by Vicky Jones
"Ssssssorry, sir…but I got the first edition here to show you!"
Lewis's angry face broke out into a satisfied grin.
"Come here, Joe. Show me what you got!"
He chomped on his cigar as he scanned the headline and opening paragraph.
"Perfect."
That Wednesday morning, the day after the protest, it was all the town was talking about.
"Jeffrey, it's me. You seen the front page?" Larry Bruce lit a cigar and took a seat at his desk, phone in hand.
"Yes, Larry, I've seen it. Anybody hurt? Any damage?" Ellis replied.
"No harm done, but this could put pressure on our investors, Jeffrey. I mean, you know Tony Simms? He's lookin' to put money into us; he could pull the plug if we don't listen to the people of this town—"
"He stays, Larry. Cuban stays," Ellis interrupted.
"Well, it’s you who’s losing out, Jeffrey. We've been warned by the town about how they feel."
Bruce slammed the phone down. He took a few deep breaths and picked it up again, dialing that same familiar number.
"Earl, it's me…Even the goddamn protests didn't work! No, your guys were good…convincing, but Ellis isn't biting. He won’t let this guy go. We’ll have to think of another way."
Kyle's expensive Oxfords clumped on the floor down the long stone corridor. Bruce had told him five minutes earlier about his call to Earl Bullen and Kyle had come up with the perfect plan, but he couldn't execute it on his own–he needed help. He headed from his office to find Deputy Paul.
"I've got a job for you."
Chloe smiled at each worker she passed on her way up to her office after her morning meetings, receiving the usual array of "You look lovely today, Miss Bruce" compliments. Looking in through Kyle's office window, she stopped dead, seeing him hand Deputy Paul a bulging, brown paper bag. He slid the paper bag inside his jacket, nodded to Kyle and headed to the doorway. Chloe ducked behind the door as it opened and bent her body around the corner of the corridor, still keeping her suspicious eyes on Deputy Paul. He closed Kyle's door behind him and walked down the balcony steps.
Breathing quietly, she reached down to her feet and removed her heels, then tiptoed down the metal steps to follow him as he turned left, right and then entered the tiny broom cupboard Cuban used as his changing space.
After a few moments rummaging through Cuban's belongings, Deputy Paul pulled open his bent locker door and slipped the brown paper bag inside. Closing the door, he cackled in satisfaction that his mission had been accomplished.
"Finished?"
Deputy Paul spun around as if he had been electrocuted.
"Chloe. I mean…ma'am."
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Chloe made her way closer to Deputy Paul. He wiped sweat from his forehead.
"I got orders."
"Well, now I'm going to give you an order."
At lunchtime, Cuban, Elbie and Shona all took their usual positions in the canteen. They were used to sitting at the back now where nobody bothered them.
"You OK, Elbie?" Shona asked, taking a bite of her bread.
"Yeah." The old man sipped his water.
"You don't look it."
"I'm thinkin' o'retirin' early. I can't stay here, not with the way it's goin'. I hate to think of what it will be like in a month or two months–" His eyes were bereft of their usual twinkle.
"You can't leave us." Shona stopped chewing.
"I'd want you two to come too. I hate the way you both get treated. It's nothin' short o'barbaric."
"Well, I won't be far behind you, Elbie," Cuban added. "I’ve been speaking to a couple of guys from that little bar I go to sometimes. They’re on their way up to New York next week. They’re gon' just settle in first, find their way, then get me a job there!"
It had been a long time since Shona had heard Cuban talk this positively about anything.
"That's great, Cuban,” said Elbie. "You know, when I'm outta here, you two don't have to worry. I'm gon' send my diary to somebody real powerful and expose that Larry Bruce for the bastard he is!"
"You serious?" Shona said.
"Yup, been my plan all along."
"Oh, Elbie." Shona put her arm around the old man's shoulder.
"Anyway, what about you, Shona? You got any family anywhere?"
