No Time for Love

By Conrad Prophet

No Time For Love

There are few things that are dear to Bridgette Tate’s heart - her relationship with God; her career as an attorney; her work and support of a shelter for abused women and children, and Renè Anthony Davis, her high school sweetheart. But, over the years their relationship has become complex.

Renè is a multi-faceted man who has experienced a multitude of tragedies. He has a vendetta to avenge his father’s murder, while overcoming the guilt associated with the deaths of other loved ones. His life is dedicated to vindicating acquaintances, friends, and even strangers. He struggles to conquer personal demons that control his cynical thoughts and relentless ruthlessness - vices that hold hostage true passions he longs to fulfill, and, which hope to pull him from his saving grace - the only woman he has ever loved, Bridgette Tate.

Bridgette waited what seemed like a lifetime for Renè after falling in love with him their senior year of high school. Since then life has taken them on different paths - mostly due to Renè‘s other obsessions. Renè must choose between his notorious life and making Bridgette his wife. Bridgette has choices of her own. Will she wait for Renè? Or, will she give in to advances of Kevon McMillan, an attorney, or Larry Anderson, a detective? Renè & Bridgette’s relationship grows more uncertain. Read along to discover if Renè will make time for the love, or lose Bridgette forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Conrad Prophet
• Release date: Jun 17, 2012
• ISBN: 9781452471853

Conrad Prophet

Through personal experiences growing up in an urban environment, as well as experiences gained through his educational and employment opportunities, Conrad Prophet has an insatiable passion to write and share knowledge. Since the release of his first novel, Last Year Before Reality (2001/2007), Conrad has released No Time for Love (2006) and Behind the Broken Cross (2008). Each book continues the story that began in Last Year Before Reality of the turmoil and joys experienced in the lives of Rene Anthony Davis and his high school friends. In 2012, Conrad released his third novel, Trying My Hardest, which dives deeper into Rene Anthony Davis’s psyche.He has also written the non-fiction book Knowing the Rules of the Game (2004), an “instruction manual” in which he shares lessons on surviving in various employment arenas, higher education, as well as the U.S. Armed Services. Conrad's latest release is Unwise Counsel, follows three psychiatrists who battle their own personal complications while helping their clients overcome challenges on and off the job.Conrad’s books have received rave reviews which include a five-star rating from Rawsistaz.com for No Time for Love, as well as a Reader’s Choice listing for Behind the Broken Cross in the April 2009 issue of Essence Magazine from the Sistas Turning Pages Book Club in Lansing, Michigan.Conrad is a graduate of Saginaw Valley State University and veteran of the United States Army. He is a native of Royal Oak Township, Michigan, and currently lives in Detroit, Michigan.

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No Time For Love

The Second Book in the Last Year Before Reality Series

By Conrad Prophet

Published by The Prophet Group, LLC

Oak Park, Michigan

eBook Copyright 2020 Conrad Prophet

ISBN 9781452412269

Smashwords Edition

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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NO TIME FOR LOVE

C H A P T E R 1

Lord, people always talk about how good girls fall for bad boys, and usually end up feeling hurt and misused. I always imagined that was a worldly perspective, but I now see that I’m caught up just like any other sister. Father God, I need you to reveal to me how I, a daughter of yours, could fall so hopelessly in love with a man who seems to get greater pleasure from traveling across the country resolving other people’s problems, than living inside the warmth and depth of my love. And although he has a charitable heart, he is unquestionably not living his life for you. It is through the sheer power of your spirit, Lord, that I have endured this situation to this point, because I thought I had found the man that you sent for me to spend my life with. But I have to know your divine will for my life. Is it your will for me to be with Rene Anthony Davis, the man I have loved for what seems like forever? According to your will, please strengthen me to hold on and wait for Rene to commit to me, or empower me to let him go so I can be available for the man that you have created just for me. Thank you, Lord, Bridgette Tate prayed while she drove toward her destination.

