Free No Sin in Paradise by Dijorn Moss Page B

God, but a man of God, nonetheless.
    After service, Pastor Clayborn stands outside on the side of the church. She doesn’t rush through every member, but she takes her time and talks with each of them like she has known them for all of her life.
    â€œThank you, Pastor Clayborn, that was an awesome sermon,” I say.
    â€œThanks, to God be the glory.”
    Just like that, my mind starts to turn and I wonder if Pastor Clayborn would carry that same humility in the States, where name brands are worshipped. I wonder if being on a secluded island helps one avoid temptation as opposed to living in an environment that embraces it and flaunts it.
    â€œThat was a great sermon, Pastor Clayborn.”
    I recognize the voice, and when I turn around, there he is . . . Demetrius. I know for a fact that Demetrius was not at service this morning. His large girth and sinister grin is easy to spot at a church. But how did he know I was here?
    â€œGod bless you,” Pastor Clayborn says with a crooked smile. She obviously knows who Demetrius is and is not buying the sinner-coming-to-church gimmick.
    â€œI seem to have forgotten your name,” Demetrius says tome.
    â€œNic.” I extend my hand, and Demetrius shakes it.
    â€œGod bless you, Brother Nic,” he says.
    I have a short list of things I hate. On that list is grapefruit, the 405 freeway, and nonbelievers who mock Christians. Demetrius is the latter.
    â€œNic, I was wondering if I could have a word with you in private.”
    Somehow, I don’t think that this is a request. We are in public so there’s not much he can do with a bunch of eyewitnesses, so I excuse myself from Pastor Clayborn and walk with Demetrius until we get out of earshot of others.
    â€œOkay, I don’t particularly like being messed with, so what’s up?” I ask.
    Demetrius acts like he is offended. “I’m shocked. I can’t believe you would think that I would waste your time.”
    â€œWell, you wanted my attention, and you got it.”
    â€œI wanted to apologize for the other night. I know I can come on a little strong, but my intentions are good,” Demetrius says.
    â€œDid you ever hear the expression that the road to hell is paved with good intentions?” I ask.
    Demetrius loses his smile. How easy it is for the serpent to shed his skin, and just like that . . . His smile returns.
    â€œI never heard that expression before, Mr. Dungy, but I will keep that in mind.”
    I bet he will, but I’m still wondering why Demetrius has taken a sudden interest in me. The only way I will find out is by having a conversation with him.
    â€œWhat do you want, Demetrius?”
    â€œI was wondering if we could have a private conversation.”
    â€œWhat do you call this?” I ask.
    â€œTwo brothers in Christ having a conversation,” Demetrius says.
    â€œI didn’t take you for a Christian.”
    Demetrius laughs, and he starts to look down at his feet. “I guess not, Mr. Dungy, but there is something time sensitive I need to talk to you about.”
    â€œI’m listening. What’s on your mind?”
    â€œNot here. Come to my house around ten p.m. It’s the biggest house on the island.”
    Again, I suspect that this is not a request. “It’s a date.”
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    From church I hitch a ride with Sammy back to his house. My meeting with Demetrius gave me a lot to feel nervous about. As we drive along the road that leads to Sammy’s house, I take in the scene. Sammy didn’t have a big retirement to live off of, but who does in this day and age?
    He bought his house in the part of Crystal Cove which is similar to a ghetto that I’ve seen back in the States. It’s about a ten-minute drive from Adele’s beach house. Ten minutes . . . That’s all that separates a slum from a dream home.
    â€œYou okay, Doc?” Sammy asks.
    I hear Sammy, but I don’t respond. My