by Thomas Scott
“Wrong,” Sandy said, her finger pointed straight at him. “You’re not giving yourself, or anyone else for that matter, one single inch.”
Virgil yanked the door open but Sandy wasn’t done. “Mac wants you and Murton in his office at nine if you can pull yourself free from the cemetery.”
“That’s a shitty thing to say.” He slammed the door on his way out.
Sandy let her chin rest against her chest and thought, He’s right. It was a shitty thing to say. What was I thinking? She was about to chase him down and apologize when she heard the sniffling coming from the other room. When she turned, she saw one of their sons, Jonas, standing there, tears running down his cheeks. “Why are you and Dad yelling at each other?”
Probably because we’re both scared out of our minds, Sandy thought. She went to Jonas and wrapped him in a hug. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Your daddy is just sad because of what happened with Mr. Ron, and sometimes when people are sad, they get angry.”
Jonas wiped his eyes and said, “He looked so mad I didn’t even bother with the swear jar.”
Sandy nodded, and despite herself, let out a little chuckle. “That’s probably for the best. We’ll let him have this one, okay, big guy? Give mommy just a second and I’ll get you some breakfast.” She walked to the front door and pulled it open just in time to see Virgil’s truck fishtail out of the drive and head down the road.
Virgil and Sandy had two boys, their adopted son Jonas, and their biological son, Wyatt. Since Sandy was the lieutenant governor, and Virgil’s job had the potential to take him anywhere in the state at a moment’s notice, they also had a live-in nanny, a wonderful woman named Huma Moon.
Huma was in love with a man named Delroy Rouche, who was a Jamaican bartender, one who Virgil and his father, Mason, had hired years ago to help run their bar, a joint now called Jonesy’s Rastabarian. After Mason died, his will stipulated that Delroy, and another Jamaican, Robert Whyte, along with Virgil and his adoptive brother, Murton Wheeler, would all own a piece of the bar together. It worked out well for everyone. Delroy and Robert ran the bar, while Virgil and Murton ran down criminals for the state.
When Delroy and Huma began dating, then managed to quickly fall in love, Virgil and Sandy added an entire wing onto the house so Delroy could move in. They didn’t want to lose Huma. She was, they knew, worth her weight in gold. Plus, there was quite a bit of history there, with Huma, whose entrance into their lives wasn’t exactly what anyone would call accidental.
With Virgil gone and the entire house now awake, Huma took over feeding the kids so Sandy could get ready for work. As it happened, there were plenty of kids to feed. Delroy and Huma had a child of their own, a little girl they’d named Aayla. Virgil and Sandy had also hired a young lady named Sarah Palmer as their housekeeper. During one of Virgil’s previous cases, Sarah’s boyfriend had been brutally murdered, and with nowhere to go, she ended up staying with Virgil and Sandy. Sarah had a little girl of her own, named Olivia, who everyone called Liv.
When Sarah finally managed to move past her grief regarding the loss of her boyfriend, she happened to meet one of Virgil’s coworkers, Andrew Ross. They soon became an item, and Sarah moved out of the house, and in with Ross, though she and her daughter Liv still showed up nearly every day…Sarah to help Huma with the cooking and cleaning, and Liv to play with the other kids. From the outside, it probably looked like overkill, but Virgil and Sandy not only liked it, they could afford it.
As it was, Virgil and Sandy had some money.
Actually, they had a lot.
Sandy’s detail driver—a former military fighter pilot—was a no-nonsense state cop named Emily Baker. When Sandy saw her turn into the drive, she gave all the kids a quick hug and a kiss, told Huma and Sarah that she’d see them tonight, and gave Larry the Dog a scratch on his noggin.
Sarah caught her just as she was going out the door. “I thought maybe I’d make something special for dinner tonight for Virgil. Thought it might help him feel better…or something. Any suggestions?”
Sandy smiled at her and said, “Don’t bother. If I have my way, Virgil won’t be eating here for a while.” She winked at Sarah and walked out the door.
