“Gentlemen,” said Jesse.
“Have a seat, counselor,” said Reverend Junior.
Jesse sat down. The old black woman rushed in with a tray of soft drinks. She set down the tray and left.
“These are Reverends Turner, Hunter, and Washington,” said Reverend Junior. “We've been anxious about your visit, counselor.”
“Really? Why so?” asked Jesse.
“We know who killed the mayor,” said Turner in a raspy voice. He was an old man of about seventy with wispy white hair.
“Excuse Reverend Turner,” said Reverend Junior. “He thinks God killed the mayor.”
“He did,” said Turner. He drank his drink.
“What Reverend Turner means is that Yancy was a sinner and he paid the price for it,” said Washington. Washington was big, muscular, and couldn't have been more than twenty-five or so.
“He was a sinner, and God took him!” yelled Turner.
“We're all sinners,” said Reverend Junior. “Reverend Turner, please try to control yourself.”
“What is it we can do for you?” asked Hunter. He was a big, overweight man of about fifty. He was handsome with a head of dark, curly hair.
“Just following up leads,” said Jesse. “The mayor called here the day he died.” He took out a notepad and pen.
“I took that call,” said Reverend Junior. “He just called to tell us that he was planning another casino initiative. He asked me to meet him to talk about it. I agreed to meet him, but you know the rest.”
“Is that all?” asked Jesse, taking notes.
“Yes,” said Reverend Junior. “Yancy was always firm in his belief that we should have gambling. He was fearless about it.”
“Did you ever hear of anyone who might have been upset about the mayor's casino plan?” asked Jesse.
“The people were upset,” said Reverend Junior.
“We've defeated all the referendums,” said Washington, “one charter proposal, and countless actions in the state capitol. The power of the people's values is with us.”
“Casinos will only bring sin to Detroit,” said Reverend Junior. “And there's enough sin to go around already. Harris Yancy was wrong about trying to bring them in.”
“See, politicians think prosperity flows from business,” said Hunter. “But we know that it flows from God.”
The other reverends all said amen to this.
“You believe in Jesus?” Reverend Junior asked Jesse.
Jesse was somewhat thrown by the question. He did not want to let the reverend get him off the subject. But the power of the black church was strong. He felt guilty for even thinking about not answering the question.
“Yes,” said Jesse. “I'm a Christian.”
“Good,” said Reverend Junior. “Then you understand that our society is in trouble because we've turned our back on Jesus's example. Jesus was a revolutionary, a man who lived to show the world what His father, the living God, wanted them to do in life. We've turned away from that example of love and sacrifice. Instead we're concerned with self-pleasure and sin. Casinos don't want people to gamble with money; they want them to gamble with their souls. I can't allow that. We are nothing less than the sword of God, and we will strike at all attempts to bring more evil to this city.”
“I won't disagree with that,” said Jesse. “But aren't you all afraid that the new mayor will just bring them in anyway?”
“No,” said Reverend Junior quickly. “We will fight Crawford if we have to.”
“Have you talked to Crawford about this?” asked Jesse.
Hunter leaned over the table and gave Reverend Junior a look, holding up a hand.
“It's okay, brother,” said Reverend Junior. “I'll answer. Reverend Hunter is an attorney. He worries. Yes, I talked to Crawford about casinos. He wanted to help us in our fight against them.”
“Was this before or after the mayor died?” asked Jesse.
Hunter gave Reverend Junior another look.
“So, just what is your business here again, counselor?” asked Reverend Junior.
“Just following up leads, like I told you before,” said Jesse.
“This organization had nothing to do with the mayor's death,” said Hunter. “Your questioning here is inappropriate.”
“Sorry,” said Jesse. “I didn't mean to offend anyone.” Now he was fired up. These men were obviously hiding something.
“No offense taken,” said Reverend Junior. “I'd like to know how you think talking to us will help. I thought you had your suspect.”
