Family Ties Mystery Series Box Set

by James Kipling

  -6-

  Late that same afternoon, Jimmy Nolan rode through the city on his bike. Occasionally, he stopped to talk to friends or to snap a few photos. Without money or a real job, Jimmy’s only way to fulfil his dream was through determination. Despite his grandmother’s scolding, he knew she was in his corner.

  The billboard said, New York Fashion Week. Jimmy closed his eyes and saw himself standing next to the runway, view finder to his eye.

  “Hey, Jimmy.” The voice shattered the daydream.

  “Hi, Rob,” Jimmy said. “What’s up?

  “Same old, same old,” Rob said.

  The two exchanged a bro-hug and found a bench.

  “I haven’t seen you in a while, man,” Rob said with a smile. “What have you been doing lately?”

  “Still trying to find a way to carry my camera into the fashion world,” Jimmy said.

  “I admire your determination,” Rob said, shaking his head. “Had to give up on playing for the Yankees. Finished up in college, went to my try-out and blew out my shoulder.”

  “That sucks, man.”

  “All good. Not many guys make it. Better to figure it out early. Gave me a chance to reassess.”

  “What are you doing now?”

  “Just opened a small shop near the Marcy Projects.”

  “Rough neighborhood.”

  “True, but I think there’s a chance it’ll turn around. When it does, I am in prime position.” “You have a partner?” Jimmy asked.

  “Yes, in business and in my personal life,” Rob said. A smile broke across his broad face. “I’m thinking of marrying Jenny.”

  “Jenny Krather?” Jimmy asked.

  “Yep, high school prom date, Jenny Krather. I still remember that blue dress. We’ve been living together for almost a year now.” He paused. “Wonder if she still has that dress … maybe we could … you know, recreate the magic of prom night.”

  “Perv,” Jimmy said.

  They both laughed.

  “Seriously, man. I’m happy to hear it.”

  “Enough about me,” Rob said. “Tell me about your new projects?”

  “I’m thinking about finding a way to weasel my way into New York Fashion Week,” Jimmy said excitedly. “I want to flash my photos around. Maybe someone will take notice.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Rob said.

  They said goodbye after a few more minutes. The meeting with Rob stirred a lot of memories. Jimmy remembered the Jessie Owens playground, world famous for pick-up hoops games, where he had spent most of his summer evenings when he was younger.

  During his college years, Jimmy had been part of a group of young boys who’d all been in love with sports. They’d show up at the park every day to run, train, and compete against each other. He missed those happy moments, the sweat, the battles, the camaraderie.

  Now, the park was filled with other kids, doing their own things and chasing their own dreams. Jimmy turned his bike left and entered the park.

  ***

  If Tango hadn’t shouted, Jimmy would have missed him.

  “Hey … hey … Jimmy … Jimmy Nolan, that you?”

  They’d known each other in high school.

  They hugged. “Damn,” Jimmy said, “You’re getting old.”

  “At least I ain’t losing my hair,” Tango said.

  Jimmy rubbed his head. “Bad genetics – you know?”

  “All good, brother,” Tango said. “What you doin’ now?”

  “Same as always. I’m chasing the photography dream,” Jimmy said honestly. He noticed a short, ebony beauty standing off to the side. “Looks like you’re doing okay.”

  “This is my new lady … ah ...”

  “Tamika – my name is Tamika,” the girl said. She did not seem to mind.

  Jimmy also saw the entourage. Most of the guys were big – and strapped. You didn’t grow up in Bed Stuy without learning how to tell if a guy was packing. Tango was wearing enough gold to buy an island in the Pacific.

  “Business must be good,” Jimmy said. Tango had always left Jimmy alone – never pushed him to get involved in anything illegal. They’d always gotten along.

  “I made a few wise business maneuvers,” Tango said.

  “Yeah, I see. Your business must be very successful,” Jimmy said. They’d been friends in high school, despite their differences.

