“Gal, it’ll all blow over soon enough.”
“John Virgil Loudermilk, you can’t fly right to save your life. Can you? Doling out all that money to those politicians was one thing. Now they’re saying that you bribed a police officer, for heaven’s sake! They’re going to put you in prison, and where will that leave us?”
“It’ll be fine, I said. I ain’t going to nobody’s jail.”
“I’ve kept my mouth shut for years on your account. I don’t generally involve myself in your affairs, Virgil. But you dragged us all into this, and I expect you to make this right.”
“Stop being dramatic, will you? It ain’t like I killed anybody.”
“Well, that detective is sure enough dead.”
She stormed out, got into a waiting town car, and rolled up the window before he could get another word in edgewise.
Hours later, the house was hot and Virgil couldn’t sleep for sweating like a mule. Virgil couldn’t figure out how to work the air-conditioning unit without his wife’s help, so he stripped off his clothes, plugged in a fan, lay in the bed naked, and let the breeze flow over his girth. In the middle of the night, he felt a rumbling in his stomach. Before Virgil could make it to the bathroom good, he threw up all over the carpeting. The next morning, he was still passed out crossways over the bed when Lucky found him.
“Let me help you up.”
“I’m alright, Lucky. Cut on the air-conditioning.”
“Where’s Libby Gail?”
“She packed her bags and went up to Columbia to stay with her sister.”
Lucky grabbed one of Libby Gail’s house robes from the bathroom and threw it on top of Virgil.
“Here, cover your ass,” Lucky said.
“To tell you the truth,” Virgil said, “I’m worried about that hearing.”
“They can’t shut down what’s already dead.”
“Dobbs is hunting for something else. She’s got Highsmith carrying her water on this one. She’s trying to put my ass in a sling.”
“Well, I’d wanna hang your ass too. Or whatever Libby Gail left of it.”
“She had smoke coming out her ears when she left here yesterday.”
“Speaking of smoke,” Lucky said. “You smell like a furnace. Where’s Harold?”
“Quit.”
“Quit?”
“Yeah, that’s what Libby Gail says.”
“How long’s he been working for y’all?”
“Fifteen years or so.”
“Maybe you should call him. Offer him a raise or something.”
“If Harold was worried about money, he wouldn’t have been working for us in the first place. Can’t say we ever paid him what he was worth. That man is like family. Hell, I miss him more than I miss Libby Gail right now.”
“Family don’t wash your cars, take the garbage out, fetch your dinner, or run your bathwater.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, Virgil, I don’t,” Lucky said. “He ain’t property.”
“Harold is a good man.”
“He’d have to be to put up with your mess this long.”
“I’ll call him,” Virgil said, slipping on Libby Gail’s powder-blue chiffon robe. “We never did give him a Christmas bonus. Maybe a little money will help matters.”
“It looks good on you. Spin around so I can see it.”
“Cut it out,” Virgil said.
“Take it easy,” Lucky said. “You’re gone give yourself a heart attack.”
“Lucky, I don’t know what I’d do without my wife. She’s been shoveling my shit for years. Now, I’ve never stepped out on her, not even once. But I’ve put her through some things, and this might be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. She all but accused me of killing Haverty.”
Lucky arched his left brow.
“That wasn’t in the plan,” Virgil said.
“Libby Gail will be fine,” Lucky said. “It’s you I’m worried about. All that drinking and smoking will kill you, sooner or later. We ain’t kids anymore, you know? When’s the last time you’ve seen a doctor?”
“You sound like my wife. I’m fine.”
“No, the hell you ain’t. You’ve got to put an end to this thing between you and Mayor Dobbs before it kills you,” Lucky said. “It’s eating you up. And put them damn cigarillos down.”
“She declared war the minute she decided to run for Congress.”
“You knew she’d do that.”
“And now, she done went and sent the damn GBI after me.”
“What do they wanna talk about?”
“Haverty.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
Hampton hobbled into his house, kicked off his flip-flops, and went to the refrigerator for a cranberry Red Bull. Claire didn’t like his latest addiction, but the hours had been long and he needed something to keep pushing. Claire was stuck in the office, and aside from a few text messages, he hadn’t heard from her all day. It was four o’clock when he sat down at the kitchen table, opened his laptop, and watched the news clip. He immediately dialed his editor.
“Damn!”
“Damn is right,” Tucker said from the speakerphone. “This is the same cop Dobbs was talking about at the editorial board meeting.”
Hampton couldn’t take his eyes off the monitor. The video from the local ABC News affiliate showed a black bag being dredged from the Chattahoochee River just shy of the Cobb County line. The anchor said the body had been in the water for a few hours, but other than that, few other details were released.
“Yeah, that’s him. Detective Shaun Haverty.”
“Franco turned in the story on it this morning,” Tucker said. “I need you to stay clear for now, seeing as how you might be a part of the official investigation.”
“Me?”
“Haverty sent you that 911 tape. You might have to testify about that at some point.”
“You know good and well I’m not going to talk about a source, dead or alive. Besides, I didn’t know he was the one who sent it until Dobbs said so.”