She pulled her candy apple red ’95 supercharged, 450 horsepower, convertible Saleen Mustang into the valet parking section in front of Le Monica’s International Cuisine Restaurant on West Ohio and North State in downtown Chicago.

A young man quickly approached to open the door as Bridgette prepared to exit her car. She looked at him suspiciously when he held his hand out for her car keys.

Aren’t you too young to be driving, Drew? How old are you now? Thirteen? Fourteen? she asked, looking down at him.

I’m eighteen, Attorney Tate, he said, turning away to conceal the smirk on his face that would reveal his lie.

She pursed her lips. Drew, I know when you were born. Stop lying before I tell your mother.

Please don’t tell. Okay! Okay! I am thirteen, but Uncle Rad taught me how to drive. Drew continued to explain, Attorney Tate, the restaurant is almost full. The parking deck is full, so we only have valet parking available. I’m just helping out so my mother won’t lose any business just because people can’t park their cars.

Bridgette walked over and looked into the parking deck, then turned and walked back to where Drew was standing. I see the parking space for Mr. Davis is available. I’ll park there, she said, getting back in her car.

But Attorney Tate, that’s Uncle Rad’s reserved parking space. He said not to allow anyone, under any circumstances, to park in his space!

Before he could finish his statement, Bridgette started her car, waited for traffic to clear, and quickly backed into the parking space reserved exclusively for Rene Anthony Davis, a.k.a. Rad.

Drew walked slowly, with his head lowered, through the double-glass doors that led into the restaurant. As he approached the main dining room, a deep baritone voice with a southern accent asked, What’s the matter, Little Drew? Drew looked up and noticed Mr. Scotty Johnson, the 6’6", 355 pounds, co-owner and host of Le Monica’s, standing in the foyer, near the coat check area.

Drew tilted his head all the way back to look him in his eyes, just as his Uncle Rad had always told him to do. Always look a man in his eyes when you speak. Fear no one, but respect everyone. Mr. Johnson, Attorney Tate would not allow me to park her car, Drew replied.

Little Drew, you know you don’t know how to drive and more importantly, it’s illegal to drive without a driver’s license. But when Ms. Tate comes in, I’ll set her straight for offending you, my little friend, Mr. Johnson said, in a threatening tone, as he unfolded his arms and pounded his left fist into the open palm of his right hand. Drew smiled as the doorman opened the doors to welcome Bridgette into the spacious and beautifully decorated lobby.

*

Junior, tell Monica that those stuffed-shell Florentine and crab cakes were the best I ever tasted, Larry said.

Would you like dessert, Sir? Theo, the waiter, asked.

If I take another bite, I’ll shit on myself, Larry said, patting his stomach and loosening his belt.

Sir, that is T.M.D.I. Theo said, sighing in disgust.

What? Larry asked, puzzled.

Too Much Damn Information! Theo said, becoming irritated.

Junior, aren’t you too young to be using profanity and disrespecting your elders?

Respect? You don’t even respect yourself. You sorry ass excuse for an undercover Po-Po. I can’t stand these asinine, no tipping bastards. My mother has some of the tackiest, poorest friends I have ever met, Theo thought. Here is your bill, Mr. Anderson, he said, anticipating his reaction.

Damn! Seventy dollars! Y’all must think I’m slinging rocks or pimpin’! Larry said in a voice loud enough to draw the attention of other guests in the immediate vicinity. He gestured with his finger for Theo to come closer so he could whisper in his ear. Ask your mother if I can get a police officer's discount, or just a plain ol’ hook-up, since I was one of your father’s best friends during high school.

Okay, Mr. Anderson. I’ll go ask her, Theo said, walking away, muttering, Cheap ass bastard.

I’m stuffed like a fat person at an all-you-can-eat-buffet, Larry said aloud, looking at his watch. If Bridgette isn’t here in ten minutes, I’m outta here.

