Black President

by Brenda Hampton

  They all stood professional and attentive while listening to me speak. When I asked if there were any questions, no one had any.

  “Good,” I said with my hands in my pockets, strolling across the room in my black leather shoes. “Which two have been tasked with keeping the first lady and my mother safe?”

  Two agents stepped forward. I looked at both of them, thinking about what my mother had said.

  “Which one of you is handling my mother?”

  The agent raised his hand. I stepped up, standing face-to-face with him. “Let me see if I remember.” I paused to think of the name Levi said, during the introduction. “Charles, right?”

  He nodded. “Correct, Mr. President. Charles Keith Johnson. Nice to meet you.”

  I extended my hand to his. “Same here. Has my mother been giving you any trouble?”

  “No, sir. She’s been just fine.”

  “I doubt that, but please, please, please, do not allow anything to happen to her. She means a lot to me; I’m sure you understand.”

  “I do, Mr. President. I feel the same way about my mother, so I do understand well.”

  I patted his shoulder, then moved over to the other agent who had been assigned to protect Raynetta. Fairly nice-looking young man. Bright smile, worked out a lot, and had light brown eyes, similar to mine.

  “And you are, Landris,” I said without pausing to think. “You’ve been tasked with protecting one of the most precious things to me. My wife, right?”

  His smile was wide. “Yes, Mr. President. And, thus far, everything has been all good. I think she and I will get along fine.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to replace you with, uh . . .”

  My eyes shifted from one agent to the next. I pointed out the nerdiest one I could find. He just happened to be Caucasian, and with a tight, stern look on his face, I predicted that Raynetta and he wouldn’t get along at all.

  “Alex Fischer,” I said, stepping up to him. “Correct?”

  “Yes. Yes, Mr. President, Alex Fischer.”

  “I’m impressed by your credentials, and your years of service to this country are commendable. I’m personally assigning you to take care of the first lady, and if she gives you a hard time, be sure to let me know.”

  “Will do. And thank you so much for trusting me, sir. I’m honored to serve you.”

  I turned back to Landris who looked as if he wasn’t standing as straight as he was before. He didn’t even make eye contact with me—not even when I looked him straight in the eyes.

  “You’re dismissed,” I said, then looked at Levi. “Cut him a check and make sure he gets it.”

  After that, I left the Oval Office, on my way to see my chief of staff. But just as I was making my way down the corridor, he was walking with great speed toward me.

  “Mr. President,” he said in a panic, like always. “The FBI is in the process of making an arrest. Kyle wants to speak to you. From what I gather, these guys are racist pigs, definitely out to get you, as well as your family.”

  We hurried to the Situation Room, located in the West Wing. I went inside, but gave Andrew an order to assemble other staff members so they could join us and hear most of what Kyle had to say. That way, we all could discuss the best way forward. Andrew hurried away to get the others, and I picked up the phone to take Kyle’s call.

  “Is anyone near you?” he said in a whisper.

  “No. Go-ahead and speak.”

  “These idiots fit the bill, and we’re only going to grab the top two leaders. They’re perfect, and our national intelligence workforce has already been watching this hate group brew for quite some time. They have very disturbing photos of you, and we’ve collected detailed plans where they intended to bomb more black churches, schools in mostly black neighborhoods, as well as concerts that included black artists. I mean, their goal is to make some noise, and these are the kinds of criminals who would plot to come into the White House to kill you.”

  “Make the arrest. Make sure every detail gets leaked to the media, particularly the Associated Press. And do whatever you can to, you know, make it look good.”

  “Will do. The shit will hit the fan in about thirty or so minutes. Be prepared.”

  Kyle said thirty minutes, but it was less than that. We were all in the Situation Room, tuning into the festivities. Every news channel had breaking news, and they too were tuned in to the FBI’s manhunt to capture the two individuals responsible for murdering the vice president. With bated breath, we watched the whole thing go down. The doors were kicked in, and within minutes, the two crazy-looking men were captured. As expected, the media started to spread information that wasn’t true, but what the hell?

