by Pearl Cleage
She had already greeted the host committee and dropped a twenty in the omnipresent fund-raising fishbowl, when she glanced up and saw Precious Hargrove headed her way.
“Captain Kilgore,” she said, sticking out her hand like a good politician. “I put you on my call list for first thing tomorrow morning, and here you are!”
“Senator Hargrove,” Lee said. “It’s good to see you again so soon.”
“I read your proposal for the peace precinct last night. That’s why I wanted to call you. There’s no question that Mandeville Maids will be involved.”
“I’m so pleased to hear that!” This was an understatement. Lee was delighted. Precious brought instant credibility and a constituency that was already in place.
“It’s a great idea,” Precious said. “I’d like to work with you on it in whatever way would be most helpful. We can hash out the details next time we talk, which I hope will be soon.”
“Count on it,” Lee said, and they shook hands again before Precious moved away to greet another admirer.
Lee stayed around for another half hour or so, but as far as she was concerned, the party was over. Mission accomplished. She was a happy woman and it was only eight-fifteen. Cruising down Peachtree Street with no particular place to go, she decided to treat herself to dinner. Turning the car sharply at the next corner, she pulled into the valet parking outside Silk without giving herself time to second-guess the decision. She stepped into the soft, humid air of the fall night and loved the feel of the slight breeze against her face. She was glad she hadn’t worn her uniform.
Silk was the kind of restaurant where they remembered your name if you came in more than twice. Lee was a regular. The smiling hostess seated her in a corner booth near the sushi bar, where the raw fish looked so fresh and inviting, she was tempted, but decided on the filet mignon instead. She relaxed into the serene beauty of the restaurant, congratulating herself on the decision to take a minute to enjoy herself. She had earned it.
Her salad hadn’t even arrived when Lee heard the faint ringing of her telephone. The sound annoyed her. She was off duty and she intended to stay off duty. The phone rang again, softly but clearly audible, and a tall, fashionably thin woman with frizzy blond hair and artfully faded jeans, who was nibbling raw octopus at the sushi bar, turned around slightly and frowned her disapproval. Lee couldn’t even be angry. She also hated cellphones in public places. She reached into her bag and hit the mute button. That satisfied the blond woman, who turned back to her dinner. Glancing down, Lee recognized Bob’s number on her caller ID.
“Hold on,” she said, getting up. A ringing phone could be forgiven. A conversation was just bad manners. On the sidewalk outside, she stepped clear of arriving diners before she spoke again. “Sorry, I’m in a restaurant.”
“Did you see the six o’clock news?”
“No, I was—”
He didn’t let her finish the sentence. “There’s been a murder. In the old fourth ward.”
“Anybody we know?” The old fourth ward was the heart of their cocaine operation.
“How the hell would I know?” He sounded agitated. “I thought that was your job.”
“Well, what do you know?” At this point, she needed details, not accusations.
“A couple of days ago this kid, high-school kid, disappears. His mom knows he’s been hanging out with a rough crowd, so she’s worried. She’s asking people if they’ve seen Junior. Where’s Junior? Where’s Junior?”
“That’s his name? Junior?” That didn’t narrow it down. Half the guys in the neighborhood were called Junior by their mamas even if they’d never seen their daddies.
“Junior, Lil’ Man, how the hell do I know?”
She resisted the impulse to comment on his tone of voice. “Go on.”
“So she keeps poking her nose around, looking for Junior, and some of that bad crowd decided it was time for her to back off, so they sent her his dick home in a shoe box.”
“What?”
“She stepped outside to get the paper and there was the box with a note that told her where to find the rest of her son if she wanted him.”
“Jesus!”
“That’s not all. They dropped his dickless ass body on the steps of his mother’s church, which is where she found him.”
The idea of a celebratory dinner suddenly seemed beside the point. This was dangerous. There hadn’t been that kind of violence in the area in years. This was no time for it all to start up again. “All that was on the news?”
“Including the mother, live and in living color, demanding justice and accusing a rogue element in the police force of protecting the very cocaine dealers who killed her son.”
Lee groaned. Murder and mutilation had never been part of the plan. “I’m on it.”
“You should have been on it.”
“You’re right,” she said, wondering why people wasted so much time in a crisis finger-pointing when action was required, not recrimination. “I’ll call you when I find out what’s going on?”
She snapped her phone closed without waiting for his good-bye. So this was why she hadn’t been able to shake that bad feeling. This was what she had been trying to outrun and now here it was, knocking at the door and calling her name out loud. She took another step away from Silk’s front door and punched in a number.
“Yo,” the deep male voice answered roughly before the first ring was complete. “What up?”
“We need to talk,” Lee said, skipping the formalities. She could hear loud music and people talking. “Where are you?”
“At Baltimore. Where you at?”
“I’m on my way. Have the valet meet me out front.”
“You must have seen that crazy bitch on the six o’clock news.”
Lee stopped him midsentence. She never trusted cellphones. “I’ll come upstairs as soon as I get there. Don’t make me have to find you.”
“You ain’t got to worry about that. I’m gonna be the first nigga you see in VIP, just like always.”