“I don't want to leave any stone unturned. They'll say it was a rush to judgment, that sort of thing. We want to be able to say that we followed every lead, no matter how ridiculous it was.”
This made Hunter relax. As a lawyer Hunter knew that there was truth in Jesse's statement. Any good defense attorney knew that sometimes police and prosecutors ignored leads. Some would say that alone was reasonable doubt.
“Well, we all want Ms. Yancy to get a fair trial,” said Reverend Junior. “She is a member here, you know.”
“Yes, I do,” said Jesse.
“She didn't kill him,” said Turner. “God did.”
Reverend Junior gave Reverend Washington a look. Washington stood and went over to Turner. He whispered something to the old man, then took him out of the room.
“I wonder why COG didn't come out in Ms. Yancy's defense,” said Jesse. “I mean, she is prominent and, as you said, a member.”
Hunter frowned. He shot a look at Reverend Junior, but it was too late.
“I made that decision,” said Reverend Junior. “COG doesn't like to inject itself into these kinds of matters. And everyone is not so sure about Ms. Yancy's innocence. Hell hath no fury, Mr. King.”
“We have members in high places in the police department, the city government, and on the bench,” said Reverend Hunter. “We cannot show favoritism. It puts us in the position of having to do it all the time.”
Jesse knew that was not the truth. COG was the most political church in the city and could do anything it wanted.
“I see,” said Jesse.
“I'm afraid we have an urgent meeting,” said Reverend Junior. “But before we leave, we'd like to offer a prayer for you and for Ms. Yancy.”
Jesse didn't know what to think. Reverend Washington came back into the room. The MACs stood and bowed their heads. Jesse instinctively did the same as Reverend Junior spoke:
“Heavenly Father, we ask you to bless our sister Louise Yancy. Do not let her fall if she is innocent, and forgive her if she is not. And watch over this young lawyer. He is your instrument against the evil that took our brother Harris Yancy from this earth. Bless him as he strives to find the truth. And protect him from those who would deter him in his mission. We ask these and other blessings in Jesus' name. Amen.”
Jesse raised his head and stared directly into the eyes of Reverend Junior.
“Amen,” said Jesse.
Jesse entered Alex Manoogian Mansion on Dwight Street just outside downtown. The mansion is the official residence of the mayor of Detroit.
Jesse was greeted by an old black man in a suit.
“I'm Jesse King. I'm from the prosecutor's office.”
“Samuel Jackson,” said the old man. He was about seventy and had lost most of his hair. He was very dark, and his mouth was filled with perfect white dentures.
“Oh, like the actor,” said Jesse.
“Come in,” Samuel said, not responding to the comment. The old man ushered Jesse into a spacious living room, decorated with fine furniture. The house had the air of a palace. He tried not to look overwhelmed. The walls were lined with portraits of past mayors: Gibbs, Cavanaugh, Young, and Yancy.
In the middle of a big wall hung a picture of Lester Crawford.
Jesse sat on a big sofa. Samuel stood over him and asked, “Would you care for a refreshment, sir?”
“No, thanks,” said Jesse. “Hey, have a sea
t.”
“I'm the house director. I do not sit on assignment.”
“Okay,” said Jesse. “Then I'll stand.”
“As you wish, sir.”
Jesse stood up with his notepad, then: “Sam, I wanted to know if you--”
“It's Samuel, sir,” said the old man. “My name is Samuel.”
“Sorry,” said Jesse. This guy was certainly one for formality,
Jesse thought. Many old blacks in service positions found their dignity in the forgotten etiquette of yesterday. Jesse suddenly felt embarrassed for being so uncultured. “I need to know, Samuel, if you know why the mayor called here on the night he was murdered.”
“Yes, I do. I took that call for Mr. Crawford,” said Samuel.
“Really?” Jesse said, unable to hide his excitement. “What was he doing here?”
“There was a pro-casino meeting here. A lot of wealthy men.”
“Was there a Michael Talli here?” asked Jesse.
