Forsaken (9 page)

The song leader, whom I later learned was named Donny, was a young guy with leather pants, two arms covered in tattoos, and hair past his shoulders. He could have been a biker, but he was a real pro. He didn’t miss a beat with his prayer while we were practically making mud pies on the stage. Fifteen thousand heads, though, were praying with one eye open. After the prayer there was nothing to do but send a maintenance guy out to sweep up the mess while the band played a few bars of a song that Elise identified as “Cleansing My Soul.” Simon glared straight ahead the entire time. I almost hoped that I’d find a bomb in the stupid plant.

When the second pot finally made it off the stage, I dove into it with my hands. There was nothing there but potting soil. Elise didn’t speak. Simon and ten members of the cast looked at me as if I had just arrived from Mars.

I was off to a great start.

I was feeling a bit put upon at the end of the show as Simon finally walked off the stage with the band playing a cool, bluesy version of “Amazing Grace.” The whole situation seemed to have been set up to make me look bad. After all, at the last minute I had walked into a dreadfully planned—strike that—totally
unplanned
security situation. Yet everyone seemed to expect me to make lemonade out of a rotting lemon, with no inconvenience to anyone but me. To top it off, no one had even told me yet that I was hired. There was nothing fair about it; but let’s face it, there’s nothing fair about life. I braced myself for Simon’s reaction to the plant fiasco.

To my surprise, there was little reaction at all. In fact, Simon barely acknowledged my presence as he came off the stage. He was busy shaking hands and talking to well-wishers and hangers-on. Finally, I tapped him on the shoulder. “Do you want to meet at the hotel restaurant for breakfast so we can talk about some things?”

“Actually, I’d rather talk now. We’ve got to discuss what went on tonight.”

“What do you mean, ‘what went on tonight’?”

“Frankly, I’m not sure this is a good fit.”

“Fine. You invited me here; I didn’t volunteer.” I turned to walk away.

He touched my arm. “Hang on, Taylor. I said I’m not sure. Don’t you think we should talk about this before either of us makes any decisions? How would you feel if you walked off and then I got whacked tonight? That’s what they call it, isn’t it? ‘Whacked’?” He smiled, and
I noticed again how much he and his daughter looked alike, particularly when they smiled.

“That’s what they call it on television. We used to call it ‘popped.’ It wouldn’t make much difference to you, though. Either way you’re stiff.” It was my turn to smile.

“That’s comforting, thanks. Listen, now that the show’s over, the events manager for the arena is taking us out for dinner. Can you come along? We should be able to talk.”

“I thought you didn’t call it a show?”

“Elise
doesn’t call it a show. Everyone else does. It drives her crazy. Somehow I doubt if God gets very worked up over what we call it.”

I looked at my watch. “When are you leaving?”

“Right now. We don’t have to hang around here for anything. How about it?”

“I’m here because you asked me to be here. If you want me to go, I’ll go. Elise put my suitcase somewhere. I need to take it with me.”

Simon turned and waved at Elise. “Where is Taylor’s suitcase?”

“It’s in your dressing room. We can get it on the way to the car.”

Simon touched my elbow. “You can follow me.” He headed toward the back of the auditorium.

When we stopped by his dressing room, I excused myself to use the restroom and took my suitcase with me. I opened the suitcase and pulled my pistol out of its travel box, then got a loaded clip from my ammo box. Once I’d loaded the pistol, I transferred it to a purse I’d
packed and slung the purse over my shoulder. When we left the dressing room, we wound through some tunnels to an underground driveway where a black Lincoln Town Car waited for us.

I stopped at the curb. “Who provided the car?”

“The same limo service that picked us up at the airport,” Elise said. “We’re meeting the arena person at the restaurant.”

“Did anyone check them out?”

“No, but they were recommended by the Mid America Center. Seems pretty safe to me.”

“That’s a good start, but someone needs to check out the drivers and check the cars from now on. It’s easy to do and eliminates a big risk factor.”

Simon and Elise looked at each other. Neither responded. Why on earth was I bothering? We got in the car.

Elise leaned toward the driver. “We’re going to Pascali’s Taste of Italy, on the Loop. Do you know where it is?”

He nodded. “Sure.” With that, we sped out of the tunnel.

The snow had stopped, and the streets were mostly clear. The only lights in the car were the instrument lights and a pin light over the driver’s ID. I could see the back of the driver’s head, but not much else. His hair was curly and black. I looked at his ID and sucked in a breath.

His name was Hakim Ahmad Malouf.

“SO, HAKIM, HAVE YOU been in the United States long?”

Simon glanced at me, then at the driver’s ID. When he looked back at me, I could see Hakim had his attention.

“Since I was twelve years old. I listened to your show on the radio while I waited in the car, Reverend Mason. Praise God for you, sir.”

Simon raised an eyebrow. I leaned forward. “You sound a bit more open-minded than some of the Muslims we read about in the papers these days.”

“I’m no Muslim, ma’am. I’m Baptist. My family is from Lebanon.” He looked at me in the rearview mirror.
“There are many Christians in Lebanon. Always have been. During the civil war, when Syria got involved, many left. Things turned very bad. There are fewer Christians now, but they are still an important force in the country.”

“I’m sorry. I just thought with your name and all . . .”

“Do you know any men named Peter or Paul?”

“Sure.”

“Are they all Catholic?”

Simon laughed. “Fair point.”

“Do you want me to tell you a fact you’ll not believe?”

I moved my head to the side so I could see more of Hakim’s face in the mirror. “What’s that?”

“About seventy percent of Arabs in America are Christians.”

“No way,” Simon said. “Where did you get that information?”

Hakim smiled into the mirror. “I read it in one of the papers. People leave them in the car all the time. It’s one of the great things about driving for a limo service. I never have to buy a paper. It’s true, though. Only about twenty-five percent of Arabs in this country are Muslim.”

