Samantha Cleaveland lay awake in the massive oak bed as Hezekiah slept at her side. It was 7:10 on Tuesday morning. She’d been awake since 5:30 A.M., staring out the window, watching the sun rise over the city. The bed headboard loomed above their heads like the facade of an Italian cathedral with peaks that almost reached the ceiling. Ornately carved mahogany pillars stood at the foot of the massive structure.
The bed had belonged to her deceased mother, Florence Weaver. A few porcelain figurines and the bed were the only items belonging to Florence that Samantha felt worthy of occupying space in her home after her mother died.
Samantha often wondered how Mama Flo, as everyone called her, could have afforded the magnificent piece of furniture. She wished her mother could have seen the bed in its opulent new home. Samantha knew that Mama Flo would have been very impressed.
A vanity with a large oval etched mirror was perfectly positioned to catch the light from the window. The surface held expensive perfumes, which provided more evidence for discerning noses that Samantha wore only the finest of everything. Fresh flowers sat on a table between two overstuffed chairs. The mantel over the fireplace held more gold-framed pictures of the Cleavelands.
Hezekiah jerked as he grudgingly emerged from a fitful sleep. Silk pajamas stroked his skin with each twist of his body. For a brief luxurious moment he could feel Danny nuzzling his ear and stroking his thick black hair. He slowly entered the reality of his true location as his eyes adjusted to the light and saw the oak posts standing guard at his feet.
“What time is it?” he asked, sitting up abruptly.
Samantha looked up and then rolled onto her side with her back to him “Seven-ten,” she curtly replied.
“Why didn’t you wake me? You know I have to meet with the contractor this morning.”
“Where were you last night?”
“Don’t start, Samantha. I don’t have time for your paranoia this morning,” he snapped, and stormed into the adjoining master bathroom.
“You’re not going to put me through this again!” she shouted, jumping from the bed and throwing a pillow behind him. “I won’t stand by and let you humiliate me again!” Her rage was legendary behind closed doors in the Cleaveland house, but this time it was different.
The image of the pistol in her purse flashed as she continued to scream and burst through the bathroom door. “You can’t do this to me again!”
Hezekiah had already removed his pajamas and was stepping into the shower when she entered. His long, muscular body gave no hint of his divine calling. Without his clothes he didn’t look like the elegant clergyman most knew but rather like a man who could satisfy the most carnal of desires.
On most mornings Hezekiah would meditate under the flow of hot water, but this morning his ritual was interrupted by the attack escalating beyond the glass shower door.
“Who is she?” Samantha demanded. “Is she from church? Is it Catherine? I should have never let you hire that bitch!”
“Leave Catherine out of this,” he sternly shouted over the shower door. “She doesn’t have anything to do with this.”
“Then who is it? You’ve already fucked half the staff. Who’s left?”
Exhausted and broken by a long year of lying, and now her tirade, Hezekiah placed his hands against the tile above his head and shouted, “It’s nobody from church, all right?”
He began to sob into the stream of water flowing on his face as the words fell without consent from his wet lips.
“I knew it. You fucking bastard. How could you do this to me again? Who the fuck is she?”
Samantha violently swung open the shower door. She reached in through the stream of water and grabbed one hand from his face. “I want to know who she is.”
Hezekiah tried to pull away but her grip was too firm. His face, dripping with water and tears, turned away from her gaze.
Samantha stepped into the shower and pushed Hezekiah against the marble-tiled wall. Water from the gushing nozzle drenched her nightgown and caused her hair to flop and dangle over her eyes.
Hezekiah backed away to the rear of the space but she matched him step for step. “Hezekiah, you can’t do this to me again,” she said, pulling his head toward her. “I can’t go through this again with you.”
Hezekiah jerked his hand from her grasp and leaned against the wall. “You’re making a fool of yourself, Samantha. Get out of here. We can talk about this later.”
Samantha then pulled Hezekiah’s body from the shower.
“We’ll talk about it now,” she said, blocking his reflection in the mirror. “What if someone finds out? Everything we’ve worked for will be destroyed.”
“I don’t want to talk about it right now. I’m already late for an appointment,” he snapped.
