Gran Gran had once said, “Baby, you never know when you’re gonna run up on or find yourself in a situation where the first
thing you are going to want to do is call on the name of Jesus, and then anoint yourself in Jesus’s name.”
At the time Curtis had thought that Gran Gran was having one of those senior moments and being just a tad over the top. But
right now, sitting in this room and looking at that basket with the mysterious stuff in it, made him wish he’d listened to
his grandmother and taken that oil she’d purchased for him.
Curtis closed his eyes and touched his fingertips to his heart. He whispered, “Cover me with the blood of Jesus, Lord,” and
worked overtime to keep his eyes from straying over to that basket. But every time he looked away, it felt as if a string
or something were pulling his eyes right back to the spot he kept trying not to see. Finally, Curtis closed his eyes and whispered,
“Where is Gran Gran when you need her?”
Pierre buzzed Charles again.
“Where are you, Boss? You need to hurry up so you can see this going down.”
“Where are you?” Charles asked as he’d headed toward Pierre’s office and then found it locked.
“In the security control room with Bay. He’s the one who texted me about this.”
Charles turned all the way around and headed back in the direction of his office, where the tightest level of security was.
Bay was the head of security, and if he said to come to the control room, where all the monitors for the club were, Charles
knew to get there in a hurry.
Charles punched in the security code and hurried into the control room. Pierre and Bay were deep into what was happening on
the monitors.
“Check this out, Mr. Robinson,” Bay said and pointed to the monitor for the parking lot.
Charles stared at it for a moment and then frowned. He was not happy watching Kordell Bivens, Gilead Jackson, Sam Redmond,
Jethro Winters, and Sonny Todd Kilpatrick huddled up together as if they were discussing the next play for a football game.
How they had gotten out of the room with Sweet Red, and to that parking lot that fast concerned him. But what made Charles
so mad he felt steam blowing out of his ears was the sight of Rico Sneed coming up on the group grinning and puffing on a
cigar as if he were somebody worth the time of day.
“What the hell is that negro doing with that pack of wolves, and on
my
parking lot?” Charles demanded.
Pierre shrugged, and Bay said, “That’s messed up, Mr. Robinson. Rico is married to your cousin and he should have told you
he was coming here with a bunch of men he knows you don’t like.”
“Yeah, Boss,” Pierre said, “that’s messed up.” He punched his big, meaty hand with his huge fist. “So when are we gonna mess
that negro up? He is just getting more and more beside himself—and more and more out of control.”
“True that, Mr. Robinson,” Bay said, frowning at Rico’s image on the monitor. “I know he’s married to your cousin and all
but there are times when he comes up in here that I want to cuss him clean out. I know Miss Marquita. She is good people.
She deserves better than that trash standing out there doing who knows what with God knows whom.”
Charles studied Rico for a minute. He could not believe the negro was at his club with those men and dressed to the nines
in a suit he’d bought from Charles’s suit man, Mr. Booth, who was Sweet Red’s uncle and his cook Miss Hattie Lee’s brother-in-law.
Lowell Booth got his clothes at discounted wholesale rates and was able to sell them at some seriously good prices. Charles
bought practically all of his suits from Mr. Booth, and he was one of the best-dressed brothers in Durham.
Rico had never been able to afford suits like the one he was wearing until Charles had turned him on to Mr. Booth. He should
have known better. Because now Rico was in Charles’s parking lot, wearing a sharp chocolate silk-and-wool suit with mint-colored
chalk stripes, full-cut pleated pants, mint shirt, and a chocolate, powder blue, and mint green diamond-print silk tie, making
deals with the Devil and betraying his entire family.
“Look, Boss, Rico is ushering them towards the door and they are …”
“ … Coming right in … every last one of them,” Bay said.
Charles’s hazel eyes narrowed into slits.
“Can you get some audio on them, Bay?”
“I can do better than that,” Bay answered and started typing in commands on the computer in front of him. “I can go back to
when they first pulled up and get the audio on all that.”
Bay typed in a few more commands.
The voices came on loud and clear, with Kordell speaking first, confirming Charles’s suspicions about him.
“I don’t know how you think you are going to pull this off. Both Curtis and Maurice are very good coaches, and they stand
a good chance at winning the next game with Bouclair College in spite of any concerns about being ready and which players
they can play.”
