He says, “Listen, man, you’ve got a way out of here, and that’s sports. Me, I’m stuck. Either I’m going to die before I’m forty or I’m going to spend the rest of my life in jail.” And then he popped open his trunk and handed Thomas a brand-new pair of Dr. J’s.
And his prophecy proved true. Five years later, he was gunned down in the courtyard at the Iberville. That was the year my boy Thomas was a freshman at Dillard.
Now the point of all this is: That’s the story not from me, not from your mama, not even from God. That’s the story straight from the horse’s mouth. From the biggest drug dealer this town has ever known. And the story is this: If you’ve got a way out, you take it; if you haven’t, you make one for yourself. I wish — He paused here, looking very sorrowful — I just wish I’d’ve been able to tell Le’devin Miner that story. Maybe we wouldn’t all be here today.
Then he got even more sorrowful before he said, “Let us pray.”
Maureen, who’d cried while he was telling the story, congratulated him later on having the courage, but D’Ruth just looked sad at him, and Marcellus looked like he’d like to hit him with a baseball bat. Other than Maureen, nobody mentioned his sermon, except for young Junior Heavey, who came up to him (wearing pants so baggy he had to hold them up) and thanked him for it. “By the way,” Junior said afterward, “I think I remember Thomas. How’s he doin’ now?”
The reverend made himself smile and nod. “He’s fine. Lives out of town now.” Yeah, he was out of town, all right — doing ten to fifteen at Angola. He’d gotten good advice and hadn’t taken it. But all the same, the story was true, and the reverend fervently hoped somebody took it to heart. Darnell in particular.
But Darnell already knew where his uncle was. He said, “How come Uncle Thomas so smart he in jail, Paw-Paw?”
Even later, nobody called him about that sermon, not a soul spoke to him about it, not a single person except for Junior Heavey, and he was pretty sure the kid was taunting him. Maureen said they just weren’t ready to hear it, but the reverend thought maybe he might have gone too far for a funeral, maybe Le’devin’s people didn’t want to be reminded about how their son had died, but that was still denial in his book. He was sorry if he’d hurt their feelings, but he still felt it had to be done.
Nobody new came to his outreach program, either, but Darnell’s mama kept bringing him because her own mama would tan her hide if she didn’t.
And the turf war continued. People kept on getting killed, no matter how much it hurt the reverend to realize he couldn’t do a thing about it. At his wit’s end, he preached again about the need for witnesses to come forward, and thought he saw some people nodding in the back row. But not in agreement this time — they seemed to be falling asleep, all except Darnell, who was smiling and saying little “Amen”s.
Nevertheless, that sermon — the one about the witnesses — brought Marcellus over to the house, Darnell in tow and happy to hang with Maw-Maw while the two men talked. As usual, the reverend silently bemoaned his fate at having such a son-in-law. Marcellus wore gangster clothes, talked ghetto talk, and had twice been in minor scuffles with the law. He worked as a bartender at the Pussycat Bar, one of the meanest joints in town, and D’Ruth had to work at City Hall to keep the family together.
“Daddy Ray, you’re makin’ waves,” he started out.
“Good!” The reverend made a fist and banged it on the arm of his chair. “That is exactly my intention.”
“No, Daddy, you don’t get it. Some dangerous folks out there — real dangerous. They don’t like you gettin’ up in their business.”
“Their business! This is neighborhood business, son. ‘Case you haven’t noticed, we’ve lost eleven people in two months. Somebody’s got to stand up.”
“Way the P-Town Soldiers look at it, they own the neighborhood — they own me, and they own you, and they got the guns to back ‘em up.”
That infuriated the reverend so much he took the Lord’s name in vain. “Marcellus, be a man, goddammit! We sign it over to them, we’ve lost. Lost the neighborhood, lost our souls, man. You got an ounce of backbone or not?”
He was so mad he’d mostly just been spewing, but now he saw that when his son-in-law spoke, his face was slightly twisted — in some kind of pain, maybe. Or fear. The younger man’s skin looked gray and splotchy. “Daddy Ray, this is somethin’ you just don’t understand.”
Suddenly the reverend did understand. He felt the blood draining from his own face. “They threatened you. That’s it, right? You’re here because they made you come. What’d they say? They’d kill me if I don’t shut up? They wouldn’t say they’d kill you — then you’d have to come here and beg for your life and you probably wouldn’t do that. So they’d have enough sense not to put you in that position. They said they’d kill me, didn’t they?” He could see by Marcellus’s face that he was right. He was starting to have new respect for his son-in-law, even a little affection.
He softened his voice, put a hand on Marcellus’s shoulder. “Well, son, I appreciate your coming like this. I know you mean the best for your family and D’Ruth’s. But I can’t knuckle under to that gang of lowlifes. I’ve got to do what’s best for this community, and if that’s the end of me, so be it. I’ve had a good life, and I’ll go when the good Lord’s ready for me. You better go home now. Darnell’ll be getting impatient.”
Marcellus bowed his head in agreement. “All right, then, we’ll go. Mind if I use the bathroom first?”
While Marcellus used the facilities, the reverend called the boy and the three of them went out on the porch to say goodbye to each other. The reverend meant what he’d said, and he knew Marcellus knew that. His son-in-law had done his duty by delivering the warning. He ought to be relieved now, but he still looked tense. Sorrowful, really. The reverend was trying to cheer him up when he saw the white pickup, and saw who was driving it — Junior Heavey. Somehow, he didn’t know how (unless it was the echo of the white-pickup murders), he knew what was coming. He leapt for Darnell just as Junior opened fire, felt himself hit the floor, the boy underneath him, and felt Marcellus fall on him.
He also felt fire in his side.
For a while there was nothing but silence — the shock of shattered peace. And finally Darnell began to cry. A woman began to scream, Maureen, he thought. Gradually, people began to come out of their houses to sort out the mess.
When they pulled Marcellus off the reverend, and the reverend off Darnell, it became clear that not only was the reverend hit, but also Marcellus. The reverend had gotten to Darnell fast enough, and Marcellus had done for him what the reverend had done for his grandson, fallen on him to protect him. But he’d been too late.
The reverend himself, he realized, was the target, exactly as he’d deduced earlier, but, ironically, Marcellus seemed to be the more severely injured. The younger man was unconscious, but the reverend could talk a little, enough to try to reassure Darnell, though that took most of the fight out of him. He closed his eyes with the effort, thanking God that for the moment the family had averted tragedy.
Or at least averted death. Because there is more than one form of tragedy, the reverend thought. It was tragic when one relative betrayed another, bestowed, so to speak, a Judas kiss. The reverend knew it was no accident that Marcellus had used the bathroom right before they went outside. He must have called Junior and told him he was leaving, that they’d all be on the porch in a minute. In other words, he’d set his father-in-law up, but at the last minute put himself in the line of fire.