“And the legal team will have your back. For now, we need to make sure every hand is clean on this. I am already sitting on an order to retain our records.”
“What did the mayor have to say?”
“Only that Haverty was still officially employed by the Atlanta Police Department when he died, so she will make sure his pension is paid out to his widow.”
“Well, that’s surprising.”
“It’s a political calculation, for sure.”
“Isn’t it always?”
“Apparently, the city can deny the claim. It’s discretionary, since the internal investigation was ongoing. Stay on the campaign trail.”
“Fine,” Hampton said. “But I think this is tied to my story.”
“Hold your fire for now, at least until I can set up some time with the lawyers. What about Mitchell?” Tucker asked. “I have to say, I’m stunned by the polling numbers.”
“What about her? She’s going to lose. She’s getting mollywhopped,” Hampton said.
“I always thought it would be closer, but this is Victoria Dobbs we’re talking about.”
“Madam Bell could’ve have predicted this one,” Hampton said, referring to Atlanta’s most infamous, albeit dead, fortune-teller.
“I haven’t heard that name in ages.”
“Her real name was Judy Marks. Made millions reading palms for Atlanta’s rich and not-so-rich out of a house on Cheshire Bridge Road,” Hampton said. “She drowned in a reflecting pool near the Buckhead Ritz-Carlton back in ’97.”
“She should’ve seen that one coming.”
Hampton wanted to laugh, but he let it pass. He figured that Dobbs was sitting on a load of opposition research about Mitchell. Unless the numbers tightened again, and that didn’t seem likely this late in the race, he figured Dobbs would leave it on ice.
“Expect something from me tonight on Mitchell, and I’ll go to the Loudermilk hearing in the morning. You know
how much I enjoy fireworks in the summertime.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Tucker said. “By the way, how’s Claire?”
“I’m a lucky man, Tuck. A very lucky man.”
“Ain’t that the damn truth.”
* * *
Around ten thirty that night, two hours after filing a story on Mitchell’s misfortunes, Hampton was munching on a tub of Brunswick stew and a thick slice of sweet corn bread. It was a much-needed break. The house band was between sets, and the line for the next one stretched out the door and around the building. The music was good. But the food at Fat Matt’s Rib Shack, which was delivered in wax paper, Styrofoam cups, and grease-soaked brown sacks, was truly divine.
Hampton scraped the bottom of his bowl with a spork and tried to forget about the election going on. It had been three days since he’d last spoken to Chanel, and he worried now that he might never hear from her again. According to his mother, Chanel said something about going to visit a sister in Illinois. Only she’d never once mentioned having a sister to him, or any brothers, for that matter. Maybe she’d decided to cut and run. After all, that’s what he would’ve done. Out there on her own, riding an Amtrak through the Midwest, she probably got a taste of freedom for the first time and liked it.
He was beginning to think Chanel knew exactly how much money Congressman Hawkins got from the League and where to find it.
Hampton wanted to be free too. He’d grown tired of the horse race, tired of the political infighting at the newspaper and chasing down ne’er-do-wells posing as public servants. If he had his way about things, and he rarely did, he’d be living in a hut in Costa Rica with an internet connection and a coffeemaker, and a couple of bestsellers under his belt. Claire would be there too, of course, wearing nothing but a nice tan.
Just when he’d gotten used to living without her, their love was alive again. An he felt alive again too. They both hated working on Sundays and promised each other they’d meet back at her place by midnight. The drive up to Alpharetta from Midtown was a clean forty-five minutes without the weekday traffic, leaving him plenty of time to enjoy a plate of ribs and all the fixings.
He chugged the last of an Arnold Palmer, shook the ice in the cup, and went for a refill. Shady Lane and the Westside Boys took to the low-flung stage and lit up their microphones. Hampton ordered a second slice of sweet potato pie. He dug in as the blues trio hit the first notes to B.B. King’s “Please Love Me.”
I was in love with you, baby,
Honey before I learned to call your name.
He’d been lovestruck and out of his mind once before in life, when he first met Claire, and here it was again, fresh and new like the sun coming over Stone Mountain. Hampton’s cell phone buzzed just as he was gobbling down the last bite of a pie. The number on the display had a 312 area code. He couldn’t figure out what anybody in Chicago would want with him. He hesitated, then answered on the last ring.
“Hey, Hamp!” the cheery voice chimed.
“Who is this? I can’t hear you?”
“It’s me, Chanel!”
“Wait, hold on,” he said, taking the conversation outside. “Who is this again?”
“It’s Chanel!” she said.
“Thank God. I was worried about you. Where are you calling from?”
“I’m in Chicago at a coffee shop down on East Randolph. Nice place. They let me bum their phone. It’s called Intelligentsia, I think.”
“You can’t stay there. You have to get back to Flint. When does the next train leave?”
“I don’t know,” Chanel said. “Chicago is really pretty. The water is so blue. One of these days, I’m going out on one of those boats. There’s a Ferris wheel too. I’ve never been on one before. It’s beautiful at night.”
“You lied to my mother. You’re an only child.”
“I ain’t want her worrying after me.”