  There were seven men total living in this house. All of them were arrested today.

  Four men arrested, and the police think they may have discovered several bodies in the basement. More information to come.

  These were some sick individuals. In the basement, the police found an effigy of the president, hanging from a noose.

  There were more than 200 guns found in the home. These guys were out to cause some major damage.

  The mastermind behind this is Brandon Walls, a mentally ill man with a very troubled past.

  The media went on and on, telling some truth, but spewing a substantial amount of lies and spreading much false information that helped me, quite frankly, stir up the American people. I didn’t mind, simply because of my purpose.

  “This is crazy,” Andrew said after we returned to the Oval Office. “Forgive me, sir, but I almost didn’t believe you before. I am stunned, but I’m so delighted that those guys were caught.”

  “I am too, and I’m surprised that you didn’t believe me. There are many hate groups out there like that, and one day at a time, we have to shut them down.”

  “Yes, we do. And, Mr. President, can I say this? I’m deeply sorry for what African Americans have endured. None of this should be. I think this will be a changing point, and sometimes, you have to lose something or someone to gain a lot.”

  “Thank you for sharing that, Andrew. Hopefully, many others will feel the same.”

  Even with phones ringing off the hook, Andrew and I were still able to discuss other important issues, including replacing the VP. Under the Presidential Succession Act, Speaker of the House was next in line to become VP. That, indeed, was Senator Bass.

  “Are you good with that?” Andrew asked. “I know you’ve thought about it, but do you think you and she will be able to work together for the good of this country?”

  I stood, looking outside. Hands were in my pockets, mind going a mile a minute. “Yes, we can. I do believe that she is my ticket to making some incredible things happen. Set up a meeting with her, and let’s get the ball rolling. Meanwhile, I need to release a statement about those idiots being caught.”

  “Sam and I can work on preparing a statement for you, sir. Why don’t you sit back for a few minutes and relax.”

  Just as those words left Andrew’s mouth, his cell phone rang. He answered and listened to the caller with wide eyes. My phone started ringing off the hook again; I could sense something else had gone wrong.

  “Ten suicide bombers went on a rampage, killing twelve Americans that we know of, and . . .”

  As Andrew spoke, all I could do was sigh. Many people just didn’t know what having a bad day really meant.

  26

  President of the United States, Stephen C. Jefferson

  After about a week, things had settled down, but the terror alert remained high. Senator Bass and I had a productive meeting, and Congress was in the process of finding another person to replace her. She seemed thrilled about being vice president. Said that she would do whatever to assist me, but she also mentioned that her conservative values were very important. She wasn’t going to encourage the Republican Caucus to waver on much, but we both were pleased that commonsense gun control legislation was in the works. We also di
scussed tougher punishments for people who committed hate crimes, including police officers who felt they were above the law. I was starting to feel good about the path we were on but got distracted when I was told Tyler’s grandfather, Christopher J. McNeil, was eager to meet with me. Tyler’s family had already had a small, private ceremony for him. I was invited to come and speak, so I did. His body hadn’t been found yet, but I had a feeling that was about to change.

  As Mr. McNeil came into my office, I stood to greet him with an extended hand. All he did was grunt before taking a seat on the sofa across from me. He rubbed his thin white hair before crossing his legs and looking at me with hatred in his eyes.

  “You’re a hard man to get a meeting with, Mr. President, and I tried to catch up with you after my grandson’s ceremony. Your words were touching, but I didn’t buy them one fucking bit. You may have the American people on your side right now, but I’m going to expose you as being one of the most cutthroat, deceptive, and dangerous presidents we’ve ever had. Your reckless behavior is going to cause you to lose everything, including your beautiful wife, that bitchy mother of yours, as well as your mistress. By the way, have you spoken to her lately? You should check on her . . . whenever you get a chance.”