Monica listened unenthusiastically while Theo repeated Larry’s request. While Theo talked, she continued working feverishly to prepare dinner for one of Chicago’s wealthiest celebrities.

Hell to the fuckin’ naw! she practically screamed, causing the entire kitchen staff to stop what they were doing. She looked around at everyone staring at her. Get your asses back to work. We have a full house out there!

Everyone immediately went back to their work, almost as if they had never stopped. Monica turned back to Theo with a look that made him subconsciously take three steps back as a precaution.

Son, you go back out there and tell Larry’s cheap ass this, she said, not missing a beat as she continued to cut the excess fat from the meat she was preparing. This is not Mickey D’s or some damn soup kitchen. I have bills and employees to pay. Not to mention yours and Drew’s tuition at that private school. I hate broke-ass, wannabe Republican black people. If he can’t afford the quality, service and international cuisine of a four-star restaurant, then he needs to take his ass and get a fuckin’ bucket of chicken and a Forty. Always trying to get a fuckin’ handout or hook-up! They don’t go into French or Italian restaurants asking for free food. They don’t even go into Chaldean party stores or gas stations asking for a free Forty or free gas. She stopped for a moment to catch her breath.

Tell that lowdown bastard that I don’t care if we did kick it for a minute during junior high school, his black ass better not leave this restaurant without paying for his damn meal, in full. Better yet, tell him he has a choice. He can either have Mr. Johnson, your Uncle Rad, or me pull the money from his ass. You see this knife? she said, twirling it around in her hand. Tell him that I’ll come out there and deal with his ass, personally, if he has a problem with paying his bill. Did you get all of that, son?

She watched as her son swallowed hard and his Adam’s apple went up and down. Yes, Mother. Every word, Theo said, as he turned and hurried back to the V.I.P. section of the dining room.

The assistant kitchen manager, James, rolled his eyes, as he returned to the fresh produce orders he was working on. I cannot believe that someone so unprofessional and obviously ghetto could be the owner of such a beautiful and successful restaurant, he said to himself, or so he thought.

Don’t hate, James, either congratulate or appreciate, Shantell, the salad and dessert assistant, said. I don’t think it’s written anywhere that to be successful in business you have to be a buttoned-down, uptight, asshole, with no personality. I admire Ms. Monica for recognizing her outstanding cooking skills and turning it into a moneymaking opportunity. She also had sense enough to know that she isn’t necessarily ‘polished,’ so that’s why she hired a business and marketing manager to represent her. I admire girlfriend for handling her business, so she must not be too ghetto. I grew up in the same ‘hood’ she did, Rock Bottom, so she’s without a question my role model for ‘making it’ against all odds. Why do you think I’m taking culinary arts classes at the Vocational Tech Center? Now you should be able to feel that, too, James, unless you’re just jealous because you didn’t ‘blow up’ when you tried to do your own restaurant thing," and with that said, Shantell returned to what she was doing. James stood, momentarily embarrassed, with his mouth hanging open, then returned to his work.

*

Bridgette quickly walked through the lobby of the restaurant, glanced at her watch, and stopped at the reservation desk. Mr. Johnson stared at her, then looked down at Drew, and back up at Bridgette.

Bridgette! Mr. Johnson said, giving her a hug.

Let me go, big teddy bear, she said straightening her jacket. Mr. Johnson, I have a six o’clock meeting with Larry Anderson. Has he arrived yet?

Mr. Johnson’s smile instantaneously turned into a frown. Yeah. Five-O is waiting for you, he said, removing the velvet rope and allowing her to enter the dining area. As the maitre’d escorted Bridgette to the V.I.P. section of the dining room, heads turned with every step she took. She was wearing a bright red, two-piece suit, which would have been considered conservative on the average woman, but on her, it was a work of art. The skirt of the suit stopped a few inches above her knees. As she walked, the skirt clung seductively to her ample thighs and buttocks, flattering her curvaceous hips. The three-button suit jacket, cut with princess seams, accentuated her almost perfectly formed bust line, which drew the attention of every man she passed as she walked toward her table. Everyone became motionless, mesmerized by her stunning beauty. One man, preparing to place a sizeable portion of prime rib in his mouth, stopped the movement of his arm in midair, before the succulent prime rib reached his lips. Another man spilled wine on himself when his wife kicked him under the table for ogling Bridgette.