"Um…Well, you see, my life is a little…complicated. My mother died when I was fifteen. I say she died, but I know in my heart she was killed." Shona looked down at the table.
"Killed?" Elbie spluttered, almost choking on his mouthful of soup.
"Yeah. By my father. He's a drunk. One night, they were arguing over me. I went out of my room to see what was goin' on but my momma told me to go back in and not come out no matter what I heard. I hid under my covers. But then I heard a scream. I didn't know what to do, so I went to my door to see if I could hear anything…but it was all quiet. I opened the door, but my father caught me and said if I came out he would hurt my momma real bad so I stayed in my room until the next mornin'. By then, though, it was too late. Doctors said my momma tripped and fell down the stairs. That she died from her head wounds. But my father and I know that's not what happened! Nobody believed me, though."
She picked at a loose flap of Formica at the edge of the table.
"Shona, I…I'm so sorry. I know how painful it is to lose your loved ones." Cuban reached for her hand.
"What in the hell were they arguin' 'bout that was so bad?" Elbie asked.
Shona recoiled as the tip of her finger sliced open, leaving behind a smudge of blood.
"Goddamn it!" She put her finger to her lips and sucked the blood away.
"Where is your father now, Shona?" Elbie asked.
"Back in Louisiana, probably sitting at a bar getting drunk as we speak."
She ran the same finger again over the same sharp shard of Formica.
Chapter 42
"Some piece of shit has stolen my wallet! I can't believe it, man! Ten years I worked here, TEN, and I never had a damn thing go missin', till now! I bet it's that no good, dirty bastard over there! Shit, I'm gon' go ask him."
An irate Jerry marched over to where he knew Cuban was working that afternoon.
"Hey! Yeah, you!" he bellowed.
Cuban grabbed his rake and set about his work in the vain hope that Jerry wouldn't interrupt him.
"You got my wallet, you thievin' dirty bastard? Lemme come check your locker and I swear if I find it, I will put you in your grave m'self…I knew you was bad news. I knew it." Jerry's face was blood-red, his mouth speckled with spittle.
Just as Jerry launched himself at Cuban, Ron Black emerged from the back door of the tool room and grabbed Jerry, holding his arms firmly behind his back.
"What's goin' on here?"
Jerry wriggled himself free from Ron's grasp and pulled his wrinkled-up shirt back down over his beer belly. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and spat on the floor.
"Five guys today. FIVE! All of ’em said to me they’ve had their wallet taken from their locker. That ain't no coincidence! No one's seen this guy all day and now people's property goes missin'? Only one explanation for that in my book!"
Cuban stared back blankly. No one had seen him, this was true, but no one ever notices the black guy doing all the jobs they don't want to do.
"OK, I hear you, Jerry, but we have to deal with this in the right way. There's no reason for violence," Ron replied.
"Putting a bullet in the back of his head is the right way!" Jerry spat.
Cuban saw no point in arguing. The blood was already boiling inside Jerry and no amount of saying he didn't do it was going to cut any sway with him.
"See, he ain't denyin' it! Guilty as hell," Jerry raged.
Cuban remained tight-lipped, taking heart that it was Ron dealing with it rather than Kyle.
"Let's go,” said Ron. “We need to straighten out this situation. Cuban, walk in with me." He placed his body between Cuban, Jerry
and the five angry, wallet-less workers that followed. They headed into the canteen and up the balcony steps.
The men stood outside the offices muttering and pointing their fingers at Cuban as Ron disappeared into the meeting room. It seemed like hours before he came out, followed by someone who Cuban knew he wouldn't stand a chance of getting a fair trial with.
"Everybody, listen up!" Kyle Chambers leaned on the handrail of the balcony, looking at the gathering crowd below. "It appears we have a thief in our midst. Wallets have gone missing. There's only one way to deal with this. We'll conduct a search of each man's locker."
He smiled. It was all going according to plan.
The baying crowd parted as Chloe emerged through the channel of empty space between the bodies, her face motionless. When Kyle saw who was accompanying her, his smile evaporated. Deputy Paul looked up at him, a panicked look on his pudgy face.
