our hands. “What can I do for you two?”
“Sir,” I began, “we’re private investigators. Toni’s sister came to us with the story of a classmate of hers who ran away from home last month on her sixteenth birthday, apparently because she was having problems with her stepfather. We were touched by-well, frankly, by the tragedy of the story, so we agreed to look into it. We’ve since come to believe that as bad as her home life was, she may have now gotten herself into even worse trouble. We think she’s been recruited into what appears to be a gang involved with the prostitution of under-aged girls. We’re hoping to find her and get her out of there before it’s too late.”
He studied me intently for a moment. Then he said, “That’s a worthwhile endeavor, isn’t it. And you’re hoping I might be able to shed some light on the gang members for you?”
I nodded. “Yes, sir. That’s it exactly.”
“What do you hope to do if you find them?” he asked.
“Well, naturally, we want to rescue the young woman.”
He studied us for a moment, and then he nodded. “Good. I’ll be happy to do what I can,” he said.
“Thank you very much,” I said. “We appreciate it.”
“I’m not sure how much help I can be,” he said, “but I’ll do what I can. Let’s go inside, shall we?”
We followed him inside the office and classroom area of the church. He led us down a hall that was nearly completely covered with photos.
“The church has been here a long time, hasn’t it?” I asked, as I noticed a picture of Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. on the wall.
“It certainly has,” he said, pausing while I studied the photo. “The church is eighty years old next year. Of course, this isn’t the original building. The first building actually burned down in 1934. Then, we outgrew the next one in the seventies. We built this one in 1975.”
“Very impressive,” I said, turning to him. “How long have you been here?”
“Fifteen years this past April,” he said.
I smiled. “Well, judging by the mood of the prayer group that we saw, you appear to be doing a good job.”
He laughed. “Thank you. We have ourselves a good old time. I’ll let you in on a little secret: when you say ‘bible study’ to most people, they almost immediately form an image in their minds of a quiet, somber, studious- type group, all huddled up over their well-worn King James. Except for maybe a Benedictine monk, who’d want to act like that? So around here, we spice it up. We make it a little more human. Think about it. Who gave us our sense of humor?” Before we could answer, he continued. “It was the good Lord, of course. He made it so that we can laugh and have a good time. And we figure that since the Lord saw fit to give us a sense of humor-the ability to laugh and to be happy-why, then he must have wanted us to use it. So we decided to have some fun with our bible study group-lighten things up a bit.”
“Looks like it’s working,” I said. “Everyone seemed pretty happy outside there. Who knows-might even make me want to come to a meeting and check things out.”
“You’re welcome anytime!” he beamed. He opened his arms up wide. “Come on down, brother Daniel!” He smiled for a second, then he said, “You know that Daniel is a historic biblical name, don’t you?”
“Of course,” I said, smiling. “I’ve got my own book in the Old Testament.”
He laughed. “Indeed you do, young man. Indeed you do.”
Toni looked at me. I could tell she was much impressed with my biblical acumen. I’m full of surprises.
We followed Reverend Jenkins through an office area where two women were seated.
“Luella,” he said, “I’m going to be with these folks here for about thirty minutes or so. How’s that fit in?”
“You’re good,” Luella said. “Your next meetin’s not till three thirty.”
“Thank you.”
He held the door for Toni and me, and then closed it behind us.
“Have a seat here,” he said, pointing to a couple of chairs across from his desk. The surface of his desk was neat and organized-a man after my own heart. The walls, like the hallways, were covered with photos. What impressed me was the fact that there weren’t any pictures of politicians, no celebrities, no famous people at all. Instead, except for a PhD in Theology diploma from Liberty University, the common theme of the photos was Reverend Jenkins and children. Either in a classroom, or on a playground, or at a hospital, I didn’t notice a single photo without a child.
When we were all seated, I said, “Thanks again, Reverend Jenkins.” I nodded to the diploma. “Or should I say ‘Doctor Jenkins’?”
He smiled. “Don’t do either one of those,” he said. “I always thought that ‘Doctor’ sounded a little pretentious-particularly around here. We’re a long way away from any ivory towers. Just call me Reverend Art. That’s what everyone calls me around here.”
“Okay,” I said. I nodded in the direction of the wall. “Looks like you have a soft spot for kids.”
He smiled again. “I do,” he said. “I do indeed.”
“Any children of your own?” Toni asked.
“Six,” he said. “Six children-all under the age of seven.”
“Wow,” Toni said. “How-?”
Before she could finish, Reverend Art said, “Before you accuse me of either spousal abuse or polygamy, they’re all adopted. We have our own little Rainbow Coalition going in the Jenkins household. We’ve got three sets of siblings-two from Vietnam, two kids from right here in the neighborhood from a member of our congregation who ran into some legal problems a while back, and the twins-two little ones we just adopted from Romania.”
“Your wife must be really busy,” Toni said.
“She is, she is,” he said, laughing. “Maybe it is spousal abuse after all?” He laughed again, a twinkle in his eye. “Nah, she loves it. She considers it God’s work. And, of course, she’s right. We are truly blessed. People are always saying what a wonderful thing we’ve done for these children, but I’ll let you in on a little secret. No one seems to recognize that we’re getting back twice as much as we’re giving out with these little ones.”
“Even so,” I said, “you and your wife are to be commended. It really is a wonderful thing you’re doing for these children.”
“Well,” he said, “just as you’re trying to do the right thing for this missing girl.” He smoothly segued into the purpose of our meeting. “Tell me about her and what’s happened.”
We spent the next fifteen minutes filling Reverend Art in on Isabel-her attempt to flee the horror of her home life, the text messages that told their own ominous story, and our meetings with both Nancy Stewart and Annie Hooper.
“Isn’t that Carla Nguyen an impressive young lady?” Reverend Art said. “She’s a poster child for what motivates a lot of good people to step up and get involved.”
“She’s been through a lot,” I agreed.
“She’s been through a living hell,” he said. “And she’s making her way back. Step by step, she’s turning back into a sweet, caring girl. Young lady, really.” He thought about it for a minute. “She’ll never be able to forget what she went through-what was done to her-but she’s learning how to deal with it.”
“It seems like she’s not going to let it define her,” Toni said.
Reverend Art looked at her. “Exactly. It’s not who she is. It’s what was done to her, but it’s not who she is.” He turned to me. “So now, we’ve got to yank Isabel out of this situation before she falls into the same trap.”
I nodded.
“And Carla said something about the North Side Street Boyz? And you said Isabel’s text message says the names were Crystal, Donnie, and Mikey?”
“Yes. Does any of that ring a bell with you?”
He leaned back and nodded. “I’m afraid it does,” he said. “Part of it, anyway. I don’t know anyone named Crystal. But the North Side Street Boyz is a gang that split off from a Central District gang that called themselves the Madison GDs.”
“GDs?” I asked.
“Gangster Disciples,” he said. “They’re like the Bloods and the Crips. They started in Chicago, and they’re pretty much nationwide now. Anyway, there’s a young man named Donnie Martin, used to live around here. Based on what you’re saying, I imagine he’s the ‘Donnie’ referred to in Isabel’s text message. He was a member of the
