Monty nodded. “Yes, Your Honor. Not guilty.”
“Your plea has been noted for the record,” the judge said, then looked to the prosecutor. “What is your recommendation?”
“That Governor Fields be released on house arrest and ordered to abide by the following curfew: seven p.m. to eleven a.m. We are also asking that he cooperates and give us the information on Stephen Himes.”
“Who is that?” Monty blurted.
“Governor, please let me respond,” Kassie said, then looked toward the judge. “My client says he doesn’t know a Stephen Himes.”
“He absolutely does,” the prosecutor insisted. “It’s no secret that Mr. Himes has made sizable donations to Each One Reach One. They have also been seen in public together on a number of occasions and—”
Kassie interjected, “My client is the governor of the state of California, and many people donate to his wife’s charity. In addition to that, Governor Fields is seen in public with a number of people. Do you really expect him to know each and every one of them?”
“Exactly,” Monty interrupted.
“The People disagree, Your Honor,” The prosecutor said.
“Ms. Francis, when you have opportunity to conference further with your client, please encourage him to jog his memory. As for now, let’s move on.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Kassie said, “I will be appealing to the court about the governor’s curfew. The hours the prosecutor suggested are unreasonable.”
“No, they’re not,” the prosecutor interjected.
“The governor has to be allowed to run his office. The state offices open at seven a.m.,” Kassie insisted. “Because he will not be resigning.”
The judge looked to the prosecutor and asked, “Your response?”
The prosecutor shook his head in disgust. He frowned as he said, “Seven p.m. to six a.m. He cannot be allowed to travel out of the state—”
“And what happens when he has official business?” Kassie interjected.
“If it’s business, he must receive permission from this court before he can leave.”
The judge looked to Kassie.
“We will agree to that,” she said.
“Also, weekly drug screenings,” the prosecutor added.
“I am not on drugs!” Monty yelled.
“I object!” Kassie snapped. “My client is not here for a drug offense—”
“He should be,” the prosecutor argued. “It’s no secret he was using drugs when the FBI came to his home—”
“Has he been charged with possession?” Kassie snapped. “No, he has not. Therefore, this is a pointless discussion, and we will not agree to those terms.”
“He’s the governor, for Christ’s sake! The people of California need to be sure an addict is not running this state!”
“Who the hell are you talking to, John?” Monty snapped.
“Ms. Francis, control your client,” the judge said. “Weekly drug screenings. Period. And we all know why.”
“Thank you,” the prosecutor said.
The judge looked to Kassie. “Thank you, Your Honor,” she said.
The judge looked over to his clerk. “Please provide the prosecutor and Ms. Francis with a copy of the order.” He looked over to Kassie. “Please ensure your client remains clean, sober, and cooperative.” The judge banged his gavel. “Court is adjourned. Good day.”
* * *
“How long am I supposed to adhere to this ridiculous curfew?” Monty asked Kassie as they walked out of the judge’s chambers and down the court’s hallway.
“Until your trial is over.”
Monty shook his head.
Kassie continued, “Do not give any statements to the press. Go to work and come home. If anything out of the ordinary happens, call me.”
“This is bullshit. These motherfuckers are out for blood, and all I’ve ever done was my job,” Monty said as they walked out of the federal building and into a sea of anxious reporters.
“Move back. Move back,” Monty’s lead security officer ordered the press, as they led the way to Monty and Kassie’s respective cars.
“Governor!” the reporters shouted. “Over here, over here!”
Monty stopped at the passenger’s side door of his Escalade and turned around.
“Governor, no,” Dominic said, sitting in the driver’s seat of the Escalade. “No comment. Let’s go.”
“Is it true you have a cocaine problem?” a reporter’s voice rose above the crowd. “An anonymous source says you were caught with a brick of cocaine.”
“Are you smuggling guns into the state?” another reporter shouted.
“Governor!” said another reporter, “what is your connection to the disappearance of Carson Young?”
Monty snapped, “I am innocent of all charges and accusations. I will be exonerated. And when I am, I’ll be filing a lawsuit against all those involved in this weak attempt to burn me at the stake.”
“Governor!” Dominic yelled from the driver’s seat. “Let’s go!”
Monty hopped into the truck and security closed the door behind him.
“You can’t let the press get to you,” Dominic said as they took off for the highway. “We’ve got more important things to handle, like Stephen. We need to get to him before the Feds do.”
“Have you spoken to him?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I assured him that you haven’t said a word. He wants to see you as soon as possible. Says we need to come up with a plan, and I agree. We at least need to know what he’s thinking.”
“You’re right. But I can’t stay too long. I don’t need Shaw looking for me.”
They sped up the highway to meet Stephen at an abandoned warehouse on the coast.
As they pulled in to the gravel lot and parked, Monty looked over at Dominic and said, “When we go in here, let me do all the talking. There’s no telling where this motherfucker’s head really is, and you know Sal is trigger happy. And Stephen doesn’t like you at all. So be quiet. Because we need to make it out of this alive.”