“How did you come to that conclusion?” Sonny Todd snapped. “We have a perfect record and will get that title and all of that
money again at the next tournament.”
Kordell turned to face Sonny Todd. He said, “The team wants to beat you bad, and they’ve been working hard to get ready for
this game. But you already know that because I’ve sent you the DVDs of all of our practice sessions over the last month.”
Sonny Todd was quiet for a moment before he said, “So, how are you going to get the ‘Mighty Five’ out at the beginning of
the game? LeDarius Johnson, Earl Paxton Jr., Sherron Grey, Mario Lincoln, and Kaylo Bailey are some top-notch ballers. They
will put a hurting on my team if they start at that game.”
“I’m working on finding out if they have some problems with grades. So far, the only class we might be able to use against
them is that newfangled mess over in the art department,” Gilead Jackson said.
He snapped his fingers a couple of times, trying to remember the name of that class.
“Help me, somebody. What is the name of that class? It’s worth six hours and taught by Yvonne Copeland.”
“Fountain now,” Kordell corrected.
“Whatever,” Gilead said. “All I know is that a good grade in that course will boost their grade point averages past the red
zone if they have some problems in any other classes.”
“And take them out if they get a bad grade,” Jethro Winters said, grinning. He loved mess. And he was in heaven being able
to be all up in the mix at this black school. So much to see and learn. And the women? He felt as if he were going to get
the sugar diabetes every time he was on that campus and ran up on some brown sugar.
Sam Redmond frowned and said, “They are at Eva T. to earn an education, not to be taken out, Winters.”
Jethro turned a deep shade of red. It was clear that he’d gone too far.
Sonny Todd sighed heavily before he said, “Sam, you are the one who wants to hire me as head coach. And the last time we talked,
you were not all that concerned with those boys getting educated.”
Sam Redmond squared his shoulders and advanced on Sonny Todd. He said, “What could you possibly know about educating a black
man?”
Jethro Winters started looking nervous. He and Sonny Todd were outnumbered by some big and tense-looking black men. He placed
a firm hand on Sonny Todd’s shoulder and said, “You need to remember where you are.”
Sonny Todd gave Sam Redmond a conciliatory nod.
“I don’t want to sound pushy,” Jethro Winters began carefully, “but I’m confused as to the significance of this game and Coach
Parker keeping his job.”
“It’s tied to his contract,” Gilead Jackson said. “He has to win so many games by a certain time in this season. Or he has
to defeat one of Eva T.’s fiercest opponents. Curtis has been on a losing streak for many reasons—real and created.”
Gilead made eye contact with Kordell, who sucked on a tooth and gave a sly smile.
Charles slammed his fist on Bay’s desk.
“I knew that negro was up to something—I just knew it.”
“Shhh … shhh … shhh,” Bay said, waving his hand at Charles. “You are going to miss something. Check this out.”
“I’m confused,” Jethro Winters said, scratching the back of his head. “How can you fire a man for losing if he’s not at the
end of his contract? I want Sonny Todd in Coach Parker’s spot as badly as the rest of you. But this plan is anything but airtight.”
Kordell Bivens, Sam Redmond, and Gilead Jackson all started cracking up. “That is some funny mess,” Gilead Jackson said, and
then started laughing again. He slapped Jethro on the back. “You a funny white boy. You know that, dawg?”
Once more, Jethro Winters had that uncomfortable look on his face—as if he were hoping some extra white folk would show up
in a hurry.
They started laughing again, and this time Sonny Todd joined in with them. He’d been working with a bunch of black men at
a black college for a while, and he knew exactly what was so hilarious about Jethro’s concerns.
Rico, who was talking on the phone, standing a ways off from the group, came to join them.
“I miss something,” he said.
“Not now, dawg,” Kordell said.
Rico said, “Okay,” and then spoke into the phone, “I’ll tell ’Quita I’m going to see Glenda to get my hair cut. And we’ll
be able to catch a quickie, baby.” He paused and pressed at the earpiece before saying, “Naw, baby. That won’t be a problem.
I’ll just tell her that Glenda didn’t cut my hair low enough. ’Quita so love-struck over me, she’ll believe anything I say.”
