Joshua’S Battle

Copyright © 2014 Joseph A. Johnson.

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4808-0536-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-0537-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014902097

Archway Publishing rev. date: 03/10/2014

Contents

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

I BELIEVE THAT IF GOD GIVES you a vision, he will also give you the provision. I thank God for both the vision and the provision. The most important part of God’s provision is the people he’s placed in my life.

For the past twenty-two years, my wife Adrienne has been my motivation and inspiration. Thank you for loving and lifting me to greater heights. To my daughter Jayla, thank you for always seeing the best in me and becoming an incredible example of what faith, love, and perseverance can accomplish. To my son Bill, thank you for your unconditional love. To my mother, Mattie Johnson, thank you for your strength and courage and always believing in me. To my sister, Dr. Vivian Johnson, thanks for always bringing out the best in me. To my brother Jim, thanks for the lessons, and to my sister Rose Marie, thanks for being first. Thanks to Kristy Green and the wonderful grandchildren, Taylor, Will, and Ethan. To my sister-in–law Pearline Greene, thanks for the encouragement, and Greg Greene, thanks for the many golf matches that rejuvenated me.

To my family and friends, who supported and encouraged me through it all, I thank God for you. To my editor, Barbara Mohr, thanks for the red pen and sharp eye. Thanks to Mona Spencer for providing your gracious edits. Thanks to my colleagues for tolerating the repeated mention of my upcoming novel.

Through this incredible journey, I’ve learned that being a writer is about much more than writing. It’s about taking risks and stepping into the unknown and embracing the magic of creativity. It’s about sharing and trusting a vision that only you can see.

So many friends have blessed me by providing words of encouragement that kept me pursuing this dream. Although your name may not be reflected on these pages, you are forever in my heart.

My hope is that this book entertains, motivates, and inspires you as much as it has me.

No one will be able to stand against you all the days of your life. As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you nor forsake you. Joshua 1:5 New International Version (NIV)

Prologue

JOSHUA JERICHO BATTLE PULLED HIS SCARF and coat tighter around his neck and increased his pace to the parking garage. The night air had the unmistakable chill of a November winter in Detroit. The frozen gusts off the Detroit River were creating icy bolts of wind that pierced his exposed skin. The flashing overhead sign on the Comerica Bank building read minus -15. He could hear the snow crunching underfoot, as the old clock on the First Baptist Church chimed 11:00. JJ Battle was working late for the first time in two years since he decided to give up his flourishing criminal law practice. He had forgotten how good it felt being one of the best criminal defense attorneys in the city, and he could feel the tug of excitement as he headed to the car. He loved the adrenaline rush he felt from working on a major case. There was no one on the street, and his car was the only car in the parking garage. He quickly strode to his car, searching for his keys. He was tired, yet exhilarated. It was the satisfaction of successfully finishing a tough project. He reached his car and pushed the remote to unlock the door. As he reached to open the door, the window shattered. He stared in disbelief, contemplating a windowless drive home in freezing temperatures. He heard a dull thud and saw a small hole appear in the metal of his door. He turned quickly, seeing a bright flash followed by a hiss of air and the plaster of the garage pillar exploding. He hit the ground, hurriedly crawling to the passenger side of the car. Twice more he heard the dull thud of two more bullets crashing into the side of the Lincoln. Instinctively he opened the door, using the car as a shield. He reached inside the car, fumbling with his keys. His hand shook as he finally managed to get the key in the ignition and the car started. He slid into the car, oblivious to the shattered glass littering the floor and seat. From the floor, he put the car in gear, mashing the accelerator to the floor as he gripped the steering wheel. He clipped the wall of the garage as the car sped wildly forward in the direction of the exit. Nearing the closed gate, he kept going; smashing the security bar before it could rise, splintering wood in his path. As he exited the garage, he pulled himself onto the seat, driving as fast as the ice and snow covered streets would allow. The big Lincoln fishtailed and slid until the weight took hold on the icy pavement. He slid into the turn on Congress Street, oblivious to traffic, accelerating onto the ramp of the Lodge freeway. He could hear a persistent thump, thump, thump, and guessed that a tire was flat. He didn’t care. He continued on, exiting to Woodward Avenue barely negotiating the off ramp. For the first time, he checked his rear view mirror, uncertain if they were following him. Consumed by fear, he made a series of lefts and right turns, driving as fast as the conditions would allow. When he did not see any cars in his rear view mirror, he slowed to assess what had happened. The shooter was a professional. That much was certain. No amateur or carjacker uses a high-powered rifle with a silencer. No, they preferred handguns at close range. This was a sniper who had been waiting. Whoever was responsible did not follow to finish the job. He quickly thought of the possible suspects and drew a blank. He had been away from criminal defense for two years and had long since settled those old scores. He began to breathe deeply and forced himself to relax and consider all of the possibilities. He ruled out a robber or a carjacker. They preferred the element of surprise and enjoyed placing their victims in fear. This was different. He struggled to think of likely suspects. He couldn’t think of anyone who was capable of, or motivated to, do such a thing. Someone wanted him dead or scared. Finally, as his frustration was making him panic, it came to him. His heart pounded against the sub-zero temperatures of the dark winter night. It came to him, chilling him deep inside his soul. He didn’t know how or why, but he knew who. There was only one man who could set these crazy events in motion. There was no one else. This man would change his life forever. BOBBY BOOGALOO BENNETT.