Samantha jerked his head up and looked him in the eye. “Fuck your appointment. There is nothing more important than this right now. You have to talk about it. I’m not going to let you ruin me. I’m not going to let you destroy everything we’ve built. Now tell me who she is.”
Hezekiah did not respond.
“You’re leaving me no choice, Hezekiah. I won’t be humiliated. If you don’t tell me I’m going to expose you. I’m not going down with you.”
Hezekiah looked her in the eyes and grabbed her shoulders and held her steady.
“Don’t threaten me, Samantha.”
Samantha winced from his tight grip and demanded, “Let go of me, Hezekiah.”
“Don’t ever threaten me. This is my life and my ministry.”
“It’s not your life. It’s our life and I made this ministry what it is. I’m not going to let you destroy it and me as well.”
Samantha broke free and ran to the bedroom. Hezekiah ran behind and grabbed her bobbing wet hair. With one forceful yank he pulled her backward, causing her knees to buckle. She groped for a chair to maintain balance but he pulled harder, sending her tumbling to the carpet. Hezekiah straddled her chest, pinning her body to the floor. He jerked her head up and said, “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll…”
Samantha thrashed beneath the full weight of his body. Her flailing legs toppled a table, sending a vase filled with flowers, and two of her mother’s porcelain figurines crashing to the floor. Hezekiah grabbed her wrists to restrain her. Her hips bucked upward and from side to side. She twisted and turned but Hezekiah’s weight held her pinned on her back.
“You’ll what?” she screamed, clawing at his face. “Kill me?”
Blood flowed from the scratches on Hezekiah’s face and dripped onto Samantha’s as she yelled obscenities and clawed viciously. “Get the fuck off me!”
Samantha finally was able to squirm from beneath him and scrambled to her feet. Her wet, tangled, and tossed hair flew in every direction. The straps of her nightgown flopped from her shoulders, exposing her breast. Years of suppressed rage exploded onto her bloodstained face.
“You’re pathetic!” she raved as she backed away from him. She picked up a book which was sitting on a table near the window and threw it at Hezekiah. “I can’t wait for the whole world to find out exactly who you are. I hope the bitch is worth it because she just cost you every fucking thing you ever worked for.”
Hezekiah looked up in amazement. He had never seen the woman who stood howling before him. He didn’t recognize the rage nor had he ever encountered such unbridled anger from another human being.
Samantha picked up a silver dish from a nearby table and flung it at Hezekiah. He ducked, causing the dish to whiz over his head and crash into the wall with a loud metallic clank.
“Break it off with her now or I’ll tell everyone the truth about the great Hezekiah T. Cleaveland. You’ll end up like all those other redneck ministers crying like idiots on television, begging the world to forgive you because you can’t keep your dick in your pants.”
Hezekiah stared blankly for moments at the raging woman; then he began to sob again.
“I can’t break it off with her,” he finally said.
“Oh my God, is she pregnant?”
“No,” he said through mounting tears.
“Then why not, you coward?”
“Because…it’s not a woman.”
Samantha froze in place. Her heaving chest was the only thing moving on her body. Each breath she took caused her still exposed breast to rise up and down. She looked at him with a puzzled expression and asked through deep, gasping breaths, “What do you mean it’s not a woman?”
“Just what I said. It’s not a woman. It’s a man.”
Hezekiah came downstairs and was greeted by Etta. His eyes, behind dark sunglasses, were red and his face was puffy.
“Good morning, Pastor,” Etta said as she wiped her hands on her apron. “Are you all right? I hope you’re not coming down with that flu that’s going around. Let me feel your head.”
Hezekiah moved away from her like a frightened child. “I’m all right, Etta. My allergies are acting up again.” He turned his back to her and walked toward the door.
“Aren’t you having breakfast this morning? I made your favorite—eggs Benedict, blueberry muffins, and a strong pot of coffee.”
“Not today. I’m running late.” With that, he picked up his keys from the table in the foyer and left the house.
Samantha sat, still moist from the shower, curled on the sofa in the living room. Her silk robe held tight around her waist and legs under her body. Etta looked at the figure of the woman and knew something was seriously wrong. Samantha hadn’t given the pastor her usual litany of directives before he left the house. She quietly withdrew to the safety of her kitchen.