  “You have your dreams, I have mine,” Jimmy said when they had all stopped laughing. “There’s a big fashion and photography convention coming up, and I hope to be part of it. Can you imagine, if someone actually liked my photos and asked me to work for them?”

  “That would be great,” Tango said. “Tell you something else.” He drew close to Jimmy and whispered. “Working on something big. If it works, I’m out.”

  “Do what you do, Tango,” Jimmy said. “Just don’t get busted …”

  Together they said the second phrase of their personal tag line, “… and don’t get dead.”

  Tango put his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “You need something to do ‘til you hit it big.”

  Jimmy put his hands up in mock horror. “I’m good,” he said. Then, “But, thanks. I mean it. You’ve always looked out for me.”

  “Everybody needs a white nerd for a friend.”

  They laughed again.

  Jimmy stayed for a while longer and then continued his ride through the streets of New York. His encounter with Tango had reminded him of the past, and of his passion for becoming an artist. While he didn’t approve of the route, he was glad to see his old friend was doing well.

  “Different strokes for different folks,” he said.

  ***

  Clyde Davis was ambitious, career-minded, and on the rise. Although he’d grown up in the Marcy Projects and done his share of misdeeds in his young, he was, by every account, a straight arrow. He liked the book – he did things by the book.

  Paul Show patted him on the shoulder. “Morning, Clyde. Not like you to miss breakfast. You must be busy.”

  “Just running a little low on go-go juice,” Clyde said. “The Walker case kicked my butt.”

  “Heard you went to see the widow – rough business.”

  “Always,” Clyde said.

  Paul headed for the door. “We still on for the game tonight?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Good. Ticket’s on my desk. Yankees gonna kill the Sawx,” he said mocking every Bostonian’s accent.

  Clyde laughed. “Can’t believe you left it out. This place is full of crooks.”

  “If it’s gone, I’ll probably figure out who took it when he shows up in the seat next to me.”

  “You are a master detective,” Clyde said.

  “See you tonight,” Paul said, waving without turning around.

  Tim Peterson wandered over. “Got a second?”

  “Shoot.”

  Tim put a map on Clyde’s desk. “You hear about the ATM robberies?”

  “A little – someone got about twenty, right?”

  “Eighteen to be exact. Take a look at the map.”

  Clyde put down his coffee and studied the map. “You see what I see – they’re all near Bed Stuy.”

  “Yep, I need a favor.”

  “You want me to reach out in the old hood and see if I can find out anything.”

  Tim nodded. “And everyone says Paul is a better detective than you.”

  “Okay, give me a few hours and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks, Clyde.” Tim shook his hand and Clyde headed towards his own desk.

  Lieutenant Markovic stuck his head out of his doorway. “Davis, my office.”

  Clyde walked across the squad room to the sounds of “ooooooo” and “Principal’s Office.” Once inside, Markovic pointed to a chair.

  “Park it.”

  “Need you on a security detail, Detective,” the lieutenant said.

  “That’s pretty small tim
e, Lu. You sure?”

  “If I didn’t need you, I wouldn’t ask you. Actually, I’m not asking.”

  “Didn’t think so.”

  “I need someone who knows how to blend it – you’re about as ordinary as it gets.” He smiled, but his eyes never left Davis.

  “Yes, sir,” Clyde said. “Tim just asked for help on the ATM heist.”

  “You can probably rub your head and pat your tummy at the same time, Detective. I’m sure you can juggle this assignment while you help your colleague with a favor.”

  “Yes, sir,” Clyde said grateful he didn’t have to don his uniform. “Details?”

  As the lieutenant droned along, Clyde began what life might look like if he were his own boss.

  -7-

  Clyde didn’t know anything about Hassan Radha.

  “The United Nations will be a hotspot in the next few days,” the lieutenant said. “We already have two full details on the case, but I really need someone like you there, too.”

  “Okay, tell me more,” Clyde said.

