Pastor Needs a Boo (4 page)

She was going over her “spy list” of goodies for the pastor's meeting with Keisha, Veronica, and Marsha when a big, thick brother with close-cropped hair and a silver mustache and goatee stormed into the church office and slammed the door behind him. Dayeesha got up and walked right past the man without opening her mouth, looking for the security guard.

“I'm telling the pastor to fire that joker,” she mumbled under her breath, and then went back to her desk to finish working on her list.

“Am I invisible?” Rico Sneed snapped.

“I don't know. Are you?” was all Dayeesha said, without even looking up from her work.

The man reached over and knocked Dayeesha's bottle of Fiji water off of her desk and onto the floor.

“Is something wrong with you, Mr. Rico?”

“I told you to put Reverend Flowers on the phone. But no. You had to get all smart and beside yourself. So I'm here, in your face. How you like that?”

Dayeesha didn't blink. She didn't frown. All she did was open a drawer on her desk, reach in it, and pull out the custom-made Glock Metro and the kids had given her for Mother's Day.

She took the safety off the gun and pointed the barrel at the man, using both hands like she'd seen Agent Prentiss do in her favorite TV show,
Criminal Minds
.

“Pick that water up, put it back on my desk, leave my office, and close my door softly. You are not talking to Reverend Flowers today or any day in the near future. And I'm telling my daddy on you.”

Rico Sneed bristled and started cussing like he was out in the streets and not up in church.

Dayeesha stood up and held her head to the side with the gun aimed at Rico Sneed's hip. She hoped this fool would not do something to force her to shoot him. He already had his toes shot off by Reverend Flowers back in the day, when both of them were still young men.

Plus, shooting people was some real messy business—especially when they started bleeding all over the place, hollering, and getting on your nerves. Dayeesha did not feel like going through a police report because Mr. Rico pissed her off. And she especially didn't feel like having to order some new carpet for a second time in three months. They hadn't even had this new carpet long enough to clean it.

“You have exactly no seconds left before I start shooting.”

Dayeesha's gun clicked, and Rico Sneed hightailed it out of New Jerusalem Gospel United Church. She saw him run to his car, hop in, and peel off the church parking lot, burning up all of the rubber on those new tires.

She put the safety back on the gun and put it back in her desk drawer.

“Served him right—coming up in
my
church bothering people like he don't have good sense.”

 

Chapter Two

Reverend Denzelle Flowers sat at his desk gazing out of the huge picture window in his office. New Jerusalem Gospel United Church sat nestled in the middle of eighteen acres of land. It was a sweet patch of property in Raleigh that wasn't too far from the North Hills Mall section of the city.

The original church building was a quaint, white, wooden structure that looked like the prototypical Southern church—black or white. But the old building had been remodeled to house New Jerusalem's outreach ministries—Prison Ministry, Benevolence Fund Program, Scholarship Fund, and the New Jerusalem Job Bank.

People would walk up the redbrick path leading to the outreach ministries building, take a moment to admire the lovely garden, walk in, and end up detouring to the area that used to be the sanctuary. The staff members had now grown used to folk being late for their appointments because they wandered into the old sanctuary and stayed there a while to have a heart-to-heart conversation with the Lord.

While the old church building was warm and inviting, the new church facility was amazing. Using Turner Cathedral AME Church in Marietta, Georgia, as a template, the new New Jerusalem Gospel United Church was a magnificent brick structure that could seat five thousand members comfortably. There was an IMAX-quality sound system, big screens, and a comfortable pulpit designed to make you want to preach yourself happy. The choir loft would make you want to sing for hours, and the orchestra pit begged to be loaded down with the best instrumentalists in the area.

The most notable feature in the sanctuary was the stained-glass window/wall behind the choir loft that had several scenes depicting Jesus' three-year ministry on Earth. And since Denzelle was a stone-cold brother, he made sure the folk making the glass windows for his church stained Jesus a rich dark chocolate, with an Afro that looked like he had gotten an edge-up from the ancestor of the barber who cut and shaped Denzelle's hair.

