The lyons den, p.1
The Lyons Den, page 1
The Lyons Den
Kendra Norman-Bellamy
www.urbanchristianonline.net
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Reading Group Discussion Questions
About the Author
UC HIS GLORY BOOK CLUB!
WHAT WE BELIEVE
When Solomon Sings
Copyright Page
Dedication
And the guard stood, every man with his weapons in his hand, round about the king, from the right corner of the temple to the left corner of the temple, along by the altar and the temple. (2 Kings 11:11)
Dedicated to the members of the Security Staff of Total Grace Christian Center (Decatur, GA). Your jobs, not only as police officers, but also as church security, are ones that should be celebrated and revered. In a society where the deterioration of morals leaves no one safe from harm’s way, your assignments, that involve guarding the men and women of God, are appreciated more than you know.
As you protect them, may God’s hands continue to protect you.
Acknowledgments
In everything give thanks, for this is the will of God concerning you. (1 Thessalonians 5:18)
Every blessing that I’ve ever received in life has come from the Lord, including my gift for writing. For without Him, I am nothing. I thank Him for keeping the ideas coming, and for allowing what I write to be a source of encouragement, enlightenment and entertainment to others.
I thank my husband, Jonathan, and my daughters, Brittney and Crystal, for their quiet, but mammoth support; and my parents, Bishop H.H. & Mrs. Francine Norman, for perpetually reminding me to stay true to myself and true to my faith.
I’m thankful for my guardian angel, Jimmy (1968-1995) for the motivation and the memories; and the entire Holmes Family for continuing to love and embrace me as a part of you.
Much appreciation goes to my siblings, Crystal, Harold, Cynthia and Kimberly, for their unfailing love; and my cousin, Terrance, for fulfilling the multi-faceted roles necessary to help orchestrate my career. Eternal gratefulness also goes to my godparents, Aunt Joyce and Uncle Irvin, for the seeds they’ve sown in my life.
A special thank-you to my attorney and agent, Carlton, for looking out for my best interests and my publicist, Rhonda, for introducing me to book clubs, bookstores and book readers across the globe.
I thank “my girls,” Heather, Gloria and Deborah, for personifying the true meaning of friendship from childhood through adulthood; and for my sister in Christ, Lisa (Papered Wonders) for making me look good on paper through the production of my marketing material.
A big shout-out to Anointed Authors on Tour members—Vivi, Tia, Michelle, Norma, Shewanda and Vanessa—for being a bond of sisterhood unlike any other; and to Victoria, Timmothy, Travis, Jacquelin, Keith, Hank, Eric, Patricia, and all of the members of The Writer’s Hut for the enormous roles they have played in my life and my career.
My appreciation for Bishop Johnathan and Dr. Toni Alvarado (Total Grace Christian Center) is immeasurable. They are such awesome role models of what marriage, ministry and mentors should look like.
Clive, Emily and Gerald ... well, I just couldn’t pass up this chance to mention the navigation systems that help keep the ministry of Cruisin’ For Christ afloat.
I thank my Urban Christian family for embracing me as a person and as a writer; and I thank all of the book clubs and other readers who have chosen to read my books and have allowed my stories to take them on literary journeys time and time again.
Finally, to those who know me well know that, when I write, I prefer music over any other sound. And as always, I end my acknowledgments by saluting all those talents whose music and lyrics helped to get me through my current project. So, I thank Melvin Williams, Fred Hammond, Brian McKnight, Five Men on a Stool, The Clark Sisters and India Arie for providing the positive and powerful music and lyrics that helped me create The Lyons Den.
Prologue
Am I being punked? The whole thing had started out being funny. A strange hang-up call here, an anonymous letter there—each ridiculous installment from the unknown perpetrator had served as a source of entertainment for Lieutenant Stuart Lyons ... until now.
Stuart stood in his front yard fully dressed for work and with not an amused bone in his body. All of the beautiful flowers he’d spent hours planting in his yard had been yanked from the roots and were strewn across his front lawn. So much for him receiving Shelton Heights’ “Best Landscape Award” for the second consecutive year. That was bad enough, but it wasn’t the worst of the story. It was his cruiser that had him staring in anger-driven disbelief, as it sat lopsided in the driveway with both right tires slashed. On the side of Stuart’s squad car, written in shoddy big bold capital letters that appeared to have been inscribed with a broad-tip paint brush, were the same words that had been signed to every hoax that had been played on him for the past several weeks: “DR. A. H. SATAN.”
“Who did that to your car, Daddy?”
Looking over his shoulder, Stuart saw his inquisitive son, Tyler, standing in the open doorway of their split-level home, peering through his new corrective lenses and still wearing his backpack. Shelled in grey bricks, theirs was one of the few houses in the neighborhood that wasn’t ranch style.