Simon patted him on the shoulder. “I’m going to check you on that one. It sure doesn’t sound right to me.”

Hakim shrugged. “Reverend Mason, when are you going to Lebanon to preach to the Muslims?”

Simon laughed. “Now there’s an invitation that I don’t recall getting in the mail.”

“I’m not sure the Middle East is ready for Christian revival meetings,” Elise said.

Hakim took one hand off the wheel and turned his palm up. “Neither was Rome two thousand years ago, wouldn’t you agree?”

Elise narrowed her eyebrows. “It would be suicide for a prominent Christian preacher like Simon to go to the Middle East and try to convert Muslims.”

Hakim adjusted his mirror so he could see her face. “Suicide? Perhaps. I suppose one could say that Jesus’ apostles committed suicide by spreading the Word in the Roman Empire. They were martyred you know, all except John. And they knew it was coming. Does that make it suicide? There is no place on earth where the people need Jesus more than in the Middle East. If Jesus gets a chance to compete for the people’s hearts, he will win.”

“Competing for hearts—I like that. I never thought of it that way,” Simon said.

“Jesus is love. And given a choice, in the long run people will always choose love,” Hakim said. “He conquered the Roman Empire without firing a shot because thousands were willing to be martyred to spread the gospel. That’s a lot different than the way Islam spread.”

“You know a lot more history than any cab driver I’ve ever met,” I said.

He wagged a finger. “It’s not a cab; it’s a town car. Anyway, I only drive at night. I’m a seminary student at Lakeshore Bible Institute during the day.”

“Now it’s starting to make sense. So tell us how Islam spread.”

“The prophet Muhammad was a warrior and a politician. The history of those who came immediately after him—his apostles, so to speak—was one of assassination and war and bloodshed, not peaceful martyrdom like Christ’s apostles. Islam spread through military conquest and political domination—a starkly different beginning from Christianity.” He pulled the limo to the curb in front of Pascali’s. “Here we are.”

Simon reached in his pocket and pulled out a money clip. He peeled off two bills and reached over the seat toward Hakim.

“No, no. The tip will be on the bill the limo service sends you for all of the rides during your visit.”

“This is something extra. We appreciated the lesson. I’d like to continue this discussion when we finish dinner.”

“Sorry, Reverend Mason. I won’t be here. They’re sending another car to pick you up. I’ve got to study for a test in the morning.” He smiled. “It’s eleven-thirty. Do you think I’m starting to study too soon?”

Simon and I laughed. Elise didn’t seem to get it.

“That brings back some college memories,” I said.

Simon leaned one arm across the back of the seat in front of him. “Do you have something with a phone number on it?”

Hakim grabbed a pen from the drink holder next to him. “I’ll write it on the back of a receipt.” He ripped
a receipt off a pad, scribbled on the back, and handed it to Simon.

Simon put the receipt in the inside pocket of his jacket. “I get to Chicago fairly frequently. Okay if I call you sometime? Maybe we can get a cup of coffee.”

Hakim turned around. “Are you kidding me? You’re Simon Mason. If you call, I’ll be available. Wait until my professors hear about this. Maybe you could come speak at school sometime. Do you think that would be possible?”

“I’m sure we could work it out. Elise, do you think we could schedule something?”

Elise sighed, pulled out her phone, and started punching buttons. She shoved the phone back in her purse. “I made a note in my calendar to call.”

I reached for the door handle, then stopped. “By the way, do you know the driver who is coming to get us?”

“No, ma’am. But you can call the printed number on the receipt and ask. The dispatcher should know.” He jumped out of the driver’s side and came around to open our door.

As we got out of the car, I said, “Thank you, we’ll do that.”

When Hakim drove off, Simon looked at Elise. “Well, that was the strangest limo ride we’ve ever had. Wouldn’t you say?”

“You’re not really going to call him, are you?”

He studied Elise. “Sure I am. He was a good kid— had some interesting ideas too. Why wouldn’t I?”

She shook her head. “You’ve got to start understanding that you’re a celebrity. Everyone wants a piece of you.”

He angled a look my way. “The minute I start thinking I’m a celebrity, shoot me, okay?”

I was afraid I would have to stand in line.

DESPITE SIMON’S VIEWS ON his own celebrity, from the moment we entered the restaurant it was apparent how the staff saw him. They greeted us at the door and funneled us between two rows of red-clothed tables toward a wall of rich mahogany paneling adorned with autographed photos of famous people. A warm cloud of smells—garlic, oregano, and freshly baked bread— drifted through the restaurant. My nose reminded me that I hadn’t eaten a thing since I grabbed a hot dog early that afternoon in the Dallas/Fort Worth airport.

Near the back, the maitre d’ led us down a narrow hallway that ended in a private room. Three of the room’s walls were brick. The fourth wall was a built-in
oak wine rack. In the center of the room was a rectangular cutting-board table. Hanging above the table were two cast-iron chandeliers.

Simon and I sat at one end of the table. When Elise pulled out a chair next to Simon, he glanced at her. “Elise, would you mind entertaining everyone down at the other end? I want to talk over some security issues with Taylor.”

She gripped the back of the chair with both hands. “Don’t you think I should be part of the discussion?”

He smiled. “Now don’t get worked up. We’re not going to make any decisions without you. If all three of us are down here with our heads together, everyone else will feel left out. Do you mind?”

She looked at me, then back at Simon. “Of course not.” Just then the other group of Simon’s traveling crew walked into the room. Elise moved to the opposite end of the table and sat down.

Donny, the song leader, slapped me on the back as he walked past. “Hey, if it isn’t the potted plant lady! Did you wash the dirt from under your nails before you came to the table?”