Where are our Children: A Novel: Complete and Uncut

  Chapter Fourteen

  Thomas, I’ve never believed in the power of good versus evil. Human beings aren’t born to lean towards either force like that. Most of the time we teeter somewhere in between all of our lives; by nature we are all racist, sexist, and selfish. So I judge people by what they do and more importantly by what they mean to do. Who we truly are shadows our footsteps every day of our lives. So when adversity does strike, I believe our naked soul is bared for the whole world to see. Son, what I’m trying to say is that my intuitions are telling me is that your mother is soon to leave me to my illnesses. Yet, I have already forgiven her before she ever walks out of that door. And someday, long after I’m dead, you must do the same.

  -Saul Pepper’s tape recording left behind for his son, Thomas, in January of 1998

  Thomas

  CNN Building, 22nd Day

  A shapely production intern with South Pacific Islander features led Thomas Pepper by the elbow into Studio A of the superstation. She politely asked him to wait in a corner of an entanglement of cameras and cords and promised to return for him in five minutes.

  He nodded at her and watched the woman disappear back into the door from which they’d come. Her bosses had already done they’re round of thanks and appreciations again for him choosing their network for his important announcement.

  Studio B was well lit though a wee bit too warm for his liking. Thomas’ tie fit too snugly around his neck, enough to feel as if it were beginning to choke off his breathing. He was sweating gallons underneath his armpits and he had maintained a dull headache since before dark.

  He stole a deep breath…the studio unleashing the stench of polished wood, mop and glow and a fresh paint job on the nearby wall. It was a big and potentially prosperous night for this station as well. One of the executives smiled as he walked through the door and squeezed his right hand. Tonight’s director, a man that Thomas had worked with in the distant past when he was still at the Times, welcomed him back. Thomas asked for a bottled water—anything to wet his ever drying mouth. The director was more than happy to fetch it himself.

  He’d spoken underneath lights and in front of camera’s like this and in studio’s just like this one a hundred times before—why was this do damned different? Because, you idiot, tonight you join a rare list of men and women who potentially hold the fate of tens of thousands of your fellow countrymen in your hands…or mouth rather.

  His pants were squeezing him around his waist if he needed a reminder. Every eye in this studio and many throughout the country and the entire world would be watching him and listening to what he had learned. He was the savior or the Judas depending on one’s personal view.

  The intern had returned. Everyone else on the set was taking their collective places. She flashed him all five fingers of her right hand reminding him that there were only five minutes before they went live. So that meant that he had less time than that to do what exactly…to change his mind…to run away from his word to Mayor Ernestine Johnson. Would he ultimately save more lives by walking right back out the door from which he came—or telling all that he’d learned, especially in the past 24 hours or so.

  And was it more important to him save his reputation…or maybe save his own life?

  “Mr. Pepper,” The intern’s face had lost its pleasantness. She was old enough to understand what was at stake too. “They are ready for you.”

  “Okay,” He felt his fat head nodding. “I’m ready.”

  She grabbed him by the elbow again—and to his surprise—wrapped her arm in his. You are too young and far too single for my taste, young lady, but I thank you all the same for being the instant friend that I so badly needed at this moment. She walked him over to a specified area where he would be standing in front of a blue screen. The producers had promised that the digitally enhanced image that the viewers would be something both neutral in color and in definition. You are but the messenger, he reminded himself. Others have dictated the message.

  He’d worn one of his favorite tan suits in anticipation of the blue screen turning out to be a panoramic view of the city’s skyline after dark.

  “It’s a brave thing that you are doing,” The intern whispered to him just out of sight of the others. “Still, I don’t envy you this task.”

  He nodded his thanks to her.

  She left him there and another woman showed up seemingly out of nowhere…or had he been unconsciously checking out. She finalized his makeup and propped him in anticipation for his moment.

  She told him that if his suit caught on fire that she wouldn’t piss on him to put it out.

  The lights blinked from red to yellow to green…and finally settled on a solid green when she had left him behind.

  Thomas Pepper waited.

  He thought about his father’s last sickly days on this earth like he thought about him most days. He remembered how the Alzheimer’s had eaten his brain cells and the cancer’s had settled for the rest of his body. Thomas recalled the taped recording words of Saul Pepper—his father for him before the damning effects of the Dementia set in for good. The recording told him that he’d forgiven Thomas mother for leaving him and his children to fend for themselves when his illnesses had taken a turn for the worse. Saul figured that one long traumatic bout with his older sister’s terminal condition had been enough for his mom. She wasn’t going to suffer through another. Screw the rest of you, Thomas had always envisioned her saying when she finally left without even the decency of a phone call or a goodbye. How they dealt with this latest family crisis was a business for each person to tackle on their own.

  And it wasn’t until right here…right now that he realized that he’d never forgiven her or forgotten her decision. I never have forgiven any of them. That is why I openly look for married women to sleep with. I don’t openly hate these women or want to destroy what they have…but he did hate the ideology behind the institution of marriage itself.