Under normal circumstances Samantha would also have provided him with a better cover story for his unusual behavior. However, this morning she just sat and continued looking out the window. She no longer had the desire or strength to use her well-honed skills of deception.
“Sammy. Open the door, honey. It’s me, Sandra,” Sandra Kelly said, ringing the bell and pounding on the front door.
Sandra Kelly was one of Samantha’s closest confidantes. They had gone to college together and over the years had remained friends and mutually supportive. Samantha had comforted Sandra through her first and second divorces, a series of abusive boyfriends, and the meteoric rise of her law career. In turn, Sandra had nursed Samantha through Hezekiah’s many affairs and coached her through the political and social labyrinth that was the lot of every powerful pastor’s wife.
Sandra was one of the most sought-after attorneys in California and represented only high-profile clients who could guarantee her prime-time coverage on CNN, or an interview with Anderson Cooper. They were sisters, but the only common blood they shared was the pain endured at the hands of the men they loved.
Samantha looked through the beveled-glass window-pane of the double front door to ensure that Sandra was alone, and then hurriedly unlatched the locks.
Sandra was an attractive woman with a slight masculine air about her. She frequently wore navy blue pant-suits with the lapel of a white silk blouse framing her full and deep cleavage. Today was no exception. “Sammy, are you okay? I came as soon as I got your message. Is he still here? Did he hurt you, honey?”
Samantha collapsed sobbing into Sandra’s arms. The silk robe draped off her bare shoulder. “Oh, Sandra,” she cried. “I thought he was going to kill me. I’ve never seen him like that before.”
“Where is Etta?” Sandra asked.
“I don’t know. As usual she disappeared after Hezekiah left.”
“Stop crying, honey, and tell me what happened.”
Sandra led her to the living-room sofa. As Sandra sat, she saw drops of blood on Samantha’s face.
“Oh my God, Samantha. You’re bleeding. What did that son-of-a-bitch do to you?”
Samantha wiped the blood from her cheek with a shaking hand.
“This isn’t my blood. It’s Hezekiah’s. I confronted him about having another affair. We got into an argument and he went berserk. He attacked me. He jumped on top of me, choking me, and I scratched his face.” She began to sob again. “It was horrible, Sandra. I swear he was trying to kill me.”
Sandra retrieved a hand towel from a powder room off the entry hall and handed it to Samantha.
“All right, honey, it’s over now. Everything is going to be fine. That cheating bastard will get what’s coming to him one day, I promise you. When are you going to wise up and leave that asshole?”
The question registered slowly. I won’t have to leave him, Samantha thought. Soon Hezekiah Cleaveland would be out of her life for good. She would be free from the man whom she now loathed. A smile, ever so slight, crept across her blood-smeared face.
The telephone on a side table rang and Samantha jumped. “I don’t want to answer that. It might be him. Would you get it, Sandra?”
“Hello,” Sandra said calmly. “Cleaveland residence.”
“Who is this?” Hezekiah growled from the rear of the limousine.
“Oh, hello, Hezekiah. This is Sandra. Samantha can’t come to the phone right now. She’s busy wiping your blood off her face.”
Sandra sat on the sofa and crossed her legs. Her face contorted into that of an attorney preparing for a fierce courtroom battle.
As Dino maneuvered the winding hills away from the Cleaveland estate, Hezekiah pressed the button to raise the window that separated the rear cabin of the car from the driver’s section. He put the phone on speaker and calmly replied, “Don’t start with me this morning, Sandra. I’m not in the mood. Put her on the phone.”
“Hezekiah, do you need a building to fall on you to realize how much you’re hurting Samantha?”
“This is none of your business. This is between me and my wife.”
“It becomes my business when you hurt someone I love. If you’re not careful, she might accidentally talk to the media about how you physically assaulted your loving wife and have been cheating on her since the day you married. You’d be a laughingstock, the butt of every joke on late-night talk shows.”
There was a brief pause; then, “Are you threatening me? It all makes sense to me now. You’re a lesbian. I always thought you were after Samantha, but I never figured you’d stoop this low. You would encourage her to do something stupid so you could run to her rescue and…”
Sandra put her hand over the mouthpiece and whispered to Samantha, “He’s saying he’s going to kick my ass the next time he sees me.”