The interior was a pale golden color with darker gold accents, and ruby velvet pew cushions were set in golden wood pews. Whenever one of Denzelle's fraternity brothers walked up into his church and saw colors that hinted at a leaning toward the crimson and cream, they added a little extra to their offering amount. New Jerusalem members often joked about how many programs the Kappa Alpha Psi fraternity had supported at the church because of their deep affinity toward the church's decor.

The church had everything Denzelle could think of putting in a church—a large banquet hall to host large events and receptions, educational and conference rooms, music rooms, three choir rooms, a movie theater, a roller-skating rink, a state-of-the-art gymnasium, and a modest-size theater for church plays. There were playrooms for the younger children, game rooms for the teens, hangout rooms for the young adults, two libraries with two full-time librarians on staff, a softball field, a playground, indoor and outdoor pools, and the lovely, award-winning garden.

Yet in spite of all of this fabulous stuff, it was the pastor's suite that made Reverend Denzelle Flowers the envy of his ministerial colleagues around the state of North Carolina. His office was painted crimson, with deep cream coloring on the wood trim and wainscotting. There were golden hardwood floors that matched the desk, credenza, and coffee table. A dark-gold suede sofa sat in front of the coffee table, surrounded by crimson suede chairs the looked like they belonged in the lobby of the most expensive five-star hotel.

One wall was full of photographs of the church, the pastor, the members, and events. Another wall showcased a rich array of original artwork by local black artists. And the last free wall was dedicated to books from floor to ceiling, with a fancy rolling ladder that could be used to sail across the room in search of the perfect text. But it was the rich, crimson Italian leather chair behind the pastor's desk that made some folk want to fight Denzelle for this office. That chair had a custom-built massage system, along with an electric heater to warm and sooth a brother's tired and sore joints on a cold day.

Denzelle had a pile of stuff on his desk—invitations to preach, diversity training for new FBI recruits, a schedule to go to the gun range for target practice, and a training session for the new preachers in the denomination. And this was all outside of his normal duties as the pastor of New Jerusalem.

Folk just didn't know how much was involved in running a large church. A good pastor had to serve as CEO, COO, spiritual leader, visionary, teacher, investment banker, development officer, and social worker. Maybe that's why few folk just woke up one day and decided, “Hey, I think I'd like to become a pastor.” The best pastors were called, and a few of them were dragged into the ranks kicking and screaming.

Denzelle would be the first to admit that the last thing he had wanted was to become an ordained minister, and especially a pastor of a church. He had been ecstatic when the FBI recruiter came to Eva T. Marshall while he was still a college student and made it clear he was exactly what the bureau was looking for at that time. Denzelle was so excited about this opportunity that he doubled up on his course work and was on his way to graduating from college early. He even gave up his starting position as a point guard on the basketball team to make sure he didn't lose that coveted spot up in northern Virginia.

But while Denzelle was working overtime to become Agent Flowers, the Lord added to that calling and compelled the crime fighter to also go out on the battlefield for Him as an ordained minister. The night this calling was put into action, Denzelle had been drinking and talking trash on the landing of the apartment he shared with his line brothers in the fraternity.

His uncle, Reverend Russell Flowers, was exhausted that night. But he had felt the Lord tugging at his heart all week about his wayward nephew. Russell knew Denzelle had been called into the ministry. He wished it had been Denzelle's older brother, Yarborough, the Lord had called, instead of his brother's spoiled youngest son. Yarborough would have been so easy to give this “thus sayeth the Lord” speech—but not that Denzelle. Russell only hoped he didn't roll up on that boy all laid up with some fast-tailed coed, trying to
convince
him to make her his Kappa Kitten.

Russell wasn't sure about the exact building or number of Denzelle's apartment when he reached the complex. He drove around for a few minutes, looking for an overabundance of crimson-and-cream K-A-
Ψ
T-shirts, along with laughing and shrieks from the young women invited to party with the fraternity brothers.

