by Honey
“She murdered someone! Mrs. Bishop . . . I just saw her on CNN. Don Lemon said it. He wouldn’t lie. The mayor’s wife is wanted for suspicion of murder in New York. It’s her, J! I swear to God it is. They showed her picture on TV. It was a still shot of her on some video footage. This is bad, J! It’s really, really bad. What the hell are we going to do?”
Jeremiah jerked the steering wheel sharply to the left and whipped across the median on I-75 North. He jutted into the interstate traffic heading in the opposite direction to the sound of horns blaring and screeching tires.
“Fuck!” He banged the heel of his hand on the steering wheel. “Meet me at JoJo’s house ASAP. Hit up Geisel, Pennington, and um . . . um . . . What’s his name?”
“Who? Seth Benedict?”
“Yeah. Call all of them and tell them to get their asses over to the mayor’s house right now. They don’t need to know why. Just tell them I said hurry the hell up. And do not call JoJo and tell the others not to contact him either. I’ll see you in a minute.”
“Okay. What about—”
Jeremiah hung up on Connor, and as soon as he did, his cell phone rang. He ignored it, though, because he didn’t recognize the number. When the call rolled over to voicemail, he pushed a button on the dashboard and barked, “Call Rev.”
* * *
The doorbell rang, startling Josiah fully awake. He sat up on the sofa and looked around the dark den. The basketball game was in the final few minutes of the fourth quarter, and the Warriors were slaying the Mavericks unmercifully. When the chime of the doorbell rippled through the house again, Josiah realized he hadn’t been dreaming. Someone was really at his door after eleven on a peaceful Sunday night.
Mink!
Immediately, sheer panic caused a sharp pain to slice through Josiah’s chest. Refusing to have another meltdown, he closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and released it gradually in short puffs as Dr. Kabbah had suggested he do whenever he experienced anxiety. He repeated the anti-stress technique a few times before he jumped up and ran to the front door. Within seconds, he had deactivated the alarm, disengaged the locks, and opened the front door wide. The person standing on the stoop looked traumatized.
“Connor?”
The senior aide was totally flushed, redder than a fire engine when he walked past Josiah, shivering as if he were freezing. Connor offered no greeting or even a gesture of acknowledgment upon entering his boss’s house. He just stood like a statue in the foyer with his back to him.
“What the hell is go—”
“JoJo, are you okay?” Jeremiah asked, bursting into the house.
“Yeah, I’m cool. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“We’ve got problems, bruh . . . major problems. Where’s Gypsie?”
“Here I am,” she called out, tying the belt on her bathrobe on her way down the stairs.
“Good. You need to be in on this too. The rest of the gang is en route.”
“Will somebody please tell me what the hell is going on?” Josiah yelled after he closed the front door.
Before anyone could respond to him, the house phone started ringing at the same time as Jeremiah’s cell phone. Connor’s phone buzzed too, adding to the noise. No one made any moves to answer the phones.
“J, Conner, one of y’all better start talking to me right now!”
“Connor, you’re on front door duty. Watch out for the media. Let’s go to the den and talk, JoJo. Gypsie, come with us.”
Apparently, Connor’s brain finally returned to earth because he nodded his agreement to Jeremiah’s instructions. He turned around and marched like a robot to the front door while his boss and coworkers left the foyer, walking toward the den.
Josiah’s cell phone was vibrating on the mantle when Jeremiah entered the den with his brother and Gypsie right behind him. They all sat down. Jeremiah chose the recliner while Gypsie sat next to Josiah on the sofa. The tension in the room was thick, and it sounded like thousands of phones were ringing all at once. It was driving Josiah crazy.
“Just tell me, J. Give it to me straight. This is about Mink, ain’t it?”
“Yeah, it’s Mink, man.”
“Oh God. Is she dead?”
Gypsie reached over and placed her hand on top of Josiah’s hand and squeezed.
“Nah, she ain’t dead, but some rich guy she was hanging out with in New York City is. And she may have killed him. The police are on a manhunt for Mink and two dudes, JoJo. They think she may have played a part in beating the man to death in his Park Avenue apartment. It’s all over the news.”
