Over the next twenty years, he had scratched and clawed his way up the corporate ladder, competing against others in the paper who had what he didn’t have—a wealthy pedigree or family connections in the newspaper business. He had finally become editor in 1989.
He’d spent more than twenty years guiding the paper through its heyday in the 1990s and keeping it afloat as news gradually—then rapidly—moved from newsprint to
the Internet. In all of his years as editor he had never been bullied by one of his reporters, and he’d be damned if he was going to let Lloyd Palmer force him into a corner.
There had to be a way to bring Lloyd’s ego back down to earth, and Ed was determined to find a way to do it. Bob Murray, one of his old buddies from the neighborhood, would know how to handle Lloyd. Ed hadn’t spoken with Bob, whom everyone called “Bubba,” in several years, but they had known each other since grammar school.
Bob used to be the bully in the school yard, terrorizing the kids who were small in stature or who were too afraid to defend themselves. He amassed a pocket full of change every week by taking the lunch money off a lot of the kids in the younger grades. Fortunately for Ed, his older brother was just as tough as Bob was, so he was never a victim of Bob’s antics.
The tough-guy attitude didn’t wear off once Bob became an adult. He still participated in the occasional barroom brawl. And the two of them didn’t operate in the same social circles, but Ed had contacted him before in situations where gentle persuasion wasn’t enough. Ed picked up the phone and dialed his number. Bob didn’t answer, so Ed left a voice mail message.
“Bob, this is Ed. I need to talk with you about something. Meet me tomorrow evening at six at the Fuddruckers near Greenway Plaza. It’s important.”
311
Gwen Richardson
CHAPTER 24
Lloyd arrived at the Lake on Post Oak complex at quarter to ten the next morning. He wanted to be certain to be positioned when Hamisi arrived. The complex was a well-maintained piece of property in Houston’s Galleria area, containing three glass office buildings that were several stories high. In the center of the complex was a man-made lake with a fountain.
White ducks and geese paddled across the lake, and there were several park benches positioned around it. It was a perfect spot for a picnic or a romantic rendezvous. Lloyd also noticed that it was an ideal place to meet someone because, if anyone approached, they could be viewed from any number of angles.
Lloyd drove into the covered parking facility, parked his car and walked over to one of the park benches. He didn’t see anyone sitting on any of the benches, so he picked one of them, sat down and waited.
Lloyd had called the office to let Ed know he would be coming in around noon. He had been putting in a lot of hours while working on the Pauley kidnapping story, so Ed didn’t seem to mind.
But the Ledger was still receiving calls from other news outlets, and Lloyd needed to be on hand to respond to
inquiries and assist other staff members with continued updates. He checked his watch and hoped that Hamisi would show up soon.
“I’m glad you’re on time,” said Hamisi from behind him, startling Lloyd. “You have had a very busy week, my friend.”
“Hamisi, where did you come from? I almost jumped off this bench when you spoke. How did you get here without me seeing you?”
“I arrived early and staked out a position where I could see everything. I wanted to meet here for that reason.”
“You’re right. It has been a busy week. My whole world has been turned upside down.”
Hamisi’s expression became serious. “Now do you understand why everything that is written down is not truth? Your newspaper had the whole city in chaos because of a completely false report about a kidnapping.”
“No need to rub it in. I’ve been living under the illusion that the goal of my profession was to present the truth and the facts. I know now that there’s a lot more to it than that and that what we print can leave so many lives hanging in the balance. Meeting you has changed my life, Hamisi.”
“My universe has been altered as well, my friend,” Hamisi replied, and then he paused reflectively. “I wanted to talk with you before I left town.”
“Leaving town? Why are you being so secretive? Did something happen?”
“Yes, something happened. The speed of your journey along the road to true knowledge has increased in the past several days. This means that some of your co-workers may eventually become aware of me, and it is important that I remain an unknown quantity. As a griot, I must remain outside the limelight. My mind must remain unencumbered by the distractions of this world. A griot must deny self for the greater good. There can be no desire for fortune or fame.”
Lloyd’s heart sank. “Hamisi, you can’t disappear on me now. I’m just beginning to understand some of the things you’ve been talking about. This whole Pauley fiasco has opened my eyes to the fallacy of what I and other reporters do every day at the Ledger.”
“You give me too much credit, my son,” replied Hamisi. “I believe you would have made these discoveries on your own . . . eventually.”
“But I was planning to do more research and write an extensive article about you and the Lemba tribe. Maybe get it into the Ledger or some other large circulation publication. I think I have my editor’s attention now, and he’s more open to listen to my ideas.”
“You can still do your research, Lloyd, but I cannot be part of your story. As I told you, griots must be inconspicuous, nearly anonymous to the public.”
“Why, Hamisi? Your wisdom could help so many, could open so many eyes.”
“Because, my son, if a griot becomes a—what’s the word in American culture—ah, a ‘celebrity,’ then his oral record will be subject to manipulation by others. His record will no longer be pure and will thus become unreliable. Our people depend upon us to pass our history from generation to generation.”
