YNs

1999

Smells of peppermint and mold pervaded the space. The church held within it a charm and a grace that belied its low budget and even lower income. The Wilmington, Delaware location sat a few blocks from the Boxwood Funeral Home. Forty-year-old Pastor Patrice Mennon studied himself in the mirror. His six foot frame and dark features made him look larger and loom with a complexion akin to black sand. He glanced at his sermon notes and prepared them for Sunday service the next day. In walked Delton “D-Ware” Haynard. He was about five foot seven inches tall. He was seventeen. He knocked on the door to the pastor’s office.

“‘D-Ware!’” Mennon exclaimed almost out of fright.

“Hey, Pastor. What’s going on tomorrow?”

“If you come to church you’ll find out won’t you?”

“You know that I don’t go for that church stuff. I respect it, but I don’t like it.”

“What don’t you like about it?” Mennon asked.

“It takes away from the clientele, for starters,” he replied.

“As you know I was a fiend for seven years. Then Jesus stepped in and rescued me from a hell I was certainly going to spend eternity in no doubt.”

“And you got saved, cleaned up, went to seminary school, got your bachelor’s degree, and now you’re running this old raggedy church. I know, Pastor. You only tell this story every Sunday.”

“You’re here every Sunday? I don’t see you ever….”

“That’s because I don’t need to see you every Sunday to know you’re telling your old war story again,” D-Ware explained.

“Bless him, Father. He doesn’t mean it.”

“I do too mean it. All you ever do is harp on how Jesus saved you from addiction and that you can be alleviated from your burdens as well if you just give up your dollars and line my pockets all will be great.” Mennon offered an icy stare but a sly grin as if he’d just seen a Rubik’s cube solved in front of him.

“You know people are hurting,” he shot back.

“I need them to hurt. And that’s why I’m giving you ten thousand dollars in order to keep the women of the church from snitching on me while I put in this work.”

“We agreed on fifteen thousand.”

“I know. I fumbled a pack so I just knocked it down to a few old ladies and tell them to pray. Tell them to not worry about my boys on the corners. Tell them their reward will be in heaven.”

“Alright, but I’ll just let a few of them know after service tomorrow and at the church potluck next weekend. You’re coming to that, right?”

“Pastor, I’m not about to be around any churchfolk. That’s not what I came for and that’s not what I’m standing on at all. I’m about my bread.”

Mennon made a slight sound somewhere between a cough, sneeze, laugh, and sigh. “You know I was going to study Mennonism as part of my spiritual journey. You know, my last name and all. But I saw the chance to make a Church of God in Christ (COGIC) the place to plant my seeds. It’s growing.”

“That sounds cute, Pastor, but I’m going to need those nosy ladies out of my business while I serve on the curb,” D-Ware retorted.

“Okay, okay.” Mennon looked at his ten thousand dollars in crisp bills with the currency bands still intact. He smelled the money. It mixed with the mold and peppermint. He closed his eyes.

“Well, young man, you’ve got a deal. We can make it so that everyone on your block from the youngest crawling to the oldest walking casts a blind eye to your activities.”

“Alright then,” D-Ware asserted.

The two men who had been seated stood up and dapped each other. “Did I ever tell you I was in the Gulf War? When I came out of the Navy, I started using?”

“No, you never told me about that. Here, sit back down––”

“I don’t have time, Pastor….” D-Ware grumbled.

“It won’t take long. Do you know what a parable is?”

“It’s like a story or something,” D-Ware answered.

“Yes! I came out of the military, not knowing what to do. No education, no prospects, no anything. Sure, I worked some menial jobs but I didn’t have anything that stuck.”

“Is that all?”

“Listen! So, I hit the streets trying to sell some weed. I made a few dollars here and there. I sold it to some white boys over at NSU. That kind of thing. But then I got introduced to crack cocaine. Now, I was no drug lord like yourself, but I had an apartment unit I leased and rented out spaces. That’s where my couriers posted up and served. I was making loot. Thirty thousand dollars a week. All me. Then I found the pipe.”