She closed the phone without saying good-bye and sighed at this sudden change of plans. The last thing she wanted to do was meet T. G. Thomas and ask him what in the hell was going on in the area where he was supposed to be keeping order. Even worse, he was waiting for her at one of those Buckhead clubs where the music was always too loud and the frantic search for instant gratification was not simply the norm, but the universal cover charge. What she wanted to do was turn back the clock fifteen minutes, before she’d answered her phone.
Now she had no choice. All she could do was turn her attention to the business at hand. Her new life, and her steak, would have to wait.
30
Baltimore was the second club to occupy the space on the corner of Buckhead Avenue and Peachtree Street. The first, a spot called Ellington’s, had been forced to close after an unfortunate stabbing incident that had resulted in two deaths, a celebrity murder trial, and the unavoidable loss of the owner’s liquor license. The new order had taken advantage of the location’s notoriety by renaming it after the hometown of the superstar athlete who had been involved in the fracas, retaining most of the old staff and reopening almost immediately with a minimum of changes to the interior. Many patrons were unaware that the club had even changed hands.
Lee allowed herself to be led upstairs to the VIP area, although she knew exactly where it was. She had no doubt T.G. would be waiting for her inside. This was serious, and he knew it as well as she did. She stepped into the dimly lit area and glanced around. The room was furnished with several couches, some comfortable chairs, and stacks of big floor pillows arranged in cozy groupings or pulled up in front of the glass wall for an unobstructed view of the crowded dance floor.
Aside from T.G., whom she spotted immediately, there were several other men present, laughing and pointing at the dancers below. The music made it impossible to hear their voices, but their body language indicated an easy physical intimacy that made Lee suddenly focus on the fact th
at unlike her other visits to Baltimore, this time there were no other women around. One of the men looked vaguely family to her, but she looked away before he caught her staring.
T.G. watched her from a love seat tucked away in as quiet a corner as could be found in the place. He didn’t get up as she approached, nor did she expect him to. This was not a social call.
“You drinkin’?” He indicated a glass ice bucket nearby where a bottle of Cristal was chilling. Tall and well built, he was attractive and slightly intimidating, a combination he exploited in all his relationships. His grandmother had given him the nickname T.G. for “tough guy” when he was seven.
“I’m listening.”
“That nigga was stealing.”
She narrowed her eyes and looked at him. “So you cut his dick off and send it to his mother?”
He shrugged. “Like I said, he was stealin’.”
T.G. was twenty-eight, already old for the cocaine business. The murder of a small-time dealer was no big deal to him. Lee had to make him understand that it was a very big deal. Her look told him she was waiting for a more complete explanation of what had gone down.
“Look, his mama was pokin’ her nose in all over the place. Knockin’ on people’s doors. Talkin’ about goin’ to the police with what homeboy had told her.”
“And what did he tell her?”
T.G. took a sip of champagne and looked at Lee. “He told her the police were involved.”
“What made him think that?”
“Niggas always talkin’ about shit ain’t none a they business. Who know where he heard it?”
“I want you to find out.”
“What you think we was tryin’ to do when we cut his shit off?”
“You know his mother?”
“Sure. She was always around trying to get him to quit hangin’ out. She thought we was corruptin’ him.”
“Do you think she’ll calm down?”
T.G. considered the question. The two men across the room had ordered their champagne and the tall one who looked familiar to Lee was doing the honors. The dance floor was filling up with brothers in baggy jeans and oversize T-shirts that would not have distinguished them from any other hip-hop heads except for the complete absence of women.
“I don’t know,” T.G. said slowly. “That nigga the only son she got ain’t dead or already in jail.”
The music was giving Lee a headache. She pinched the bridge of her nose.
T.G. put down his glass and leaned a little closer. “You want me to take care of it?”
“That’s what started all this in the first place,” she snapped. “I don’t want you to do a damn thing until I tell you.”
“Nuthin’?”
“Nothing at all. Let the woman bury her son. Nobody’s going to talk for a while after what you did.”
“That’s why we did it,” T.G. said, without any discernible shred of remorse.
Lee looked at him, her eyes as cold as his were. “Two things. If you ever do some psycho shit like this again, I’ll send your dick home to your mama in a damn box.”
He didn’t flinch, but he knew she wasn’t kidding. “What’s the other thing?”
“How long has this club been gay?”
“It ain’t gay,” T.G. said, grinning. “This down-low night.”
“I see.”
“Don’t worry, boss. I ain’t no faggot, but just between you and me? Some of these brothers can suck a dick better than a bitch.”
Obviously, she thought, his definition of what was and was not gay was more fluid than her own. It was time to go. Lee stood up.
“I’ll be in touch. Keep your eyes open.”
“Will do.” In a sudden burst of gentlemanliness, he stood up, too.
“And, T.G.?”
“Yeah?”
“Use a condom.”
“You know it, boss.” He winked and patted the pocket of his oversize denim shirt.