Thirteen-year-old Tyler was the one who’d discovered Stuart’s vandalized car while on his way to join his schoolmates at the bus stop located at the mouth of the Shelton Heights subdivision. When Tyler ran back into the house and alerted his father of his findings, Stuart did the first thing that came natural for him. He ordered his son back into the house, drew his loaded weapon, and walked outside his front door, carefully surveying his surroundings every step of the way. When Stuart was certain that there was no current danger, he called for backup and waited.
“I don’t know who did it, son. Just stay in the house.” Stuart’s voice was lifeless.
“But I’m gonna miss the bus.”
“I said, stay in the house. And close the door.” A firmer tone took over, and the brief debate came to an immediate end with Tyler’s obedience.
Sirens in the distance grew louder, signaling that help was only moments away. Still dressed in his official police gear, Stuart walked the full circumference of his squad car. Other than the writing on the side and the slashed tires, there was no visible destruction.
“Morning, Lieutenant. You okay? Any damage other than your cruiser? Did you spot any suspicious people hanging around?” The thread of questions came from Sergeant Allen Bowden, an officer who was Stuart’s subordinate, but one who he considered his friend.
Stuart shook his head, his anger gradually being replaced by the desire to single-handedly solve the mystery. “Whoever did this was probably long gone before it was discovered. See?” He rubbed his index finger across the wording. “The paint is already dry. This and the tires are the only damage.” As he spoke, Stuart watched other officers walk around his house, closely inspecting it for hidden clues.
“You know, this Dr. Satan character has taken it too far now. This isn’t funny anymore,” Allen pointed out. “This nut doesn’t even have respect for the law. You might want to think about getting yourself some protection, Stu.”
Generally, when they were on the clock, Stuart and Allen referred to each other by their official titles. But with none of the other officers in listening range, there was no real need for formalities.
Stuart tapped the holster on his hip that housed his weapon. “I’ve got all the protection I need.”
“I’m serious, Stu.”
“So am I,” Stuart assured him. “But the more I study this fool’s M.O., the more I believe this is just some snot-nosed kid that needs a good butt-whipping.”
“What is it about his method of operation that makes you think he’s a juvenile?”
“Are you kidding me? Look at this.” Stuart pointed at the penmanship that defaced his car. “This mess had to be written by some kid; you with me? It’s sloppy and immature, just like the signature on the letters has been.”
For as far back as his teen years, forty-two-year-old Stuart Aaron Lyons had owned what his friends referred to as a “you-with-me” habit that frequently found its way into his sentences. This was especially true when he became impassioned or excited about any topic of conversation.
Allen nodded as if he understood, and Stuart continued.
“Probably some flunky with nothing better to do, so he gets his kicks from writing anonymous letters and damaging property.”
“G
“I don’t know any personally, but what neighborhood doesn’t have its share of idiots?” Stuart replied. The emotions brewing inside of him continued.
“I suppose you could be right. It just seems like this guy—whoever he is—is going way out of his way to make you a target. Why would he single you out to badger with threatening letters? And now this? What’s the motive?”
Without an immediate answer to offer, Stuart quietly watched another official car whip into an available space at the end of his driveway. The door opened, and Irving Over street, Deputy Chief of the Criminal Investigation Division, stepped from the vehicle. Two of the other attending officers walked across the lawn to meet the chief, and Stuart could hear them talking in low volumes, filling him in on the sketchy details.
The mounting number of law enforcement vehicles and flashing lights had caught the attention of some of the neighbors, who now stood on their porches or watched the drama from their front lawns. The commotion had interrupted whatever they had been doing. Some were dressed for work; others still in their night clothes. Stuart studied every one of them, searching for any indication that they’d been involved. He saw nothing.
“Somebody around here had to have seen or heard something,” Overstreet said to the two officers. “Ask around and see what you can find out.”
“Yes, sir,” one of them said before both dispersed to neighboring yards.
Deputy Chief Overstreet flashed a sympathetic smile toward Stuart, and the men exchanged pleasantries before Irving removed his glasses and then his hat. He used his fingers to gather hairs that had strayed from his toupee, carefully pushed them back into the rest of the hairpiece, and then stepped closer to the car to get a better look at the markings.
Stuart shot a glance in Allen’s direction and saw the same hilarity in his comrade’s eyes that he knew showed in his own. He made a mental note to bring up the comical sighting at a later date, so they could laugh freely. Chief Overstreet was second in command only to the Chief of Police and it would not be a wise move on either man’s part to express amusement in his presence.
“You got yourself a live one here, Lieutenant,” Over street surmised, replacing his hat and spectacles. “They tell me this isn’t the first time you’ve heard from this fella. Is that true?”