D-Ware rolled his eyes. “Then you got hooked and couldn’t stop so you broke down and went to rehab. First, you found a sponsor and you’ve been clean for nine years to date. You haven’t relapsed and you’re stronger than ever. Can I go now?”

“Let me explain further. So, I’m clean off the hard rock, so then I get this idea that God saved me. He let me experience the world but like the prodigal son, I came back to Him.”

“That is one for the ages.”

Pastor Mennon peered into D-Ware’s soul at that last line.

“You’re going to be a child of God because you already are, you just haven’t recognized it.”

“My god is green.”

“Well, God provides abundance. I thank you for this blessing you’ve bestowed on me. It’s a breath of fresh air to know that you’re even alive.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that Jesus covers you with his grace. You are fortunate that someone besides myself is praying for you.”

“And who’s that?”

“Don’t you have a big momma or aunties?”

“All of them are dead.”

“Sorry about that.”

“You didn’t kill them.”

“No,” Mennon said sheepishly.

“But I do suspect that you know who did it.”

Pastor Mennon’s eyes brightened.

D-Ware kept a Sig Sauer nine millimeter pistol in his boxers.

“Yes, I think you know very well who killed my people,” D-Ware gripped up a bit.

Mennon shot his hands in the air. “I swear, I have no information on your dead female relatives.”

“So you know who killed my brothers, my father?”

“No. I would have told you.”

“See, you start with all that change your life around nonsense and then you get to a point where you’re running your mouth or letting others run their,” D-ware observed.

“I’m telling the truth. I have had no discussions of that kind whatsoever.”

“Oh, now you say you’re telling the truth. Why didn’t you say that in the first place?”

“I was trying. You didn’t give me a chance.”

“Well, here’s your last chance. I’m warning you––”

“Alright, alright. I’m telling you I didn’t tell you anything about your family being killed.”

“But….”

“But I do know there are some––”

“Some what?” D-Ware goaded.

“Some cops that are in my congregation. They’ve been talking about the case with some of the older ladies of the church.”

“And what did they say?”

“I wouldn’t know. I just noticed them speak about the goings on of the neighborhood.”

D-Ware flashed a quick grin and snickered. “You mean to tell me you have these old women in here discussing my business.” Then a door opened and Jazelle Harker walked in. She had dark features, too and wore clothes that hid her hourglass figure. She looked like she could have just walked right off the Jet Magazine Beauty of the Week page. She was twenty-seven. The two men sat down again and D-Ware took his grip off the pistol.

“Hello, Pastor.”

“Hi Jazelle.”

“Hello, Delton. Here to try to scare the Jesus out of Pastor Mennon again, I see….”

“Miss Harker, it’s not like that. I’m just showing the pastor that he’s still able to withstand a break in or something,” D-Ware explained.

“Yes, bringing a firearm into a house of worship. Not scary?” she asked.

“It’s alright. Call it a drill. I’m going to be able to give up this money in exchange for my life. I know where I’m going,” Pastor Mennon voiced with some oomph in his words.

“Anyway, I got your dry cleaning, they said it’s going to be extra for the robes…something about a new cleaning agent for the material.”

“That’s fine.”

“Part of that ten thousand dollars is for the leaky roof right? That’s where that mildew smell is coming from.”

Pastor Mennon rubbed the back of his neck. D-Ware sat quietly in the corner reading the Bible.

“Yes, it should take care of it. Thank you, again––” he looked at D-Ware. He studied the words intently.

“So, you’re picking up the word.”

“I’ve got enough word.”

“Tuh,” Jazelle laughed.

“I do. I know what’s in the book. It's programming for the mind to become mental slaves to the overclass….” D-Ware announced.

“You’re really going to sit up here, after you dropped off the money and attempted a heist of a man of God….”

“It’s alright, Jazelle. Delton, I appreciate the cash and the practice robbery, but I think it’s time for you to go, young man.”

“Alright, I’ll go. But I’m going to need more clients from your church to start my legitimate business.”

“I told you…I’m not about to let you ruin lives of––”

“You did it,” he chuckled. “Look how you turned out.”

Pastor Mennon shook his head and mentioned, “That’s totally different, I went through that but nobody else in my flock has to experience it.”

