Therefore, they like doing favors for me, in particular, the lead counsel of President Carlo Rossi. Well, with the exception of the one arresting Matt. I’ve never seen this undercover before and I can tell that he doesn’t understand the magnitude of what he’s doing. His comrades tried to talk him out arresting Matt but the rebel undercover would hear none of it. His colleagues left him alone; they wanted nothing to do with the arrest. Plus, they’re all in competition with each other to be the next man recommended for the Secret Service. The rebel undercover is just one less competitor they have to worry about. They’re allowing him to dig his own grave. Smart men. Currently, three smart undercovers are gone, escorting Jon, Marlon and Demetrius to Police Station 83, Nat following behind them in his truck. The other four smart undercovers are taking pictures of the scene. The broken glass. The spilled water. The pink roses and yellow lilies scattered on the floor. This is a crime scene. The rebel undercover continues to read Matt his rights.
“Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
“Malcolm!” Rena yells. “I swear to God. Do something!”
“I will, baby. Relax,” I say as I grab my cell out of my pocket to call the chief of police.
“Malcolm,” Winnie says as she rubs Rena’s back. “Fix this. Now.”
“You have the right to an attorney.”
“I’ll be there by the time you get there,” Jacob says to Matt before he rushes out the door.
“If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”
“Malcolm!” Rena screams as she rushes over and shoves me in the chest. “Do something!” The police chief’s phone rings.
“I’ll handle it Rena,” I say to her.
“I can’t believe this,” Jasmine says as she puts a hand to her heart and sits on a couch. “What do I do now, Malcolm? I don’t know anything about prison.”
“He’s not in prison, Jasmine. Relax,” I tell her.
“Blair,” Police Chief Bryans, says as he answers his phone. Chief Bryan. The first black police chief in Boston’s history. He’s tough, fair, bi-partisan and a Harvard law grad who decided to enforce the law instead of defend it. At 6’4” his stature is intimidating, his scowl terrifies Boston kids and peers bow to him like he’s the Queen of England. He’s clean, not a spec on his record. He’s a family man, been married to his wife, Mahogany, for twenty-one years. A devout Catholic, he has four sons and one daughter with whom he eats dinner every night and attends Sunday Mass every week. This family man wasn’t thrilled with the fact that there was a group of men creating a scene the day my only daughter was born.
“Chief, we’ve got a problem.”
“Who is it?” he asks in his standard baritone voice.
“What’s your name?” I say to the undercover arresting Matt. He squints his eyes at me, gives me a ‘and who the fuck are you’ look and looks away.
“Do you understand the rights I’ve just read to you?” he asks Matt. “With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?”
“No. And yeah,” Matt says before clenching his jaw.
I’m not a very humble man, I have to admit that. I’ve had a slight sense of entitlement since the doctor announced ‘it’s another boy.’ It wasn’t because I was born a Blair. It was because I was born Malcolm. I love being a Blair, but honestly, being Malcolm is good enough for me. So when someone eyes me with a look of indifference, it makes me want to ask ‘do you know who I am?’ but that would be rude. That would be pretentious. But let’s face it, my public persona, Attorney Blair, is built on a dose of humility that I simply wasn’t born with.
Let’s look at the facts here: I was seventeen years old when I saw a redheaded sixteen-year-old, while sitting beside a brunette I was fucking, and decided that the redhead would one day be mine. The nerve of me. I told this redhead she would be standing beside me on The Hill, and at that moment, she didn’t even know who I was. I left her, waited twelve years and then came back for her. Oh, you’re married? No problem. Got a kid? Even better. I love kids. I’ll treat him like my own. Is he a redhead? No? No problem. I’ll give you one some day. Your husband? No worries, I’ll take care of him. But that’s Malcolm.
Malcolm would walk over to this stringy ass blond arresting Matt, look down at him and dare him to try me. But Attorney Blair has to behave with the eloquence attributed to his position within Boston society and the inner circle of the President of the United States.