“And with a plan.”
“Right.”
Dominic clicked the locks and opened the doors. “Governor.” He popped open the glove compartment and pointed to a Glock .19 inside. “Take that.”
“For what?”
“Just in case.”
Streaks of dying sunlight eased in between the cracks in the walls as Monty and Dominic walked into the warehouse.
They froze.
Looked from right to left, from Stephen to Sal, and back again.
Stephen sat behind an aged wooden desk, his eyes popped, mouth hanging open, and blood pouring from a bullet wound in the center of his forehead.
Sal sat in a chair, slumped with his head on his chest and blood pouring from the back of his head down his neck.
Monty turned to Dominic and without saying a word they backed out of the warehouse, hopped back in the truck, and took off.
“Now I’m fucked!” Monty screamed as they sped down the highway.
“Think . . . Think . . . Think,” Dominic said in a panic. “Who the fuck is behind this?”
“We need to find out,” Monty panted. “Otherwise, what the fuck am I gonna do? The Feds will pin all those charges on me! I can’t go down like that, Dominic! What the fuck!”
“Monty, calm down. Remember they don’t have any proof. We did away with it.”
“Yeah, but we don’t know what else they could have.”
“True—I’m going to drop you off at home.”
“And where the hell are you going?”
“I need to see what I can find out.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“You can’t. And you know that. Just relax. Trust me. I need to see what I can find out.”
“From who?” Sweat drenched Monty’s forehead. “How the fuck are they dead?” He moaned. “Who killed them? What the fuck is going on, man?”
“I don
’t know. I’m just as confused as you are. Shit, do you really think you’re in this alone? It’s only a matter of time before the Feds start looking my way too.”
“But they aren’t looking your way right now. They’re looking at me!”
Dominic pulled up to the back entrance of Monty’s house. “I understand that, but until we can find out what’s really going on, we will have to act normal. So, go inside. Have a nice meal with your wife and kids, and let me handle this. Somebody has to know something.”
“Yeah, but who?”
Chapter 61
Elle
Elle sat on the lanai, a cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth. Each passing moment felt as if it were slowly squeezing the life out of her. A bottle of scotch sat on the table, and she considered taking it all in and not stopping until the bottle was finished. She put down the cigarette and twisted the top off the scotch. She took a sip and the liquid fire burned her chest. She placed the bottle back on the table, took a pull off her cigarette, and eyed the skyline.
Get your boys . . . leave . . .
Elle paused at the thought. Took a long toke and blew clouds of smoke toward the sky.
And don’t look back . . .
Footsteps eased behind her. “Monty?”
“Yeah. It’s me,” he said, walking around the small white garden table and taking a seat.
She took another pull of her cigarette, then handed it to him. Monty didn’t usually smoke cigarettes, but nothing about the moment was usual. He took a pull, then handed it back to her.
“What did the court say?” Elle asked.
“House arrest. Fucked up curfew, seven p.m. to six a.m.”
Elle nodded. “What are the charges?”
“Conspiracy, money laundering, misuse of campaign funds, and mail fraud. They asked for information on Stephen.”
“And?”
Monty hesitated. “I don’t know where he is.”
Elle nodded.
Monty continued. “Elle, I need you to know this,” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I took care of everything. They’re not going to find shit. Dominic and I burned the evidence. We also deleted the electronic files and emails.”
“You and Dominic?”
“Yes.”
“Yet you’re the only one the Feds are after.” She paused, gave Monty a moment to absorb her words. “How do you know he’s not behind this?”
Monty hesitated. “Why you would say that?”
“Think, Monty! You don’t think Dominic has his own aspirations? Dreams? That he wants more out of life than to be your sidekick? To be more than your chief of staff? He is political royalty. His parents were both powerful political figures. Then there’s you, the poster boy for the American bootstrap story. Don’t you think that deep down inside he resents that?”
No answer.
Elle continued, “And now suddenly he ‘helps’ you destroy the evidence, but the Feds are still at our door? Not his. Anything about that seem odd to you?”
Monty drifted off into a thought. Then he came back into the moment. “Everything will be fine. And once this is over we can put our lives back together again. Fuck everything and everybody else, Dominic too—no one else will matter but me and you and our boys.”
Elle didn’t say a word; instead she flicked her cigarette into the air as Monty picked up the bottle of scotch and took a swig.
Chapter 62
Brooklyn
A week later
“Hey, beautiful.” Lorenz smiled as he stood at Brooklyn’s front door, dressed in a white V-neck tee, jeans, and Timberlands. He held a picnic basket in his hand. Brooklyn frowned and he smiled. “Hungry?” He lifted the basket.
She put a hand up on her hip. “Didn’t I tell you not to come back?”
“I thought you meant for the day. You didn’t exactly specify.” He gave an apprehensive chuckle.
Brooklyn crossed her arms over her chest.
“I sent flowers. Singing telegrams. Emails. Text messages. I also sang on your voice mail—”
“Please don’t do that again.”