Chapter 1

BOBBY BOOGALOO BENNETT WAS A PLAYER, a hustler and a lover. There was nothing in his past to suggest that he was a violent man, although he was now being charged with a violent crime. Looking at him, he was the unlikeliest of lovers. He was overweight, short, balding, and practically illiterate. But he possessed what women affectionately referred to as charm. It was ghetto charm. His mother supplied him with his nickname, Boogaloo, which was for the 1980’s dance she made him perform to entertain her friends. Boogaloo was always ready to oblige. Even as a child, he loved the attention and affections of women, and they loved him. It was a gift. Whatever it was that Boogaloo possessed, it was successful. He made a living from wining, cajoling, and romancing single mothers in the projects and collecting their welfare checks for his efforts. Boogaloo was a regular in the projects, especially on the first of the month when the checks arrived. He would make his rounds collecting the checks and then doling out whatever money he deemed the women needed to survive.

Judging by his new Cadillac and clothes, he had many admirers. Their love and adulation for Boogaloo suggested he had talents and charms that were not obvious to everyone. He maintained his lucrative enterprise through equal portions of skill and fear. But, lately, Boogaloo had developed another, more lucrative, hustle to go with his vast project harem. He was now involved in a complex real estate scheme.

He had elevated his skills to include swindling the poor and elderly out of their property by deceit and intimidation. He would convince the neighborhood property owners that the impending development for the upcoming Super Bowl meant that the city would take their property by eminent domain. For many of the uneducated in the community, eminent domain might as well have been the kiss of death. To them it meant there was no way they could keep their property from the hands of the government.

Boogaloo offered them hope, even if it was false hope. He agreed to pay them in cash for the equity in their property and in exchange; they would sign a quitclaim deed to Boogaloo for their interest in their property. Then, they would pay him rent and remain in their homes. He convinced them that they could stay in their homes for as long as they liked; they just had to continue paying rent. It all sounded good, until Boogaloo’s checks started to bounce, and nobody was paid.

Boogaloo was legendary for his ability to maintain a harmonious harem, until one of the flock, Betty Ross, decided to listen to her girlfriend and contemplated leaving Boogaloo. This was an unprecedented defection, and it required Boogaloo to administer swift and meaningful reinforcement, which he did with shocking and sensational consequences. Boogaloo’s case gained national attention - not just for its legal and social significance, but also for the sheer audacity of his flamboyance. He was totally unrepentant as he granted repeated interviews, against the advice of his previous lawyer.

The facts were simple and straightforward. Betty’s best friend, Brianna Tuller, had been encouraging Betty to leave Boogaloo for some time. It was her opinion, shared by many, that Betty deserved better than Boogaloo. They repeatedly told her that she could do badly by herself, that she didn’t need Boogaloo to bring her down. Finally, all of the encouragement had some effect. Betty had planned to leave Bobby and take their kids. They had planned to hide Betty at a friend’s house until she could find different living arrangements.