*

Junior, your mother told you to tell me all that? Larry asked, shocked.

Po-Po, Theo said, just to agitate him, knowing that police hate to be called by their street name. What do you think? You know my mother was born and raised in Rock Bottom. My mother put the ‘g’ in ghetto, but she can be a fucking lady when it is necessary. She has the business savvy and culinary skills of any successful chef in America!

What? Does she know that you cuss like that?

Who do you think taught me? Now, get up off the money before I cut you, Theo said, grabbing a steak knife from a nearby table, for emphasis.

Larry frantically reached into his front pants pocket, without hesitation, and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. Keep the change.

You think I wasn’t? Theo said, hurrying away, smiling.

*

The closer Bridgette got to the table where Larry was sitting, the more the lustful fantasies raced through his mind. Where do those legs stop? Heaven? I don’t see nothing wrong with a little bump and grind, he thought, smiling. Damn, I love big-boned sisters. I’d love to put in some work while I’m hittin’ that, Larry said under his breath, as Bridgette pulled out her chair and sat down across from him.

Excuse me, Larry? What did you say? Bridgette asked, extremely offended.

Aww damn, please don’t tell me she heard me. I’m not tryin’ to hear her endless nagging. Not to mention that I feel a serious case of the bubble guts comin’ on, he thought.

What? he asked embarrassed and shocked she had read his lips.

Bridgette used her right hand to gently move her jet black, shoulder-length hair behind her ear. For your information, Rene refers to me as his Nubian Princess.

Do you think I give a fuck about what Rene thinks? Larry thought.

What was your other comment? You’re going to ‘hit this?’ she asked emphatically, pointing to herself. This is the last time I’m going to discuss you ‘hitting this,’ as you call it. You must be confused. I am not one of your baby’s mamas. Nor am I one of the sack chasing, gold digging, tack head women you tend to run with, Larry. Don’t waste your time and energy thinking you will ever get any of this, she said in a voice barely above a whisper, while still exhibiting a radiant smile.

I’m sorry, Bridgette. Can we please squash it and move on? he asked staring at her voluptuous breasts while he talked, already knowing what the penalty for his slip of the tongue would be. Another ‘strong black woman’ speech.

I accept your apology because you are indeed ‘sorry’. First of all, I am a virtuous woman and a child of God. Since you’ve never dealt with a virtuous woman, you probably have no idea what that means. Just know that I am a strong, black woman that has too much pride, respect and dignity to subject myself to your immature, ‘hit it and quit it’ mentality. Not to mention that you don’t meet my physical requirements for a man. You’re 5’10 and I’m 5’10. I need a man who is not only strong in character, also strong in stature and able to handle ‘all of this’. If I put on some heels, I’ll be looking down at you, like I’m Shaq and you’re Muggsy Bogues. Finally, the only man that will ever, as you say, ‘hit this’ is Rene Anthony Davis. I emphasize ‘man,’ in every sense of the word, she said, gently caressing the diamond R charm that hung from her neck.

Listen here, Ms. Thing, Larry said, attempting to speak with more bass in his voice. I’m not the one for you to be talking to any old kind of way. I’m not Little Drew or Little Theo. I’m a grown ass man! If you say another wo-. Larry abruptly stopped talking as Bridgette reached inside her purse, pulled out her cell phone, and pressed number one on her speed dial.

Hello, Rene, she said, in a soft, sweet and seductive voice.

How is my Nubian Princess doing? Rene Anthony Davis asked, placing his .44 Magnum Desert Eagle on the counter and removing his earplugs. He leaned against the wall of the shooting range booth and listened.