  I looked at the old man sitting across from me, feeling kind of sorry for him because his hatred for others caused him to lose much sleep at night. I could tell from the bags underneath his eyes, and with all of the money he had, he was still one very unhappy man who was deeply confused. I now knew where Tyler’s hatred had come from. This generational curse of hatred for African Americans had affected many.

  “I’m sorry you thought my words at the ceremony weren’t sincere. I felt as if they came straight from the heart.”

  “From the heart, my ass. Where is my grandson at, you filthy nigger? I want to see him, now!”

  His whole red face shook as he barked at me. I remained calm, pretending as if I didn’t know a thing. “Look, I know the loss of your grandson is painful, but you must accept the fact that he’s dead. His killers have been caught, and you should be delighted about that. Why you wouldn’t be, I don’t quite understand . . . unless you know something that I don’t.”

  “I know more than what you will ever know. And one thing that I know for sure is, if you do not tell me where my grandson is, your mistress won’t be the only one hurt. I’m warning you to do as you’re told—or else.”

  I cracked a tiny smile, just to irritate him. “Warning, huh? I wish I could work miracles and bring Tyler back to life, but, unfortunately, I can’t. But what I can do is escort you to the door, open it, and throw your ass out of here. Good day, sir. And please know that you will never be allowed to come into my office again.”

  I stood, and when I reached for Mr. McNeil’s arm, he tried to pull it away from me. I wanted to take my fist and punch him in the face, but I had to keep my hands clean. Instead of taking action myself, I buzzed Levi. In a matter of minutes, he was dragging Mr. McNeil, by his collar, out of my office.

  “Release me, you fat slob! You’re good as dead too!”

  Levi elbowed him in the face to quiet him. Just like Tyler, Mr. McNeil’s threats and harsh words continued. But killing him would be too easy. We wanted him to stay around to witness all that would soon unfold.

  As soon as they left my office, I hurried over to my phone to call Michelle. There was no answer, so I called again. I didn’t leave a message, but when Levi returned, I asked him to find out where she was.

  “I’ll see what I can do. Do you think he really did something to her?”

  “My gut tells me that he did. Hurry and find out what’s up. Andrew is also good at finding out things, so stop by his office and tell him to look into it. The second either of you know something, please let me know.”

  “On it now.”

  “Thanks, and one more thing. Mr. McNeil wants to see his grandson. I think it’s time to show him to McNeil.”

  “Been time. And like always, be sure to tune into the news.”

  Levi left my office, and almost twenty minutes later, Andrew rushed in as if the world was coming to an end. I was already nervous about Michelle’s condition, and seeing him so frantic didn’t help one bit.

  “I really wish you wouldn’t panic so damn much,” I said with a frown on my face. “Did you find out anything for me?”

  He released a deep breath, then nodded. “Yes, I did. Michelle Peoples is in the hospital. She’s in critical but stable condition. Apparently, someone robbed her when she left work. Beat her up real bad, took her purse, and left her for dead. The hospital didn’t say if she had been raped or not, but they are optimistic that she’ll make it. The road to recovery, in their opinion, won’t be easy.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat that hurt like a motherfucker. My hands could get dirty for this, and all I wanted to do, right now, was slice Christopher J. McNeil’s throat. I was a dangerous man under these conditions. He was so right about me. I should have killed that bastard when I had a chance, but first, I had to go see Michelle. She didn’t deserve this. She was a beautiful person who did not need to be injected into any of this mess.

  “Mr. President,” Andrew said, shaking me from my vicious thoughts, “are you okay?”

  “No, I’m not, but I will be. I need to go, now, to the hospital. Find Levi and tell him to go get the motorcade.”

  “If you go to the hospital, people are going to question why you’re there and who you’re there to see. You don’t want—”

  “Just do what I asked of you, please.”

