Between Brothers

by C. Kelly Robinson

  Brandon put his fork down and folded his hands in front of him. “Nothing to tell, B. I guess Larry called himself pulling a fast one on all his housemates, putting us all with someone who we either liked or disliked with a passion. I guess O. J. actually got the worst deal; you should have seen Sonya Loritts hanging over him, like she’d landed her a husband!”

  Temporarily distracted, Bobby guffawed at the image of O. J. and Sonya. “O. J. a husband! That’ll be the day!”

  “Anyway, Monica surprised me. You know, she was warmer than I would have expected. She immediately struck up a conversation, asking me about my plans after graduation, talkin’ about her own ambitions to go to grad school after she works in corporate America a couple years, the whole nine. We even tripped off you and Tara’s friendship, but you don’t wanna hear about that.”

  Bobby’s interest was piqued. “What exactly did you two trip off of?”

  “Nothin’, man. She was just laughing about some of the tricks you and I used to pull back when you were tryin’ to rap to Tara, that’s all.” Brandon decided not to mention the condescending tone Monica had used when talking about Bobby. She had made it clear, with a simple look, that she didn’t think his cousin had a snowball’s chance in hell of winning Tara over. But she hadn’t exactly been sending Brandon the same message about his chances with her.

  “So, come on, give it up,” Bobby said, eyes widening. “Did you get any juicy facts? She seein’ anybody right now? Is she interested in you? She saved? More importantly, she is a virgin, right?”

  The cousins’ uproarious laughter caused the nearby patrons to turn pointedly in their direction. Brandon and Bobby both had long given up on finding unplowed soil among the women of Highland.

  “I don’t know where she stands spiritually, man, you know I never have. I know she goes to church at Metropolitan—we talked about that some yesterday. You know, she’s givin’ the old standard ‘I know I should go more often than I do, I need to do better’ line.” Brandon mimicked Monica in a falsetto.

  “Like you cared. You were probably too busy trying to keep from messin’ up your pants.”

  Fixing his cousin with an amused frown, Brandon continued. “I don’t know, man, I really feel like we hit it off. I guess I had always comforted myself about her by telling myself she was some mean-spirited sex goddess who’d do nothing but bring me down spiritually. Now I feel like she’s a real person, you know, with feelings and faults like everybody else. Maybe she feels she’s ready for a good man in her life.”

  Furrowing his brow as he set down a forkful of sweet-potato pie, Bobby leaned forward, his tone growing excited. “Do you realize what you’re saying? Is there an echo in this place, ’cause you sound like you’ve gone and found some nerve. You’re gonna ask out Monica Simone!”

  “What did I have to lose? None of the ‘good women’ want me, and who’s to say Monica’s bad just because she may not be at my level spiritually? I never thought I’d say it, but maybe it’s time for a little missionary dating. It seems to work for the sisters in Disciples of Christ, not to mention most sisters in the church. Why shouldn’t I give it a try?”

  Leaning back and patting his well-fed midsection, Bobby let loose with a toothy, ear-to-ear grin. “My boy, so how you gon’ do it? What creative method will you use to kick this off?”

  A sheepish smirk on his face, Brandon prepared to return his tray, signaling Bobby to do likewise. “No method required this time, Hoss. I was all about carpe diem yesterday, asked her out before she knew what hit her! By the time we got done trippin’ yesterday, Monica actually suggested next Friday. I guess there is a God. She says she’s bringin’ Tara and suggested I grab you. Are you down?”

  Setting his tray into the metal rack near the exit door, Bobby couldn’t contain his excitement, oblivious to the curious stares of the crowd. “Hooo! My boy! Of course I’ll be there! I got to see this!”

  Hooting and hollering like frat boys, the two stepped onto the front sidewalk and began shoving each other congenially. “You did it!” Bobby shouted. “You are there, man, with Monica.”

  As he caught sight of his car, Brandon stopped and balled his fists. “What the . . .”

  Something sticky and red dripped from the hood of his Altima. Brandon waved Bobby off and stepped to the windshield, where a sheet of notebook paper was jammed beneath a wiper. He snatched it up, shook off the excess ooze, which looked frighteningly like blood, and opened it. The words, scrawled in smeared pencil, made his brow grow hot with anxiety.

