71

            Driving Danielle’s Explorer, Anthony traveled along a two-lane road that cleaved through a densely wooded area.  Pines and maples overhung the roadway, painting the ground in alternating patterns of light and dark. 

            To an onlooker, he would have appeared to be alone.  Lisa and Danielle—Danielle on the verge of hysterics; Lisa struggling to keep her together—had gone to the family house, to await the outcome.

            But he had a special passenger.   

            Concealed under blankets in the cargo area, Mike said, “Yo, AT, can you crack open a window or crank up the AC?  It’s hot as hell back here, dog.”

            After his call with Cutty, Anthony had used the cell phone of Danielle’s boyfriend to ring Mike; he’d wanted to avoid setting off the church’s wiretapping system again.  Mike had sped to the area on his motorcycle and met him in the parking lot of a nearby gas station. 

            As Anthony had expected, Mike was armed and hungry for action.  Anthony had quickly filled him in on the pertinent details of the situation.    

            “You think we’re on our way to the spa?” Anthony asked.  He switched on the air-conditioner.  “That why you asking to be driven in comfort?”

            “Yeah, I’m looking forward to my facial and back massage.”

            “I could use a manicure myself.”

            “You think that hot chick’s gonna be there at the handoff?”

            “Probably.  Crazy as a wood lizard, mean as a rattlesnake, and armed to the teeth.”

            Mike chuckled.  “Just how I like ‘em.”

            “Get set.  The spot’s coming up on my left.”          

            Flanked by pines, Mount Moriah Baptist Church came into view, marked by a crumbling brick sign posted near the road that listed service times for bygone days.  The church itself was a small, squat, one-story structure constructed of faded bricks.  Slats of plywood covered the windows.  The tall white cross standing atop the roof was missing an arm. 

            A “For Sale” sign leaned in a patch of overgrown grass near the boarded-up entrance, listing a phone number in faded black print.   

            “If you’re ever in the market to buy church property, Mike, you ought to check this place out,” Anthony said.

            “I’ll keep it in mind.”

            Anthony slowed the SUV and eased into the driveway.  Broken tree branches and pine cones littered the asphalt, weeds sprouting between cracks in the pavement.  The driveway led around the side of the building and emptied into a large parking area.

            In the far corner of the lot, he saw his nephew, and Cutty.  

            “I see them,” Anthony said. 

            They sat at a wooden picnic table underneath a row of trees, Reuben sitting on one bench, Cutty on the opposite bench, positioned behind him.  Reuben looked unharmed, just scared.  The Suburban was parked nearby, front end facing Anthony.

            There were no other vehicles in the area, no people, and the property abutted a shadowy forest that appeared to go on forever. 

            At Anthony’s arrival, Cutty stood.  He’d changed from his black tracksuit uniform into a white one.  One hand was shoved in his jacket pocket.  

            Valdez, also clad in white, climbed out of the Suburban. 

            “Your girl’s here,” Anthony said to Mike.

            “How’s she lookin’?”

            “Like an angel of death.”

            Valdez walked to Reuben and placed her hand on his shoulder.  Reuben stiffened at her touch.

            The kid so strongly resembled his father that Anthony wondered why it had taken him so long to make the connection.

            He backed the truck into a parking spot about ten yards away, and cut the engine. 

            He got out.

            As they had discussed beforehand, Mike would remain hidden in the vehicle until the fanatics prepared to drive away with Anthony as their prisoner.  To stay in touch during the exchange, Anthony had called Mike’s phone using the cell belonging to Danielle’s friend, and had then clipped the cell to his belt.  They kept the lines open on both their phones, creating a crude two-way radio system.   

            At the right moment, Anthony would speak a code phrase, signaling Mike to launch an ambush . . . and they would keep their fingers crossed that it would work.    

            Hands at his sides, Anthony moved in front of the Explorer.  The area was silent, the chirpings of birds distant and soft.  A cool breeze carried the pungent scent of the woods, damp from last night’s storm. 

            Anthony nodded at his nephew.  “How you doing, Reuben?”

            “I’m . . . I’m okay,” Reuben said, but he trembled like a leaf in the wind.