“I even called my brother and asked him what to do. He was like, ‘Yo, chief, when all else fails, women love food.’ And I was like, you know what, I know just what to do.” He held up the picnic basket in his hand. “So, I brought Burger King—”
“Burger King? Is that the best you could do?”
“I brought Wendy’s too.”
“I don’t eat fast food.”
“No worries. I brought Chick-fil-A, just in case.”
She twisted her lips.
“I got sushi. Some Haitian food. Chinese. Everybody likes egg foo young.” He moved in closer to her.
She took a step back. “I don’t find this little routine of yours appealing, by any stretch of the imagination.”
They locked eyes.
“I fucked up, big time. And I’m sorry I know I can’t apologize enough—”
“No, you can’t.”
“But I wanna try.”
“This is not about what you want; this is about what you did.”
“I know, I know. And I don’t have any excuse. But I think about you constantly. And you have every right to turn me away and tell me to leave. I’m asking you not to. Let me make this up to you and I promise this will never happen again.”
She studied him.
“Ever,” he assured her.
She needed a moment. A little relief. Something to take her mind off things. For the last few days, with the exception of work and Alani going to school, Brooklyn had locked them inside the house. Joy had talked her into letting Alani go to the beach with her and her nieces today to get some fresh air, and Brooklyn agreed.
With so much going on, from rebuilding a bridge with Bev and the constant fear that Monty was lurking somewhere, she needed something to take her mind off of things. But not Lorenz.
“I’m sorry,” Lorenz whispered. “I’ll give you all the time you need.” He turned to walk away.
She watched him walk down the stairs and over to his car.
It had occurred to her that nothing about her life had ever been simple. And showing up with a bag full of food as if he was moving back into her life was an insult.
It didn’t matter that she missed him.
And wanted him.
And she needed a break from everything that was going on: Monty. Bev. Elle. The fear of someone closing in and discovering that the governor lived a double life behind her door. Then what would she do?
What would she say and where would she go? She didn’t know. Just like she hadn’t known that Lorenz would stand here and she’d be at war with herself not to let him in.
“Okay,” she said, behind him. “I guess . . .”
He turned around and smiled. “I got moo goo gai pan.”
She laughed. “I’m only letting you in because of the food.”
“Whatever works.” He hurried back up the stairs and leaned in for a kiss.
“You haven’t earned that yet,” she said.
He nodded. “Okay, okay. I know you missed me, though.”
“Whatever.”
“Stop frontin’.”
She closed the door behind him and as she walked behind Lorenz to the table, there was a knock at the door.
Brooklyn jumped.
Lorenz looked at her suspiciously. “What’s that about?”
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean, nothing? You jumped. Are you scared? What’s going on?”
“I just wasn’t expecting anyone.” She walked to the door and looked through the peephole. Breathing a sigh of relief, she said, “What are they doing here?” She opened the door and in stepped Meechie and Luck.
“Bae,” Luck said, walking into Brooklyn’s living room, his eyes landing on the food Lorenz had begun to place on the table. “You all worried about your sister, thinking she’s moments from being taken out of here, like in the movies and shit. When lo and behold, she’s out here
living her best life. Having parties and shit. Looks just like the Golden Corral up in this bitch. You see this, Bae?”
Brooklyn pursed her lips. “Be quiet.”
“Sister,” Meechie said, eyeing Lorenz, “you don’t believe in introductions?”
“You know she’s Petty LaBelle,” Luck added. He walked over to Lorenz and extended his hand. “I’m Bae’s man, Luck.” They shook hands.
“I’m Lorenz.”
“I’m Bae.” Meechie smiled. “But you can call me Meechie.”
“We were just about to have something to eat. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Manners,” Luck said. “We ain’t quite used to receiving such hospitalization when we come over here.”
“You mean hospitality,” Brooklyn said, amused.
“That too,” Luck replied. “Anyway, my man, what y’all got?”
* * *
They ate, laughed, and shared stories. While Lorenz and Luck became enthralled in their own conversation, Meechie leaned over to Brooklyn and said, “I spoke to Mama. She told me you went to see her. I haven’t heard her that happy in a long time. Why didn’t you tell me you were thinking about going?”
“It was a last-minute decision. So much has been going on.”
“That’s part of the reason I’m here. I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t.”
“How can I not be? Whether you want to accept it or not, Monty is crazy. And I don’t want him doing anything to hurt you or my niece.”
Brooklyn looked over to Lorenz, and he was looking her way. She pursed her lips. “Demetria, I’m okay.”
“I hope so.” She looked over to Luck. “Time to go, Sweet Potato Drippings.”
“Oh, God. How gross.” Brooklyn rolled her eyes.
“It’s always the ones closest to you that hate on you,” Luck said, standing up. “It was nice to meet you.” He looked at Brooklyn. “Petty LaBelle, he’s good money. I hope to see him around.”
“That’s the plan.” Lorenz smiled, walking closely behind Brooklyn.
They walked the couple to the door and waved goodbye as they left.
Role Play Page 26