Stuart wondered who’d divulged the little-known information, but didn’t ask. “Yes, it’s true. It’s been going on for about three months now. This is the first time he’s touched any of my property, though. I didn’t even know he knew where I lived. Every other contact I’ve had from him has been mail that I get at work every few days. I received a few hang-up calls at the precinct that were a little suspicious, too. But this is the first time the kid did anything like this.”
“Kid?” Irving Overstreet’s eyebrows rose. “You think you know who’s responsible for this?”
“Possibly. My gut feeling tells me that it’s a juvenile, and the more I think about it, the more certain I am. You know, I was the first officer on the scene at Columbia High School a couple of months ago when they had that big fight. We arrested a few guys that day, and they weren’t pleased about it. One of those boys was more outspoken and defiant than the others, and he did threaten that we hadn’t seen the last of him. I’m not saying he’s the one who’s doing this, but high school kids aren’t like they were a few years ago; you with me? These days, they don’t forget stuff easily, and if they have violent tendencies, like these guys did, they’re used to getting revenge.”
Deputy Chief Overstreet twisted his lips and appeared to be biting the inside of his mouth. Then he gave his head a slow, thoughtful nod. “You could be right. We’ll pull the kid’s record and have him checked out. You let us take care of it, Lyons. I know you’re a little ticked off about this, who wouldn’t be? But leave this to the people who are paid specifically to handle investigations, okay?”
“Will do, Chief.”
“Good deal. We’re going to have the car dusted for fingerprints, and I want you to be sure to turn in any letters that you’ve gotten too. We may be able to wrap this up pretty easily. Kids can be pretty naïve. Let’s hope that this one wasn’t smart enough to ensure that he didn’t leave behind any evidence. I’ll see you at the station, Lieutenant. You too, Sergeant.”
With a wave of his hand, Deputy Chief Overstreet turned, exchanged a few words with a newly arrived detective, and then strolled toward his car. A brief silence iced over them before Allen Bowden’s voice dissolved it.
“You wanna catch a ride in with me? I think it’s pretty clear that this baby won’t be going anywhere today,” he concluded, pointing at the crippled vehicle that was now being photographed by a detective.
Stuart turned to look toward his front door and then back at Allen. “Tyler has missed the bus, so we’ll have to drop him off at school first.”
“No problem.”
“I kinda want to wait until my yard is clear first though,” Stuart said, his eyes scanning the half dozen men still working the scene.
Allen followed him to his house, and they both sat on the steps that led to the porch. “So you really think one of the high school kids did this?”
Stuart looked out into his community. Most of the nosey neighbors had dispersed, having offered no help to the inquiring police officers. “Who knows? That’s just an early assumption, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”
A skeptical grunt escaped Allen’s throat, capturing Stuart’s full attention.
“What does that mean? You don’t agree?”
“Like you said, who knows?” Allen said. “I was just wondering; that’s all.”
“About what?”
“Well, you do live in Shelton Heights.” Allen raised one eyebrow like that was supposed to give more clarity to his statement.
Stuart shrugged his shoulders and looked even more clueless than before. “And?”
“Don’t play dumb, man. You know the mythology that’s attached to this neighborhood.”
Stuart folded his arms and then snickered and shook his head simultaneously. “I can’t even believe you shaped your mouth to say that.”
“I’m just saying.”
“And I’m just saying too,” Stuart debated. “What’s the root word of mythology? Myth, right? What’s a myth? A fable. A fairy tale. A lie, basically.”
“Strange stuff happens out here all the time, man,” Allen pointed out. “You can’t deny that.”
“I know you’re not going to bring up what happened to my pastor two years ago, or what happened to Pete Jericho last year with the whole Iraq incident. All of that stuff sounded bizarre at the time that it was happening, but in the end, there was a practical explanation for both.”
Allen nodded slowly. “That’s true for those two events, yes. But we don’t even have to think back that far to cite some unexplainable happenings out here.”
Stuart rolled his eyes to the heavens, knowing exactly what direction Allen was headed to validate his point.
“You know I’m telling the truth, Stu. What about last December when that bear broke down that old couple’s front door in the middle of the night and charged through their living room, tearing up everything in its path?”
“We see bears in these parts all the time, Allen.”
“Not in thirty-three-degree temperature, we don’t. Bears hibernate in the winter. They aren’t breaking into folks’ houses.”
“They do when a city is constantly demolishing all of its woodland to build dwelling places to house its overpopulation. The wildlife doesn’t have anywhere to hibernate anymore, so what they’re doing is fighting for what’s rightfully theirs.”
“Are we taking away the outer space too?” Allen mocked. “Just a few months ago, on New Year’s Day when that meteorite fell out of nowhere and killed that brother two or three streets over who was outside taking down his Christmas decorations—was that because our city is demolishing the outer space to build houses for our ever-growing population of Martians?”
