Dominion by Randy Alcorn Page A

neighborhood.”
“I’d recommend somebody live there until this is settled. Maybe it can be rented out.”
“Yeah, and turned into a drug house or something.”
“You’ll have to think of something.”
Clarence hung up, hating the legal system. It was like politics—supposed to help people, and all it did was make life harder for them.
The phone rang. “Hello, Mr. Abernathy. This is Sheila, Councilman Norcoast’s secretary. The councilman wonders if you’re available to speak with him.”
“I haven’t got much time. But I guess I could squeeze him in.” Clarence smiled. It felt good.
“Clarence?” Norcoast spoke with a television anchor voice.
“Yeah?” Clarence tried to sound as unimpressed as he could.
“This is Reg. I know I said it at her funeral, but let me express to you again my deepest sympathy. Danita was a wonderful person. I’m so sorry about your loss.”
Nobody called her Danita. Nobody would, unless pretending to know her when he didn’t.
“Yeah, me too. Thanks for the flowers.”
Paid for with our tax dollars, no doubt.
“You’re very welcome. It’s the least I could do.”
“What’s on your mind, Mr. Norcoast?”
“Call me Reg, please, Clarence. Well, I have an idea of something we can do for your sister and the community.”
Aren’t you a little late for that?
“We’ve decided to kick off our ‘Fight Crime’ campaign a few weeks early. We’re thinking the best way to capture the public’s imagination is to have victims of violence appear at the rally and press conference. So people can see that those getting hurt are real people.”
Of course they’re real people. What other kind of people would they be?
“My assistants are contacting the other families, but I wanted to talk to you personally so you’d know my commitment.”
Yeah. So I can say nice things about you in my column or so people will think I support you. Forget it. Never happen.
“A lot of people know your name, Clarence. You’re highly respected. A role model to the community. You being on the platform, that would be a real boost to what we’re trying to do.”
“I don’t think so,” Clarence said. “I’m not comfortable doing that. Besides, I don’t think it’s good practice for a journalist to make appearances at political events.”
“Oh, no, you don’t understand, Clarence. This isn’t political. It’s part of a concerted effort to reclaim our neighborhoods, to stop the violence, get kids back into school, say no to drugs and yes to opportunity.”
An endless fount of political platitudes. You forgot a chicken in every pot.
“No thanks.”
“But Reverend Clancy, your sister’s pastor, he said he thought you would be perfect.”
“Clancy said that?”
“Yes, he did. He’s going to be up there, kick off the program. So are family members of at least a dozen different people who’ve been killed. This is for our children. Can we count on you to help?”
“I’ll have to think about it.”
“Well, please call me back by tomorrow. The rally is this Saturday, one o’clock at Woodlawn Park. Maybe you can say something?”
“I’m not saying anything.”
“All right, no problem. But I do hope you’ll be there up on the platform. I know it’s something that would have made your sister happy. And it would be a big encouragement to our whole community.”
To whose community? What are you, an honorary black person?
“I’ll think about it.”
“All right, thanks, Clarence. I’ll look forward to hearing you say yes. And again, my deepest sympathies about Danita.”
Clarence put down the phone and shook his head, his profound distrust for politicians reinforced again. Democrat, Republican, Independent, it didn’t matter. He just couldn’t believe these guys were doing anything more than trying to keep themselves in power, cutting deals and taking payoffs. They were notorious for sidling up close to journalists, getting chummy. Reporters joked about this, but Clarence had seen them succumb