Rene, I was having a terrific day until I met with Larry, as you asked me to do. He offended me by disrespecting me like I am one of his baby’s mamas’. What is that loud noise? she asked, removing the cell phone from her ear momentarily.

Let me speak to that mother — I mean, let me speak to Larry, Rene demanded through clenched teeth, while the sound from other weapons being fired echoed in the background.

Here, Larry, Bridgette said, handing him the phone.

Larry was beginning to sweat as he nervously took the phone from Bridgette.

No, Sir. Right. Right. No. Yes. No, Sir. Right. Right. Never again, Sir. No, there is no need for you to fly to Chicago to straighten me out, Sir, Larry said, wiping sweat from his face with a napkin. Again, Sir, I deeply apologize for what I said, and I am quite aware of the consequences if I disrespect the woman that you love again.

Now hand the phone back to Bridgette. Punk! Rene yelled, firing 15 rounds, dead center into the target with his .9mm Glock, then slapping another clip into his .44 Magnum Desert Eagle.

Bridgette, if you ever call me again and tell me that Larry, or any other Negro, has disrespected you, I’ll be there in a heartbeat, and will more than likely catch a case. So, please be extremely careful what you call me about.

Yes, Rene, she said, watching Larry's hand shake while drinking his glass of water.

Bridgette listened closely to the instructions Rene gave her while she reached into her purse, pulled out an envelope, and slid it across the table to Larry.

Right. Right. Larry said, looking into the envelope with a smile on his face, extremely satisfied with what he saw.

Well, Larry. Did you get an understanding of Rene’s instructions? Bridgette asked curiously, wondering what Rene said to him that made him become meek and humble.

Aunt Bridgette! Theo yelled, and hugged her.

Look at you. You look just like your father did at your age, she said, fluffing his curly hair and fighting desperately to hold back tears from the memory of her deceased friend.

Aunt Bridgette did my mother tell you that I am doing extremely well at St. Dominic Catholic School. I currently have a 3.89 G.P.A. I received a ‘B’ in American History. The only ‘B’, I have ever received. The teacher and I continue to have disputes about America’s history; the ‘real’ version, versus the version they have chosen to try to make us believe. Uncle Rad told me an African proverb. Until the lion is able to tell his story, the truth will always be told by the hunter.

That’s so true, Junior, Larry said. I didn’t know you could rent a tuxedo this small?

Rent? You better recognize. I thought you knew. Uncle Rad had this tuxedo custom-made for me, Theo said, brushing the lapels of his jacket and popping his collar.

Theo, your mother knows you’re too young to work in this restaurant. Bridgette said.

Aunt Bridgette, Uncle Rad said that if children of other cultures can work in their families’ restaurants and businesses, then so can I, he said with confidence.

You’re right, she said, hearing the phone ring in her purse.

BRIDGETTE!! Help me pppppllllleeeeeaaaaassssseee! He’s going to kill me! the caller screamed.

Have you called the police? Bridgette asked, signaling to Larry. They both walked with urgency out of the dining room.

I’m afraid to call the police. He said if I ever call the police, he will kill me, the caller said.

Is he home now? Bridgette asked, as she and Larry swiftly walked past Mr. Johnson.

Bridgette, you need some help? Mr. Johnson asked, noticing the concerned look on her face.

I got this! Larry said, opening the door for Bridgette with his left hand and pulling back his jacket with his right hand, exposing his .40 caliber Glock.

Whatever, Five-O, Mr. Johnson said, giving Larry a cold stare, watching them break into a run when they exited the restaurant, and hurried the short distance to her car.

They both got into Bridgette’s car and slammed the doors simultaneously. Bridgette put on her seatbelt and shifted the car into first gear. She eased out of the parking deck and turned right to head north on North State. Then she made a right turn on East Chicago Avenue, passing North Michigan Avenue, driving within the speed limit because of the congested downtown traffic. Bridgette made a sharp, fast right turn onto Lake Shore Drive, causing Larry’s body to thrust violently against the dashboard and windshield, busting his bottom lip.