The plan had worked for about a week, with Boogaloo unsure of Betty’s whereabouts. The first of the month arrived and Boogaloo was on the prowl for the monthly welfare checks. As luck or fate would have it, while he was looking for Betty and the kids, Brianna came by Betty’s apartment to get the rest of Betty’s clothes. Boogaloo hid behind the door, waiting, expecting Betty, when Brianna entered.

Where’s Betty? He asked. His voice was loud with anger and impatience.

I don’t know. Brianna answered with a mix of fear and bravado.

Then what are you doing here?

I came by looking for Betty myself.

Brianna, don’t play with me. I don’t have time for this. Then why did you have a key?

If you would have treated her better, she wouldn’t have left, she answered as she moved closer to the door.

I told you before, stay out of my business, Boogaloo answered positioning himself between Brianna and the door. Tell me where she is or I’m going to keep you here until you do.

I told you I don’t know where she is. She could be anywhere.

Stop lying. Don’t make me hurt you, Boogaloo shouted, his tone becoming more threatening.

Brianna lunged for the door, making a futile, desperate effort to get out as Boogaloo grabbed her wrists.

Stop! You’re hurting my wrists, she shrieked. Sensing the futility of struggling, Brianna considered her options. She thought that if she could get out of the house she could escape. She quickly devised a plan.

Okay, I’ll show you where she is if you promise not to hurt me. Boogaloo relaxed his grip.

I never wanted to hurt you or Betty in the first place. I just want to talk to her and see my kids.

She watched him carefully as he went around the small living room collecting some of his personal items. Her heart nearly stopped as she saw him reach under the couch cushion, pull out a shiny silver gun, and place it into a bag.

What the hell is that for? She asked, not bothering to disguise her fear.

Oh this? I just like to have a little reassurance in case things get out of hand, he said, looking at the pistol admiringly. I’m going to lead you to the car; please don’t try to do anything stupid. Don’t try to signal the neighbors or run. If you do, I’m gonna hurt you. All I want to do is see Betty and my kids.

He went to the front door, cracking it slightly and looking up and down the block to see if the neighbors were out. They were. He nudged Brianna. Let’s go and don’t do anything stupid.

As they went out the front door, he tightened the pressure on her arm. Wave at the neighbors. Just look normal like nothing is going on. Now get in the car.

As Brianna got in on the passenger side, he hurried around to the driver’s side and quickly got behind the wheel. He started the car and slowly pulled out of the parking lot.

So where are we going? She asked, not wanting him to see her fear.

Why are you looking so scared? You tell me where we’re going. You know where Betty is.

Just take a left and get on the Jeffries Freeway going west, Brianna replied, contemplating all of her options. She wanted to buy some time to figure out how she could escape. She did not intend to lead Bobby to her friend.

She wasn’t sure what Bobby was capable of doing. He had a gun. The only thing she knew was she had to get away and get help.

As they approached an upcoming light, Boogaloo slowed the car, preparing to stop. Brianna took a bold chance. In one smooth motion, she undid her seatbelt, opened the door, and jumped. She didn’t have the chance to calculate speed and distance. This might be her only chance to escape, and she took it.

She felt her ankle give as she tumbled and rolled scraping her body and face on the pavement. When she stopped rolling, she tried to get up but collapsed in horrible pain. Her ankle and the left side of her body were in excruciating pain. She tried to crawl. Traffic around her came to screeching stops. She could see Bobby slam on the brakes, stopping suddenly. She could see the backup lights as he reversed the car and sped back toward her. She had to get up if she was going to get away, and she tried, but her leg and ankle collapsed at a sickly twisted angle. She lost consciousness, as she lay on the pavement in a crumpled ball.

Boogaloo was out of the car almost before it stopped, and was beside Brianna scooping her up in his arms. Shit! Get out of my way! He hissed to the quickly gathering crowd of motorists and pedestrians. I have to get her to the hospital.

What happened? A voice in the crowd asked as Bobby ignored them and gently loaded Brianna into the car. He had to hurry. He knew they would notify the police who would show up shortly. He was not in the mood to explain.

He got back in the car, sped to Detroit Receiving Hospital, and screeched up to the emergency room door. Brianna remained unconscious beside him.

He screamed for an emergency attendant as he searched frantically for hospital personnel or a wheelchair. Unable to find any hospital staff he found a wheelchair, loaded Brianna into the seat, and rushed her into the emergency room. He handed her over to the hospital staff.

