back, and it seems like Sammy is reluctant to get out and help his own son until Victory literally kicks him out the car. Sam gets off the ground and walks toward his son alongside me.

“What's the play?” Sammy asks.

“I have no idea.”

We arrive and have the full attention of the three thugs.

“What business do you have here?” the guy with the long knife in his hands says.

“The business is that he's my pilot, and you are holding me up.”

Everyone, Donny included, looks at me in a stupor. The audacity I have to challenge men armed with weapons! If there's one thing I know about gangsters and thugs, it is
not
to expect mercy. They only respond to a threat or intimidation that is higher than their own.

The young thug walks up close to me with the blade close to his face as if he's going to use it to give himself a shave. “It's foolish for you to run your mouth.”

No, it's foolish to hold a knife close to your face in front of your enemy. I grab the thug's wrist and push the knife near his throat with a firm grip. The thug freezes in his steps and so do his counterparts. Never underestimate the element of surprise.

The other two thugs go into attack mode to try to gain advantage. Donny punches one in the sternum, and then drops him with an overhand right. Sammy distracts the other thug by letting him use himself as a punching bag. Donny comes to his father's aid by sneaking up behind the thug and putting him in a sleeper hold. I never take my eyes off the thug in front of me.

“Tell your boss, any message he has for me, he can bring to me directly.” I know who he works for. Donny Moses looks at me, and I know he hears me.

“And I'll hold on to this.” I hold up the knife.

“Mr. Demetrius will be in touch,” the thug says as he moves away from the blade and walks back toward the Jeep he came in.

His two comrades pick themselves up off the ground and head toward the Jeep with him. I let out a deep sigh because I had no intention of killing a man; I just had to convince him that I was willing to do it. I went over to Donny to make sure he's okay.

“How are you?” I ask Donny.

“I'm fine,” Sammy replies before his son could.

“I just had a knife pulled out on me,” Donny says. “For six years, I've run my business and minded my own business and all of sudden, you show up, and now I'm getting weapons pulled out and my life is being threatened.”

I feel like the lowest person on the planet. It's true, Donny has run a respectable business that has gone south ever I started using his charter services. More importantly, I will, one day, leave this island, but Donny will remain and this act of defiance can come back to haunt him.

“Listen, I'm sorry I got you mixed up in what I have going on, but I'll fix it. I promise you. I just need to get to the island and work everything out.”

Donny starts shaking his head in disbelief. I'm sincere in what I'm saying, but I get the feeling that Donny doesn't believe me.

“Do you even
hear
yourself? I thought you were a man of God. A man of God doesn't run around getting mixed up with thugs and killers and whatever
else
you're mixed up in. You need to seriously rethink your calling, because I know that this . . .” He gestures with his hands and forms a circle . . . “This is not of God.”

He's right, and there's no way I can justify my actions or say that I'm doing the will of God. I'm in pursuit of truth surrounding Pastor Cole's death, but do the ends justify the means? Given what has just transpired, I can't say it does.

“Listen, I know that I'm asking a lot, but I need you to fly me one more time to Green Cove. After that, we can sever all ties. I promise you.”

Donny doesn't say anything for a long minute until he shakes his head and opens the door for us to get in. I'm grateful for Donny's compassion, but if this morning is any indication, then I'm in for a long day.

We arrive at the hotel where the conference is taking place. Both Sammy and Victory know their roles. We have a snowball's chance in the lake of fire that my plan will actually work, but sometimes, we just have to roll the dice and see what we get.

“Now, are you sure that I ain't about to go to jail?” Sammy asks.

“I promise you that everything will be okay,” I say.

Sammy cuts me with his eyes. He knows that there is a clear difference between the question he just asked me and the answer I just gave him. I look at Victory, and she adjusts her top, not wanting to reveal too much, but at the same time, wanting to be appealing to the eyes.

“You ready?” I ask her.

“Please, I once played Stella in the all-black version of
A Street Car Named Desire
.”

“I bet you were phenomenal in it,” I smile.

I feel bad about bringing Sammy and Victory into my coup, but I need certain distractions to pull off this next move. Victory walks over to the hotel reception desk. It takes only a millisecond for her to get the clerk's attention.

“Hello, ma'am, how can I assist you today?”

“Hi, I'm visiting Pastor Jackson, and I seem to have misplaced the key that he gave me. I was wondering if I could get a replacement key,” Victory says smiling brightly.

“Sure, what's the room number?” the receptionist asks.

I'm within earshot and upon the question, Victory looks at me somewhat clueless as what to do next.

