Velvet Mafia

by Lydia L Watts

  Kennedy awoke, only to be reminded that her nightmare was genuine. She had no idea where she was or why she had been abducted. And between the loud noises, the high beam lights that stayed on 24/7 and Lance’s outrage toward her, she was completely losing what little composure she had left. She was reaching the point of no return.

  So far, the only thing she knew about her captors was that they wore ornate, magnificent garments. Kennedy could tell their robes were made from the finest velvet cloth, a deep royal purple and they were stitched with gold piping. The thickness of the robes could be seen even from a distance. The garments were so dense, rich and heavy that with every step her captors took, the robes would make a rhythmic sound although they barely touched the ground. With each and every stride taken by their hidden occupants, the garments moved like the ocean under the protection of the moon. Beautiful and intoxicating!

  Some, not all, of the robes had an emblem emblazoned on their sleeves. Other robes just maintained the gold piping. But one robe had it all — not only the emblem and piping, but also an elaborately em-broidered eye positioned in the center of the garment. At the top of the eye was the word ORBIS and directly under the eye was the word UNUM. The design encompassed the entire width and length of the back of the robe. And when the wearer held his arms out, the eye attempted to capture your soul. The robe’s stitching was extremely ornate as if to advertise that the wearer of this garment was in fact the cult’s leader, the Supreme Being, the potentate. Both sleeves had the initials VM embroidered on them and each set of initials hung directly on the mass of the arm’s shoulder muscle.

  Kennedy didn’t know what the words or the initials meant, but she was sure it wouldn’t be long before she did. She just questioned whether she could hold on long enough to find out. Suicide seemed refreshing; however, she had been taught that if she killed herself, she wouldn’t go to heaven. She knew her life didn’t belong to her — it belonged to God. With suicide out of the question, the only option available was to pray and wait on the Lord. He knew she was in a dark hole and eventually, He would come and get her. She just had to keep praying.

  Lord, I don’t know why you have me here in this dark and lonely place, but I am asking you to set me free. Please, hear my plea, Father. I come to you like a small child, lost, alone and scared. Father, show me kindness and comfort. Remove the shackles that hold me prisoner; set me free from my captivity.

  Falling asleep on the floor had become routine for Kennedy. But, this time, when she started to come out of her sleep, she felt different; she felt warm, as if her cold shallow chamber had disappeared and she was no longer part of a nightmare but was instead, at home in her own bed. As she rolled over to embrace her new sense of awareness, she slowly opened her eyes, expecting to validate her conclusion.

  Instead, she saw the man in the ornate robe standing over her. For the first time, they were directly facing each other. His face was covered with a half-mask and she could see that underneath his robe, his upper body was naked. His physique was strong and powerful, capable of breaking her frail body in pieces. As he stood there staring at her, her instincts instructed her to run but she could barely move. For some ungodly reason, her body failed to respond to her command. It was as if somehow her oxygen was being stolen. Something had paralyzed her. She just didn’t know if it was fear or something more sinister that held her immobile.

  Then the man in the ornate robe stepped away from straddling her and two men came over to where she lay motionless on the floor and picked her up. One on each side, they carried her as if she were a lamb being hauled off to slaughter. Her head felt as if it were inches from the ground and her eyes canvassed the ceiling. This is it. The moment has finally come. She knew she was about to die at the hands of these men draped in costumes — men brazen enough to hunt her down, but too cowardly to show their faces as they took her life.

  The two men, following the silent instructions of their leader, placed Kennedy in a chair. In order to keep her inert body from tumbling over, they strapped her head into a brace and fastened it so she directly faced them. It was clear that what they were about to do to her, they had done before. The realization that her abductors were serial killers almost caused her to pass out.