Hezekiah continued on the other end. “Does she know, Sandra? Have you told Samantha you’re in love with her yet?”
Sandra looked stunned for a brief moment, and then whispered again to Samantha, “He’s saying you’re lying and that he never touched you. He said you attacked him.”
“Well, I’ve got news for you,” Hezekiah continued. “Samantha likes dick—the bigger the better.”
Sandra laughed into the telephone. “Speaking of dicks,” she said sarcastically, “you should try keeping yours in your pants.”
Hezekiah slammed the leather car seat with three rapid strikes, and then yelled, “You can’t talk to me that way!”
“He said I can’t talk to him like that,” Sandra said, mimicking Hezekiah’s baritone indignation. “He’s Hezekiah Cleaveland.”
Hezekiah could hear Samantha’s familiar laugh in the background. It was the same laugh he had heard when he told a bad joke on the night of their first date. The same laugh that teased him when he fell off the bed the night they made love in their first apartment together.
Sandra quickly grew impatient. She held the receiver away from her ear as Hezekiah spewed a flurry of accusations.
“Hezekiah,” she interjected, “you’re fucking with the wrong person. I’m not impressed or intimidated by your holier-than-thou bullshit. If you don’t watch your step, I will take matters into my own hands and believe me, I have more than enough shit on you to make your life a living hell.”
Hezekiah stopped mid-insult when he heard the words.
“Shit? What are you talking about? You don’t know anything about me. I told you, Sandra, I didn’t touch her. Now stay out of this. Samantha and I will work this out without your interference.”
“I know more than you think, and you’ll find out soon enough. Brace yourself. Things are about to get even worse for you.”
Sandra hung up the telephone. Within seconds the telephone rang again. “Don’t answer it, Sammy,” she said. “He’s livid and screaming like a madman.”
Samantha looked at Sandra with a puzzled expression. “What dirt are you talking about?”
“Nothing for you to concern yourself about right now, Sammy.”
Samantha stepped dripping from the shower when she heard a knock on her bathroom door.
“Are you all right in there?” Sandra called out.
“I’m fine,” she responded, startled by the intrusion. “I’ll be out in a minute. Wait for me downstairs.”
When Samantha came downstairs, Sandra greeted her in the living room with a steaming cup of chamomile tea.
“I feel much better now,” Samantha said, sitting on the sofa. “I don’t know if I could have got through this without you. I’m so lucky to have a friend like you.”
“I’m the lucky one, Samantha. You’ve helped me through so much bullshit in my life. This is the least I can do for you. Sammy, can I ask you a question? Why do you stay with him? He ignores you unless the cameras are rolling. He’s never cared about your career, or even acknowledged that you have one apart from him.”
Samantha was silent for a moment. She laid her head on the back of the sofa. “I’ve asked myself the same question a thousand times,” she finally said. “He used to make me so happy. But the larger the church grew, and the more famous we became, he seemed to change. The only time I think he notices me is when he thinks someone was watching. I honestly don’t believe that he loves me anymore.”
Samantha took a sip of the tea. “Now it’s your turn. Why do you hate Hezekiah? You’ve never said it to me, but I can tell by the way you look at him sometimes. He has always been so good to you. He got you your first job out of law school. Loaned you money to set up your law practice.”
Without hesitation Sandra responded, “It’s because of you.”
“But—”
“Wait a minute, Samantha. Let me finish.” Sandra set her cup on the table and turned to Samantha.
“It’s because I see how miserable your life is in his shadow. My heart aches every time I see you smiling dutifully behind him while people heap praise on him. I see how he went chasing after his dreams and left you to struggle through seminary alone.
“I didn’t tell you this earlier, but when I spoke to Hezekiah, he accused me of…Well, I won’t say exactly what he accused me of…but in essence he said I was in love with you. At first I was shocked and embarrassed. But the more I thought about it the more I knew he was right.”
Samantha showed no reaction.
