by Pearl Cleage
The few intact men who made it through are still under siege by those who would be their masters, Blue thought, or their destroyers. He knew their numbers were dwindling. He also knew what life would be like in African American neighborhoods once the predators reached the necessary numbers to take full control. In many places, it had already happened. In West End, he knew all they were doing was holding a finger to the dike, but he believed that history required only that each one play the role that is assigned. Blue had always known that. General was about to learn it.
When the phone rang at just after six, Regina murmured softly and turned in her sleep. Blue picked it up and slipped out of bed in one smooth motion. “Hello?”
“Blue? I’m so sorry to call this early, but I need your help.” Precious sounded tense and tired.
“You have it,” Blue said. “This is a safe line. What can you tell me?”
Precious took a deep breath and said it all in a rush. “Kwame is a suspect in a murder case.”
“Where are you now?”
“I’m at his place with Aretha and Joyce Ann. He stayed at my house last night.”
“I’m on my way.”
“Blue?”
“Yes?”
“Is there any way Regina could come with you? I think Aretha’s going to need all the sisters she’s got to get through this.”
“We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
When Blue walked back into the bedroom, Regina was already up, pulling on her robe. She tied it snugly across her gently rounding belly. The sun through the window behind her head outlined her body in a soft-focus glow and Blue thanked the gods as he always did for finally bringing this woman to his side.
“Precious says Kwame is a suspect in a murder case.”
“What?” Regina’s voice was full of shock and disbelief.
“I’m going over there to get the whole story. She’s with Aretha. Can you come with me?”
“Of course,” she said, heading for the shower. “Give me ten minutes.”
“I’ll put on some coffee.”
“Blue?” She turned at the bathroom door.
“Yes, baby?”
“Do you think he did it?”
Blue shook his head. “No. Kwame’s not a killer.”
She looked relieved. “Good. I didn’t think so.”
He waited until he heard the water spring into life before he picked up the phone and dialed Zeke’s number. Blue knew it wasn’t too early. Zeke didn’t sleep much either. He answered on the first ring.
“Brother Hamilton, you’re up early this morning.”
“Can you make a run with me to Vegas tonight? Just out and back.”
“Our plane or one of theirs?”
“Ours.”
“Done.”
65
Blue was at his office getting ready to go to the airport when the call came from Lee Kilgore asking if she could see him immediately. His early-morning conversation with Precious fresh in his mind, he agreed and told her to come by his office at the West End News. She arrived a few minutes later, looking tense but determined. He had no idea what she wanted, but he had no doubt she was there to tell him.
“Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mr. Hamilton,” Lee said, sitting down across from Blue.
His famous eyes were partially hidden behind tinted glasses, but still impossible not to notice.
“I don’t have much time,” he said, and his voice was cold. “What can I do for you?”
“I realize I’m in no position to ask you for a favor, but I—”
“Precious Hargrove is a good friend of mine,” he interrupted her quietly. “Her son is married to my goddaughter. I’m aware of your ultimatum.”
“Yes, I know,” Lee said. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m sure she told you about—”
“She told me everything, Captain Kilgore. Now what are you trying to tell me?”
His directness took away any opportunity to present context, and at that moment, Lee felt context was everything. She knew she had done wrong, but it hadn’t started out that way. In the beginning, all she wanted to do was stop the dealers from shooting up the neighborhood. Sure, she had selfish reasons for trying to make peace, but the end result was the same, wasn’t it? She had never intended for things to get so out of hand that people were killing and mutilating one another. That had never been part of the plan.
“I’m trying to say that I’m sorry for my part in some of the things that have happened recently in regard to Senator Hargrove and her family.”
“What about Kentavious Robinson and his family?” Blue said.
Lee sighed. He wasn’t going to make this easy. “I’ve made some bad decisions and I’m prepared to pay for them.”
“That’s usually the way it works.”
She flushed and decided to stop hoping he would understand. It wasn’t important if he did or not. She wasn’t here to offer apologies. She was here to try and buy a little time.
“I’m leaving town tonight,” Lee said, reaching for the big manila envelope she had been holding in her lap. “I’d appreciate it if you’d give this to the senator.”
She slid the bulky package across the table in Blue’s direction, but he never took his eyes from her face.
“All the photos and notes from my surveillance of Kwame Hargrove are there. I didn’t make copies, so she won’t have to worry about anybody else contacting her. My notes from that night make it clear he wasn’t the shooter.”
“I’m sure she’ll be relieved to hear that.”
“There are some tapes in there, too,” Lee said. “Audiotapes.”
Blue frowned slightly. “What’s on the them?”
Lee shifted in her seat and leaned forward, lowering her voice out of habit more than necessity. “Bob Watson and I did a lot of business together during the last five years. I’ve taped a number of our phone calls and conversations.”
“Insurance?”
“Look, Mr. Hamilton,” Lee said. “I know I have to answer for what happened to Kentavious Robinson, but there’s enough blame to go around. I’m hoping my long-distance cooperation will buy me a little slack from your friend the senator.”