Josiah lowered his head before he looked at Jeremiah again. “Damn.”
Chapter Fifty-one
“I can’t believe this shit! My little girls are going to be devastated by this. No school for them this week. Mama and Rev said they’ll be here early in the morning. They can hang out with them.”
Josiah was on the brink of tears as he flipped from CNN to MSNBC. Some local news stations were even airing special late-breaking reports about Mink. And every damn phone in the house was ringing off its hook.
“Who wants coffee?” Gypsie asked, entering the room carrying a tray with a carafe and mugs on top.
“None for me,” Jeremiah answered.
Josiah shook his head and waved his hand. “No, thank you.”
Pennington removed the tray from Gypsie’s hands and placed it on the coffee table. “I’ll have some.”
Connor rushed into the den looking like he’d just escaped from a mental institution. “News cameras are at the guard shack, asking for access, J. Geisel just called and told me. She’s on her way down the street.”
“Good. As soon as she gets here, we can start composing her statement. We’ll do just like we did last time.”
“No, we won’t.” Josiah stood up with his hands in his pockets and started pacing in front of the fireplace. “I’m going to address the public this time. Mink is my wife, and my reelection bid is on the line. This time, the people who elected me to serve them need to hear from me. I have nothing to hide.”
“JoJo, think about what you’re saying, man. Those reporters are going to be all over you like hungry lions. They’ll eat you up like a raw steak.”
“I ain’t scared, J. Let them bring it on. I’m tired of this nightmare I’ve been living. It’s time to set myself free. No more ducking and dodging. I’m going to put the truth out there, and whatever is supposed to happen Tuesday night will happen. And regardless of whether it works out in my favor, I’m going to accept it.”
“Hello, everybody.” Geisel walked into the room.
Everyone returned a greeting in one form or another.
“Have a seat,” Jeremiah offered. Then he turned to his brother. “Okay, Mayor Bishop, your team is here. Tell us what you want us to do.”
“Geisel, I need you to round up the press. I want them all there. Let them know I’ll be holding a press conference to address Mink’s situation tomorrow morning at ten o’clock sharp at city hall.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Connor, contact my ground troops, more specifically, my lieutenants. Assure them that everything is cool. I don’t want anyone to freak out over this.”
“I’m on it.”
“Pennington, reach out to your NYC sources. Find out anything you can about the deceased. I need to know about his connection to Mink. How did they meet? Was he an addict too? Dig deep.”
“Done.”
“J, get some high-ranking brass from the NYPD on the phone for me. They know Mink is the first lady of Atlanta by now. As soon as I speak to them, Seth, Gypsie, and I can start working on my speech.”
* * *
“Good morning, everyone, and thank you for coming. I promise to be as brief as possible, but as the son of a Pentecostal preacher, my sense of time can be a little iffy.”
A soft hum of laughter spread throughout the wide-open area filled with globs of journalists from local and national media outlets. TV cameras, photo cameras, vi
deo monitors, and microphones were everywhere. Josiah exhaled as he took it all in through bright lights. He was filled with a myriad of emotions. Fear, shame, and deep sadness were just a few. But he took comfort in knowing Jeremiah was just two feet behind him on his right and Connor on his left. Geisel, Seth Benedict, and Pennington were right behind them, showing their support. Josiah smiled at Gypsie and Rev who were seated front and center, surrounded by dozens of his key allies. When the laughter fully subsided, Josiah continued.
“I stand before you today not as the mayor of the great city of Atlanta or a political candidate or even as an attorney at law. I am all of the above, but I won’t address you under the influence of any of those titles this morning. Right now, I’m just a man . . . A man who puts his pants on one leg at a time just like the next man. I hurt, I have fears, I get angry, and, yes, I make mistakes. I’m not perfect. No one is. And because no human being is without flaw, we all make bad decisions sometimes.