  And now what will you do with this knowledge you’ve gained, Thomas, whether it was his own or Saul’s voice he could not say. Is it too late for me to turn away from the only behavior I’ve ever known?

  He saw the intern hold a single finger…a single trembling finger up at him now.

  And were those tears in her eyes.

  And just as suddenly Thomas had tucked Saul and his mother and the memories of the distant past away to face again another day; He now remembered the most recent past…and the woman who had become center stage in his life today.

  Serena Tennyson…aka Helen had his other alias—Arnold meet her at yet another baby’s wing of Atlanta’s Memorial hospital on the far East side of town this time.

  And though Thomas had yet to figure out the why in all of this…he had learned that the Intel she was feeding him was accurate and up to date.

  The intern lowered her finger…and her head; it was Showtime or No time for Thomas Pepper. And like the old woman’s grandmother there would be no turning back once this gigantic informational ball got rolling downhill.

  “Good evening. For all of you who may not know me—my name is Thomas Pepper. You will be shocked as I am to hear myself say that I am not quite sure where to begin this evening actually. First, I am happy to help to give credence to the rumors that have been circulating on various blogs and message boards all across the internet the past few hours: I was given specific permission from the highest powers of Atlanta’s Police Department that one of the six missing children as indeed been found. Mathew Clifton was taken to one of the many police sub stations on the city’s Southside by a man who had claimed to be a dissident of Pandora. He had asked for political immunity. He had been turned over to the FBI and was in route to the national headquarters to be debriefed. This man’s name and identity were being kept anonymous for his safety and the well-being of the federal agents who were assigned to escort him there.

  “I speak of this in past tense…because he died of some type of poisoning about an hour after he showed at this substation
with young Mathew. This is not…I repeat, this was not the same poisoning that was inflicted on Mayor Johnson. I will ask all of the viewers to be patient with me for I fully intend to address her particular issue as I move further in my dialogue with you.

  “As for this anonymous Pandora agent, the doctor that treated him said that his death was from strychnine poisoning. At the moment they were unsure when or how he was inflicted with this deadly toxin, but once it was ‘turned on’ as one doctor called it, this man’s life came to a quick and agonizing death.”

  “As far as Mathew is concerned, he was treated at an undisclosed hospital for dehydration. He is in serious but stable condition. There were no visible signs of …inappropriate scarring in around his genital areas. Mathew did mention many of the probable Pandora suspects by name including Louis Keaton, Danielle Rohm and Serena Tennyson.”

  “Subsequently, a Good Samaritan wrote down the license plate of a car that had been continually loitering in predominately Black neighborhoods in the hours just before Mathew and this now deceased Pandora agent showed up at the police station. The plate matched a rental car of Lacy Peters who through the aid of surveillance at a Hertz Rental Car is a fake name being used by no other than a dark haired petite woman who always wears black clothing: The same Danielle Rohm that was mentioned by name by Mathew Clifton. She is a ruthless assassin. She is also the woman who I strongly believe murdered my housekeeper when she showed up unexpectedly at my townhouse to clear the premises when Serena made her impromptu visit to me some time ago now.”

  “Now, let us move along to the more ominous news that I have learned in my research, interviews and my conversations with former Pandora agents, sympathizers…and Serena Tennyson herself. I will share this information with you in the reverse order that most People of Color—and many Americans period, would like to know.”

  “This Whirlwind, by Serena Tennyson’s definition is a purging of this city…and the Black Race by fire. When I questioned her on the how…Miss Tennyson failed to be specific. She did tell me that she would use the city’s design and geography against its citizens. She claimed that many would suffer and die in this purging. She said that Atlanta had been burned to ground once and that it could be again. I, like most civilized people in this nation, would side with spirit of Xavier Prince and how his people have visualized their future. We have seen an example of a House in Chains’ resolve when they liberated Carver by any means necessary. I would caution the Circle not to underestimate the resources and the long reach of Serena Tennyson and her Pandora associates. We need only to look at the massacre of the former Memphis police personnel and the fiery death of Louis Keaton’s uncle, a man named Templeton Healey that Serena’s vengeance knows no boundaries or limits.”

  “In our two conversations she also failed to disclose who this Caretaker was. There were several things that she did say…and more importantly to me through my observations that are a great deal more revealing about this man who was the founder of Pandora. This Caretaker’s final wishes that he expressed to Serena is that he wanted this matter resolved with a House in Chains—and all People of Color with as few casualties as possible. Serena Tennyson has the upmost respect for this man which also tells me…which tells something very important about this man’s character. Serena told all of us from my townhouse that true hatemonger’s—people like James Carter, Michael Stanton and Luna Belle have no place in Pandora’s view of the coming world order. If that is truly the case, then the Caretaker could not have been a hatemonger himself. He had to have a caring, if not misguided since of purpose, driving him and his beliefs. In fact, I am so absorbed with my theories on the Caretaker, I almost certain that we would all be shocked by who this man’s true identity was. I certainly emphasize the word was because I am certain that he is dead. I believe that he died within the last five to ten years. If he were alive, then we would know and see far less of Serena at the forefront of Pandora Operations than we’ve been subjected to.”