D-Ware looked around. He tugged at his pistol and made a screwface.

Jazelle leaned against the door jamb like a lithe leopard stretching. “And what are you going to do with that?” she asked, her voice seemed soft like silk but wrapped around titanium.

“This might be my last time doing this….” he gripped harder.

“Boy, you’re not about to commit a crime. What you have in your waist is good for the gutter, not for waving at Christians who want to do business with you.”

“That’s alright I––” D-Ware started. A crashing noise came from around the corner of the church. Jazelle looked straightfaced. A sense of curiosity rather than dread colored the pastor’s face. He whispered without uttering a sound. Just his lips moved. He slackened a bit. It was as if the muscles in his body all became one, forming a loose mass of tissue and tendons connecting to the bone. Jazelle waved her hands and spoke inaudibly. She gave the international symbol for not knowing. They both looked at D-Ware. He picked his chin up and tugged at the firearm once again. This time, he moved towards Jazelle and passed her. He walked into the sanctuary. A stained glass window had been broken. It looked like shards of candy littered on the floor.

Jazelle watched as D-Ware walked around the pews and finally threw his hands up. Then, a figure jumped in front of him and tackled him to the ground. The offender brought D-Ware to his feet. Jazelle began to turn.

“Uh-ungh,” you sit on that front bench.”

Jazelle abided. Pastor Mennon came out with the sack with $10,000 in it. He added another $5,000 on top of that from his safe.

“Here, here. Take this, just leave us be for God’s sake. This is a church, son!”

Pastor Mennon bellowed.

“I know that. And I know y’all got some,” he sniffed, “mildew or something growing in here.”

“This was going to go towards getting someone to rid this place of that.”

He held on to D-Ware and brandished the gun at Jazelle and Pastor Mennon.

“I’ll take that bag and hold onto it. Next week I’ll double whatever is in there. I swear to God.”

Jazelle and Pastor Mennon exchanged glances. “Okay,” she intoned with her hands in the air. “We have your word in this house of worship and prayer.”

She signaled for the pastor to hand over the cash. The thief absconded with the cash and D-Ware’s weapon and left through the front door and just breezed off calmly amongst the law abiding citizens.

“Is everyone alright?” Pastor Mennon asked. Jazelle nodded her head.

“I’m okay,” D-Ware claimed.

“Why didn’t you shoot that man?” Jazelle asked, her arms folded. “You’ve been showing up here unannounced with money on an infrequent basis to supply our needs and keep us on our toes,” she observed. “Why didn’t you just blow him away.”

“The gun was never loaded. And besides, bones chipped and flesh sprayed all over the walls would’ve been a bigger problem than some mold and mildew.”

“Don’t worry about it. If the boy said he’ll be back and double up, then we’ll have thirty grand. When we call the cops, we’ll be able to nab this perpetrator for certain.” Jazelle made a crooked smile.

“You might be alright, Delton. At least you managed to confront the coward,” she pointed out.

“Don’t even bring it up.”

“Thank you,” Pastor Mennon walked down the aisle and fell upon D-Ware’s neck and hugged him. Jazelle planted a kiss on his cheek. The rouge lipstick still left a stain upon his visage.

“Alright, I’ll see y’all at some other time frame.”

“We’ll be ready,” Pastor Mennon proclaimed.

D-Ware hopped on his bike and went down to South Bridge. His apartment seemed cramped. Boxes of books popped up all over the area. The carpeting seemed sparse and whole patches had been missing. Two fifteen-year-old-girls sat on the futon in the main room. Two more seventeen-year-old girls remained in his bedroom. They smiled and winked. The sound of giggling could be heard in the bedroom as they shared a blunt.

A tea kettle screamed when he first entered the door. He saw a figure of the same height and build of the robber who stuck up the church.

“Yo, that was crazy, right?!” The figure, Tromwell Gern, pointed to the satchel of money. He poured the tea for the two females in the main space and for D-Ware and himself. The other two had enough tea.

“Yes, but we’ve gotta get the timing right. They’re expecting thirty stacks in the future that will never come. We’ll have to hit another church and build up a rapport.”

“Alright,” Tromwell agreed.