Sarah turned and looked at Huma. “Is it that bad?”
Huma shrugged. “Yes and no. Did you catch that wink?”
“I did.”
“I tink the boss has something up her sleeve.”
“You’re starting to sound more and more like Delroy.”
Huma smiled and said, “Tank you.”
Chapter Four
Sandy climbed into the back of the car, said hello to Baker, then asked, “Was he there?” She was speaking of Virgil and the cemetery. Sandy had asked Baker to do a quick drive-by to check on her way over.
Baker nodded. “Yes, he was. He was sitting with his back against the tombstone. He looked…tired.”
“Did he see you?”
“With all due respect, ma’am, I don’t think he would have seen me if I happened to be standing right in front of him.”
“I’m not surprised,” Sandy said. “We had a little blow-up early this morning.”
“Again?”
“I’m afraid so. Let’s take a little detour and run over that way. We’ve got a few minutes to spare, but I want to make sure he’s gone to work. He has a meeting with the governor this morning, and it’s one he can’t afford to miss.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And listen, Baker, how many times do I have to ask? Enough with the ‘ma’am,’ already. You took a bullet for me.”
Baker choked out a laugh. “Not exactly on purpose. Besides, you ended up saving me.”
“Regardless of how it went down, after everything we’ve been through together, it’s Sandy, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Then: “Sorry. It’s the military training.”
Virgil wasn’t at the cemetery when they went by, and Sandy was relieved. She checked her watch and saw they were a little tight on time. “Let’s step it up, Baker. I’ve got a meeting myself.”
Baker increased her speed, and as she did that, Sandy took out her phone and made a call. When it was answered, she said, “I’m on my way right now. Where are you?”
“Sitting in the cafeteria drinking the worst cup of coffee I’ve had in quite some time, and eating a bagel with what could only be described as some rather questionable cream cheese. When do you want me?”
“I’ll shoot you a text a few seconds beforehand. It won’t be long. We’re almost there. Cora knows you’re coming, so you should be able to wait in her office, then walk right in. Everybody else will already be there. And listen, when you come in, I need an entrance.”
“Don’t worry. Entrances are one of my specialties.”
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this,” Sandy said.
“For you guys? Anything. Always.” Then, click.
Baker touched eyes with Sandy in the rearview mirror. “Wheeler?”
Sandy smiled. “No. Someone better…I hope.”
Murton Wheeler, Virgil’s brother and partner, stuck his head into Virgil’s office and said, “Did you hear we’ve been summoned to bend a knee or kiss the ring, or whatever? Nine sharp if my intel is correct.”
“Yeah, I heard. Sandy told me this morning right after we chewed each other out. What’s the deal?”
“How would I know?” Murton said. “It was your argument.”
“Please Murt, don’t start with me.”
Murton gave his brother a big toothy grin. “I’m not starting anything. I was simply answering the question you asked. Maybe if you polished up your syntax a little, we’d be on the same page.” Murton checked his watch. “Anyway, we better hit it if we’re going to be on time. And to demonstrate my brotherly love, I’ll let your syntactical error slide. In other words, I have no idea.”
“Then why do you have that look on your face?” Virgil said.
“What look?”
“The one that say
s you’re up to something.”
Murton ignored his brother and said, “Are you driving, or am I?”
Virgil and Murton walked into Cora’s office and discovered she was nowhere to be found. Murton looked at Virgil and shrugged, then headed for the door that connected Cora’s office with the governor’s.
“Maybe we should wait for Cora,” Virgil said. “Mac might be in a meeting or something.”
“You worry too much, Jones-man. Mac and Cheese said nine, which, if you look at the clock right over there, you’d see that it is currently two minutes past the appointed time. They’re probably in there waiting on us right now.”
And they were.
Like this:
Murton walked over to the connecting door, put his hand on the knob, and said, “After you.”