Halfway home, Lee suddenly realized that the tall young man in the VIP room watching the dancers and pouring champagne was Precious Hargrove’s very married son. She couldn’t remember his name, but that was a small detail. The point was, the front-runner seemed to have a son on the down low. How the poor bastard figured he could pull off a double life in the relentless glare of the political spotlight was a mystery to Lee. VIP rooms at the club on down-low night aren’t a very good place to hide, but he seemed oblivious. She picked up her cellphone and punched in Bob’s number on the speed dial.
“Well?” He was obviously still nursing the same foul mood. His tone made her realize that she didn’t want to share this latest tidbit with him. For now, she would simply report in and keep her own counsel.
“Everything is under control,” she said, sounding like any good vice president charged with putting out a corporate fire.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“You better be.”
He hung up as abruptly as he had answered. Lee didn’t care. She hadn’t lied. Things were under control. The question was, whose control?
31
By the time Baby Brother pulled into the parking lot beside the Morehouse Medical School, his sister’s car was running on fumes. He’d driven the ten hours from D.C. straight through and arrived in Atlanta broke, exhausted, and annoyed at the insanity of the rush-hour traffic, as if the city had arranged it just to slow down his progress. He pulled off the freeway near the state capital and drove around for ten minutes, wasting gas and looking for a pay phone. He found two quarters in the loose change his sister, a nonsmoker, always kept in her ashtray, and called the number Zora had given him.
“Veterans Support Project,” a male voice answered on the second ring. “Dr. Epps speaking.”
“Can I speak to Zora?”
“She’s not here,” Dr. Epps said. “Can I help you with something?”
“Yeah, well, Zora said if I got to Atlanta to call you and you’d know how to find her.”
There was a slight pause. “Are you a veteran?”
Technically, yes, Baby Brother thought. “Yeah, I’m a veteran.”
“Are you driving?”
The questions were routine, but they annoyed Baby Brother. “Yeah, so?”
“Why don’t you come by the office? I’ll call Zora and tell her you’ve arrived. She’ll probably want to meet you here. Do you need directions?”
That was the stupidest question yet. “Yeah.”
Fifteen minutes later, Baby Brother was sitting in the project office, wondering where Zora was and being gently but firmly grilled by Samson Epps.
“I’m sorry about your mother,” Dr. Epps said, after asking Baby Brother his current status with the army. He had seemed surprised that Baby Brother wasn’t in uniform until he explained he was home on personal leave for a funeral. “How much leave did they give you?”
Baby Brother stood up, frowning. “Hey, look, man, I didn’t come here for no counseling and shit. I’m just waiting for Zora, aw-iiight?”
As if on cue, before Samson could respond, Zora walked through the door, spotted Baby Brother, smiled, and stuck out her hand. Both men stood when she entered the room, either from politeness or simply because, as Baby Brother immediately recognized, she was looking very, very good. Her hair was pulled back from her face and her smile was as dazzling as he remembered. Her low-slung jeans were sexy without being obvious and he could glimpse the curve of her breast under her gauzy brown peasant blouse.
“Hey, Wes,” she said, extending her hand to him. “You made it.”
“Yeah, well…” He didn’t know quite what to say. “Here I am.”
“You met Dr. Epps?”
Samson nodded. “We’ve been getting to know each other.”
Zora picked up the disapproval in Samson’s tone and ignored it. “Good. Do you want to grab some breakfast before I have to go to class?”
“That’s cool,” he said, glad they were leaving this place. He was tired of answering questions
.
“See you tomorrow, Dr. Epps,” Zora said, leading the way out.
Baby Brother followed her happily, enjoying the view from behind. She wasn’t driving, so she rode with him the few blocks to her apartment. He was glad he had enough gas to make it without asking her for money. She directed him to a parking space behind her building and he followed her through what looked like a great big garden and around to the bright blue front door. She reached into her pocket for her key and then turned to look at him with an expression he couldn’t read.
He smiled what he hoped was a neutral smile. Who knew what the day would hold if he played his cards right and didn’t act a fool.
She smiled back. “I don’t know you very well, so I want to be really clear about things, okay?”
“What things?”
“I’m glad you came. I want to get to know you better. But this morning, all we’re going to do is have breakfast and talk.”
He grinned at her. “Damn, baby you slam the door in a brother’s face before he even gets his foot in it.”
“Call me Zora, okay?”
“Okay, Zora. This is just two friends talkin’ over some bacon and eggs. Period.”
“I’m a vegetarian,” she said, but her smile widened.
“Okay, bean sprouts and eggs.”
She actually giggled at that one and Baby Brother thought that even just breakfast would be a treat with a woman as fine as this one.
“I’ll try and do better than that,” she said, opening the blue door and leading him upstairs to her second-floor apartment. The inside door was unlocked and there were no burglar bars. She had a big old couch with a slouchy slipcover, a desk by the window, and a couple of well-used pillows stacked in the corner that were meant to substitute for chairs.
She dropped her book bag on the couch. “Come on in the kitchen,” she said, clicking a CD to life on the small boom box on the desk. He recognized the voice of Alicia Keys lamenting the fact that some oblivious brother didn’t even know her name.