“Lloyd, continue with your research. There are many ways besides contact with me that you can develop your story. There is a group called the Lemba Cultural Association that can give you much of the data you seek. You should be able to make contact with them online.”
“What is more important, Lloyd, is that you learn more about yourself and what could be the origins of your ancestors. Do you have a Bible at home?”
Lloyd thought about the Bible that Stephanie had given him a few years ago for Father’s Day. He knew it was at the house somewhere but had no idea where he’d put it. “More than one,” he said, “although I’m ashamed to admit that I rarely crack it open. Why is that important?”
“Read Genesis, chapter 2 verse 13, and chapter 10. You will learn much about the origins of man and the descendants of Noah’s son, Ham. After the Great Flood, it was the descendants of Ham who populated all of the black races of the Earth.”
“I’m not very religious, Hamisi. Most of the time when I’ve read the Bible or when I hear verses quoted, they’re in this antiquated language with a lot of ‘thee’s’ and ‘thou’s.’ I can’t make head or tail of what’s in there.”
“That’s because you have to read it with an open mind, an open heart. If your mind is closed, neither knowledge nor wisdom can enter.”
“Okay, Hamisi, if you say so. I’ll do it. When are you coming back to Houston?”
“I’m not sure when or if I will be back. My work here may be done, and I can move on to another location. But if you need to reach me, you have my e-mail address.”
“Will I ever see you again?”
“Are we now indeed friends, Lloyd?”
“Hamisi, I believe you are one of the most important friends I will ever meet.”
`“Then, as friends, we will always be connected, seeing each other perhaps not with our physical eyes,
but by using our other senses, including our sixth sense—our spiritual sense.”
“I’ll never forget you, Hamisi,” Lloyd said, as he shook his friend’s hand and then embraced
him.
“Nor will I you,” Hamisi replied, then he turned and walked away.
311
Gwen Richardson
CHAPTER 25
“I’ll kill you,” is what the attacker, Rodney Dennis, said, according to neighborhood eyewitnesses whom Lloyd interviewed when Ed assigned him to a stabbing incident in a Northwest Houston subdivision. After Lloyd met with Hamisi, Ed had called and sent him to the neighborhood because the story might have regional implications.
Houston had acquired thousands of new residents from New Orleans in 2005 in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. Some of the natives of the Big Easy were still living hand-to-mouth, with multiple families living in homes that were designed as single-family dwellings.
Such was the case with this latest crime victim. Lloyd had spoken to Brenda Dickerson, one of the women who lived in the home with Rodney. Brenda had lived in Houston since that unfortunate August a few years ago when the New Orleans levees burst. She and her sisters, Regina and Latoya, were separated by the storm’s upheaval and reunited a month later.
Regina was Rodney’s girlfriend and neither had been able to find steady work since arriving in Houston. They and their two boys sometimes had to resort to staying in homeless shelters just to avoid sleeping on the streets.
Latoya’s live-in lover, Curtis, who she called her “boo,” was the stabbing victim. The three sisters, their boyfriends, and their combined six children were all sharing a three-bedroom home in Houston’s FM 1960 area.
“Mama always expected me to look out for Regina and Latoya, since I’m the oldest,” Brenda told Lloyd, “but they were always cussin’ and fussin’ and arguing. Something bad was bound to happen sooner or later.”
“By ‘they,’ I assume you mean Rodney and Curtis?” asked Lloyd.
“Yeah, them two didn’t like each other, and they were always trying to prove who was the toughest, who had the most heart. They reminded me of those deer with the horns that you see on the National Geographic channel, buckin’ and pushin’ up against each other to see who’ll take over the territory.
“I guess one of ‘em had to prove who was boss. The thing is that I rented this house for all of us, so neither one of them was really in charge anyway. Is Curtis going to make it?”
“The ambulance took him to the hospital. He lost a lot of blood,” said Lloyd, as he nodded toward the blood-stained area across the street, not far from where they stood, that had been roped off by the sheriff with yellow crime scene tape. The argument between the two men had begun inside but had escalated steadily and moved outside.
According to Brenda and the neighbors, Rodney yelled, “I’ll kill you,” and stabbed Curtis in the abdomen and chest several times. Apparently, the argument was over forty dollars that Rodney thought Curtis stole from the box his son had hidden under his bed.
“I sure hope he makes it,” said Brenda, “because, if he doesn’t, neither of my sisters will have their men with them. Rodney will go to jail, and Curtis will be gone forever. Our family has been through enough grief. I don’t know how much more we can take,” she said, and she began sobbing.
Brenda then peered at Lloyd curiously. “Aren’t you that reporter who was on T.V. last night about that River Oaks lady and the kidnapping?”
“Yes m’am, I am.”
“Well, you sure did a good deed. Too bad more reporters don’t help our city like you did. Most of ‘em just want to take advantage of people when they’re already down and out.”
“It’s mostly done out of habit and training, m’am. It’s not personal,” said Lloyd, but as soon as he uttered the words, he wished he could retract them. He realized how callous and insensitive he sounded.
“Well, if they are in everybody’s personal business, that sure makes it personal,” replied Brenda with an air of indignation.