It didn't take long to find Denzelle and his boys. “Humpin” by the Gap Band was blasting out of the speakers they had set on either side of the apartment door. Two young women were dancing with three of the chapter's most prized and sought-after frat brothers with paper cups in their hands. From the looks of their moves in those little tight shorts, Uncle Russell could safely assume they were not drinking Tang.

He wished there was a way to just grab those little girls by the collar and drive them back to their dorms. It was clear they thought this was the way to the hearts and favor of these young men. Unfortunately, nothing could be further from the truth. This was basically a frat house party, and the ball was definitely in the young men's court. But these little girls probably thought they could handle themselves and the situation, because they were partying with a bunch of Kappas and not with a bunch of Qs.

Uncle Russell sighed, thinking, “These babies think those smooth and suave, always striving to say the right thing in public exteriors mean these young brothers are going to work hard to behave themselves.”

He watched one of the young men grab his date around the waist from the back and mumbled, “He is going to behave himself with that little girl whenever hell freezes over.”

And Russell figured correctly that Denzelle was as slick as a can of slick oil when it came to his dealings with women. That was not a good way for any man to be—and especially one who would soon find himself as an official man of the cloth. Russell had had many conversations with the Lord about the way men ran game on women. He detested that kind of behavior in a man—even if the man was his own flesh and blood. Men, both young and old, simply didn't understand how much they trampled all over their own blessings and joy playing ugly games with women and igniting the anger of the Lord.

Denzelle's line brother saw Uncle Russell first. He took his arms from around his date's waist and got up off of being all up on her butt. He nodded and said, “Sir,” clearly impressed by Uncle Russell's expensive diamond-and-ruby tie pin that identified him as a lifelong member of the fraternity. He wondered why Denzelle hadn't told them that Uncle Russell rolled like that. No wonder he was so cool and
GQ
.

Denzelle was standing with his back to Uncle Russell, twirling his candy-cane–colored Kappa Kane and drinking out of a bottle of Johnny Walker Red. He drained his whiskey bottle and tapped his cane on the concrete of the landing like he was getting ready to break off into a step. A young woman walked up the steps grinning right at Denzelle. She was a fine thing in those tight jeans and snug red halter top.

“Lawd, ha mercy,” Denzelle said, and tapped the cane on the ground again. He was about to smack on his lips like he was hungry when he saw those breasts on the girl. They made him feel like dropping down on his knees, praying, and thanking God for making them thangs right when He made this girl.

Denzelle smacked on his lips again, and then stopped cold when he saw the horrified expression on his frat brother's face and the subtle nod for him to turn around. Denzelle turned to meet the steel glint in his uncle Russell's eyes.

He tried to straighten up and pull it together, but he was drunk and not able to pull it off too well.

Uncle Russell closed his eyes and prayed, “Help me, Jesus.”

Denzelle knew deep down in his heart that Uncle Russell had come here to give him the word that he was called to serve in the ministry. He had been dreading this moment for months. Why him? He was the bad and spoiled little brother. He was the lady's man. He was the brother who liked to get drunk and get high. He was the one who needed a whole lot of work to make him right for the ministry.

Uncle Russell wanted to snatch that cane out of his fraternity brother/nephew's hand and beat him with it. Denzelle was a piece of work. And Russell knew that was precisely why the Lord had called his nephew into the ministry.

The Lord loved to call the Denzelles to straighten up and go to work for Him. Years from now his nephew would win many souls to Christ because he “got it.” Denzelle would know exactly what his parishioners were talking about when they shared their struggles with coming out of the world to serve the Lord.

Uncle Russell knew that the boy did not want to give up drinking, cussing, and hitting every piece of tail that wasn't nailed down just to put on a collar and preach. He knew Denzelle had his heart set on going up for FBI training as soon as he graduated and moving to the DC area, where he thought all of the action was. And he also knew Denzelle wouldn't get past go if he got stupid and tried to act like he didn't know what time it was.