“One of these days I’m gonna mess that negro up real good,” Charles said.
“Will you quit fussin’ about that clown and hush,” Pierre told him. He felt the same as Charles, and when the time was right,
he would tell him all that he and Bay had found out on Rico Sneed. Marquita was his girl, and he’d had enough of watching
Rico dog her out behind her back.
“Sam, you have not given me an answer I can work with,” Jethro said in a tight voice.
The laughter stopped.
“Jethro,” Sam Redmond said, “I’m a black college president. About the only head of anything with more power than me in any
organization in the black community is a black preacher.”
“Bishop, Sam,” Gilead corrected. “The bishops have a whole lot of power.”
“I don’t know,” Sam pressed. “I think it’s changing a bit with some of the preachers of these really big churches. They ain’t
scared of the bishops, and will get them told. So we are back to preachers.”
“Bishops, preachers, black college presidents. Will you just tell Jethro what the deal is,” Sonny Todd snapped.
“Dang,” Bay said in a low voice, “they are really working that white boy’s nerves.”
“They are working mine, too,” Charles said.
“Jethro,” Sonny Todd continued, “just joined the board of trustees, he’s loaded, and ready to drop some serious cash on the
Athletic Department if he understands how this works.”
Jethro nodded.
“A clause, a very fine-print clause is available for use at the discretion of the president of Eva T. It says exactly what
we’ve been telling you, Jethro. In any given season, I have the right to override the signed contract if I’m not happy with
the coach’s performance due to losing too many games or if he loses to one of the top teams in our conference more than once.”
“That has to be the dumbest, stupidest mess I’ve ever heard, anywhere for any reason, created by anyone—black, brown, red,
white, and blue,” was all Jethro said.
Pierre was cracking up. He said, “Now that is some funny mess. That white boy is right.”
“Dumb or not,” Sam Redmond said, voice tight, “it is what it is. And I am using the clause. So, if you want to have some allies
affiliated with this school when you bid on the contract to build luxury housing for our exclusive and elite faculty, you
can rely on Gilead and Sonny Todd to drum up some support from those boosters.”
“Your boosters? How can they help?”
“They have money, many of them have clout, and not too few have the kind of influence that will make a difference when you
come up against the opposition that will support Lamont Green, who is the number-one draft pick for that contract by half
of the trustees.”
“Lamont Green,” Jethro said incredulously. “I can’t believe this mess. I’m going up against Lamont Green? Again? In the black
community? Sam, why didn’t you tell me any of this before now?”
Sam Redmond rolled his eyes and sighed. “Are you retarded, man? Eva T. is a black college,” he said and waved a light brown
hand in front of Jethro’s face. “We have to have a brother, or a sister, making a bid. So take a chill pill and go somewhere
and calm down. I got this.”
Jethro opened his mouth to check Sam Redmond when Sonny Todd shook his head, as if to say, “I wouldn’t if I were you.”
“Okay, Sam,” Jethro said, “handle your business. Get Curtis out and Sonny Todd in. Win the money you need for the school.
And use your newfound victories to get me in good with some of the same black people who wanted to pimp-slap me when I went
after the contract to rebuild Cashmere Estates.”
“Yep,” Rico Sneed said, coming up from behind, finger adjusting the Bluetooth in his ear, “there were definitely a lot of
black folks who had their hands poised for a good pimp-slapping.”
Jethro tilted his head to the side and then pointed in Rico’s direction. “Who the hell are you?”
Rico opened his mouth but stopped when Kordell shook his head. He adjusted his Bluetooth one more time and walked off to answer
another call.
“Who is that negro talking to?” Charles asked, irritated to the point of wanting to go through one of those security monitors
to beat the crap out of Rico Sneed.
“A woman,” Bay said matter-of-factly.
“Coworker?” Charles asked, knowing that wasn’t who it was but hoping for the best anyway. As much as he could not stand Rico,
he loved his cousin and couldn’t bear the thought of having to watch her mend from a broken heart. Marquita really loved Rico.
Charles didn’t know why she loved him because he couldn’t stand him. Being Rico Sneed’s wife definitely qualified Marquita
for a nomination to sainthood—
or
a padded room at the nuthouse.