I ate too much and already feel nauseous, so please don’t drive too fast, he said, quickly fastening his seatbelt.

Bridgette quickly shifted into second gear, jerking them back against his seat, while they continued to travel south. Larry watched in astonishment, as Bridgette masterfully moved the stick from second through fifth gear and working the clutch effortlessly making the car reach 70 mph before they passed Buckingham Fountain on Jackson Drive. Larry hung on for dear life. Bridgette weaved in and out of traffic with reckless abandon, ignoring all driving etiquette, following the curving road of Lake Shore Drive like she was driving in the Indianapolis 500.

Who in the hell taught you how to drive? Rad? he asked, petrified, with his muscular body crouched as low as possible in the front seat, like he was on a thrill ride at Great America Amusement Park. Larry closed his eyes, not wanting to see his life flash before him.

You’re right! Rene taught me how to drive a stick, she said, as her hair blew in the wind.

Larry watched carefully while Bridgette downshifted and brought the car to 10 mph due to the bumper-to-bumper traffic on Roosevelt Drive.

I like how you handle a stick. Do you want to handle mine? he asked, with a smirk on his face.

If I wanted to handle your little stick, you wouldn’t be able to stand it, she said, aggressively shifting into second gear. Then bringing the stick up hard into third, she swiftly shifted into fourth gear and, before Larry had realized it, she jammed the stick into fifth gear and they were going 80 mph.

Now, sissy, do you still want me to handle your stick? Do you really want me to? she asked, in a seductive voice.

Oh, hell no! he answered, closing his legs tight and using both hands to cover his crotch, with his eyes closed like a frightened, little girl.

After 20 minutes of weaving in and out of traffic, Bridgette was exiting right onto 57th going east. At every stop sign, Bridgette down shifted to first gear and then peeled rubber, until she reached the next corner. She made a right turn onto South Woodlawn Avenue.

*

I’m getting tired of beating you, Juanita! Why do you make me do this? the white man asked, unleashing another wicked right hand into his wife’s face, causing her to crash to the floor.

Bridgette quickly passed the expensive homes on South Woodlawn Avenue, which was located in the affluent Hyde Park area. Seeing the home where the call of desperation came from, Bridgette was unable to downshift to first gear, so she had no other alternative but to slam on the brakes in third gear, causing the Mustang to slide 15 feet. The car came to an abrupt stop, parallel to the curb.

Larry stared at Bridgette, horrified, opened the car door, rolled into the street, and vomited. Bridgette hurried around to the other side of the car and looked down at him.

You call yourself, ‘Chicago’s Finest’? You sorry excuse for a police officer! she yelled, walking quickly to the front door.

I’m not a damn Chicago police officer! I am Five-O. Look at what you made me do. My $70 dinner is in the street, he said, holding his stomach, and slowly walking toward the front door of the house.

You’re pathetic, Bridgette said, banging on the front door and ringing the doorbell simultaneously.

The door opened. What she saw caused her to take steps back in horror and fear. Juanita was lying on the floor in the foyer with blood oozing from her mouth and clenching her mid-section in pain.

It’s you again! the white man yelled. How many times do I have to tell your black ass that what goes on in my house, stays in my house?! If you know what is beneficial for your black ass, you will get the hell off my porch and stay out of my business! Bitch! he said, drawing his arm back preparing to swing, causing Bridgette to back up even further, just as he slammed the door.

Larry was stunned by what was happening before his eyes. He saw Bridgette slowly reaching into her purse for her cell phone. He instantly remembered the conversation that he just had with Rene.

Larry, if Bridgette ever calls me again and tells me that you, or anyone else has disrespected her in your presence, you will regret the day that you were born. Why do you think I have been paying your knucklehead ass for all these years? Just in case you forgot, I have been paying you to protect the woman, I love! Do I have to bust a cap in your black ass?

