Church Folk - Michele Andrea Bowen [96]
"Bishop—"
"Percy, just plain Percy."
"Percy, somethin's terribly wrong at this conference. I know it has something to do with that Bishop Caruthers."
"You shouldn't be surprised about anything with Otis Caruthers. He's a strange bird, was like that even before he became a bishop."
"Caruthers may be a strange bird," Murcheson said, "but he's also involved in something wrong. You see, Percy, there are these women—"
"Now, you and I both know that some of these churchwomen don't always act like they are in church when they are at a conference."
"Percy," Murcheson said, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose. He didn't even know how to say it without sounding like a fool, but he had to try.
"Percy, this is about more than some silly churchwomen gettin' all dressed up and chasin' down some preachers."
Before Bishop Jennings could answer, Uncle Booker, who had been listening and looked ready to burst, jumped from his seat on the couch and came over to the two men.
"Bishop Jennings, Murcheson is trying to tell you in as nice a way as he can that some of them preachers done got themselves a girl-service thing right here at the conference."
Murcheson looked at Uncle Booker with pure relief all over his face, glad to be rescued from having to figure out the words to explain this whole mess.
Theophilus and Eddie just looked at each other. They knew something had been bothering Rev. James all morning but wrote it off as having to do with the banquet. But a "girlservice thing"? That was something else.
Percy Jennings was shocked. There had always been problems with women and preachers at conferences, but never something purposeful as what they were talking about.
"Mr. Webb, are you telling me that there are working girls here at the conference?"'
Uncle Booker sighed loudly. Sometimes these preachers, especially the well-educated and upstanding ones like Bishop Jennings, could be so dense.
"Bishop Jennings, we ain't tryin' to tell you nothin'. What we is doing is telling you that Bishop Caruthers has a club where he pimp street women for the preachers."
"Mr. Webb—"
"Booker is just fine by me, Bishop Jennings."
"Booker, how do you know that Bishop Caruthers is involved?"
Booker looked over at Pompey and said, "You tell him how we know, since it started with you."
"Bishop," Pompey said, in a low voice that sounded like he was chewing on some food. "I heard a few fools running their big mouths, so I sneaked and followed them. They went over to see Bishop Caruthers about the club."
"But did you actually hear them? How would you know that was their business with Bishop Caruthers?"
"Bishop, has you never seen no thugs doing business on a street corner? Let me tell you something. Thugs is always tryin' to be slick but they will up and display all they business to someone with any interest in what they doing."
"And you are sure the men were preachers?"
"Bishop Jennings, a preacher at a conference is easier to spot than a wino standing in front of a liquor store."
Rev. James started laughing. What Pompey said was so true. Preachers at conferences, Annual and Triennial, could be seen by a blind man.
"Besides, I know Rev. Sonny Washington, and that there pretty-boy preacher from Detroit . . ." Pompey shook his head back and forth trying to remember Marcel Brown's name.
"Theophilus, Eddie—you know the one I'm talkin' 'bout. That boy who gone marry Mother Harold's old spoiled grandbaby."
"Marcel Brown, Mr. Pompey?" Eddie asked.
"Yeah . . . yeah . . . that's the boy. Well, anyway, they the ones. Then, I come and tell Booker."
"That's right," Booker picked up. "So Pompey followed Marcel Brown, and I followed Sonny Washington. Last night, when y'all was over to the banquet, Sonny Washington went over to the Clayton Funeral Home. That's where the club is."
"Cleotis Clayton's new place?" Theophilus said. He