            “Hang tight, kid.  This’ll be over soon.” 

            Anthony started to advance.  Cutty raised his hand.

            “Hold it right there,” Cutty said.  Cutty peered around him.  “You come alone?” 

            “My wife stayed home.  She wanted to tag along, but I told her that she’d be bored by you.”

            “Shut up.”  Cutty’s face reddened.  He looked at Valdez.  “Go check him out.”

            Valdez approached Anthony, the breeze plastering strands of her hair against her rosy cheek, a smirk on her face as if she were privy to some secret. 

            “You again,” Anthony said. 

            “Turn to car,” she said, and when he turned, she shoved him hard against the hood. 

            “Looks like we’ve switched places this time.”  He raised his arms and spread his legs.  “I still think you’re on the wrong team.”

            “I am a loyal servant of kingdom,” she said. 

            “You’ve said that before.  Is that the church servant slogan or something?”

            Ignoring his remark, she searched him and found the .45 he’d deposited in his holster underneath his jacket. 

            “I told you to come unarmed, Thorne,” Cutty said.  “Are you incapable of obeying directions?”

            “I was worried someone might car-jack me on my way over here.”

            “You’re despicable,” Cutty said.  “Valdez, restrain him, please.” 

            “What about my nephew?” Anthony asked.

            “We’ll let him go after we’ve secured you,” Cutty said.  “Now drop your hands, asshole.”

            “Asshole?  I thought profanity offended you, Cutty.”

“Just do it, dammit!”

            Anthony lowered his hands.  Valdez drew his arms behind him.  He heard the jingle of metal chain, and then felt the cold steel rings close around his wrists. 

            He pulled against the cuffs, found them tight and unyielding.

            “Bring him to the truck,” Cutty said.

            Valdez grabbed his arm.  Together, they shuffled across the parking lot.

            Reuben rose shakily.  A fresh wave of tears streamed from his already-reddened eyes.

            “Hey, man, don’t let these people see you cry,” Anthony said, but his own voice was fragile.  He was praying Mike wouldn’t let him down.  “Everything’s going to turn out fine.”

            “It certainly is,” Cutty said.  “God is good.”

            Reuben swallowed, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.  They arrived at the back of the Suburban, where the tailgate doors hung open.  A cleared-out space, roomy enough to store a grown man, awaited.

            “Sit.”  Valdez nudged him down. 

            Anthony sat on the lip of the bumper.  “All right, you’ve got me.  Now let him go.”     

            “Go ahead,” Cutty said to Reuben.  “Get out of here, you little sinner.  Remember what I said about calling the police—we own the police.”       

            Slowly, Reuben backed away, his tearful gaze fixated on Anthony.

            “Uncle Tony . . .”

            “Go home, Reuben,” Anthony said.  “Your mother’s waiting there for you.  She needs to know you’re okay.  Hurry now.”

            As Reuben hesitantly retreated, Cutty rounded the picnic table.  Madness, or delight—Anthony wasn’t sure which, perhaps a measure of both—gleamed in his cold blue eyes.

            “God delivered you to me,” Cutty said.  “Where is your devil god now, Thorne?  Why don’t you call on him to save you?” 

            Anthony finally uttered the code phrase that he and Mike had decided upon.  

            “Can’t we all just get along?” he asked.

            Sneering, Cutty punched him in the face.  Anthony rocked sideways and nearly tumbled off the bumper.  Jaw numb, he spat out a thin stream of blood.

            “Dear God.”  Cutty massaged his knuckles.  “That felt so good.” 

            “Not as good as this is going to feel to me, asshole,” Valdez said. 

            The woman had drawn a semi-automatic pistol.  She leveled the gun at Cutty.

What the hell?

            “Valdez?” Cutty said, in a quavering voice.  “What . . . what are you doing?”

            “I’m with the FBI, you prick.”  She chambered a round in the gun.  “Put your hands in the air.  Now.”           

            Anthony’s mind reeled.  The FBI? 

            Drawing backward a step, Cutty slowly raised his hands.

            Then, in an eerily calm voice, he said, “No weapon formed against me shall prosper,” and fled into the woods.