  Boy,

  You Ain’t From Here

  You Ain’t Gonna Change Here

  Leave Ellis Alone

  CHAPTER 14

  . . . . . . . . . . . .

  CONSPIRACY

  Monday afternoon, the last week of March. From the massive tinted window that stretched the length of the far wall, William “Buzz” Eldridge had a spectacular view of the Mall, the shimmering green lawns that separated the Lincoln Memorial and the U.S. Capitol.

  “Damned eyeglasses aren’t worth a piece of crap,” the aging man rasped to the empty room. The vivid hue of the grass testified to the coming of spring, but the beauty of the sight was marred by Eldridge’s blurry vision. He told himself, again, that his failing eyesight was the simple progression of age. It was not a valid measure of his ability to save his struggling business. This plan to get rid of the Ellis Center would work, clearing the way for the apartment complex he had proposed. And the erection of such a key piece of property, in a blighted area like Shaw, would finally satisfy the stingy councilmen denying him access to the riverfront project. He was going to get a piece of that if it killed him.

  It was five o’clock now, and the Washington Park Hotel, which his brother-in-law Cecil had recently purchased, was still crammed full of conventioneers, lobbyists, and journalists busy schmoozing, wheeling, and dealing. A perfect time for Eldridge and the men he was meeting with to slip unnoticed into a bare conference room on the sixth floor.

  Eldridge wasn’t too worried about being seen with Rolly Orange, who was still as respected as a public figure with his obvious foibles could be. Hell, in a town where Marion Barry could smoke crack and emerge unscathed, Orange was a choirboy in the eyes of the local press. What filled Buzz with dread was the specter of some novice reporter from the hood spotting him meeting with the Kid, Nico Lane. If any wind of his alliance with Lane made its way to the officials administering the riverfront project, the deal would be shot and Buzz would have to close up shop. With his business just one step from bankruptcy, Buzz coveted the riverfront project in the way he had once longed for a young woman’s embrace. Without the millions of dollars in business his company would earn as a developer on that project, he would have no choice but to shut “his baby” down. Closing up shop was not an option. Not for a man who had worked himself to the edge of an early grave in order to leave a legacy to his four children. That was the only reason he was subjecting himself to the antics of these two black goons.

  Just as he checked his watch and noted that his associates were two minutes late, several loud bangs shook the oak door of the conference room. Clenching his fists, he squared his shoulders and prepared to do battle.

  Rolly Orange was waiting on the other side of the door. “Buzz, sorry to be so dramatic, but I had a reporter following me up here,” he explained as Eldridge whipped the door open. His face dripping with sweat and his body emitting the strong scent of English Leather cologne, Orange rushed into the room, continuing his monologue all the while. “Little whippersnapper thought she smelled a story, probably thought I was here”—he paused to take a deep breath, his large stomach heaving—“here to meet a hooker or somethin’, but I reminded her there are conference rooms on every floor of the building, and I was here for a meeting regarding a political issue. I think I charmed her into letting me be, but you can never be sure, so I didn’t want to be out in that hallway too long.”

  “Your talent for the world of intrigue is amazi
ng, Orange.” Nico Lane, dressed in a beige designer suit and shiny leather loafers, was literally on Orange’s heels. As the shorter, younger man entered the room, Eldridge and Orange both unconsciously deferred to his sniping remarks. “This is the last time we are meeting over here, do you understand? Eldridge, I thought all real estate developers knew how to organize shady meetings! What kind of fifth-grade hijinks is this? It’s a wonder we didn’t have a damn camera crew follow us up here!”

  As Nico slammed the door shut, Eldridge’s mind turned to his children. He could not disappoint them. Nico Lane was an experience to be survived and endured, not enjoyed. “Well, perhaps we should try to find a hotel or restaurant in a less public section of town.”