“I am in love with you,” Sandra continued. “But, not in the way he meant it. I love you like a sister. He accused me of being a lesbian. That’s where his bruised ego caused him to miss the point completely. He’ll be disappointed to learn that I’m just your average run-of-the-mill heterosexual. But I’m a woman who’s blessed enough to have another woman in my life whose friendship, happiness, and well-being are as important to me as my own. If that makes me a lesbian, then fine…call me a dyke and sign me up for the standard-issue blue flannel shirt and Birkenstocks. At least I won’t have to shave my legs anymore.
“I won’t apologize or be ashamed of caring for you and for doing anything in my power to ensure that you have every opportunity to realize your dreams. The same thing you’ve always done for me.”
A tear fell from Samantha’s eye. For moments the two sat in silence.
Samantha turned to her with a smile and said, “So, does that mean you don’t want to sleep with me?”
They laughed out loud together, and Sandra replied, “Sorry, girlfriend, but I like dick way too much.”
Hattie Williams sat down in her favorite floral-print wing-back chair in her living room. She placed a round wicker sewing kit, which had belonged to her mother, on the tea table next to her. Hattie had raised three children in the house. Her husband died four years earlier and she now lived alone. The newest piece of furniture in the entire house was a small ottoman her husband had purchased twenty years earlier so she could elevate her leg and take the pressure off her arthritic knee.
Every other piece of furniture in the house had decades of stories to tell. There was the coffee table, which her youngest son hit his head on when he was four, and to this day he still had the scar. She recalled entertaining her in-laws for the first time on the tufted peach Barker Bros. sofa, which she and her husband had purchased when they first married. They took the bus to the high-end furniture store downtown and paid ten dollars a week to get the mahogany dining-room set and hutch with curved legs and claw feet out of layaway.
A pot of greens simmered on the stove, filling the small house with the smell of smoked neck bones and onions. Hattie turned on a ceramic lamp, which was shaped like a bird standing on one leg and covered with a frilly Victorian lamp shade, to provide the extra light she would need to mend the tear in her favorite housecoat.
As she searched the sewing kit for just the right thread, the image of a man in flight flashed before her.
It is Pastor Cleaveland. Hattie leans back in the chair with a look of cautious curiosity and watches Hezekiah, wearing a meticulously tailored suit that flaps with each twist of his flailing limbs, as he plummets through the air in the sanctuary at New Testament Cathedral.
Hattie drops the sewing basket in her lap and it tumbles to the floor, spreading bobbins, pins, and needles over the thick green carpet. She gasps and covers her mouth in disbelief. Hezekiah is falling and she cannot save him. Hideous flying gargoyles accompany him as he spirals downward. They dance rhapsodically in the air around him, cheering him on to his final destination below. Their wings flap in delight as Hezekiah tries in vain to find some hint of sympathy in their grotesque faces.
“Oh Lord, please don’t let him fall,” Hattie cries out loud. “Please catch him.” But the harder she prays, the faster he falls. Then their eyes meet for a brief moment. Although he does not speak, she knows what he is saying to her. “Help me, Hattie. I can’t stop. Help me.”
She hears a chorus of screams echoing through the sanctuary as he continues his glide like a hawk toward its prey on the canyon floor below.
“Oh my God,” comes as a howl from the balcony. Other shrieks of horror reverberate through the chamber. “It’s the pastor. He’s falling!”
Women in fashionable heels drop helplessly to their knees, unable to fathom the event unfolding before them. Men leave skid marks on the balcony floors, from rubber on their soles, as they dash in disbelief toward the rail for a clearer view.
“Tell me who did this, Pastor,” Hattie says out loud to the falling man. “Tell me what to do.”
But it’s too late. The falling man becomes dimmer and dimmer until the image fades away.
Hattie cupped her hand to her mouth and sobbed into the housecoat she had planned to mend and said one last time, “Tell me what you need, Pastor. Lord, please tell me what to do.”
Hezekiah tried calling Samantha again but still there was no answer. He struggled helplessly in an overwhelming sense of embarrassment and guilt as Dino drove the limousine along the now flat city streets. He had dealt the ultimate blow to the woman he once loved so deeply. She wouldn’t leave him, but what dismal part of her soul would survive such a devastating assault? He resisted the urge to go back and comfort her, like he had done so many times before. How could I put my family through this? he questioned silently.