“Unfortunately, my wife, Mink Sinclair Bishop, decided to leave a drug rehabilitation facility in Montana three weeks ago without completing her treatment program. I don’t know why she left because she didn’t inform me or the healthcare professionals and members of the support staff at the center. Only Mink and God know why she chose to discontinue treatment. After leaving Montana, my wife found her way to New York City somehow where she was the guest of a gentleman who was found dead in his apartment last night. His name was Norman Allen Murchison, and he was brutally murdered.
“Detectives at the New York Police Department believe that . . . um . . . Mink, m-my . . . My wife may be responsible for Mr. Murchison’s untimely death, or she has some knowledge of how he met his demise. But because Mink’s whereabouts at this time are unknown, the circumstances surrounding the death of the deceased remains unresolved due to a lack of information.
“My family and I wish to express our heartfelt condolences to Mr. Murchison’s family and friends. I understand he leaves a fiancée, his 4-year-old son, and two brothers to mourn his passing. Each of them is in my sincerest thoughts and prayers, and I intend to reach out to them later today.
“As far as my wife is concerned, I hope she’ll turn herself in to the New York authorities and cooperate with their investigation. That’s the only right thing to do. Mr. Murchison’s family deserves answers regarding his death so that they can have closure. And I think Mink can play a major role in the process. I don’t believe she killed Mr. Murchison. She has no violent tendencies whatsoever, but active addiction can cloud one’s judgment. Therefore, she may very well be involved in this crime in some way.”
Josiah paused and looked directly at the row of TV cameras in front of him. “Mink, honey, if you can see me and hear my voice, please call me. I’m worried sick about you. Let me know you’re okay. I can help you. Just call me, and I’ll come wherever you are and take you to the New York authorities. Regardless of whether you had anything to do with Mr. Murchison’s death, it’s important that you speak to the investigators and tell them everything you know. Please, Mink, call me. I love you, and I’m here for you.”
* * *
Mink traced Josiah’s handsome face with her fingertip over the dusty television screen. It was hard to see him through the heavy flow of tears spilling from her eyes. The pain in his voice ripped her heart to shreds. After all she had put him and their little girls through and despite all of the terrible things she’d done, he still loved her. Why else would he go on national TV on the eve of his reelection bid and beg her to contact him? And why did he even give a damn about what could happen to her at this point? It was all because of love—a love that Mink didn’t deserve, but one that her selfish greed wanted and her heart longed for.
Her breath hitched in her throat when Josiah turned and walked away from the cameras. Mink wanted to watch him and relish in the soothing sound of his voice just a little while longer. God, she missed him and her babies so much, but they didn’t know that because her actions said otherwise.
As the CNN cohosts at their studio began to discuss her and her possible involvement in Norm M.’s murder, pictures and video footage of Mink at various times during Josiah’s tenure as mayor flashed across the screen. The most recent family portrait they had taken reminded her of the happy times. She smiled through her tears when she saw herself dressed in an emerald-green, designer pantsuit, brightly smiling as she held the Bible at Josiah’s mayoral swearing-in ceremony. Gem was an energetic toddler dressed in pink, squirming in Rev’s arms while Myrlie cried tears of joy as she looked on with pride. Jeremiah was right there next to Mink, rocking 4-month-old Treasure in the crook of his arm.
Mink turned away from the outdated TV and flopped facedown on the bed. Unable to hold it in any longer, she began to wail into one of the lumpy pillows at the top of the bed. How had she downgraded from political wife, a stay-at-home mom, and first lady of Atlanta to a drug addict, fleeing the law? She had definitely sunk from sugar to shit. Brett had her held up in some fucking roach motel in the heart of Buffalo, hungry and itching for substance relief. A can of Pringles potato chips and a bottle of wine were the only things that had hit her belly since his friend, Kuwasi, had dumped them there early Saturday morning with the understanding that he was done with them. Dude said the long drive upstate, and a wad of cash was his limit.
“Please, Mink, call me. I love you, and I’m here for you.”