“You’ve got a new kid working undercover?” I say to the Chief.
“Yeah, Detective Pauls. Why, he causing problems?”
“I think he may have forgotten who he’s here for.”
“What’s he doing?”
“Arresting the wrong man.”
“Have the other three been arrested?”
“Already down in the squad cars.”
“Who’s the guy he’s got in cuffs now?”
“A friend.”
“Alright. Either you or Jake meet me at the jail in an hour.”
“Jake’s already on his way.”
“I’ll see him there.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Oh, and Malcolm.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Pauls is a good kid. Been on the force for about a year. A little over eager but dependable. Secret Service hopeful; loyal to a tee. Just joined the Special Force Team so this is his first bust, just wanted him to get some practice. Get to know you and what you expect of him. Now that I’m thinking of it, I should have introduced you two before this. Mistake on my part. Anyway, I’ll probably go easy on him this time. Next time—if there is a next time—it’s a different story.”
“No problem. Thank you, sir.” I almost don’t want to tell Rena the news. Marlon will be booked. He’ll be saved, but he’ll be booked. I end the call and put my cell in my pocket.
“So?” Rena asks, her eyes wide, her hands shaking as she brushes her hair out of her face and then smooth over her red dress.
“Let’s go, buddy,” the rebel undercover says as he turns Matt around to lead him out of the hospital door. Rena’s face snaps from worry to rage.
“You better watch your fucking back!” Rena screams out as she charges after him.
“Rena!” Winnie yells, wrapping her arms around Rena to hold her back.
“Are you threatening me?” The Rebel asks.
I grab Rena from Winnie and pull her to me, wrapping my arms around her.
“Rena…” Matt says as he looks at her. He shakes his head no. “The kids.”
“I’ll take care of this, Rena,” I say to her. “I promise. I’ll take care of this.” And Rena shakes in my arms as she watches Matt leave the room.
DEMETRIUS
Goddamn. We walked right into their trap.
Over the weekend, I went back home to Charleston since we all decided that it would be best to lay low until Danielle had her baby. Just wanted a good time to start a war. Plus, I had yet to come up with nothing that validated Marlon’s claim that Jacob was sleeping with his wife. So, I went back home to Sammie and the kids, stayed there for a couple of days, checked in with my constituents, the mayor and a few state senators, and then flew Sammie and the kids up to DC this morning. I have to be back on The Hill by Monday, Congress is in session. Sammie and our kids are at our loft in Georgetown waiting for me to come back. I told Sammie that I was in Boston trying to work on a new bill and I needed the help of a few politicos here. She didn’t question it. I left. Damn, I wish I would have stayed there with my woman.
Marlon, Jon and I were escorted through the officer entrance of the jail. We were privately booked in one of their break rooms where we had our pictures taken and our fingerprints stamped. We were not, however, asked to surrender or remove our personal belongings. Our button-ups, slacks, Rolexes and wallets were fine. We were simply escorted by Officer Wise directly into the police chief’s office, an office as big as a moderately priced condo. Boston keeps their officials com
fortable. Sitting here now, I’m assuming that Boston’s chief of police is black, judging from the pictures he has around his office. He’s in all of them, posing with various heavy-hitters in the New England scene. As the three of us sit on couches surrounding a coffee table—quiet, livid, inwardly blaming each other for what happened—we hear the clicking of the wall clock’s second hand. I now have a chance to really look at the pictures along the walls and wood tables.
The chief and the former ambassador to the UK, Malcolm’s father.
The chief and another former ambassador to the UK, Malcolm’s grandfather.
The chief and the Mayor of Cambridge, Jacob’s father.
The chief and a United States senator, Cadence Blair, Malcolm’s older brother.
The chief and the Mayor of Boston, the father of Adam, Jacob’s brother-in-law.
The chief and the provost at Harvard University, Elise Rouge, Malcolm’s mother-in-law.
