What Lies Within (31 page)

He was too good in the dark for anyone.

So was his crew. The walls, covered with graffiti, proved that. So did the crates, riddled now with bullets and bits of pillow stuffing. King smiled. Pillows weren’t great silencers, but they were good enough for this.

“He’s gone be happy, like fo sho.” The OG next to him grinned, one gold tooth shining in the darkness.

“Who you talkin’ ’bout, Dancer?”

“Ballat. He said the work had to stop.” Dancer’s hand swept the room. “Well, it stopped cold now.”

Killer’s nod was slow. “True dat.”

“We done good, word?”

“Word.”

A high-pitched wail drifted on the night breeze, and King K lifted his head. Listened. Turned to Dancer. “Time to jet. Someone dropped a dime.” Dancer nodded. “Yo! Dip!”

Empty spray paint cans clattered to the ground and slammed against the walls as the 22s threw them, their hoots of laughter echoing in the room as they ran for the back door.

King hesitated. He wasn’t ready to dip. Not yet. He waited, smiling when he heard the first of the cop cars scream to a halt outside the church. His fingers tightened on the piece stuffed in the back of his pants.

“C’mon, King! Popo gonna see you!”

The cops see him? Not in a million years.

The sound of heavy footsteps drew nearer.

“King!”

He spun, glaring at Chato. “Get out.”

“But—”

King pulled his piece, aimed it right at Chato’s stupid head. “You lookin’ to die, Chato?”

He heard the boy swallow, watched him step back with slow, careful steps. “Jus’ don’ want you caught, man.”

King’s reply hissed through clenched teeth. “Ain’t nobody catching me. Now get out or go down!”

Chato ran.

King turned back, listening. Voices sounded on the other side of the room. They were inside. He tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and waited. Listening. Footsteps sounded closer … closer. Then halted.

King smiled, opened his eyes. A cop stood not twenty feet away, the beam of his flashlight coming straight at King. With one silent motion, King slipped out the door, pressed his back to the wall, and stood to the side, out of sight.

“Hey! Was that somebody standing there?”

“Where?”

Lights shone through the doorway, dancing in the darkness, searching—but not finding. King wanted to laugh. Instead, he slid his piece into his pocket and slipped away, returning to the welcoming arms of the night.

THIRTY-SEVEN   

K
yla hugged her arms around herself.

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. All she could do was stand there, surveying the damage. The walls, the floor, the lights … all ruined. And the windows. Those beautiful windows they’d been so careful to remove and store.

Angry tears trickled down her cheeks, but she didn’t wipe them away. She let them flow, hoping—no, praying—they would wash the rage from her heart.

Jesus, how could You let this happen? Where were You!

“Sholem aleykham, Kyla.”

Peace be with you. How could Fredrik still say such a thing? Though the words stuck in her throat, Kyla managed to force out the response: “Aleyken sholem.”

“Such a mess they made, heh?”

The only response she could muster was a nod.

His arm came around her shoulders, and she leaned into his strength. A strength born of faith and endurance. Age couldn’t take away from a strength like that.

“I guess you need to call a meeting of the elders.”

“I already have.”

She wasn’t surprised. Unfortunately, he was about to be. She turned to face him. “Fredrik, I can’t replace what’s been ruined here. I have enough to finish the work, but to redo it? To replace the fixtures and walls?” She shook her head. “I can’t do it.”

She waited for Fredrik’s reaction, his disappointment. But he just stood there.

Smiling.

“Fredrik, are you listening to me? Did you hear what I just said?”

“Your father, he was a special man.” She blinked. “Yes, he was.”

His aged eyes came to rest on her. “And he raised a special daughter. One with a heart of love.”

Apprehension skittered though her. He wasn’t making sense. Had this latest attack sent her beloved friend over the edge?

“But you know what I like best about you?”

She laid a hand on his arm. “Fredrik, come sit down. Maybe a nice drink of wat—”

“You’re just as
eingeshparht
as your father was.”

Eingeshparht? She knew she’d heard the word before, but couldn’t recall what it meant. “Fredrik …”

He held up a hand. “No, don’t deny it. You know it’s true. Getting your father to do anything he didn’t want to was like trying to get a donkey up a ladder.”

Ah. Eingeshparht. “Yes, you’re right. Daddy was stubborn. As stubborn as it gets sometimes.”

“And you.” His eyes were twinkling. “You share that side of him. And making you stop when you’re determined?” He shook his head. “I should sooner get water from a stone. But it’s good, this trait.”

Now she was almost smiling. “It is, huh?”

“Because I’ll tell you a secret. Me? I’m just as eingeshparht as your father. And as you.” He looped his arm in hers. “These
schmegeges?
They think they can stop God’s work?” He squeezed her arm. “They don’t know us. And they don’t know God.”

The sound of approaching footsteps drew Kyla’s attention. The elders
walked toward them, necks craning as they looked first this way, then that, surveying the Blood Brotherhood’s handiwork. Fredrik opened his arms. “Welcome, my friends. Come, let us talk together.”

Without another word, Kyla fell into step with the elders as they all followed Fredrik into a room off the church office.

“I told you this was foolishness.”

Such anger. Kyla hadn’t expected that from these men. Anger and hopelessness.

Wayne slammed his fist on the table. “We should just give up and get it over with.”

“Maybe Wayne is right.” Steve leaned over his folded hands where they rested in front of him. “Miss Justice’s resources have been strained, her workers are weary. I don’t see how we can overcome this setback.”

The furrows in Don’s forehead deepened as he listened. “But does any of this mean God has released us from His call?”