  “Hassan Radha is a big fish in the diplomatic world,” Markovic said. “He’s been advocating peace for years now, and he’ll be speaking at the Peace Summit this week. He’s pitching a solution between India and Pakistan.”

  “Big job, Clyde said. “One Hindu country that persecutes Muslims – one Muslim country that persecutes Hindus. Ugly.”

  “I’m impressed, Davis. Most of your colleagues couldn’t spell Pakistan, much less locate it on a map.”

  Clyde did not respond. Running down fellow officers was not his idea of fun. There was a reason the guys did not like Markovic.

  The assignment did not thrill Clyde. It was like Ohio State playing the local junior high in football. If everything went well – it was the way it was supposed to be. If something went sideways, people lost jobs.

  “You lend support and keep your eyes open. You’re a rover…everywhere at once. Make sense?”

  It didn’t, but Clyde said, “Yes, sir.”

  “Call me with any problems, Detective. You have my complete confidence.”

  Unless I screw up, Clyde thought. Then Markovic will say, “Clyde who?”

  After his meeting with the boss, Clyde hit the phone. No one knew anything about the ATM caper.

  Tyrone, a friend from “back in the day,” said, “You want to stay away from this m’man. I haven’t heard much, but what little I have says this involves some very bad dudes.”

  Clyde made his report, as scant as it was. Tim appreciated the help. “We’re checking security footage from every camera in every location. Someone had to be scoping out the machines before the boost. We’ll get something.”

  “I’ll help as much as I can,” Clyde said. “But, right now, I have to get over to the UN.”

  “Mister Big Time.”

  Clyde kissed his fingers, then slapped his butt.

  Tim was still laughing when Clyde got to the stairs.

  ***

  The Waldorf Astoria was elegant … opulent … expensive … and boring.

  Katrina was beginning to figure out why her father has so readily taken her shopping the day before – so that it was off the check list. It was now 2:00 PM the next day and she had not left the suite. They’d even had breakfast and lunch delivered.

  “Can’t be too careful, Kitten,” her father had said. When she’d mentioned the Fashion Week, he’d acted like he didn’t hear.

  “Father,” she said. “Can we talk a minute.”

  He was in the middle of a sentence. “…nothing that will compromise us. We’ve worked too hard.” He turned. “What is it, Kitten? I don’t have any time.”

  “Only a quick question.”

  Hassan rolled his eyes, but he always indulged his daughter. They walked into an anteroom.

  “Yes, love,” he said.

  “I’m b…”

  “And do not tell me you are bored. Part of the deal was your promise never to say that word – not the entire trip.”

  “I would like to go shopping again, Father.”

  “Absolutely not,” he said. “I have an important address to make and I cannot be worrying about you.”

  Katrina understood what was happening – the culmination of her father’s life’s work.

  “I will be praying for you, Father,” she said.

  “Thank you, child,” he said. “And thank you for understanding. You are a blessing every father should have. Find something to keep you occupied while I am gone.”

  “Yes, sir, but you have to promise me that at some point we will go out, and I will be able to see something more.”

  Hassan smiled indulgently at her words and kissed her again. “Tell me, what do you want?”

  “I came with you to attend Fashion Week,” Katrina said.

  Hassan looked at his beautiful daughter and thought of all the happiness she had brought into his life. Before Katrina had been born, Hassan had almost given up hope of ever becoming a father. The beautiful, small baby they had put into his arms nineteen years before this moment had changed his view of life. With the coming of Katrina, he had put aside his rampant quest for power and started a holy quest for a better world.

  “Katrina,” he said softly, “I can’t arrange security for you to go out alone. Everybody in here is trying to keep us both safe. You have to see that there are more important things than a fashion show.”

  “But you promised that I would attend the show,” Katrina said. “When I asked you to come, I told you all about it.”

  “I know, Katrina.” Hassan was frustrated – and he sounded like it. “Believe it or not, there are a few things that are more critical than fancy clothes that no one ever really wears.”