  I was too sick to my stomach to go off on him about what people would think. I didn’t give a damn, and when I entered the hospital with Secret Service in tow, there were many whispers, questions, and concerns. The entire fifth floor had to be cleared out, with the exception of patients who were already there, and two doctors who greeted me. Awe was in their eyes as they informed me of Michelle’s condition.

  “She’s a fighter, I’ll tell you that,” one of the doctors said. “Her body was discovered in a Dumpster, where she was left to die. Both of her legs are broken, and there is a substantial amount of swelling all over her face and body. We have been keeping a close eye on her, simply because she seems incoherent at times. She doesn’t know her name, and she can’t remember why she’s here.”

  This was sad news to me. I felt completely responsible; all I could think about was her children. I wondered where they were, and the thought of what would have happened, had she died, disturbed me on so many different levels. I thanked the doctors for the update, and then was escorted into the room to see her. I thought she was in the room by herself, and I was surprised to see a young lady sitting in a chair next to the bed Michelle was in. I almost didn’t recognize Michelle. Her face was real swollen, eyes were shut, and lips were puffy. There was a small gash on her nose, and her hair sat wildly on her head. My heart went out to her. I walked farther into the room, and after seeing me, the young lady, who resembled Michelle, eased up from the chair. A perplexed look was on her face as she shifted her eyes from me to two Secret Service agents behind me.

  “Are you Mr.—I mean, the president? President Jefferson?”

  “Yes.” I extended my hand to hers. “And you are?”

  “I’m Mary Riverside. Michelle is my sister, but you must have the wrong room.”

  “No, I’m in the right place. Michelle is a good friend of mine. I just came to see how she was doing.”

  “Oh my God. Friend?” she questioned. “She never mentioned you as a friend, and we talk about you all the time.”

  “Hopefully, about good things.”

  “Yes, indeed. We’re proud to have you as our president, and I offer my condolences to you, the VP, and his family. That situation at the White House was awful, but I’m glad the people involved were arrested. Now, we have to work on finding who did this to my sister. She doesn’t bother anybody, and what happened to her was . . .” She started to get choked up, especially when
she glanced at Michelle who hadn’t moved. “This was unnecessary. She had less than fifty dollars on her. All they had to do was take the money and run.”

  If that was their only purpose, maybe they would have done that. But I knew better. Mr. McNeil had this done. He wanted to send a message—I totally got it. He did.

  “Yes, this is unfortunate, and you have my word that whoever did this will be held accountable. Meanwhile, how has she been doing? Has she said anything, opened her eyes, what?”

  “When my mother was here earlier, Michelle reached for her hand, smiled, and squeezed it. She also nodded her head and smiled at me, when I told her the kids were staying with me and my husband. We are a very tight-knit family. Our support will help her get through this. I know she’s going to be shocked to find out you were here, and I hope you can stay, just in case she wakes up.”

  I definitely intended to stay for a while, but before taking a seat, I walked closer to the bed, getting a closer look at all the damage that was done. I rubbed the side of Michelle’s face; it was cold and felt like stone. As I stared at her, her sister cleared her throat.

  “Uh, Mr. President. Tell me, if you don’t mind. How well do you know my sister?”

  I didn’t immediately respond, but I later told her that Michelle had done some impressive work for my press secretary, Sam. Mentioned that we’d gotten to know each other, and I was grateful to her for helping out around the White House when asked. What impressed me more was, that as close as Michelle and her sister seemed, Michelle hadn’t shared anything about us being intimate. To me, that spoke volumes about her.

  Nearly two hours later, the room was clear. Secret Service was outside of the door, and Mary had left to go check on Michelle’s kids. I had just gotten off the phone with Andrew. Several people had been looking for me, including my mother and Raynetta. They were still being closely watched by Secret Service. And after what had happened to Michelle, I doubted that the security I put in place would lighten up. I didn’t know what Mr. McNeil’s future intentions were, and from this moment on, I had to do my best to stay ten steps ahead of him.