“Here is the thing, hon, I can't remember the room number. I don't pay attention to those kinds of details.”

“Well, I'm sorry, ma'am, but I can't give you a new key without first verifying.”

“What do you mean I can't get an upgrade of my room to a suite?” Sammy yells from the other side of the reception desk.

His voice was enough to cause a diversion, including the young man who is assisting Victory. While distracted, Victory reaches over the reception desk and touches the receptionist's hands.

“Listen, hon, you have bigger problems to worry about. Pastor Jackson won't mind. I
promise
you,” Victory says seductively to him.

“I ain't going to lower my voice! Not until you upgrade my room free of charge!” Sammy says.

Stuck in a tight spot, the receptionist buries his head down in the computer screen. He types up a few things and hands Victory a key.

“Thanks, hon,” Victory says with a sweet smile as she walks away.

Security has now arrived to escort Sammy off the premises. I meet Victory at the bottom of the staircase, and we both walk up side by side. I reach into my jacket and pull out a pair of latex gloves. No one can know I am here. Once I have the gloves on, Victory hands me the key.

When we arrive at Pastor Jackson's suite, I turn to Victory. “This is the part where we go our separate ways.”

“Are you sure? I'm more than happy to help.”

“That's okay. I can handle it. You just make sure that Sammy doesn't get hauled off to jail.”

Victory gives me a warm smile, a head nod, and a kiss on the cheek as she touches my arm. “Be careful.”

I watch her walk away, and I'm totally mesmerized. I know there will be a time where I will kick myself for not maximizing the opportunity I have with her, but now is not that time. I use the key to enter the room and once the door is closed, I start to go to work.

Pastor Jackson is unlike a lot of pastors I know. He's unapologetic. He doesn't apologize for his success, since he believes God has blessed him with it. He doesn't apologize for his remarks made during his sermons which often offend homosexuals and welfare recipients. He is convinced that everything he says is from the will of God and that's what makes him both a success and a target. The media can't get enough of Pastor Jackson and his latest bombastic statements. He acts as if he doesn't care. In that regard, maybe he and Pastor Cole have more in common than what I originally thought.

I search the room for evidence. Clearly, someone of his reputation has some skeletons hidden, but as I search through the drawers and closet, I can't find anything. I have to find something to leverage the information that I need from him.

Most people call what I'm doing blackmail, but that is such a strong word. I don't plan to use the information. I just need to
convince
Jackson that I
will
use it so that he can give me the information that I need.

I keep searching, but there's nothing here that I can use. Either Pastor Jackson is really careful, or he's more straitlaced than I thought. But why would he be here with the rest of the members of the elusive Cloth? I mean, granted, the Cloth is only known in relatively few circles, but these guys are not black ops agents. For a room to be as spotless as it is means that there is nothing to hide. I have keen insight, and I look in corners most people will overlook, which is why I considered a career in law enforcement years ago.

There is laughter in the distance, which means it's possible that Pastor Jackson is approaching. My original plan was to wait for him to return and strong-arm him into letting me know what Pastor Cole was up to before he was murdered. At this point, I have next to nothing to leverage. I only have the information I got on file from my friend, Paul. I don't know what to do. I thought about hiding in the closet. Maybe all Pastor Jackson would do is drop something off, and then leave, but that is not likely to happen. Things can go bad on so many different levels.

I decide the best position that shouldn't cause me to get a broken nose will be for me to have a seat in the chair next to the table. This gives me a less aggressive approach, which will not put Jackson on the defensive.

The voice gets closer and closer, and my heart forgets to beat for a moment or two. The door opens, and Pastor Jackson walks in. He is initially startled, but his eyes lock in on me, and he then starts grinning.

“What in the—You must be the guy I've heard about . . . Minister Dungy,” Pastor Jackson says.

If Pastor Jackson can walk into a hotel room and know my name without ever meeting me, then that means one thing: someone talks too much, and that's not good.

“I guess my reputation precedes me,” I say.

“That, among other things. You're not going to find anything. I keep this place so clean, CSI wouldn't be able to find anything.”

I take my gloves off and stand up. I'm positive now that Jackson doesn't see me as a threat.

“So what do I owe this pleasure?” He walks over to the wet bar and fixes him a drink. He then looks toward me and motions to an empty cup.

I've been trying not to drink, not wanting to go back to that dark place in my life. This case, however, is far beyond me. I need something to take the edge off.

“Sure,” I say as I walk toward the bar.

Pastor Jackson pours me a cup, hands it to me, and we toast. “To redemption.”

“Redemption.”