Blue touched the envelope lightly. “You know you’ll be called on to testify if any charges are brought against Bob.”
“This is a great big world, Mr. Hamilton,” Lee said. “I intend to get lost in it to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“They’ll come looking for you.”
“No, they won’t,” Lee said. “If there’s an investigation, Bob will be enough to hold them. He’d be quite a prize for any ambitious prosecutor, or candidate.”
Blue looked at her for a minute. She had nothing to lose by looking right back. He stood up. “I’ll make sure the senator gets this immediately. Now I have other business to attend to.”
“Thank you.” Lee stood up and turned away. She suddenly felt the urge to get on the road right away. Blue was probably right that the authorities would come looking for her, and it was always harder to hit a moving target.
“Captain Kilgore?” Blue said quietly just before she reached the door.
“Yes, Mr. Hamilton?”
“That peace precinct was a good idea.”
“Thank you,” she said, surprised. She wished she could wash away the last five years and start again. “You can have it.”
66
General lay down across the room’s king-size bed to catch a few hours of sleep before Brandi’s plane got in at midnight. The limo was picking him up at eleven-fifteen to meet her plane. Even as scared as she probably was, he knew she’d relax when she saw that he’d gone all out for her arrival. He’d even told the driver to put a bottle of Cristal on ice and get some roses. It wasn’t her fault that things had to end this way, but there was no way around it. At least her one memory of Vegas would be a good one, he thought, rubbing his eyes with exhaustion.
He still hated Vegas. The short ride from the ai
rport to his hotel had confirmed his worst fears about the new Vegas. When they got off the freeway, the glittering golden Mandelay Bay Casino almost blinded him with its unapologetic excess. The New York/New York Casino boasted a fake Brooklyn Bridge and a hotel tower the shape of the Chrysler Building. The Board-walk Casino had games of chance, cotton candy, and a roller coaster, but no ocean. It was like driving through a child’s idea of a city. Everything about it seemed to be dedicated to encouraging people to do things they’d never do at home. That wasn’t how it was for General. He was getting ready to do exactly what he did at home, but this time he was on his own.
When the cabdriver turned in at The Paris, he took a right at the fake Arc de Triomphe and pulled in under the legs of the fake Eiffel Tower. Inexplicably, there was a huge brightly colored hot-air balloon out front, competing for attention with giant jumbotrons and the shadow of the huge, green MGM pyramid with the fake lions crouched out front. He hated the whole thing, but he wasn’t here for pleasure. He was here to do a job and go home with his secrets intact and his life back under his own control.
The doorman directed him to check in and he entered the building by stepping onto a fake cobblestone street the likes of which had probably not been seen in Paris since the 1800s. Over his head, a fake sky twinkled with fake stars and fake trees cast their shade over the entrances to shops selling Cartier watches and the National Enquirer. The gaming tables and slots almost seemed to be an afterthought.
He checked in under the name he’d told Brandi to use if for any reason he couldn’t meet her plane as two big-breasted women in teeny bikinis and diamond earrings chatted with the clerk at the next station as if they were in line at the grocery store. General shook his head. Vegas was the only place in America where you could order room service with a side of hookers.
When he got to the room, General hung the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door and stretched out, closed his eyes, and sighed deeply. He hoped Blue would let this one moment of madness slide. Wes Jamerson had been a bad seed from the start and he’d deserved what he got. But all Blue ever required was the truth, General thought, and here he was, knee-deep in lies and bullshit. When he got back, he’d have to figure it all out, but not right now. He was too tired to think. He closed his eyes and tried to rest.
When he woke up with a start an hour later, he glanced at the clock to be sure he hadn’t overslept. That’s when he saw Blue sitting in the dimly lit room. It had never occurred to General that Blue would come to Vegas. This was a surprise, and in their business, surprises were never a good thing.
“Turn on the light,” Blue said.
General sat up and swung his long legs over the side of the bed. He had loosened his tie and draped his jacket on the desk chair. He leaned over and flipped on the bedside lamp closest to him. Blue was wearing a dark suit, white shirt, and tie. His black homburg was balanced easily on his knee. There was no way to know how long he had been sitting there.
“What’s up, brother?” General said, trying not to look directly into those strange blue eyes. Trying to sound normal.
“You tell me,” Blue said, his voice as cold as his eyes.
General wished there was some way to know how much Blue knew and who had told him. He needed time to think. “Tell you what? I told you I was coming to Vegas. Here I am.”
“The police are getting ready to charge Kwame Hargrove for the murder of Wes Jamerson.”
“No shit? I didn’t even know they knew each other.” That much was true.
The expression on Blue’s face didn’t change. “Brandi Harris thinks they’ve got it all wrong. She thinks you killed him.”
General’s heart and mind were racing. How could he have been so stupid?
“Is she a liar?”
Blue’s voice cut through his jumbled thoughts. “What?”
“If she’s lying, then she’s the problem. If she’s telling the truth, then you are.”
“She’s a whore.”