Sir, what happened? What type of injuries does she have? The hospital staff was bombarding him with questions, and there was another gathering crowd of hospital personnel fast approaching. It was all happening so fast. Bobby surveyed the situation. He knew he would have to act fast. The hospital staff would call the police and he would have to answer questions and explain the circumstances of Brianna’s injuries.

He made a decision to leave; and quickly and quietly exited the hospital.

Chapter 2

STOP IT! JUST STOP IT! CAN’T you for once just let it go? He chided himself, yelling to hear himself over the blare of the stereo.

Joshua Jericho Battle was doing it again. He just couldn’t help himself. Relax! He told himself, as he guided the Lincoln down I-94, away from the morning commuter traffic and toward his morning tee time. He was a man with issues. He just couldn’t escape this feeling of fear. Whether it was fear of failure or fear of success, he was afraid. He just couldn’t quite figure life out. When things were going well, he worried they wouldn’t last. When they were going bad, he worried they wouldn’t end. Today, he was worried that the good times would not last. He couldn’t help it.

He knew he was fortunate; he set his own hours, worked pretty much when he pleased, but he still didn’t trust his blessing. Trouble was like a triple bogey; it was always lurking on the next hole. You couldn’t predict when it was going to happen, but you knew eventually that it would.

It was 10:00 in the morning at the St. Clair Shores Country Club on the eastern outskirts of Detroit. It was late fall and a chill of the upcoming winter was in the air. This was one of the last days of the golfing season and he wanted an early start but not so early that he ran into the old timers and retirees that dominated the early tee times. He would just check into the clubhouse, get a cart and take off. If he was lucky, he could get in twenty-seven holes, and if he was extremely lucky, he could get in thirty-six. Either way, it would be a good way to wrap up the golf season.

Good morning, Mr. Battle. I see you’re taking advantage of our fine weather today. It was Charley, the course marshal, clubhouse pro, and utility person. Charley did it all at the course.

You’re right, Charley. I thought I’d get in a round before the weather changes. There aren’t too many good days left this year.

Good idea. I heard you’re hitting them pretty good these days.

Not up to your standards, Charley. Too many bogeys and not enough birdies, he said, paying homage to the old pro. Charley, who was well in his seventies, could still beat anybody who showed up. There was talk around the course that Charley had played a few Pro tournaments and did pretty well in his day. Charley never talked about those days, always maintaining a deliberate silence and a far away stare as if he were measuring distance to the pin.

The course is clear except for a couple of loud lawyer slicksters on the putting green. They might be friends of yours.

Damn! The last thing he wanted was a distraction and to be forced to engage in small talk and banter. He knew that golf was supposed to be a social game, but he played it for the game - not for the socializing.

He laced up his shoes, readied his gear, and headed for the first tee. He wondered who the two lawyers were. He hoped that he didn’t know them.

JOSHUA JERICHO BATTLE, world famous litigator. What an honor.

Damn! He was disappointed when he turned to see the huge Cuban cigar protruding from the dark and shiny mug of Randy Connors and his law partner Victor Wright. Old Charley was right; he did know these two clowns. They were two of the richest lawyers in town and former law school classmates. Victor and Randy were exact opposites, and people wondered how they made their practice work so well. Randy was short, stocky and dark. Coming from the east side of Detroit, people expected Randy to be tough and resourceful, but nobody expected his legal brilliance. He had a knack for seeing through the most complex issues and fashioning creative solutions. He was a class act and always had been. Their paths had always seemed to cross, but they never met until the first day of law school. Randy was two years behind JJ, and they attended the same grade school, middle school, high school and even undergrad at the U of M, and both were from the east side of Detroit. While not close, they enjoyed a mutual respect and always provided homeboy support throughout law school.