As he rode in the rear of the limousine through the city, he painfully navigated the emotional debris that accompanied infidelity, being caught, and confession. However, at the end of his silent process, there was no trace of the remorse he thought would greet him. Instead, he felt a sense of relief that he could not explain, although at times he ached at the thought of what Samantha must have been feeling at the moment. His breath seemed to pass freely through every organ in his body and then flow out the pores of his skin. The images he saw on the street seemed more vivid than they ever had before. Streams of energy rose from his belly, up his spine, and lifted an oppressive smoky haze from his shoulders and then flowed out the top of his head. He could feel the fog leave his body and evaporate into the light.
The car turned into the construction site across the street from his church and parked next to a pickup truck. He had been sitting for a moment when a tap on the window commanded his attention.
“Good morning, Reverend,” said a jolly red-cheeked man wearing a plaid shirt and baggy denim jeans. “I didn’t think you were going to make it. I was just about to leave.”
“Good morning, Benny. Sorry I’m late. I had a little problem at home. The building is looking great.”
Benny Winters was the general contractor for the cathedral that would soon be the new home of New Testament Cathedral and Media Center. Hezekiah never trusted the round little man, but he had a reputation for building some of the most impressive edifices in the country. As a result of his concerns, Hezekiah insisted on approving every construction change order, regardless of how small, and visited the construction site as frequently as he could.
“Thank you. We’re right on schedule too. Come with me. I’ve got a few things to show you,” Benny replied.
The two men put on hard hats and began a tour of the grounds and skeletal tower. Trucks drove on unpaved roads and dust filled the air. Men in hard hats and construction boots waved good morning as they passed. To their left a cement truck churned as a wet gray substance poured from its bowels.
“There is where we decided to put the satellite dish. Now everyone in the world will be able to see your pretty face live every Sunday morning,” Benny said with a hearty laugh and pointed to a leveled piece of ground in the distance.
Hezekiah followed Benny into the cathedral and along corridors with exposed metal beams and wires. Workers were busy drilling and moving items through the halls. Benny pointed to a series of metal brackets along the corridor and said, “Those are where we’re installing the smoke detectors and alarms. The fire inspector came by yesterday and approved the distance between each unit. He went over the building with a fine-tooth comb and said everything looked to be in order.”
Images of Danny flashed through Hezekiah’s mind as he walked and made him smile. He remembered bringing him to the construction site on several occasions. He always wanted Danny, more than anyone else in his world, to be proud of him. He often wondered what Danny would think of a decision he had made or a project he was considering. He never hesitated to call and ask his opinion.
Hezekiah suppressed a smile and asked, “Have you got the final bids in for the carpet and tile work yet?”
“They’re in, and I think you’ll be very pleased. Most of them came in under what we budgeted. It’s tough out there now and all these contractors are desperate to get a job as big as this.”
“I never understood the point of hiring the cost estimator. It sounds like he overestimated the market. Maybe I should underestimate his fee,” Hezekiah said without humor.
Ben smiled only to appease Hezekiah. “I don’t think it was his fault. No one knew the economy would end up in the toilet like this.”
Hezekiah barely heard the words spoken by Benny in front of the building. All he could think about was Danny and holding him again. The pounding of hammers and the smell of freshly cut wood seemed only to remind him more of how much he was in love.
Samantha paced the floor of her study after Sandra had left the house. Her silk robe trailed behind as she retraced her steps in front of the desk.
I could survive an affair with a woman, but a man? she thought. If I didn’t have a good reason to kill him before, I sure as hell have the perfect one now.
Her course was clearer now than it ever was before. She could survive the affair with that bitch from the restaurant they frequented, or the scheduling secretary she had immediately fired. But a man? She would never stand by and have the power of her feminine allure called into question. He handed her the verdict and read his own sentence. Death by shooting on the stage he had built for himself.
Samantha removed a pack of cigarettes from her desk. She nervously inhaled the smoke and retrieved her cell phone.
Rev. Willie Mitchell answered. “Yeah? This is Willie.”
“Willie, it’s Samantha. Are you alone? Can you talk?”
Reverend Mitchell, like so many other men, worshipped Samantha Cleaveland. He had schemed to be a part of her inner circle from the first day he saw her standing next to Hezekiah at a fund-raiser for a state senator. Over the years he watched her become more confident and saw her naive good looks evolve into seductive and intoxicating beauty.