Blue just looked at him. “She said you were jealous because she was seeing Jamerson at the same time she was seeing you.”
Hearing such a commonplace description of what had been for him such an intensely passionate moment shamed him and angered him in equal measure. Blue was sitting here asking him if he had killed a man for sleeping with a woman he himself described as a whore. General felt his shoulders sag. There was no longer any question about it. He had become the most foolish of foolish old men. He had not only killed another man over a woman who reminded him of someone else, he had allowed the police to suspect another man of the crime. A capital crime. How could he possibly explain? He took a deep breath and tried.
“I know this doesn’t make any sense, but I thought she might be… somebody else.”
He waited for Blue to ask him who he thought she might be, but Blue didn’t say a word. His expression never changed. His eyes glittered like black diamonds in the moonlight.
“I thought somebody sent her to me, you know? Like you found—”
Blue’s voice cut him off. “Before my mother died, she made me promise her one thing.”
General felt his heart skip and flutter in his chest.
“She made me promise to look out for you. No matter what.”
Sweet Juanita, General thought. She had tried to guard against this moment in perpetuity by binding them both to the same promise.
“That’s the only reason you’re still alive,” Blue said, as calmly as he might have said he was going to pick up a newspaper.
General flushed. He had heard that tone many times and he knew what it meant. But he wasn’t going out like this! He called up whatever scrap of indignation he could muster. “My life is in danger now? For what? Taking out that sorry piece of shit?” General knew he was begging for his life and he heard the panic around the edges of his voice. It didn’t matter how many guns he’d stashed around the room. He couldn’t face Juanita in heaven and tell her he had killed her only son.
“The only way what we do is part of the solution and not part of the problem is if it’s never personal.” Blue’s voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper. “It can only be about order and honor and truth. Nothing else. Ever.”
General was guilty as charged and they both knew it. Blue stood up and settled the homburg before he spoke again. “You lied to me. That can’t happen.”
Everything they did was based on mutual and absolute trust. One lie can break down a thousand truths. The reasons don’t even matter. It was over. All he could do now was wait for his instructions.
“I’ve got a car downstairs,” Blue said. “We’ll fly out in an hour.”
General stood up, too. There was just one more thing he had to take care of. Brandi was on her way to Vegas. Somebody had to meet her.
“I need to stop downstairs to leave a message at the desk for my lady friend.”
Blue looked at him with no sympathy in his eyes. “She’s not coming.”
Just like that. Of course she wasn’t coming. That was all in the past. Just like that. General reached for his coat and slipped it on, straightened his tie. In the mirror, he didn’t recognize the face of the tired old man looking back at him. He hoped his beloved wasn’t looking down on him right now. He didn’t want Juanita to see him like this. So he squared his broad shoulders and turned back to face her son.
“Ain’t no point in sayin’ I’m sorry, but I am.”
If General hoped for a moment of forgiveness between them, he was disappointed. Blue reached for his hat as if his old friend hadn’t uttered a sound. So be it, General thought, but there was one final piece of housekeeping he needed to take care of before they headed out into the neon of the Las Vegas night. He spoke the words they always used to indicate it was time to collect any weapons that had been strategically stashed around and about in case the negotiations in question took a turn for the worse.
“I need to clean the room.”
“Zeke’s going to take care of it,” Blue said, opening the door
. Zeke was standing outside alone.
“What’s up, brother?” General said, stepping out into the hallway behind Blue. Zeke nodded a greeting, walked into the room, and closed the door.
Forty-five minutes later, the three of them stepped back into the Gulf Stream for the return trip to Atlanta. General watched the spot of man-made illumination that is Vegas being swallowed up in the deep darkness that is nature and tried not to think about all that would come next. Even if he didn’t get the death penalty, this was no time for a middle-aged man to be in prison with those young fools who don’t give a damn about dying since everybody they know is already dead. The fact that his status as Blue Hamilton’s right-hand man would make him a tempting target for any wannabe gangsta looking to establish a reputation as a badass would only make things worse.
He leaned back and closed his eyes. First he’d have to get through the trial. He’d have to listen to Brandi describe his obsession with her. He’d have to sit there while she told them about him thinking the botched tattoo on her ass was a sign from his dead girlfriend. He’d have to hear her say Juanita’s name in a courtroom full of strangers. The thought made him feel nauseous. There was no way he was going to let that happen. No way he could.
He opened his eyes and looked around. On the small table beside his seat there was a bottle of water, a pint of scotch, a legal pad, a pen, and a small shaving kit. Why hadn’t he noticed all that stuff before? He picked up the pad slowly, an idea dawning, and at the top he wrote the date, glanced at his watch, and added the time. That was the easy part. The hard part was figuring out how to say what he had to say as clearly and as dispassionately as possible. He remembered that old television show from the fifties where the guy says “just the facts, ma’am, just the facts.” It would be easier if he just stuck to the facts.
“On the night of October 5, I broke into the home of Wes Jamerson and shot him to death with two bullets to the back of the head. This act was the result of…”