  “Hotel or restaurant my ass, Buzz! No, we’ll be meeting at one of my apartments over in the hood from now on. Most reporters are too frightened to be over there in the first place, and no one else will recognize either one of you. Unbelievable!” A small vein on his right temple pumped almost imperceptibly. Nico removed his coat to reveal a well-toned physique. “What kind of world do we live in, when a crooked entrepreneur and a dirty politician can be so naïve? I should be doing this by myself.” Afraid to further incur the gangster’s wrath, Orange and Eldridge pretended to observe their surroundings as Lane ripped a chair out from underneath the table and deposited his five-feet-ten frame within.

  From his seat at the head of the table, Eldridge took the silence as an opportunity to get down to business. “I suppose we need to update one another on the progress of our mission to close Ellis Center. Judging from my notes at our last meeting, we agreed to a three-pronged strategy. I agreed to use my contacts with local businessmen, the chamber of commerce, and Mayor Williams to get some positive word of mouth flowing about my Develcorp Living Complex. Mr. Orange outlined a plan to sabotage the center’s program structure and current funds, as well as the cash streaming in from those damned college students.” Eldridge trailed off as he pretended to search for a note of anything Nico had promised to do besides funding Orange’s salary and living expenses. Nico had forbidden Eldridge or Orange to even mention his name in the meeting notes.

  “When I have news to report about what I’m doing, you’ll hear it,” Lane snapped. “Right now I want to hear what you two gentlemen have accomplished these last couple of weeks.” He leveled his narrow eyes in Orange’s direction.

  Eldridge couldn’t help but pity the obese man as he wiped his brow and leaned forward in his seat. Rolly Orange had come a long way from his days running the city council. Here he was reporting to a drug dealer half his age, looking like some timid schoolchild who had lost his homework assignment.

  “First, the good news. You’ll both be pleased to know I am effectively in charge of all business activities of Ellis Center, after just two months. Sheryl Gibson is a tireless worker, and her lifeblood keeps the programs running, even in this tough time.”

  “You’re gonna move me to tears with your tribute, Orange,” Nico said. “Get the hell on with it.”

  “Well, the good news is she’s the only one left on the board or in the administration who really gives a damn. Most of the administrators left when the budget cuts came down, and aside from the Highland students and the few clergy on the board, the other trustees are too caught up in their own lives, or in the past, to keep up with the finances and daily realities of runnin’ the place. As a result, Sheryl has turned to me to keep the place propped up.”

  Eldridge frowned. “What exactly is she doing all day while you’re ransacking the offices, Orange?”

  “Oh, she has her hands plenty full,” Orange responded. “To save money, we had to lay off several program administrators, so Sheryl spends every evening from four until eight overseeing the students and instructors in each of the four age groups. It’s not uncommon for her to have to substitute-teach in some classes, because on any given night there’s a volunteer who can’t make it in. In the morning, she helps the kitchen prepare breakfast for the preschoolers, before she sits down to revise the budget, which changes on a daily basis. Not to mention all the fires she has to put out, dealing with impatient creditors, problem children, and, worst of all, their parents. That leaves me to pay the bills that can be paid, invest the cash, and deal with all the filings required to keep the center operating and certified.”

  “Responsibilities, all of which you are carefully botching?” Lane’s temporarily patient tone sounded like that of a slightly irritated parent.

  Orange rebelled in his own way by taking time to fill his glass with ice water from the crystal pitcher in the middle of the table. “The center is operating at a deficit. When I first came on board, monthly losses were running around three thousand dollars. This month we will record a deficit of twelve thousand plus.”

  “That’s what we like to hear,” Nico said, flashing his first smile of the meeting. “Has this information been communicated to the banks and other creditors?”

  “You have to understand, Nico, I have to tread softly in my communications with outside parties. They expect me to stand up for the center, paint the best picture possible. Anything less would be a fiduciary violation and might draw suspicion. No, I’ve been holding off the banks, promising that our financial statements will be much more attractive once we use the new contributions we’ve received to pay off our overdue loans, notes payable, and vendors.”

  “So they can probably guess that you guys are in violation of the debt covenants underriding your credit facilities.” Buzz was starting to relax now, the sordidness of the center’s financial state becoming more clear in his mind.