Mink clamped her hands over her ears when Josiah’s plea replayed in her head. She couldn’t call him and tell him where she was. He would fly to Buffalo and drag her back to New York City. Although she didn’t kill Norm M., she was responsible for his death. A fucking hood rat would come to that conclusion after hearing the whole story. So, no matter what, Mink would catch a case if she were to turn herself in. That’s why reaching out to Josiah wasn’t an option. Her only hope was to trust Brett to make some things happen. He was out now working on a plan to get them up to Niagara Falls and across the border to Toronto, Canada. His homeboy, a dude named Lucky, was supposed to be helping them out with some more cash and fake passports.
Chapter Fifty-two
“Yo, girl, wake up. I got food, liquor, and some other shit we need.”
Mink sat up on the bed, trembling and raking her fingernails across the dry skin on her chin and neck. She had cried herself to sleep, twitching through a tug-of-war between hot flashes and chills. She didn’t know how long she’d been snoozing when Brett returned to the motel room carrying a bunch of bags. He was almost unrecognizable with a completely bald head and no facial hair.
The aroma of food drew Mink out of bed. She walked over and grabbed the greasy brown paper bag Brett had placed on the dresser. When she opened it, the scent of grilled onions and peppers and seasoned beef kissed her nose, further stirring her hunger. Mink was starving to the point that it felt like her belly was chewing itself. She reached inside the bag and removed an oblong sandwich wrapped in foil. There were three other sandwiches inside with two containers of fries and a small bowl of coleslaw for each of them.
“I bought a gallon of vodka. It’s cheap, but we gotta watch our money. I bought some beer too.” He handed Mink a spoon for her coleslaw.
She was too busy stuffing her face to say thank you, so she gave Brett a quick head nod. After a few bites of her Philly cheese steak sandwich, Mink rambled through the bigger brown paper bag and lifted the huge bottle of vodka out.
“McCormick? What the hell?”
“Yo, we ain’t exactly rolling in dough. Most of that money Kuwasi gave us went toward this here room. So, you better drink that shit and pretend like it’s some Grey Goose VX, girl.”
Mink wrinkled her nose and rolled her eyes. Brett didn’t have any money, but she did. That $713 she’d lifted off Norm M. was in her bra. Her mama had taught her very early on that a girl should always set a little nest egg aside for a rainy day, and that’s exactly what Mink had done. Her secret stash belonged to her, and it was for drugs. The cheap-ass vodka Brett had bought
would get her through the night, but tomorrow, she was going to find some heroin or coke somewhere. It wasn’t going to be hard either because they were in the hood for sure.
Settling on the bed with her food and the big bottle of bootleg vodka, Mink resumed eating. In between bites, she took long swigs of liquor, bringing on a slow buzz. It wasn’t heroin, but she would make do until tomorrow.
Then Brett tossed a plastic bag on the bed, and it landed near Mink’s thigh.
“What’s this?”
“You need to change your look, yo.”
Mink placed her food aside and screwed the top back on the vodka so she could check out the stuff in the bag. There was a pair of scissors, a box of hair dye, some false eyelashes, and a fake gold grill.
“Damn, nobody will recognize me with all this shit.” Mink ran her fingers through her long, thick mane.
“Don’t start acting all sentimental over your hair. Black women make me sick with that shit. You ain’t got no choice but to cut it off. Lucky said your face is all over the news, social media, and every search engine on the internet. You a rock star, Mink Bishop.”
“Yeah, I know. I watched the news earlier today.”
“So, you’re really married to the mayor of Atlanta?”
Mink nodded as she opened the vodka bottle again. She took it straight to the head for a big gulp. “Yep, that’s me.”
“Damn, girl! How the hell did you—”
“Don’t ask me that. Just don’t. You wouldn’t understand.”
“All right. I won’t ask. Anyway, I hit Rizz up for some help, but she’s trippin’. She cussed me out and told me she wasn’t fucking with me no more because she ain’t about to lose her son because of my bullshit. Plus, she’s pissed because she thinks we fucking.”
“Why didn’t you tell her it wasn’t like that between you and me?”
“I did, but she wasn’t trying to hear it. She sounded like she was in love with you.” Brett raised his eyebrows at Mink. “Is the pussy that sweet?”