  Once she had been secured to the chair, the man with the opulent robe came and stood over her again. Even as she was gasping for air, she could feel the rawness of his breath lace her cheek. He was so close that his eyelashes touched her skin. She could tell he clearly enjoyed this ritual of intimidation as he watched her struggle for air. He seemed to thrive off the fear he could see emanating from the teardrops cascading down her cheeks and with every gesture, she was losing more air. The more he taunted her, the more labored her breathing became. It was apparently to be death by suffocation and it would come slowly.

  Just his mere presence made Kennedy relive her childhood fears, including her father taking late-night “special liberties,” a memory until now repressed. What made everything worse was that while this giant of a man stood over her enticing the emotion of terror, she could again hear Lance in the background, drunk, fighting with the demons introduced to him by the volume of liquor he had consumed. Kennedy knew it wouldn’t be long before Lance added to her anguish, so she surrendered to the inevitable and waited calmly for the door of death to answer her knock so she could finally walk in. She was going home soon. It would only be a matter of time before the torment would be over.

  And then he did it. The masked man plunged a syringe into her neck. In her state of acceptance, she saw death personified and tried to smile in anticipation.

  But instead of death, a flood of air was being pumped into her lungs. And rather than leaving the world by the hand of evil, her captor was giving her life.

  As Kennedy struggled to adjust to the wave of air suddenly permeating her lungs, the man with the mask began to whisper something in her ear. With each word spoken, she began to regain control of her body and without thinking, she turned her head and bit his ear. Visibly taken by surprise, he unmounted her and wiped off the blood that ran seamlessly down the side of his neck.

  Next he motioned to the others in the room. Before she knew it, Kennedy was watching a video. On the video was the man with the ornate robe straddling a woman on a gurney looking back at Kennedy through the camera. Then, much to her surprise, the man in the video said, “Tell Agent Alexander that her last words were, ‘I love you, Teddy.’” He then turned to the woman and slit her throat. Her blood released and poured to the ground.

  It only took Kennedy seconds to realize her captors were referring to her lover and she knew instantly that the dead woman had to be Isabella. Then her captors began to leave the room. Before they did, the man in the ornate robe laughed and turned to her and said, “Sleep well, Kennedy.” He then closed the door behind him, leaving her bound to the chair, unable to move and forced to watch the video over and over again until she eventually lost consciousness.

  Blake Jones was sitting across from the John A. Wilson Building. He had just finished a meeting with DC’s congressional representative and was awaiting the conclusion of Edelstein’s meeting with Taylor DuBois, Guy Yeager’s top lieutenant. Blake believed that having Edelstein attend the city’s health department contracts meeting would put pressure on Taylor and if Taylor felt pressure, it wouldn’t be long before Guy felt it too.

  Blake knew Taylor wasn’t a key lieutenant in Yeager’s administration simply because she loved gay men as was often rumored. No, she was in his administration because she was smart, resourceful, shrewd, cunning and very ruthless. She was the type of company Yeager liked to keep and she was loyal to a fault. Taylor had become an expert at covering her assets and was often heard saying that if you did anything in DC government, eventually someone would ask you the two most important questions of your life: “When did you know and what did you do?” So, if Blake’s hunch was correct, once Taylor saw Edelstein in attendance, she would inform Yeager the first chance she got.

 
; For years, Blake had been a thorn in Guy Yeager’s side and everyone knew there was no love lost between them. Many in the gay community believed their contentious relationship was based on the fact that Jones was a homophobe and would do anything to prevent leadership in DC from shifting from being primarily Black to primarily gay. In fact, their public feud often spilled over to the gay rag.

  The Edge, as it was commonly referred, was an expert at twisting the truth. Its success was based on how salacious its writers could make a story, whether it was true or not. Typically, verifying sources fell below The Edge’s line of journalistic integrity. If they used an unnamed source — which they often did as their justification to go to print — it protected them from repercussions when the story proved to be untrue. Everybody read The Edge, whether they admitted it or not. Even the nation’s congressional leadership was intrigued by its day-to-day drama.