“Yes. He was at the meeting,” said Samuel. “Mr. Crawford--” He cleared his throat. “Mayor Crawford presided over the meeting.”
“I see,” said Jesse. Even though Crawford was personally against casinos, Yancy had obviously made him support the city's plan to get them. “So, did Crawford seem upset when he took the call?”
“I didn't watch him, sir,” said Samuel. There was a tinge of irritation in his voice.
“Sorry,” said Jesse. “Who took the other call?”
“There was no other call from the mayor that night,” said Samuel.
“Are you sure?” asked Jesse. “I have verified phone records.”
“I am positive,” said Samuel.
“All right. Can I have a list of the people at that party?”
“Yes. We keep a list of everyone who comes to the mansion,” said Samuel.
“That's great. Please let me have a copy,” said Jesse.
“Very good.” Samuel started off.
“Why do you keep such a list?” asked Jesse. “If you don't mind my asking.”
“Mayor Yancy liked to know who was here in his absence. He especially wanted to know when his wife was here.”
“Why was that?”
“You know,” said Samuel. “I see no need to soil his memory further.”
“I see,” said Jesse. “But if you can tell me, were they happy, the Yancys?”
“Happy is a relative term. They fought quite a bit, but it was common. But they had moments when they were like newlyweds.” He looked a little sad at this memory. “I'll get that list.”
Samuel walked out of the room and returned in a few minutes with several stapled pages. He handed them to Jesse. Jesse looked at the list and sighed heavily. Talli had been there that night. And during the day of the murder the mansion had been visited by many others. Crawford, D’Estenne, Walter Nicks, Reverend Junior, and Richard Steel had all come by at various times. Even his old friend Ellis Holmes had been there. Ellis had mentioned that, hadn't he? Jesse couldn't remember.
“Why were there so many people here that day?”
“I think it was the New City Project. The mayor had just gotten the brochures on the proposal, and he didn't want to have them delivered. He made everyone come here to get them. He liked to summon people sometimes.”
“Well, thank you,” said Jesse. “I think that I have everything I need.”
Samuel showed Jesse to the door, but Jesse hardly noticed the old man. He hurried out of the big house holding the list, feeling that he was getting closer to some hidden truth.
17
Old Days
LoLo stretched her arms in a big yawn. It was late, and she and Ramona had been up a long time. They had discussed Cane's strength and weaknesses and where it would be best to hit him. Cane's operation was tight. His system was complex and efficient. He'd recently gotten his rollers to deliver their goods on bikes. That way, if they got busted, the cops couldn't take their cars under the forfeiture laws.
Cane's people were too loyal or too scared to turn on him. Tico and Walker were fierce, ruthless, and as tough as Cane himself. They had discussed getting to him through a woman, but Cane wasn't known to have one.
Ramona had always been the brains of the crew, always had a scheme to get money, avoid the cops, or take down an enemy. They had made a good team: her brains and LoLo's ruthlessness. LoLo was hot-tempered and crude, but she had the mettle to make things happen.
“Maybe Sheri was right,” said LoLo. “Maybe we should just hit him, burn down one of his houses.”
“You think that's good enough?” said Ramona. “He'll just get you back, nip and tuck. Naw, you wanna devastate him. One blow.”
“Yeah, maybe do like the Mafia, kill his whole family,”
LoLo said.
“Does he even have a family?” asked Ramona.
“Everyone has a family,” said LoLo.
“What makes you think he cares about them? He's in the
life. They probably don't even talk.” Ramona was speaking from experience.
“Let me tell you something, Mona,” said LoLo. “Rollers may be evil, murdering bastards, but they all love their mamas.”
Ramona thought about that. Even to those in the life, family was important. It was your basis in the world, like it or not. She had lost her family because of her fast friends, who had become her new family, a sorry substitute.
“So, you and me can find out who they are, then we pop his old lady,” said LoLo.