No, Sir. Larry answered.

If anything ever happens to Bridgette on your watch, I will fly to Chicago with the quickness, and kill you! Then I’ll come to your funeral and blow your head off while you’re lying in the casket. Do you think I’m playing, Larry?

No, Sir!

Shaking off the thoughts of his impending death, Larry instantly became motivated.

Watch out, Bridgette! he yelled, gathering a full head of speed, lowering his right shoulder, running the short distance, and crashing into the solid oak door. He screamed out in agony, as the door remained closed and undisturbed.

Larry! Bridgette screamed, when she saw the front door open.

Before he could fully recover, he saw an overhand right coming towards his face. His quick reflexes from his training as a boxer enabled him to rock back enough for the punch to only graze his chin.

It’s on now, cracker! Larry shouted, dancing around with his right arm dangling at his side.

The white man charged him again. Larry bobbed and weaved out of the way of lazy left jabs and wild overhand rights. Larry began throwing powerful, stinging left jabs into the man’s face, snapping his head back with each punch, causing the man to stumble back into the house. Bridgette hurried to help Juanita up from the floor, while the men fought.

Do you know who you’re fuckin’ with, Bia-Bia Ass Charlie? Larry asked, doing the ‘Ali’ shuffle and yelling his mantra. It’s time to go to sleep! he said, delivering a vicious left uppercut, catching the white man flush on the chin, knocking him out instantly, causing his body to crumble on to the cold marble floor.

Norman! Norman! the lady screamed, breaking away from Bridgette and kneeling on the floor trying to revive her unconscious husband.

What the hell? Larry said, looking baffled, first looking at Bridgette, and then down at the lady who was crying hysterically. This bitch ass white man was beating you like you were a runaway slave, and you’re concerned about his well-being? He wasn’t concerned about your health when he was tapping that ass! Larry looked at Bridgette again. Take me to the damn hospital. My shoulder is dislocated again, he said, wincing in pain.

Juanita, we have to get out of here before the police come, Bridgette said, helping her up, and slowly walking her out of the house.

Larry noticed that the white man was regaining consciousness. He reached down and punched him again to guarantee that he didn’t wake up anytime soon.

Juanita was curled up in the back seat of the car, with her left eye swollen and nose bleeding. Larry had to reach across his body and use his left hand to close the door. Bridgette pressed the button to close the convertible top.

Where are we going? Juanita asked, crying.

I’m dropping Larry off at University of Chicago Hospital, and then I’m taking you to Amber’s Safe Haven for medical treatment, Bridgette said.

Why are you taking me to Amber’s Safe Haven? Juanita asked.

This is the third time your husband has abused you. If I take you to the hospital for treatment, your husband will be going to jail, Bridgette said, slowly pulling away from the curb and, for what appeared to be the first time to Larry, driving the speed limit.

Thank you, Jesus, he said under his breath, wondering if all the trouble he encountered was worth moonlighting for Rene.

* * * * *

Bridgette waited patiently outside of Gregory Hill’s office, staring at the portrait of a white Jesus Christ. Rene always hated that picture, she thought. It had been three years since Bridgette and Assistant Minister Gregory Hill last talked. Their last meeting ended in a heated argument, and she prayed this one would end more amicably.

Bible Study had just ended. Minister Hill and his secretary were preparing to leave for the evening, and Bridgette was his last appointment.

You can go in, Attorney Tate, the secretary said.

Please call me, Bridgette, she said, standing up and straightening her suit.

Well! Well! Well, could be heard when Bridgette entered the sparsely furnished office. To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing my old and dear friend, Bridgette, or should I refer to you as Attorney Tate? he asked, reaching to hug her.

Minister Hill, Bridgette said, hugging him back and slowly pulling away.

Yes, have a seat, Greg said,