“Where’s the phone I gave you? You have to answer when I call.”
“I lost it on the train coming over here,” she said. “I appreciate er’thang you doing, but I ain’t never had no daddy, and I ain’t got one now.”
“Listen to me, Chanel. You have to go back to Flint.”
“Nobody knows I’m here,” she said.
“It’s late. Check into a hotel for the night. I can wire you some cash. Promise me you’ll get a new phone and hop on the first train out in the morning. I’ll get my daddy to pick you up.”
“Is everything okay? You don’t sound right.”
“I’m fine,” Hampton said, picking the meat out of his teeth. “I’ll be better once I know you’re back in Flint with my mother. It isn’t as pretty as Chicago, but you’ll be safe there until we get this all sorted out.”
“I heard about what happened to that bitch-ass cop.”
“Haverty?”
“Yeah, a real bastard.”
“You knew him?”
“You can say that,” Chanel said. “He was the one who busted me back in ’85. He was just a rookie back then.”
“Nobody deserves to die like that.”
“I ain’t sending no flowers that way. My mama used to say sometimes bad things happen to good people and the other way around. But you know what? Sometimes bad people get what’s coming to them.”
“Why would he do that?”
“It was a long time ago.”
“C’mon, Chanel, we’ve come this far together. You don’t trust me?”
“I don’t trust nobody after what happened to Ezra. No offense.”
“None taken.”
“All I’m saying is he was the cop who locked me up, now he’s dead and I ain’t sorry.”
“Alright, fine. Tell me about that envelope again. Where did you find it?”
“It found me. It was sitting on my kitchen counter when I came in from work, like I told you,” Chanel said. “It scared the shit out of me. Ain’t nobody had no keys to my apartment except me, my landlord, and Ezra. When I opened it and saw that bird, I nearly died right there on the spot. It’s just like the one they sent Ezra before he got killed.”
“Get on that train in the morning,” Hampton said. “Please.”
THIRTY-NINE
Atlanta City Hall remains a splendidly beautiful place. Like an aging and forgotten beauty queen clutching her jeweled crown and scepter, she carries a pained smile in hopes that someone will look beyond her years, beyond the crow’s-feet and the botched face-lifts, and still see her loveliness.
Situated a block from the Georgia State Capitol on the southerly edge of downtown, the original neo-Gothic structure was completed in 1930. The new annex, which houses the executive suite and city council chambers and faces Trinity Avenue, was added six nearly decades later, in 1989. Architects preserved the western face of the building, designing a new multistory atrium complete with a marble-laden stairwell and a water fountain.
But now, with its outdated adornments and weathered carpets, the interior looked like every other ’80s throwback, Victoria thought. The once-spectacular indoor fountain has been dry for at least two decades and counting, and despite new coats of paint, the place smelled like the ever-shrinking municipal budget. There was a surplus now, the first in years, thanks to tough negotiations with various unions over the city’s pension fund and airport leases.
That Monday morning, Victoria took the back elevator up from the private parking deck and arrived in her office without notice. The hallway entry walls were lined with oversized oil paintings of the men who had preceded her. Among them were Ivan Allen, Maynard Jackson, and Sam Massell. Giants, one and all, though Victoria knew that this had also been a place where devils and their fallen angels resided in comfort.
“Good morning, ma’am,” the receptionist greeted her cheerily.
“Good morning, Miss Judith. How’re those grandbabies?”
“Perfect as the day they were born. Growing every day. My youngest grand is talking and walking now.”
“Kiss them for me?”
/> Victoria disappeared behind the security door that led to the mayoral suite. She stepped through the flag-draped receiving room and took refuge in an adjoining wood-lined library. Seated at the long table, she glanced at a collection of memorabilia: law books and coffee mugs, signed biographies from various luminaries, a baseball bat and a weathered glove gifted to her by Hank Aaron. There were various gold shovels from groundbreakings, framed newspaper clippings, as well as photographs with celebrities and heads of state. They were gentle reminders of how far she had come.
It wasn’t yet 10 A.M., and she was already exhausted beyond measure. There had been victories in this room, though not enough to stave off the sadness she felt now.
A knock at the door broke through the memories and startled her.
The mayor’s chief of staff, Holly Cochran, poked her head inside. “I apologize for the interruption, ma’am.”
“Come in,” Victoria said, batting away tears. She sat up straight and composed herself.
“Are you okay?”
“It was a long weekend. I’m sorry. What do you need?”
“We need to run over your public calendar. I did my best to coordinate the schedule with Roy Huggins.”
“I’m sure it will all work out,” Victoria said, waving her into a chair. “I’m all yours.”
Holly flipped open a binder and walked through the coming days, noting the tight schedule.
“I’m not sure how you’re going to make it all work. I can make some adjustments,” Holly offered. “We can cancel some of this and send a surrogate, if we need to.”
“It will all work itself out. Always does, right?”
“I do have a press request,” Holly said. “It’s from Hampton Bridges, and he says it’s urgent.”
“He’s on our blacklist.”
“Understood, but he keeps calling, and it’s driving the communications team insane.”
Paper Gods Page 25
