Reverend Bolt was worried. The detectives who had come calling asked embarrassing and dangerous questions, poking their noses around in his financial business. In addition, the losses he’d sustained from New Nubia were threatening to crumble his empire and maybe get the authorities looking at those same finances. He could not let that happen. He’d worked too hard for too long to let it all slip away now. So many years of struggle had been put behind him, he thought. He could not afford to be stupid or weak now. His people needed him more than ever and he would not let them down.
He examined the gun carefully as he loaded a clip and placed it into a holster under his suit coat. He was never a man to take chances. He’d taken many precautions since his days in the South. He went to his bar and poured himself a scotch.
That was a long time ago, a lifetime. He thought sadly about the man he used to be, the evil, pathetic human being who had destroyed lives and taken from others. But God did indeed move in mysterious ways. He had led Bolt to prison, where he’d found The Word and the way. He was transformed and when he was released he set out to give back some of the joy that he’d stolen from the world.
Bolt had discarded his old name and identity. He’d left Herman Bady in a Texas prison cell and tried never to think of him again. He’d transformed himself into a self-ordained minister and covered up his tracks, going through three states, assuming a new identity in each, slowly changing his look while changing his life. The last name he took was that of his religious mentor, Cleophus Boltman. Cleophus, then deceased, was a former basketball star, hardened lifer, and prison minister. Rashus, his new first name, was taken from a religious book he’d read while in prison.
Bolt ended up in Detroit, where he briefly worked at a halfway house while he preached on the streets on the weekends. Eventually he got a storefront church and started a full-time ministry.
Soon his church began to grow, and with the growth came controversy. Holyland was cited by many as too extreme in its practices. Men and women sat on opposite sides of the church, and women who wore dresses above the knees were told to go home. They also held fasting vigils and all-night prayer meetings and encouraged followers to donate part of their salary to the church, no matter how little they made.
More controversial was Reverend Bolt’s outreach program to the state’s prison. Prisoners were recruited while still incarcerated, and once they came out, the church took them in, making them family. The reverend saw this as essential to the making of his ministry, and he was known to keep these men close to him.
Despite controversy, the congregation was loyal. Reverend Bolt’s fiery sermons and layman’s approach to The Word mesmerized the hopeless and gave them hope. Bolt was now deemed a living work of God’s power. He was where he had always wanted to be in God’s light. So, he could not let the Bakers and their evil scheme end his ascension. He was going to build his religious empire and nothing would stop him.
He was going to see a man who admittedly worked on the other side of the law. He hated to do it, but these were desperate times. The players in the hood were really no worse than a banker, he told himself, and he’d exhausted all his legitimate resources. He walked the edge of law with his prison ministry, but now he was crossing back over. He had made a solemn promise long ago never to reenter the world of crime. He’d done terrible things in the past and the memories of that sinful life clung to him no matter what he did. Even giving his life to the church had not cleansed him. So what he had in mind today hung heavy in his heart.
Bolt finished his drink. He said a prayer, then exited his office. He walked through the sanctuary, taking his time to gaze at the pictures of Jesus and the apostles on the stained-glass windows. When he got to the back of the room, he was joined by two of his deacons. They flanked him as he walked out of the church into the night. A white Cadillac DeVille was parked at the curb. Bolt got in and the car sped off, headed toward Woodward Avenue.
Across the street, the Bady brothers watched their father come out of the church surrounded by men. Muhammad had carefully read the file he’d stolen. It wasn’t hard to find him after they burned the office at Oasis.
Muhammad could barely contain himself. He wanted to press a button and blow the Cadillac off the face of the earth. But that would be too easy, he thought. Too good for the man who had spawned death and sadness in their lives. No, their father’s death would have to be as glorious as the pain he’d inflicted.
“Don’t lose him,” Muhammad said to Rimba as Bolt’s car pulled away.
The brothers started off after Bolt, following him down Woodward to the boulevard. Suddenly, the Cadillac pulled over and stopped by Clairmount Avenue. The Bady brothers stopped behind Bolt, parking a block away.
Bolt’s car sat for ten minutes, unmoving. Muhammad became nervous. What was their father up to? Had he seen them?
“Get ready to take him,” said Muhammad. He reached under his seat and took out his weapon. Rimba pulled out a knife, and Akema took out a 9 mm and checked the magazine. “Hold up,” said Muhammad.
Two other vehicles had pulled up next to Bolt’s car. One was another Cadillac, an Escalade. The other was a green Jeep. The Escalade pulled in front of Bolt’s car, the Jeep settled in behind it.
Muhammad remembered a white Escalade was present the day the would-be killers came to their old home. He focused on the new vehicle, waiting for the occupants to emerge.
Desandias Locke pulled himself out of the passenger side of the SUV and into the backseat of Bolt’s car. He moved quickly and had a distinct air of fear about him.
“Shit, somebody loves me,” said Muhammad. He laughed a little, which surprised his brothers.
“Who’s that?” asked Akema with interest.
“Just another dead man,” said Muhammad. “Just another dead man.”