Little Tony broke from the circle and began to run as though a Rottweiler were chasing him.  As I looked over my shoulder to see what he was running from, I found myself being taken to the ground in a WWF-style wrestling move.  Three policemen had come out of nowhere, and they were placing all of us under arrest.  Two of the guys were forced against my car and searched.  Red Dog and Raheem were so high they didn't even know what was going on.  The cops had rolled up from behind the building.  I was startled, of course.  But I cannot say that I was afraid.  I knew my purpose there. 

They immediately separated us and began their interrogation.  After explaining who I was and why I was there, I was disappointed at the rudeness of the cop who questioned me.  His name was Detective Anthony Sloan.  He was known as a mild-mannered cop, but he hated the drug dealing in the inner city.  His assistant was Detective T.D. Miller, a hard-nosed cop from Newark, New Jersey, who had an attitude with me from the beginning.  When I finally got up from the ground, handcuffed, I noticed that the cop who had chased Tony came back empty-handed.  Next, the policeman began reading us our rights.  At this point, I was starting to become impatient—I had more ministry to tend to that evening. 

Then, just when I thought things couldn't get worse, they did.  The cops discovered individually wrapped packs of crack cocaine on the two men I did not know.  So they were not only charged with possession of an illegal drug, but also with the intent to sell. 

Red Dog and Raheem were so high and panicked that they could not answer any questions, and they became very uncooperative with the officers.  The policeman who had failed to capture Tony was visibly agitated and began to make a lot of negative comments. 

I asked the detective why I was being detained.  He said, "I don't know what you guys were passing to each other, but we saw something pass from your hand to theirs."

I looked up.  "Are you serious?"

"We photographed the transaction."

"I pray it's on video so that we can examine it and show you your inaccuracy," I said.  I assured him that when our hands met, we were preparing to pray in a circle.

Sergeant Miller laughed arrogantly.  "Do you expect me to believe that?"  Before placing me in his car, Miller looked at me and said, "It's over."

Before I knew it we were all headed for the Mecklenburg County Jail.  Once there, they carried me into a dark room, and we sat around a round table.  The room was freezing.  I complained, and they assured me I would not be there long.  "Not long" turned into eight hours.  They asked me the same question over and over:  What was my affiliation with Red Dog, Raheem, and the other two guys?

The other men, I later discovered, were Corey C and Michael H.  I thought I had convinced the policemen that I had never met Corey or Michael, but Detective Miller was not buying it.  Every time I told him that I was there as a minister of the Gospel, he made negative comments like, "Yeah, right!  Try it again.  I've heard that before."

Though I was uncomfortable at first, as the evening went on, I began to feel at peace with the situation.  Truth is, as I look back at it now, I really got a kick out of the whole experience.  It gave me the opportunity to testify to two detectives who could not comprehend the thought of a person wanting to help others, after midnight, in a place like Double Oaks.

Around eight o'clock that morning, Detective Miller stood up, slammed his hand on the table, and said, "All right Kee, while questioning Michael H and Corey C, we found out that you are not only the supplier; you have been running this drug operation for some time now."

I started to laugh in disbelief—and because I understood his strategy.  Even if he felt I was not guilty, the fact that I was there, on the Hill, meant I knew something.  So by accusing me, he felt I would talk.  The ensuing questions made it clear to me that they had been following and watching me for some time.