I take a hard swallow, and we both take a moment to recover from the force of a single malt.

“Let me guess . . .” Jackson takes a sip of his drink before he continues. “Paternity test?”

“Excuse me?”

“The running joke at my church is that once a week, a young girl comes forth claiming that I got her pregnant. Of course, the accusation is proven false. I like my women grown and on their own, but if you're here . . . then I wonder.” Jackson takes another sip.

“I'm not here for any paternity suit.”

“Then the only other reason why you would be here is to talk about Pastor Cole.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I'm a prophet, Genius.” Jackson laughs at his own sarcastic joke. “Why else would you be here?”

Pastor Jackson must have spies throughout the island keeping tabs on folks he deems as a threat. I'm sure I'm somewhere on that list.

“One of the benefits to being a prophet is that I'm intuitive, and the only way you would be here in my room is to ask me about Cole.”

“I hear you guys were close.”

“Elisha told you that?”

He is good, and I now know just how connected he is, and now comes the fun part. This means I would be able to uncover a lot of information from him. It also means I can take the gloves off.

“With all due respect, Pastor Jackson, I'm surprised to hear that you're a member of the Cloth.”

Pastor Jackson erases his smile and sets his drink down on the table. “Now, Nic, I appreciate you trying to help out with Cole's investigation and all, but let it end there. You don't want to go too far off the path.”

“You mean find out about you and all of your shady dealings?”

“You don't know anything, Nic, and that's your problem. You're a hypocrite, and what's worse is that you don't even
know
it.”

“At least I'm not leading a whole congregation astray. I don't pretend to be something that I'm not.”

Pastor Jackson gives me a dismissive wave. “All that self-righteous talk sounds nice, but let's be real with each other. You've made a living off of the shortcomings of your fellow brethren of the clergy. And you're going to judge
me
for being a part of an organization that seeks to help those same ministers?”

The difference is I try to get help for those ministers who I work with, and the Cloth offers them a place to indulge without judgment. It's sickening the duality that exists within this organization.

“So you, Cole, and Bryant would get together and counsel each other while in a room full of strippers and alcohol?” I ask.

“You sound worse than the women at my church. Look, the Cloth is not some religious mob. Any man who wants to leave can leave, so long as he maintains our code of silence.”

That and a buyout to the tune of $50,000, I'm told. The Cloth keeps a tight noose around its members' necks. Maybe Cole found the noose too tight and wanted a way out. “So did Pastor Cole leave your organization?”

“That's none of your business. You're not a member of the Cloth, and I don't have to disclose that. And if I find out that Pastor Bryant has told you any of this, then he would be in violation of his confidentiality agreement.”

“So Pastor Bryant is a part of the Cloth?”

I know the answer, but I like seeing the unflinching Pastor Jackson squirm, searching for an answer.

“Don't get cute with me, Nic. I know he asked you to look into Cole's death, but I know he didn't ask you to look into our organization. I'm going to say this, and I'm going to say this once, Nic. You don't want the Cloth as your enemy.”

I could fill the Empire State Building full of nickels if I had one for every time someone threatens me. Pastor Jackson's threat may have teeth, but they're not sharp teeth.

“Listen, we can agree to disagree, but I'm trying to find out who would want to kill Cole,” I say.

“Are you asking at Bryant's bidding or your owe curiosity?”

I'm starting to get annoyed by how much Pastor Jackson knows and why he is not inclined to share.

“Does it matter?”

My question causes Jackson to take another hard swallow of his drink. His eyes don't flinch as he looks at me.

“That's not going to happen,” he says.

“I know you to be a man of faith, but how can you be so sure?”

“I just know,” Jackson says.

“What was he involved in?”

“Not what, but
whom,
” Pastor Jackson says with a smile.

“Randall Knott,” I say.

“Randall Knott is just a businessman. Yeah, he and Cole had a falling out, but that was just business. Cole would have eventually come around and saw Knott's vision. I'm afraid my boy was caught up in some other stuff and messed around with a dark force.”

Now I'm confused, and it's obvious that my facial expression conveys that confusion.

“My boy was dealing with Satan himself, in the form of a tantalizing woman,” Pastor Jackson continues.

“Wait a minute. Hold on, are you telling me a woman might have killed Pastor Cole?”

“That's one way of putting it. Janae Hargrove. She is a local legend, a master of Obeah.”

All Pastor Jackson had to say was the name Janae Hargrove. In the short time I've been on the island, I have become familiar with this woman by her reputation. She is a practitioner in black magic, and is otherwise known as a voodoo priestess.