"Deputy, would you do the honors, please? Get the keys and go search every man's locker!" Kyle called down. Deputy Paul looked back at him and ran his flat palm horizontally across his fat neck, fingers outstretched, pretending to scratch the back of his head as he finished the motion. Kyle's eyes twitched as he tried to read the signal Deputy Paul was trying to send.
Slowly, Chloe made her way up the balcony steps, running her hand delicately along the rail. Reaching the top, she stood with her arms folded, waiting for her moment.
"It goes without saying that whoever's locker we find them in will no longer continue to work here." Kyle stared at Cuban, who swallowed hard.
"They better not find my wallet in that colored's locker! I'll smash a rock in his head, I swear it," Jerry growled.
"Kyle, I need to have a word with you?" Chloe stared at the side of his face.
"Not now. I need to sort this out." Kyle dismissed her with a flick of his hand.
"I think you should make a few minutes to hear what I have to say."
She walked directly into Kyle's line of sight.
"I said, NOT NOW!" he seethed.
Chloe set her face to stone and walked calmly into his personal space. Almost nose-to-nose with him now, her stare drilled holes into his skull.
"Do you know where those wallets are?" Chloe's voice was barely above a whisper.
"Of course not," he snapped.
"Well, you know what? I do! Now, Mr. Big Shot, if you look over my shoulder at your friend Paul, you'll see he is very nervous. He's sweating like a pig on a spit down there. You wanna know why?" Her eyes blazed as she spoke. "Because he's carrying something very interesting in his pocket–a little brown paper bag containing six leather wallets!"
Chloe saw the color drain from Kyle's face as he looked over to see Deputy Paul open his jacket a fraction and reveal a crumpled, brown paper bag. The six accusers and Ron Black looked on in confusion, trying to overhear the hushed voices.
Chloe continued. "I've just had a very lovely chat with him and, after I reminded him who the real boss around here was, he told me the very interesting story you two had cooked up. Every…last…detail!"
Gritting his teeth, Kyle looked back at Chloe, who knew from his face that he was beaten. He glared at her for a moment, then looked back down to the assembled crowd.
"Everybody back to work!" Turning to the six men, he smiled.
"Guys, um, give me a few minutes. Paul, up here. NOW!"
Deputy Paul took a deep breath and walked the torturous twelve steps to the top of the balcony and into the meeting room as Kyle slammed the door violently behind them.
"Chloe, listen, please. I can explain—" Kyle began.
"Oh, I'm just itching to hear your excuse, Kyle! You do realize doing something like this could get Cuban killed? The men are looking for any excuse to hurt him!"
"I had to do somethin'. The men ain't happy him bein' here. Neither is this town! You saw the protests at the gates with your own eyes. I'm worried it'll seriously damage the business. The business you are inheriting!"
"Hold your damn horses, Kyle! Are you seriously suggesting you did it for me? I attend the meetings with the investors and last time I checked they were very happy with our progress. Only the other day I managed to convince Johnson to invest in us over every other competitor in the area! You expect me to buy that crap that you did it for me?" She stared at him wide-eyed and open-mouthed.
"Sweetheart, I swear! I'm not proud of what I did, but sometimes in business you gotta do what you gotta do! I was concerned at how you may get treated for taking the side of a colored. I thought I could help."
"Kyle, you only care about you! I only care about what is right and what you did is just wrong. Now, what am I gon' tell my father about these wallets? It would serve you right if he fires you BOTH on the spot!" She looked back and forth between Kyle and Deputy Paul, tilting her head to the side as she chastised them both.
Kyle's demeanor changed at the mention of the man he was trying so desperately to impress.
"We're gon' say that someone handed those wallets in just now. A delivery guy stole 'em, had a crisis of conscience or somethin' and dropped them back, no questions asked. As long as the guys get their wallets back, ain't no more questions gon' get asked, OK? And after all, Larry ain't gon' want to believe your version of events and get rid of me for the sake of keeping a colored out of the firing line. This story is best for everyone, OK?"