The chief and a Massachusetts state representative, Adam, Jacob’s brother-in-law.
The chief and the President of the United States, Carlo Rossi, Malcolm’s client.
The Chief and a four star general in the United States Army, Landon Yates, Jacob’s father-in-law.
The Chief and the head attorney of New England’s largest black owned law firm, Jackson Rouge, Malcolm’s father-in-law.
Do you see where I’m going with this?
“I just would like to say,” Marlon says, breaking the long silence, “that I take part of the blame for-”
“Marlon, shut the hell up,” I say to him. First, there could be audio cameras in here. Second, I’m about to lose my job. A senator gets arrested for disorderly contact in the newborn wing of a hospital as he assaults the President of the United States’ son-in-law? Are you fucking kidding me? I run my hand over my face. I don’t know what the hell I walked my ass into.
“Gentlemen,” the baritone voice breaks into the room and Marlon, Jon and I turn to see the chief of police walking in. He’s a big black guy, tall, ripped, most likely in his fifties. He singlehandedly runs the police force of one of the nation’s largest cities. If I wasn’t so pissed right now, I’d ask for his autograph. We all begin to stand to greet the chief. We make it halfway up. “Sit.” Asses in midair, we slide back down. “My daughter has a play at her school tonight and I need to help her read her lines.” He walks and sits behind a massive oak desk, places a pair of black readers on and instantly begins punching something into his office computer. Most likely trying to locate our arrest records.
“Alright. So we’ve got you three for disorderly contact, assault and battery of a government official, assault and battery of private citizens…hmm, you three were on a roll…and endangerment of twenty-one minor children.” He takes his glasses off, sets them on the desk and then looks at us. A series of paternal stares shoot from him as he glances at the three of us. “Brothas. What the hell is your problem?” And I do believe, as the chief addresses us on a personal level that denotes our shared lineage and history, Jon, Marlon and my rage turn into relief and regret. “Kyles, you own the largest real estate firm in the city. St. James, you run the largest tech firm in the state. And Westlake, you’re a damn senator. So again, I ask: What the hell are you doing in here?”
And, like three kids who got caught fighting in the schoolyard and are currently sitting in the principal’s office, we say nothing.
The clock ticks on the wall.
“Long story, Chief,” Marlon finally says.
“I’m listening.”
“With all due respect, I’m not sure if you’re bi-partisan enough to hear this story.”
“I’m no Uncle Tom, Kyles. Spit it out.”
I like this Chief.
“Confidential?”
“Of course.”
“One of the Blairs is having an affair with my wife.”
“Jacob?”
Damn.
“I’d rather not say.”
“Listen, I think we all know that Jacob’s the rascal of the Blairs. And, just so you know, he was the one who pressed charges against the three of you. And he was the one who asked for protection. So are we talking about Jacob?”
He needed protection! Are you fucking kidding me!
“Yes, sir.”
“Hmm. St. James, why are you here?”
“Protecting myself,” Jon says. “Jacob charged at me. I hit him first. Nothing but self-defense, sir.”
“Why did he charge at you?”
“No idea, sir.”
“Does the night of January 13th ring a bell?” The chief leans back in his chair and looks at Jon. Marlon and I, confused, turn to stare at Jon as well.
“I, um, I’m not sure-”
“Son, knock it off.” The chief takes a deep breath. “Jacob and his wife, Gwyneth were in their home when someone came and knocked on their door. They went to answer and saw someone standing there. There was a verbal and physical altercation and then the police were called…by you.”
Wait, a minute…what happened?
“You reported Jacob, Malcolm and Gwyneth to the cops but the audio tape reveals there was a fourth person. Who was it?”
“No idea,” Jon says without hesitation.
“No?”
Jon pauses.
“No, sir,” he eventually says.