Virgil shook his head, walked through the door as Murton pulled it open, then stopped dead in his tracks. He stopped so quickly that Murton bumped into him, then gently shoved him all the way into the room.
A knot of people—every single one of them Virgil knew and loved—all looked over at him. Then, with a dull, almost cynical sarcasm, they all simultaneously said, “Surprise.”
Despite himself and the way he was feeling, he shook his head, let out a little chuckle, and said, “Guys…”
The governor took charge. “Jonesy, take a seat. That’s not a request.” Then he took note of the sport coat Murton wore, tipped a finger at him, and said, “We’ll discuss that another time.”
Murton smiled. “I’m available anytime, sir.”
Virgil took a seat at the conference table, looked at Sandy, and said, “What’s going on?”
Murton’s wife, Becky, made a rude noise with her lips and said, “I’m surprised you have to ask. It’s called a PPI. That stands for personal and professional intervention.”
The governor took a seat behind his desk, kicked off his shoes, put his feet up on the corner, and wiggled his toes. His socks were dark blue with little gold sailboats stitched in an intricate pattern. “The thing is, Jonesy, we’re all worried about you.”
“Mac—”
Cora pointed a finger at Virgil and he shut up.
“Now,” the governor said, “as I was saying, we are worried about you, both personally and professionally, although to be honest, I think Becky made up the PPI acronym. Anyway, after consulting with my chief of staff—who I know for a fact, you do not want to piss off—and everyone else in this room, we’ve collectively decided that enough is enough. It’s time to get your head on straight, and we are here to help you, out of both love and respect.”
Virgil wasn’t quite annoyed, but he didn’t want to be bullied into seeing a shrink or some damned thing. He’d worked his way out of this condition before, and he’d do it again, on his own time, and in his own way. He looked the governor in the eye and said, “Well, Jesus Christ, Mac, what are you going to do? Fire me again?”
The governor didn’t flinch. “If I have to, although I don’t think it’ll come to that.” He swiveled his chair and said, “Sandy?”
Sandy sat down next to her husband, then leaned close and whispered into his ear. “I’m sorry about this morning. You’re right. It was a shitty thing to say.”
Virgil gave her thigh a squeeze. “So what’s the deal?”
Sandy leaned back and said, “You’ve really got nothing going on at the moment, and I know you’ve got about three billion weeks of vacation time in the bank. We’ve worked out a plan…”
Virgil was immediately suspicious. “What sort of plan?”
“I think that’s what she’s trying to tell you right now, Jonesy,” Becky said.
Sandy waited until she was sure she had her husband’s full attention. “The plan is simple enough. We thought it might be a good idea if you and Murton took a trip down to the island for a week or so. Spend some time getting your head together.”
Virgil loved Jamaica, but he was already shaking his head. “Sandy, I don’t think—”
“Virgil. Stop. You’re not thinking…or you’re not thinking straight, anyway. Consider it a brother’s escape. It’s something you guys could do together.”
“Ah, I don’t know.”
“That’s the problem, Virgil. You don’t know. You don’t know what to do and you’re driving everyone crazy around here. Do it for yourself, Virgil, or do it for the rest of us. Frame it any way you like, but just do it. You need this. Get away. Get some fresh Jamaican air into your lungs. Get some sunshine on your face.”
In other words, get out.
They all talked it back and forth for about half an hour. Near the end, Virgil said, “What about our caseload?”
Cora waved him off. “Ross and Rosencrantz are on top of the Tate case, and I’m sure they can handle anything that comes along. You’re only looking at a week.”
Virgil looked at Sandy. “And the boys?”
“The boys?” Sandy said. “Look Virgil, I’m not trying to be harsh with you, but when you left this morning, Jonas overheard our…discussion, and it left him in tears. And let’s be honest, some of your cases? You’ve been gone longer than a week.”
“It feels selfish,” Virgil said.
“It is selfish, Virgil. That’s the point. You need to start taking care of yourself.”