  But, unfortunately for Yeager, Blake never seemed to mind being called homophobic or being depicted in unflattering ways in the rag. He knew he spoke for many and although his supporters kept a low profile, he had one thing going for him: he was extremely wealthy and his holdings were vast and plentiful. He didn’t need the District’s network, corporate support or public dollars to live his lifestyle or speak his mind. In fact, his wealth was what made his power and influence magnetic. Blake was also a philanthropic mastermind. He served on more boards and contributed to more foundations and special interest groups than most and since he was not a phenomenon who owed his fans for his success, he did not owe the public any explanation for his political views.

  What most people didn’t know was that Blake’s animosity with Guy Yeager was not based on his personal politics, nor was it tied to the councilman’s strong-arm tactics and acts of intimidation. His true disdain for Yeager was based on how he had treated Blake’s half-brother, Devon.

  According to Devon, Yeager had been verbally and physically abusive to him and it had troubled Blake that he could never confront Yeager or intervene on Devon’s behalf. His only recourse had been to try and persuade his brother to end their relationship, something Devon just couldn’t do.

  So, when Devon had died the previous fall, Blake believed that Yeager had something to do with his death and he had set out to prove it.

  Yeager had never known that Devon and Blake were half-brothers. He just assumed the animosity between the two of them was based on the fact that Blake hated gays and the new power gays held in the District. He also believed Blake was not only jealous of his political stature but that he didn’t know his “place” in the world. After all, to Guy Yeager, money didn’t change the fact that Blake Jones was Black and it was up to him to let Jones know where he really stood in the world.

  Growing up, Devon and Blake had not lived together. In fact, no one even knew that Devon Yancy Laurie, assumed to be the sole heir to the Clydesdale Energy fortune, had any siblings. Devon’s mother was white and Blake’s mother was a Black domestic worker who had grown up in the Laurie household.

  The Laurie fortune had been established when Yancy’s great-great grandfather, Daniel Yancy Laurie, had invested in the utility industry. He knew that once electricity was harnessed, it would need to be managed as well as fitted for every household in the world. To meet this objective, he and his brother, Jacob, established Clydesdale Energy, the number one utility company in the world. The brothers had chosen the name Clydesdale because when they were young, their father had taken them to St. Louis, Missouri, to see the Clydesdale horses. Once they had seen the enormity of these horses, they used the word Clydesdale to describe anything and everything that was big and exciting and harnessing the world’s energy was just that.

  Yancy Laurie had always treated Blake and his mother well and when Blake was eleven, his mother had finally shared with him who his father was. His mother adored Yancy and every time she told Blake the story of how they had started their romance, he could tell she fell in love with his father all over again. She knew their love was forbidden and after Blake was born, she also knew his father would never be able to express his love publicly or even acknowledge Blake as his own.

  However, despite the conditions imposed, Blake loved his father and he loved his little brother, too. Blake was five years older than Devon Yancy Laurie IV, his father’s namesake and despite the age dif-ference, Blake always found time to play with him. Blake’s mother raised him not only to know who he was, but also to know he had responsibilities as an older brother. She expected him always to be there for his family.

  As the boys got older, Blake’s mother realized Devon was special. As a young child, he had done things that set him apart from other children his age. Instead of playing with other boys, jumping off porches and messing in mud, Devon was a momma’s boy and his relationship with his father was strained. After Devon’s mother died, their father found more and more solace with Lillian, Blake’s mother. When Blake was young, he would sometimes stay up late, hoping his father would come by to visit and if he was up, they would spend time together before his mother sent him off to bed. Once in bed, he would lie listening to his parents’ conversation and often, those conversations were about Devon. Yancy seemed disappointed in Devon and would often say he wished Devon had Blake’s characteristics and strength.