Victor, on the other hand was a rich kid from Bloomfield Hills; he came from money, privilege, and a family of lawyers. He was tall and handsome with creamy beige skin. He had the look and confidence that money and good bloodlines provide. His grandfather, James Wright, was Judge of the United States Sixth Circuit Court of Appeals, who happened to be one of the brightest legal minds around. His father, former U.S. Congressman Bill Wright, was a partner in the prestigious Detroit firm of Booth, Johnson, and Wolinsky. His mother, Beth Adams Wright, was a judge for the 36th District Court in Detroit. Victor Wright had powerful connections, and he needed them, because intelligence was not his forte. He was dumb as a rock. Nevertheless, what he was good at was developing relationships, and he and Randy had forged some of the most powerful alliances in the Midwest. They were ambitious and focused. Victor and JJ were law school rivals. In addition, Victor resented JJ’s charm and success with women. He could not get over how everyone continually hero-worshipped JJ’s past athletic exploits.

Further, Victor resented the fact that JJ and Victor’s wife, Carlena, were study partners and more in law school. It was the more that Victor resented. Carlena, like JJ, was from Detroit and was a fun loving girl who knew what she wanted. JJ and Carlena’s attraction developed slowly. They started as part of a Black Law Students study group, with about twenty other members. They quickly saw how inefficient and unproductive the group was, and formed their own two-person study group. The closeness and the stimulation of intense legal education were too much. JJ didn’t know whether it was the mix of intensity, fear, or their frequent togetherness, but whatever the cause, their desire for each other was insatiable. They were like rabbits, having sex any time and anywhere. It was between classes, at her apartment or a quickie and lunch before Warner’s one o’clock contracts lecture. They also tried the men’s bathroom in the basement of the law library. It was the only bathroom on campus where the outside doors could be locked, allowing them some much needed privacy. They both agreed and understood the parameters of their relationship; it was not about love or romance; it was about satisfying a mutual need, and incredible sex. That was the problem. The sex had become so good and satisfying that they were missing class, studying less and neither was able to say no to the other. Their torrid and lustful liaison was remarkable in one major distinction; they managed to keep their relationship secret from the entire nosy and inquisitive law school class.

They were not sure how long they could sustain this clandestine affair, but neither was willing to stop. It continued for fifteen incredible, life-sustaining weeks of the school term. Who knows where it might have led had fate not intervened to drop the proverbial ice cube down the pants of lust and love. Finals were one week away, and they had literally screwed the semester away. They decided to meet on Saturday night to discuss their dilemma; how they were going to cram sixteen weeks of law into one week. Curiously enough, they found their inspiration in each other’s arms after post-orgasmic bliss. They would end it cold turkey and kick each other’s habit for the sake of their legal careers. They agreed to a week of all nighters without sex, filled completely with only legal education. It was a tortuous and grueling week. After they successfully completed exams, they met to discuss their futures.

Like recovering addicts, they agreed to meet in a public place, free of the temptation that an intimate meeting might create. They agreed that as good as the sex and intimacy was between them, the reality was that they were no longer good for each other. They were like two flames that, when combined, became an inferno that burned out of control. They recognized that neither had the power to say no to the other, and rather than being a good thing, in this case it allowed the relationship to wander out of control. They both had lost their focus, which was getting a legal education. When it was finally over, they parted with a special bond and friendship that would last forever. They had shared an intense, honest, and open relationship that explored some of the deepest human emotions between a man and a woman. Because of that, they would always have something special.

Victor, however, had never quite gotten over JJ and Carlena’s relationship. Victor loved to gloat about the different paths his and JJ’s careers had taken, but JJ was comfortable with the choices he made. While not fond of Victor and Randy socially, JJ did have a grudging respect for what they had accomplished professionally.

Gentlemen, the honor is truly mine, he replied, with a graciousness he did not feel. He smiled, concealing the resentment of having his morning round ruined.

I see this is how the independently wealthy spend their leisure time, Victor replied with just a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

Not quite. If I were truly independently wealthy, I would belong to Oakland Hills Country Club, the way you guys do. This is just where the regular folks play.

Touché, JJ, I hope your golf game is as sharp as your quips. Victor countered.

What brings you two big time lawyers slumming at a small time course like St. Clair Shores? We don’t have all of the amenities that you’re used to.

We just wanted a game and this is one of the nicest courses around. It was just a coincidence that we met you here, Randy interjected, sensing some rising hostility between Victor and JJ.

Randy and Victor never left anything to chance. They were always thorough. That’s how they founded the largest minority firm in the country. They were sharp, bright and connected. They were the new breed of lawyers that were primarily dealmakers. They couldn’t