His brother looked down at the pencil he’d been rolling between his fingers. An action Kyla recognized all too well as an attempt to release tension. “I don’t think it does.”

Kyla waited for Fredrik to jump in, but he just stood at the back of the room, expression serene. How could he stay so calm in the face of all this struggle? And how were these good men going to make the decision it seemed they had to make?

How could men like this abandon God’s call?

How can you? Do low funds and short deadlines change the fact that God called you to this?

The thought stiffened her spine. But how could she continue? Was she supposed to go in hock to make this work?

Has the call changed?

Frustration surged through her. Of course it hadn’t. But she couldn’t do this! Her men couldn’t do it. It was impossible. Fiscal suicide. Utterly cr—

“Crazy. That’s what this is. Crazy.”

Kyla started, and turned to Wayne, who seemed to be reading her troubled mind.

Wayne surveyed the men around the table. “Can any one of you give us a good reason for staying the course?”

Before anyone could respond, Willard laid his large hands on the table in front of him and pushed himself out of his chair. He stood there. Just … stood there.

One by one, the others fell silent. The stillness was jarring, and Willard let it continue for a good three or four minutes before he finally spoke. “I will praise the L
ORD
at all times. I will constantly speak his praises. I will boast only in the L
ORD;
let all who are helpless take heart.”

The words struck Kyla’s heart, colliding with her frustration.
Lord, I know all this. But come on—

“Come, let us tell of the L
ORD’S
greatness; let us exalt his name together.” Willard’s gaze swept those gathered in the room. When his eyes came to rest on Kyla, her chest tightened, the ache so deep she wanted to cry out.

When the old man turned his gentle gaze from her, she almost wept her relief.

“I prayed to the L
ORD
, and he answered me. He freed me from all my fears. Those who look to him for help will be radiant with joy; no shadow of shame will darken their faces.”

No shadow of shame. Kyla closed her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been free of that shadow.

“Look, Willard, it’s all fine and good to quote Scripture”—Sheamus’s tone was as tight as Kyla’s chest—“but we’ve got a serious problem here. What are we going to do?”

Willard considered the man, then went on. “In my desperation I prayed, and the L
ORD
listened; he saved me from all my troubles. For the angel of the L
ORD
is a guard; he surrounds”—he paused, letting his gaze touch each person—“and defends all who fear him.”

Willard laid his hand on Sheamus’s shoulder. “Taste and see that the L
ORD
is good.” He moved until he was behind his two sons, then laid his hands on their heads. “Oh, the joys of those who take refuge in him! Fear the L
ORD
, you his godly people, for those who fear him will have all they need.”

“What we need is money.” Wayne’s words were a plea. “And a good deal of it. Where are we going to get that?”

Willard’s slow gait carried him to Wayne’s side, and he looked down at
the man he must have known for longer than Kyla had been alive. “Even strong young lions sometimes go hungry, but those who trust. In. The. L
ORD
”—each word infused with strength, with a power that stemmed from the man’s utter belief in them—“will lack no good thing.”

“What you’re saying has nothing to do with any of this.”

Now Fredrik stepped forward, that same calm smile on his features. “Come, my children, and listen to me, and I will teach you to fear the L
ORD.”

Willard took up the call. “Does anyone want to live a life that is long and prosperous? Then keep your tongue from speaking evil and your lips from telling lies! Turn away from evil and do good.”

Fredrik’s eyes rested on Sheamus. “Search for peace, and work to maintain it. The eyes of the L
ORD
watch over those who do right; his ears are open to their cries for help.”

This time it was Don who joined in. All hesitation, all doubt had fled. His voice was sure and strong. “The L
ORD
hears his people when they call to him for help. He rescues them from all their troubles.”

“The L
ORD
is close to the brokenhearted”—Steve’s mouth lifted in a rueful smile as he took up the chorus—“He rescues those whose spirits are crushed.”

Von stood and went to his father’s side. “The righteous person faces many troubles, but the L
ORD
comes to the rescue each time”—they finished together, their combined voices ringing with such certainty that chills danced through Kyla—“For the L
ORD
protects the bones of the righteous; not one of them is broken!”

“Please, brothers, listen to reason.”

Kyla studied Wayne. He sounded almost desperate as he went on.

“Those thugs out there, they don’t care about what Scripture says. All they know is what they want, and that’s for us to fail. And you know as well as I that they’ll do whatever they think they must to make that happen.”

Willard walked to the window and looked across the street to where the gang members had been gathering to watch each day’s work. “Calamity will surely overtake the wicked, and those who hate the righteous will be punished.” He turned back to face his friends, and his voice rang out in the room. “But the L
ORD
will redeem those who serve him. No one who takes refuge in him will be condemned.”

The promise resonated deep within Kyla, leaving her both shaken and heartened. Whatever these men decided, she knew what she had to do. Willard moved back to his chair. He lowered himself, age evident in the movements, and yet as Kyla watched him she didn’t see an old man. Rather, she saw a warrior. One who stood tall in the most fierce battle of all.

The battle to hold fast to faith.

Once again, silence reigned. But this time it wasn’t because the elders were frustrated. Kyla could see on their features that they were pondering the words they’d just heard—words from the heart and soul of one who’d struggled as they had, to trust, to hold to God’s call.

David was clearly a hero of the faith, and yet he’d fallen, time and again, to despair and fear. Oddly enough, Kyla found that comforting. But this man, this weak king chosen by God to placate a stubborn people, was considered God’s friend.

Which meant there was hope for her.