He willingly gave everything Samantha had requested of him: one million for the new cathedral, substantial contributions to the politicians of her choice, or playing the “heavy” with any misguided bureaucrat or church trustee who dared to challenge her wishes.
Years earlier, he had bravely confessed his true feelings for her. She was repulsed by his proposition but kept her sentiments private. Instead, she used his adoration as a leash to keep him securely within her reach. The unspoken agreement was that if he acted upon her every wish, then maybe someday she would return his affection.
Willie quickly sat up on the edge of his couch and turned down the volume of the television with a remote control. Striped boxer shorts bunched between his legs and a tight white T-shirt stretched around his belly. “Yes, I can talk. What’s up?”
“Have you found someone to do it yet?”
“What’s the rush? The guy I’ve got in mind won’t get out of jail for at least three more months.”
“I don’t have three months. It has to be done this Sunday.”
“This Sunday? Are you fucking crazy? How the hell am I going to find anyone to do it in less than a week?”
“If you can’t handle it, then I’ll find someone else who can.”
Willie rubbed his eyes and released a heavy sigh. “Wait a minute. I didn’t say I couldn’t do it. You just caught me off guard. Where do you want it done? Inside the house? A drive-by?”
“No. I want it done at church. Hezekiah always said he wanted to die in the pulpit. I want him killed this Sunday morning while he’s giving the sermon. That’s the least I can do for him.”
“Where the fuck am I going to find someone stupid enough to kill him in front of the whole damn church and broadcast live all over the fucking country?”
“I know of someone who I think will be perfect for the job.”
“Who?” Willie asked suspiciously.
“Virgil Jackson. He used to play drums for the youth choir. Now he’s a crackhead living on the streets. He just got out of jail and I’m sure he’s desperate. He bummed twenty dollars from Hezekiah this past Sunday.”
“Yeah, I know him but that’s kind of close to home, don’t you think?” Willie asked. “I don’t know, Samantha. This seems unnecessarily risky. What if he gets caught?”
“That’s why he’s perfect. Hezekiah fired him a year ago, when he was caught trying to break into the church. That’s what he was in jail for. People will think he was just settling a score.”
“What if—”
“No more ‘what-ifs.’ Just talk to him and make sure he says yes and offer him enough money to leave Los Angeles permanently. I’ll make sure the church balcony is empty. He can sneak up there at about eleven thirty. If he stays low behind the seats, no one will see him, and he’ll be out of the range of the cameras up there.”
Unable to deny the woman he had loved for years, Willie responded, “I still say this is fucking crazy, but I’ll talk to him.”
“Get back to me as soon as you’ve spoken to him,” Samantha concluded.
Samantha disconnected without saying good-bye. She took one final drag from a cigarette and dropped the almost extinguished butt into a tepid cup of tea.
Willie adjusted his body on the sofa to relieve the pinching from the tight boxers. He reached for his bottle of Mylanta sitting on a cluttered coffee table. Samantha’s sudden need to speed up the murder of Hezekiah concerned him.
Why the rush now? he thought. We’ve planned this for almost a year, but now she wants it done within a week. He worried that her haste would cause mistakes. His stomach growled as he tensed his body to force the release of a trapped air bubble. She had never been that terse with him before. In the past she had convinced him to do her bidding by dangling the hope of sex in front of him. This time, however, was different.
His thoughts continued to whirl. If she could do this to her own husband, what would she do if I disappoint her? Would she ever allow him to touch her, or was it just another game? He feared she would shun him and his life would change dramatically if he disappointed her. The source of much of his power in the city came largely from his relationship with her. She made him worth talking to. Her association with him prompted others to look past his portly and crass exterior and tolerate his company.
His mind turned to Hezekiah. The man who embodied everything Willie ever wanted in life: looks, wealth, fame and, most important, Samantha. Only Willie truly knew the depth of his hatred for Hezekiah Cleaveland.
His stomach continued to rumble after he drank the last of the medicine. He pictured Samantha running to him for comfort and protection after Hezekiah was gone. He would be her hero and those who laughed behind his back would then clamor for his attention.