  Katrina stormed out of the room, slammed her bedroom door, and locked it. Ever the diplomat, Hassan tapped on the door and spoke quietly. “I am sorry,” he said. “That was uncalled for. I promise you will have more opportunities – times where there will not be as much danger.”

  He shook his head again and walked back to the living room, where his men were waiting for him.

  “So, where were we?” he asked his assistant as he sat on the sofa. “Let’s review the security measures again.”

  An hour later, they finished.

  “What about your daughter?” his chief of security asked.

  “I suppose she will be staying in here,” Hassan said sadly. “She wants to go out to some fashion show. I said no, and now she is angry at me.”

  “We could spare…”

  Hassan cut him off with a wave of the hand. “No, she will have other opportunities to go to fashion shows. Now, we need everyone we have to protect the meeting. I cannot afford to be threatened right now.”

  “Yes, sir,” the other men said with respect, and they returned to their work.

  Hassan gathered his notes and began to rehearse his introduction – again.

  -8-

  When Hassan returned to the suite, he tried to talk to Katrina, but she would not answer his calls through the door. She showed up for dinner, watched some television, stood at midnight, and went to her room – in total silence.

  The updates from the fashion convention began dinging on her tablet early the next morning. Katrina read each one thoroughly. The links announced who would be attending and the names of the presenters. Katrina recognized all the names of the models – everyone would be there.

  A small note in one email read: “If fashion is your life, there is no better place for you than New York today!”

  “Good morning, Katrina. You’re up already?” Hassan startled her, and Katrina quickly closed the iPad.

  “Good morning, Father,” she said – still with a little ice.

  “I’m happy to see you calmer than yesterday.”

  “Well, I have to manage somehow.” They both smiled thinly. “I watched your speech on CCTV last night. You were very good.”

  “Thank you, Kitten
,” he said. “We will see what happens.”

  Katrina furrowed her brow. “You have already made progress. At least they listened to you.”

  “You are wise beyond your years,” he said. “Yes, it is a good thing that someone listened.”

  “What are you going to do today?” Katrina asked matter-of-factly as she walked behind her father into the dining room area, where their breakfast was already being served.

  Hassan sat down in one of the chairs with a soft sigh while rubbing the back of his neck, causing Katrina to frown.

  “You okay?”

  “Yes, I just didn’t sleep well, that is all. Yesterday’s psychological pressure was crushing. Big adrenaline rush … massive sense of responsibility. I’m just crashing a little.”

  Katrina smiled. “I don’t think I have ever heard Superman admit to having a weakness before,” she said. “Careful, someone will think you are human.”

  She stood behind him and began to rub his neck. “Let me help, Father.”

  “You’ve always been able to make me relax,” he said.

  He let his head slump forward as Katrina poked and prodded the tissue in his neck.

  “You have knots back here the size of walnuts,” she said.

  He laughed a hollow laugh. “The price of fame and world peace.”

  “Be quiet and relax,” she said.

  A few minutes later, Hassan said, “I know that you want to go to that convention. I hope you know why I am not letting you go. Do you trust me, Katrina?”

  “I do trust you, Father…”

  “Good,” he said. “I promise to take you to some fashion shows once the summit is over?”

  “Father, I’m sorry, I…”

  “I know, just give me some more time.”

  For the first time that morning, Katrina turned her dark eyes directly on her father, and the mixture of love, hope, raw pain, and sadness she saw in them floored her. What had happened to her strong and confident father to haunt him so much?

  “What do you want me to do?” she asked, the fight in her voice replaced by concern.

  “Honestly,” Hassan said. “Stay safe and happy.”

  “Don’t worry, Father,” she said. “I will be safe.”

  The next hour went by in a rush. Hassan’s speech had opened the conference the night before, but the real work started today. Radha went over his notes – fact, figures, statistics. He reviewed a list of allies and a list of opponents. He mulled over ways to move probable negative votes to the positive side.