After a restless night at Patricia’s, I drove my rental Camry to the Isle of Palms. The security guards at the gated entrance to Chauncey’s neighborhood stopped me long enough to get clearance. Chauncey must not get many visitors on Monday mornings. I parked in the drive. When I got out of the car I felt something poke my leg.
“Hey, boy,” I said.
Shelby barked.
I sat on the concrete and let him lick my face. “I missed you, too, buddy.”
He smelled like coconut and his coat was trimmed and shiny.
Chauncey walked out of the garage, hands in his pockets.
I scratched behind Shelby’s ears. “Thanks, um, for cleaning him up.”
“Don’t worry. I’m adding it to your bill.”
Trish stood next to Chauncey. “You aren’t coming to take him away, are you?”
“No, ma’am,” I said. “I came by to see how he was doing and to feed him.”
“He keeps me company,” she said. “We have our dogs groomed every month. The groomers were going to be here anyway and his fur was a little matted. I had his claws trimmed too. I hope you don’t mind.”
At least she didn’t have them painted pink while she was at it. “He looks good and probably feels better, too.”
“Oh, he’s such a pretty dog,” she said. “You should keep him like this.”
My dog, my companion, the one I rescued from the shelter, brought home, and fed and took care of for the past six months, left my side and went to Trish.
Sitting on the driveway by myself, I said, “He’s always been a sucker for the ladies.”
Trish leaned down, let him lick her face, and walked into the house. Shelby gave me a quick glance and trotted along after her like the dog he was. I watched the four-legged freeloader go inside.
Chauncey said, “Why didn’t you call me after you had your accident?”
I stood up. “It wasn’t my fault. They chased me.”
“That’s not what I saw on the news,” he said.
“They shot out the rear window of my car,” I said. “I tried to get away and they rammed me into a delivery truck. I’m not sure why the news got the story wrong.”
He took out a pipe and stuck it in his mouth. “I see.”
“No, I don’t think you do see, Chauncey. Galston is out of control. He needs to be stopped. He and his goons tried again last night. Four against one.”
Chauncey put his hands up. “So what can I do to help?”
I thought about the detectives finding me yesterday through my rental car.
“For starters, I need another set of wheels,” I said. “Not in my name and the faster the better.”
Brother Thomas sat in his office behind the massive, cluttered desk. The captain’s chair creaked under his massive girth as he leaned back.
“Let me get this straight,” he said, his arms folded across his ample stomach. “You want me to escort Ms. Wells out of the hospital?”
“Not just you,” I said. “You and some of your church members. Mutt, too.”
“And she was admitted because someone shot her.” He gave me the same look I was getting from a lot of people lately. The one suggesting my faculties were not fully operational.
I leaned forward and gestured with open palms. “I can’t be sure they weren’t aiming for me.”
He laced his fingers together as if in prayer. “Mm-hmm.”
“Besides, I don’t want her to be recognized when she leaves.”
“And you think a white girl being surrounded by a bunch of Negroes is camouflaged?”
“We could disguise her.”
He opened his hands. “As what, a black girl? That’d take a lot of work.”
“I was thinking of a big hat and long sleeves.”
His hands came to rest on his desk. “Mm-hmm.”
I took a sip of takeout coffee I’d purchased at a convenience store and winced at how bad it was. “Look, Brother. I don’t have a lot of options, here.”
“Why is she your cross to bear?”
I sat the coffee cup on the edge of his desk. “Like I said, I’m not sure who the shooter was aiming for. Darcy did the spin piece on the men with the prostitute. They worked for Galston.”
Brother Thomas raised his eyebrows.
I could read the doubt on his face. “I’m the one who blew up their car and put her on the story.”
“You can’t save everyone, Brother Brack.” His voice had the same tone the headshrinker used on me after Jo died. It didn’t work then either.
“I’m not trying to save everyone,” I said. “I’m trying to protect one woman.”
“By endangering members of my congregation.”
“This man, Galston, buys properties like the one you showed me. He buys them and sits on them, collecting federal money and not doing any cleanup. And I think he had something to do with shooting my uncle.”
“If you know so much, how come you haven’t informed the po-lice?”
I folded my arms. “They closed the case on my uncle once already. I wouldn’t be surprised if they try and do it again.”
“Young black men die here all the time. Think the police come around and ask why, much less open a case?”
“So you’re not going to help Darcy because she’s white?”
The venom in my words showed in the way Brother Thomas’s face hung in mid-contortion. He started to say something else but stopped himself.
I got up to leave.
He cleared his throat. “Wait.”
Channel Nine News ran a special segment on Darcy during the six o’clock broadcast. They reviewed her career and how she ended up in the hospital, and showed pictures of her with balloons and flowers scattered around her room. They casually announced in the course of the story she would be released in the morning and asked her what she was going to do once she got out. What a beautiful setup.
While the news was on, a group of parishioners entered the hospital and spread out over the fifth floor. Darcy’s room number at the time happened to be five-twenty-one. The parishioners, members of the Church of Redemption, donned their Sunday best. The women wore bright dresses and big hats. The men had slick suits, dazzling ties, and shiny shoes. Everyone was black and Brother Thomas was in charge.
The faithful went room to room greeting each patient and giving away bibles purchased with part of the cash Patricia, Darcy, and I had found in the crab pots. Before Wheel of Fortune came on at seven, the group had made the rounds and left. And room five-twenty-one was empty.
Chauncey called and said he had a car waiting for me in the parking garage close to his office. I said goodbye to the Camry at the airport’s rental car return and took a cab downtown. What I found was a used Audi, a charcoal gray four-door bomber with twin turbos and a six-speed transmission. It looked like a thousand other yuppie-mobiles trolling the streets of our fair city, perfect for stealth cruising. I pressed the unlock button, opened the door, and eased into the driver’s seat. The bolsters held me firmly in place and I shut the door. The key fob went into the ignition and a chime greeted me. I pushed in the clutch and pressed the Start button. The engine fired to life with a snarl. I backed out of the spot and headed to the exit. Two blocks over, I hung a left onto East Bay Street and took the entrance ramp onto the new bridge over the Cooper River.
“Let’s see what you’ve got.” I floored the loud pedal in third gear. The turbos spooled up and pushed me back into the seat. I let off the gas before it hit the triple digits. Not as fast as my Mustang, but Chauncey had done well.