“Funny, you had just ridden the elevator with the fourth person before you got off at your floor. You waited about five minutes and then took the steps to Jacob’s floor. I’ve been shown the security cameras from your condo building. You were seen looking out of the door’s stairwell, right towards Jacob’s front door. That’s when you called the police. So again, I ask you, who was the fourth person?”
Jon locks eyes with the chief. He says nothing.
“I admire your loyalty, Jon.” The chief looks at Marlon. “It was your wife, Kyle s .” You know, I’ve always heard of a face ‘crumbling’ and I never knew what that meant. Cookies crumble, faces don’t…that is until today. The life drains out of Marlon’s face as he stares at the chief. “Marlon, I have records that show your wife making an obsessive amount of phone calls to Jacob Blair leading up to that incident.” He points at Jon. “I have security videos of her knocking on Blair’s front door, after the obsessive amount of phone calls and text messages. I have him asking her to leave. I have her refusing to do so. I have her being attacked by Gwyneth Blair. I see her face was scratched and lip busted in the altercation.” Marlon’s breathing shudders at that last statement, his eyes haven’t even blinked yet. “I’m not here to embarrass you, son, I needed to know this information in order to okay the requests to have agents at the hospital today. I just don’t send them off willy-nilly. I saw the evidence pertaining to your wife, and the evidence pertaining to Jon along with the camera footage from a bar where your wife showed up after the incident at Jacob’s home. I saw the fight that ensued between Jon and Malcolm at this bar. I have the audio that verifies your wife talking to Dena March, lying about the night’s event. Drastically changing them from what the cameras revealed. Ruining her credibility. Making me question her motives. In light of all that I felt Malcolm and Jacob requesting security today was justified. And you all have proven me right.” He shakes his head at us. “Shame. When I heard there were three brothas involved, I was almost sad to hear it.”
Okay, so let’s summarize here: Marlon called me up to Boston and got me in some shit that his wife and Jon started? And now I’m about to be kicked out of the senate because of it? I run my hands over my face. I hear Marlon’s breathing pick up beside me. Jon is sitting like a statue. He never told Marlon that it was Jasmine who was instigating contact with Jacob. Obsessed. That’s what the chief called her.
“Chief.” We all turn to the sound of a man’s voice. There in the doorway, appearing more meek and remorseful than he has ever appeared in his life, is Jacob Blair. Shoulders hunched, a lopsided shirt, collar halfway up, halfway down. Disheveled. He’s full of shit. “I was told to come to
your office, sir.”
“Yes, about…”
“Matthew Beauvais. But I can come at a later time, sir. I don’t want to interrupt you.”
“No. Come have a seat, please.” Jacob follows orders and walks into the office, his eyes scanning Marlon, Jon and me. He’s got equal beef with all three of us. He takes a seat in a leather chair near the couches that the three of us are seated on. He winks at us . “Jacob.”
“Yes, sir.” He snaps back into somberness.
“We’re not acting shy here, okay? I’ve told Marlon that his wife is harassing you. I’ve also told Jon that we know he’s the one who called the cops on you and your wife. So I’m not going to pussyfoot around this conversation with you. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now, Jacob, you’ve been suspected of having an affair with another man’s wife. Is that what you told me yesterday?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you had an affair with Jasmine Kyles?”
“No, sir.”
“He’s lying,” Marlon says. He eyes are boring holes into Jacob. Jacob’s looking directly at the chief. “There’s no way Jasmine would get obsessive over a man if she didn’t have the need to.”
“Jacob?” The chief said.
“I’m not having an affair with Jasmine,” Jacob says to the Chief. “Jasmine confirms that during several conversations to Dena March. I believe you have the audio.”
“Mrs. Kyles has no credibility, Jacob. She also told Mrs. March that she knew nothing about the police being called on your and your wife. And we all know now that she was the very reason why they were called in the first place.”
“Chief, I’m not having an affair with Jasmine.”
“But you were with her last night, right?” Marlon says as he begins inching onto the edge of the couch. “Right? You were with my wife last night.”
War. Page 14