“What about the bar?”
Murton laughed. “The bar? What about it? When was the last time you were even in the bar? Delroy and Robert run the show, and they do it better than anyone. You know that.”
Virgil was running out of excuses and he knew it. He played one last card. “Look, I know we can afford it, but I don’t want to sit in an airliner for four hours next to some snot-nosed kid. I’d probably be sick the entire time I’m down there.”
As soon as Virgil started talking about the travel, Sandy pressed the Send button on her phone. He’d no sooner finished his comment about getting sick when the governor’s office door opened, and Nichole Pope walked in like she owned the joint. She went straight to the governor’s desk, leaned over, and kissed Mac on the lips, letting the kiss linger. “I just wanted to pop in to say goodbye…and thank you.” She turned back and faced the room. “Hi everybody.” Then to Virgil: “I heard that you and Murton are thinking of spending some time on the island. I’ve got plenty of room on the jet if you guys are looking for a ride.”
“Beats the hell out of business class,” Murton said.
Nichole gave him a dull smile, and said, “I wouldn’t know, I’m sure.”
Virgil finally gave in. They worked out some quick details, and once everything was set, Nichole gave the governor another lingering kiss, told Virgil and Murton that she’d meet them at the airport in a couple of hours, then headed for the door.
Sandy stood, and to no one in particular said, “Excuse me for just a minute.” She followed Nichole out to the hallway and lightly touched her elbow.
Nichole stopped and turned. “Yes?”
Sandy felt her face redden slightly. “It’s none of my business, but are you and Mac…?”
Nichole stuck her tongue in her cheek and said, “You ask for an entrance, you get an entrance. Tell Virgil and Murton two hours. Million-Air FBO. The jet will be ready.”
“Nichole, I can’t thank you enough. Virgil…he needs this.”
“Like I said, for you guys, anything…anytime. Leave Virgil to us. In a week, he’ll be back to his old self.” Nichole pecked her on the cheek, and said, “It was good to see you again.” Then she turned, gave Sandy a little finger wave over her shoulder, and walked away.
Back in the governor’s office: “I don’t know how many times I have to say it, sir, but you really should just go ahead and concede.” Murton and the governor both took their wardrobe seriously, and although they both had very different styles, the governor always seemed to be on the defensive.
“Think what you want, Wheeler,” the governor said. “But I concede nothing. My socks probably cost more than that jacket you’re wearing.”
“Ah…cy
nicism. The last stand of the weary warrior.”
“I am not being cynical,” the governor said.
“Maybe not,” Becky said. “But you’ve got a small hole on the bottom of your left sock there, Mac. It’s almost like you’re not even trying to stay in the game.”
The governor grabbed his left foot with both hands and examined the sock. He shook his head and slipped his feet back into his shoes without saying anything. Murton seemed to be staring at nothing.
When Sandy walked back into the room, she looked at her husband and said, “You and Murton better head home and get packed. Baker and I will be there in about an hour. We’ll all ride over to the airport together.”
Everyone stood, and Murton said, “Sounds like a plan. You ready, Jones-man?”
Virgil nodded, then said, “Almost. If I could have a word with Mac in private?”
Once everyone was out in the hall, Virgil looked at his friend, the governor, and said, “Mac, I’m sure it’s none of my business, but are you and Nichole Pope…?” He let the question hang.
The governor kept a straight face, looked Virgil right in the eye, and said, “You’re right. It isn’t any of your business. Besides, a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”
Virgil squinted an eye and chewed on the corner of his lip. “Okay, I get it. None of my business. Say, uh, could I borrow a quarter?”
“A quarter?”
“Yeah, you know…it’s a silver coin that equals twenty-five cents.”
“I know what a quarter is. Why do you want one?”
“I don’t. Not really. But I couldn’t help notice that you’ve got a roll of them in your pants pocket.” Then, “That was some kiss, huh?”