“I can't do that,” said Ramona. “I can't kill somebody's mama.”
“What the fuck is it with you?” said LoLo. “You know, you've never smoked anybody as long as I've known you. You down with me in this or not?”
Ramona looked a little hurt. “When we got into this, we always said we wouldn't be crazy and destructive, that we was just out to get paid. What happened to that?”
“Things change,” said LoLo sourly. “People change.”
“I haven't,” said Ramona.
“Then forget it,” said LoLo. “You still all messed up over what happened to your sister. That's so fuckin' weak. Just get your stuff and go then. I don't have time for you.”
“Look,” said Ramona, “we don't have to do this. If you can turn one of Cane's men, you might be able to get to him. Cane may not like women, but I bet the others do.”
A police siren uttered a short blast. To LoLo and Ramona, it sounded like the voice of the devil. LoLo jumped up and went to the window.
“Damn!” said LoLo, grabbing her gun. Then realization washed over her face. “Cane,” she said.
It suddenly hit them that while they had been planning, so had Cane. They were looking for a way to move on him, but his hit on their rollers had been just the start of his plan.
“I can't let them take me,” said Ramona.
“That muthafucka,” said LoLo. “I got some drugs in here. So, if they pop us, we go down hard.”
“There's only one car out there,” said Ramona. “We can do like we used to, split and run LoLo, where's my briefcase?”
There was a hard knock at the door. Ramona and LoLo broke for the back door. The two women hit the back door together, knocking the officer on the other side of it to the ground. They jumped over him and ran like hell, going in opposite directions.
Ramona didn't look back. She pumped all her energy into running. She saw herself shooting at the dealers, then her sister, Sarah, being hit with a bullet, her mother crying, yelling at her....
“Stop!” yelled a voice from behind her.
A shot rang out. Then another. Ramona couldn't tell if they were shooting at her or LoLo.
“Stop or I'll drop your ass!”
The voice sounded closer. Ramona looked over her shoulder and saw a male police officer after her. A jolt of adrenaline shot through her. Just as she rounded a corner, she slammed into an old shopping cart parked haphazardly on the sidewalk. Ramona fell as the cart rolled in the street. Her leg twisted, and a sharp pain went through
her leg as she hit the pavement.
Ramona struggled to get to her feet but was kicked back down. Hard fists slammed into her side and back, and angry curses followed. She was pulled roughly to her feet, and a nightstick was placed over her throat. The cop choked her, cursing and punching her in the side. Ramona struggled to speak but couldn't.
Finally the cop let her go, and she fell to the ground, unable to getup.
18
Riverfront
Jesse sat with Connie in the banquet hall of the River Front Ballroom in the Westin Hotel in the early-morning sun. The breakfast meeting was filled to the rafters with Detroit's elite. Across the room, through a huge picture window, Jesse could see the Detroit River, rolling along peacefully.
Connie was drinking coffee and nibbling on a croissant. She was in heaven. She loved places and events like this. She was perfectly at home among these people. She was gracious, funny, the perfect social companion for a professional man.
Steven Brownhill was giving a dull speech about urban renewal. Crawford and his minions were seated at the dais, as were several prominent ministers and politicians. Jesse only half listened to the speech. The Brownhill family, called the Kennedys of the Midwest, was extremely wealthy and everyone knew they wanted one of their sons in the governor's mansion. This was really a disguised fundraiser for the election.
Brownhill had formed a committee called the New City Commission. It was planning a big renovation of the east side of Detroit. He was stomping around the metro area, looking for investors.
Brownhill's partners in New City were Margaret Blue, the CEO of Blue Pipe, a plumbing and construction firm. She was a hard woman, called Icewater behind her back. Rounding out the commission was Willie Gibbs, a black retired NFL star and owner of a profitable real estate and construction company. Gibbs's company specialized in urban renewal. Gibbs was a big, loud man who was fond of cigars and young girls. The New City Project was certain to increase their already vast fortunes.
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