Kyle perched in front of her on the edge of the desk. Chloe thought for a moment. It really was her word against his, unless she had an ace up her sleeve. Backing up to the edge of the door, she bent her neck and called out to her father's secretary.
"Linda? How many delivery guys were here this morning?"
"I'll just check the log, ma'am–" Linda chirped back.
Chloe didn't take her eyes off Kyle the whole time they waited. Trying to work out what she was doing, he could almost hear the blood rushing through the veins in his head.
After an excruciating minute or two, she piped up. "It looks like none yet, ma'am, nothing due in until 4 o'clock."
Chloe looked at Kyle, her face like stone.
"And that's definite, Linda? No delivery guys have been in here at all today?"
She needed to be sure.
"Yes, ma'am, I checked twice," Linda confirmed.
Chloe's attention switched back to Kyle, who was sweating now that he’d realized what she’d clarified.
"So, here's what I want in return for not telling my father, and Jeffrey Ellis, what a liar you are. You leave Cuban alone, OK? No one in this place goes near him from now on. He does his job like everyone else here. And while we're on the subject, you call your mob off Shona and Elbie too! Just let 'em do what they're paid to do here, you got that?"
Kyle squeezed his teeth together. He knew he had no choice.
"Fine." Kyle faked a smile.
Chloe's face lightened. "Excellent…Now, remind me, what are you going to tell those guys out there? And Kyle, in the future, don't call me sweetheart!"
Chapter 43
"I just can't choose! The blue gown with the bow near the shoulder or the green evening dress with the mink stole wrap. What do you think, Chloe?"
Eleanor Bruce was at the dinner table trying to decide what she was going to wear at the business function they were all going to attend in town that Wednesday evening. Chloe was picking at her dinner, lost in her thoughts and not remotely interested in what her mother had just said.
"Blue dress," Chloe replied, not looking up from her food.
"Oh, but I think the green one is so much more elegant!"
"Then why ask me?" Chloe dropped her fork onto her china plate with a clatter.
"What has got into you lately?" Eleanor frowned.
"I'm going out," Chloe exhaled, getting up to leave the dinner table just as her father entered.
"Where are you goin', young lady?" Bruce demanded, his head snapping around to follow Chloe's movements.
"Out."
"What about the function?" Eleanor called out.
&n
bsp; "I'm sure people will make deals whether I'm there or not."
"That's looking pretty good." Cuban returned to the barn at the Birds' house that evening after helping Tom to fix one of the yard fences. He blew his cheeks out in admiration at the perfectly shaped armrests on the bench Shona was lovingly sanding down.
"Thanks." Shona swept her bangs out of her eyes and wiped sweat off her forehead. " I think I'm done here. I'm gon' go see what mood Storm is in." Shona dusted her hands off.
"Good luck with that. I heard her kicking against her damn door as I came in," Cuban replied.
"I'm sure I can handle her jus' fine, no need to worry 'bout that! Ain't no filly gettin' the better of me tonight!" Shona threw a cloth at Cuban, who caught it and laughed. She closed the barn door behind her so he wouldn't be disturbed by the last dying embers of sunlight streaming through as he rested his weary, aching body on his bunk.
The evening air was balmy, the sun starting to nestle down under the horizon. Shona loved this time of year when evenings became longer. It felt like work wasn't the sole focus of the day, like there were still a couple of hours of precious daylight to do something other than come home at night and go straight to sleep. She exhaled deeply, taking in the vast surroundings of the farm, its yellowy-green grasslands and peach trees, the black cows mooing softly and the white perimeter fence that kept all of it inside. It was this time of year that the wildflowers were at their most colorful, speckling the dull grass with flecks of bright oranges, reds and purples. For the first time in a long time, Shona felt a modicum of peace inside her.
As she stopped for a minute by the side of the barn to admire the view, a small red shape with dust clouds billowing up underneath it caught her eye in the distance.