  Blake’s mother hated it when Yancy made disparaging remarks about Devon and she would always remind him that Devon, like Blake, was his son too. She would tell his father that both sons had something special to do and that’s why God had given them life. She would tell his father that she had raised her son to love and protect his brother. She knew Devon was different, but she loved him just the way he was. She also knew Blake loved him too, and she had faith that he would protect his younger brother his entire life if he had to. Blake’s father also knew Blake would protect Devon and Yancy’s faith in Blake always seemed to be enough for the young boy seeking his father’s approval.

  Devon’s suicide devastated Blake. As the boys had grown older, they’d also grown even closer, so close it was finally revealed to Devon that Blake was his half-brother. To hear that they were blood related only made their bond stronger. Devon respected his father’s wishes and never publicly betrayed the fact that Blake was his father’s illegitimate son.

  As Blake waited for Edelstein, he could not help but think back to when he and Devon were younger. As kids, Blake was always around to console Devon and this had always made Blake feel special. If Devon was having problems in school, he sought out advice from Blake. When Devon was mad at his dad and threatened to run away, he sought Blake’s advice. In fact, the only advice Devon didn’t get from Blake was advice on fashion. Devon had needed no one’s help in that area.

  Devon was an artist. He was a designer and a painter and anything in the arts or fashion, he did exceptionally well. When it came to dressing to impress, Blake got all his fashion tips from his little brother and people took notice. Even when Devon started exploring his sexuality, he told Blake first. Blake didn’t judge his younger brother. He had always known his brother was a gentle man and there was a possibility he was gay. But, until he heard it from Devon, he kept his opinion and his thoughts to himself. If his brother was gay, so be it. It wouldn’t change his love for him; he would just be his gay little brother.

  Everything was fine until Blake had left for Atlanta to attend Morehouse College. That’s when Devon met Guy Yeager, a trailer-trash pretty boy with a penchant for the dramatic. Everything about Guy Yeager made Blake uncomfortable; in fact, Blake made Devon promise he would never share anything about him with Yeager. Devon knew Blake was serious and he would do anything his brother asked of him. Thus, for the entire time he and Yeager were lovers, Yeager never knew there was another heir to the Clydesdale Energy fortune.

  While Blake was away in grad school, Devon would write him a letter every month. In the letter, he would talk to him about everything, including how Blake’s s mother was doing, his relationship with their father — now that he was out of the clos
et — as well as his relationship with Guy. At first, it had been difficult for Yancy to accept that his son was gay, but as he got older, they grew closer.

  In his letters, Devon would write that Guy sucked up to their father and was always trying to impress him. He even wrote that their father felt sorry for Guy because he had grown up so poor. But, at the same time, Yancy was intrigued with Guy because of his intellectual prowess. Their father enjoyed people with enormous intellects, so it didn’t surprise Blake when Devon shared how close their father was to Guy. Guy may have been raised as poor white trash, but he had parlayed his intellect into a weapon.

  In every letter Blake received, Devon wrote about Guy and how he was always trying to get in their father’s good graces. At times, he would even admit that Guy got physically abusive with him. Blake, sensing his brother’s despair, would try to convince Devon to leave Yeager, but Devon would just make excuses for why he couldn’t. All Blake could do was listen. Little did Blake know that Yeager would hang on to Devon like a leach sucking blood from its host. Even after Yancy’s death, Guy kept Devon under tight rein. Blake used to wonder what it was that prevented Devon from breaking free.

  As the years went by, Devon’s relationship with Guy worsened, despite the fact that the two lived in two separate cities. Yeager’s hold on Devon was so tight that eventually, Devon became depressed. In fact, he seemed constantly to be battling long bouts of depression. To comfort his brother, Blake made several trips to Kansas City to visit him and at times, they would take long weekend trips together, just to get away. It was difficult for Blake to see Devon so broken. It was even harder for him to imagine that his brother, a gifted and talented man known throughout the world for his magnificent oil paintings, was emotionally and spiritually trapped — bound in chains — by a man like Guy Yeager.