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appearing,
    Possible, yes it’s possible. Nothing is impossible, everything is possible….”
    Derrick and Vivian joined the others on their feet as the entire sanctuary praised God. Had she not been standing, she would not have noticed the commotion at the back of the church—somebody apparently being forcibly ushered out, from the looks of the security guard’s rigid back. Vivian hadn’t seen who it was, but was aware that because of their inner city location, the occasional unruly visitor was not uncommon—usually someone drunk or on drugs.
    Tai’s recent phone call immediately popped into her mind. Robin? No way, Vivian thought. After what had happened two years ago and the subsequent restraining order, there was no way Robin would try and enter the church—not in full view of a packed Sunday morning crowd. Any further thought on the matter was interrupted as the choir bumped their praise up a notch and a full-blown Holy Ghost party broke out amid the pews. Soon, Vivian was doing her own praise dance. She joined in with the choir: “Nothing is impossible, everything is possible with God!”
    Unfortunately, not everyone was smiling or in a party mood.
    “Let me go, you big-headed muthafucka, let me go!” Robin hissed as she pushed away from Greg, the church’s head of security and faithful KCCC member for the past five years. He’d successfully forced Robin several yards away from the church’s entrance.
    “Please leave the premises quietly, ma’am,” Greg calmly responded. He wanted to keep things as civil as possible because anybody with eyes could see this woman’s behavior was growing increasingly erratic. Even now he was thanking God that just last week he’d viewed her photo and police report while updating security files in the church office. Otherwise, he may never have given the average-looking woman entering the building a second glance.
    “Look, you ain’t God,” Robin continued, breathing heavily. “This is a free country. You can’t keep people out of church!”
    “I can’t, but the law can. The church has a restraining order against you, Ms. Cook.”
    “I told you my name ain’t Cook, my name is…it’s, uh, Jackson. J-A-K-S-U-N, muthafucka.” Robin ran the syllables of the word together rapidly, giving it a lyrical, almost poetic quality. She had no idea where that made-up name had come from, but it sounded as good as any. As angry as she was, it was a wonder any lie came to mind. The gun in her purse was almost burning a hole in it. She wanted to pull out her Cobra and smoke this human barricade, jam the barrel in his face and earn some respect.
    The self-assured man continued to eye her quietly.
    “What you lookin’ at?” she growled, reaching inside her purse and fingering the gun softly. “I said Jack—sun, muthafucka! Now move, so I can go praise—”
    “You’re not going anywhere,” Greg interrupted, snatching Robin’s purse. His senses had gone on high alert the minute he saw her reach inside the raggedy bag. “You wouldn’t happen to have anything dangerous in here, would you?” he asked. “Nothing to harm Pastor, Mrs. Montgomery, or anyone else, right?”
    Robin’s already bulging eyes grew bigger. “What are you talking about? Give me my purse!”
    Greg’s eyes narrowed. He squeezed the purse and felt the gun. While still watching Robin, he reached in and pulled it out. “Whoa, what have we here?” he said, asking the obvious. “You think God needs help defeating the devil or something? Were you bringing this gun to kill Satan, or blast the hell out of someone? Which is it?”
    Robin lunged at Greg but was no match for six-foot-two and two-hundred-fifty pounds of “you can’t have this.” He quickly handcuffed her to a nearby car, not for his safety, but her own. He then scanned the contents of her purse, confirmed it was indeed Robin Cook from her Florida driver’s license, and pulled out a bottle of pills from the bottom of her purse.
    “This