“I’m sorry, I misspoke,” said Lloyd. “What I meant was that they really don’t mean any harm. They’ve been taught by their bosses and others in their profession to obtain the juiciest possible details for their stories in order to sell newspapers. Sometimes they forget there are real people’s lives involved.”
“You’re damned right,” said Brenda, as she put her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the right. “Your reporter friends need to get their act together.”
Lloyd’s cell phone rang. “Excuse me one second,” he told Brenda as he hit the send button and walked a few feet away so he could have some privacy.
“Lloyd, are you still at the scene of that stabbing in Northwest Houston?” asked Ed.
“Yes, Ed. Is there something you need me to do?”
“It’s now a murder case. The victim died on the way to the hospital.”
“All right, Ed. I’m here with one of the women who lived in the same house with him. Is it okay to break the news to her?”
“Why not? She’ll find out soon enough anyway. When you do the write up on this one, you probably should work in some info about the continued plight of the New Orleans transplants since Katrina.”
“I’d already thought of that, Ed, and I’m on it.”
“When you’re done there, you need to come back here as soon as possible. We’re still getting interview requests from some of the other dailies and news networks, and we want the visual backdrop to be the Ledger newsroom.”
“That’ll work. I’ve been receiving text messages all day from newspapers and magazines from all over. Time magazine may want me to do an exclusive. They’re even talking about a cover story.”
“All interviews have to first be cleared through my office.”
“Ed, I understand protocol, but if Time magazine wants me for a cover story, I’m taking it—period. It’s too big an opportunity for me to walk away from it.”
Ed’s suspicions were correct. Last week, Lloyd would have responded with a simple, “Yes, Ed.” But Lloyd’s attitude had definitely changed and there was no way to put the genie back in the bottle.
“Just get back here as soon as possible. We want to make sure we get the interviews done for the outlets’ afternoon deadlines.”
“As soon as I inform Ms. Dickerson about Curtis’ death, I’ll head that way,” replied Lloyd, but he heard the phone disconnect halfway through his sentence. Ed had hung up.
Lloyd hit cancel to end the call and walked in Brenda’s direction. “Brenda, I’m sorry, but I have some bad news.”
Brenda took two apprehensive steps backward. “What is it? Who was that on the phone?”
“It was my editor. One of our sources at the hospital called and said that Curtis died in the ambulance on the way there. He’s gone. I’m sorry.”
“Oh my Lord,” Brenda wailed. “’Toya’s gonna be heartbroken.”
311
Gwen Richardson
CHAPTER 26
Ed arrived at Fuddrucker’s a few minutes early and found a booth that was surrounded by the fewest customers. He and Bubba shared an appetite for great hamburgers—thick, juicy and medium rare. None of those fast food, frozen patty burgers for them. They had eaten at Fuddrucker’s many times, and when they wanted to get loose with a couple of chicks after work, this is where they brought them.
Ed sat in the booth facing the door so he could see Bubba when he arrived. Bubba walked in at 6:00 p.m. sharp, wearing his signature cowboy hat, boots and jeans. With his full gray beard, six-foot-four-inch frame and a girth carrying about 250 pounds, Bubba was an imposing figure.
Ed waved to get Bubba’s attention and directed him over to the booth. “Hi, Bubba. You’re looking good. Helen must be treating you right,” he said, referring to Bubba’s wife.
“Helen and about five other chicks, but what else is new? Did you order yet?”
“No, I was waiting for you to get here. I got the menus though.”
A waitress stopped at the table to take their orders. When she was gone, Bubba turned his attention to Ed.
“So, Ed, what do you need from me?”
“How do you know I nee
d something? I could have just wanted us to get together to talk about old times.”
“Who are you kidding? The only time you call me is when you want me to do your dirty work. Since you left the old neighborhood and went to college, you’ve barely set foot in our old stomping grounds. And you can’t get your hands too dirty since you hob-nob with the fat cats downtown and with the high society folks,” Bubba said sarcastically.
“Well, if you must know, I do have a problem at work. There’s a boy—a nigger—who’s getting out of hand. It’s not entirely uncontrollable yet, but it’s moving in that direction. I wanted to have a game plan ready just in case I need it.”
“I told you that would happen once they started getting their bylines in the paper. Those coons think they practically own the Ledger now, don’t they?”
“It’s not everybody, just this particular one. You know the guy who broke the story on the Pauley kidnapping?”
“Yeah, I heard about it. I can’t believe the city handed out welfare checks to those idiots. Most of them probably deserved to be in jail anyway. I’ll bet some other reporter did the work and that coon wants to take the credit. That’s just like a nigger.”
“This time, Bubba, he actually did break the story. It’s gone straight to his head, and he’s practically giving me orders. I can’t fire him because now he’s not only a hero to the newspaper but a hero to this city. Time magazine called
him for a cover story, for Christ’s sake. Something may need to be done soon.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing yet, but just be on standby and think of some way to scare the bejesus out of him. I’ll let you know when.”
“This time I’ll need ten grand in cash.”
“You’ll get your money. Just be ready.”
“You got it,” Bubba replied, as the waitress delivered their hamburgers and they both enjoyed their meals.
The Genesis Files Page 11