  “If they’ve taken Accounting 101, they can,” Orange chuckled. “They take away our credit facility, they rob us of the ability to operate, they know that. There’s no way we could raise enough contributions to pay off our debts and do all of the renovations the center desperately requires. But no bank wants to be painted as the bad guy, so they’re willing to give us a little time to come up with cash to reduce our debt and meet the covenants.”

  “And your job is to see to it that as few contributions as possible come in. Where does that little wrinkle stand right now?” Looking as if he were ready to leap across the table if the answer didn’t satisfy him, Nico bored his eyes into Orange’s greasy face.

  Fiddling with his hands, Orange set his jaw firmly and pushed ahead. “Everything was progressing fine until those damned college kids came aboard. Who would have thought four spoiled Highland brats would think they could single-handedly save Ellis? Neither Sheryl nor any of the other board members have raised the type of money these kids have. One of them’s daddy, some businessman in Cincinnati, even made a twenty-thousand-dollar donation last month.”

  Eldridge felt his eyes bug out. He’d always known that there were wealthy, successful blacks in the country, despite the familiar, comforting negative images the media provided on a regular basis. Even so, to hear of a black man throwing down more money than he himself could spare right now made his blood boil. He had to rebuild his business; his children should never face the shame of being outdone by a minority.

  Nico looked ready to come over the table. “Twenty thousand! What are you doing to flush that money down the toilet, Orange?”

  Orange steeled his back and met Nico’s eyes head-on. “Don’t go off just yet, Nico. This Whitaker guy’s donation was by far the largest. One of the other kids has been working with his father to raise money from influential alumni, and in total they’ve raised about ten thousand. Then there have been miscellaneous corporate, church, and Islamic donations that total another fifteen thousand or so. Counting anything that’s rolled in since I prepared this report yesterday, they’re probably at fifty thousand right now. Now, I admit it, that is enough to cause concern. Fifty thousand could pay off the largest outstanding vendors and one of the smaller loans. That wouldn’t bring the debt covenants into compliance, but it might be enough progress to encourage the bankers to show some leniency. So I know we have to get rid o
f that money.”

  “Orange, I’ve had to take very few lives since I was initiated into the Rocks twelve years ago.” The glint in Nico’s eyes added to the chilling effect of his remark. “I’ve always been ambitious, aggressive, and intelligent, but never bloodthirsty, you know? Even when I tracked down that crooked Japanese lobbyist who fathered me and then tried to deny child support to my mother, I just had Bobo give him a good ass-whippin’. If I was a monster, I’d have had his neck snapped on the spot. But I felt no emotion where the man was concerned. All he did was contribute some wayward sperm; he means nothing to me. And I’ve always said that when I kill, it can only be for one of two reasons: business or love. Now, ain’t no love between any of us here, so that only leaves business. You know what I’m speakin’ about, Orange?”

  As Buzz ran his bony fingers through his silvery hair, Orange’s professionally groomed mustache began to glisten with the moisture of a thick sweat. “Nico, you act like you’re talkin’ to a man that’s never dealt with a killer before. How do you think I kept a council seat for a decade and a half? I’ve wheeled and dealed with every player in this town, including some of the very gangbangers and dealers you cut your teeth under. So this intimidation act can cease right now, far as I’m concerned. What good am I gonna do you dead? You want to keep the center from infringing on your business, let me do my job. Otherwise you may as well just burn it down and hope no one traces the trail back to your yellow ass.” Now planted firmly in his seat, Orange was almost shaking, the tone of his voice indicating he was tired of playing whipping boy.

  “Gentlemen, I think we need to remove the emotion from this discussion,” Buzz interjected, hoping to avoid a confrontation. “Rolly, why don’t you explain how you’ll dispense with that fifty thousand?”

  Easing back into his seat as he continued to eye Nico, who was now feigning disinterest, Orange continued to lay out his plan. “Approximately thirty-three thousand is in a savings account at Nationwide Bank. The donors have been promised that their monies would be placed into a restricted fund limited to payment of principal and interest on the center’s loans, and a second fund limited to repayment of vendor obligations. I have managed to delay the establishment of the escrow accounts for these restricted funds, arguing that we must wait as long as possible to pay any of the debts, because to do so will invite immediate scrutiny. We have to build up more contributions first.”