  “The matter of Mayor Ernestine Johnson’s death is a deep and personal level to me. As many of you already know, I was summoned to her suite and witnessed the final hour or so of her life myself. I know that she died a crippling and undignified death. The poison ate at her. Several independent agents from various disease control centers have identified the likely strain of the virus. They have affirmed that it attacked its victim’s central nervous system. Our Mayor was the first target of this aggressive toxin. We do not know the nature or the disposition of it nor do we know if it is a legitimate threat to the general public. We do now know that President Adolphus Sweet died in the same manner. I’ve said that Mayor Johnson was the first target…and she was just that. The president was shot by an individual named Joseph Champion, who was a former agent, operating outside of Pandora’s chain of command. Mr. Sweet did not die of his wounds due to being shot. This virus that was lying dormant in his system was somehow…activated…and he died the same agonizing death that Mayor Johnson did. What is more disturbing is this: The Disease for Control Center here in Atlanta was contacted when the Presidents condition quickly eroded. The then Vice President knew the truth. The Director of both the FBI and CIA also knew. And certain high level people within the disease control center had to know as well. What do they have to hide? Why are they hiding it? Are they coconspirators or merely incompetent in their duties?”

  “I leave you with to take these facts as I have given you to do with as each person feels necessary. My independent, non-biased investigation into these matters is now closed. I have completed this process as a promise to our esteemed former mayor. I alleviate myself from any liability from whatever A House in Chains or other groups or individuals may do with this information. I will refrain from taking questions from my brethren in the mass media now or in the near future.”

  “And with my last word I’d like to remind each and every one watching, listening, or scrolling through a transcript of this presentation… there is a deadly government issued virus being used against US Citizens. Whether you are Black, Brown or White this fact should trouble you. Thank you for your time and attentiveness. My name is Thomas Pepper. Where I go I hope the truth is never far behind.”

  He stepped away from the stage at last and walked past a mass of reporters who were blocking his path.

  He welcomed the silence that greeted him as he neared the ready room in an effort to retrieve the rest of his belongings. The intern had tears in her eyes, but greeted him with a smile nonetheless. He noted that another mass of reporters were retaking their place again as they had done before he made his speech.

  “Why are they still hanging around? I told them that I would not be speaking to them today. I’m sure you guys have a panel of talking heads to go on the rest of the night with their so called expert opinions and analyst, but those kind of events don’t usually draw this type of crowd—“

  “Look over there, Mr. Pepper.” The intern pointed a long manicured nail to the other side of the floor of the building. “The next speaker is coming—there she is right now. You almost missed her.”

  Lucy Burgess.

  Thomas stormed past the intern and nearly sprints over to where another underling is walking Lucy into the studio where this night had begun for him an hour ago. I won’t play second fiddle to anyone in this town, not even you Tommy Boy. He remembered Bernard Lott telling him in his office. But he had met with Lucy since then…he’d slept with her since that night… and she had said…

  “What are you doing here, Lucy? I thought we agreed the other night that you wouldn’t do this.”

  Lucy gave her overbite a workout when she smiled fully. “I told you that I would think about it, Thomas.” She straightened out his tie for him. “I never promised you anything.

  Thomas grabbed her arm with some girth. “What do you know about Chris Prince? Is it truly worth the lives you are about the risk to reveal this terrible secret about him?”

  “I guess the audience will have to make those decis
ions on their own, darling.” She kept the smile, but loosened herself from his grip. “You’ve had your opportunity at telling your version of truth—and the repercussions that maybe born of it. It’s my turn, darling. All is fair in love and war. We had love the another night…at least our version of it, now it’s time for a little healthy competition.”

  The underling looked unsure of what to do next. “Five minutes, Miss Burgess.”

  Lucy told the younger woman that she would be ready and asked her to allow Thomas and her a moment alone.

  Afterwards Lucy said: “You were wonderful the other night, Thomas. And I mean that—“

  “Lucy—“

  “Let me finish, Thomas.” She said with a serious look on her face that Thomas Pepper had never seen before. “As I was saying…you were wonderful the other night. You were passionate. You were energized. You were the Thomas Pepper that I’ve always known, but you were also the man that I knew that I would never truly have. The other night is the way that I want to remember us.”

  Thomas smirked. “So you are ending it?”

  “No,” She said “We both are. You are done with me, Thomas, and you don’t even realize it yet.”

  “What are you talking about, Lucy?”

  “Bill officially served me papers today.” Lucy’s face took on the sad look that she’d shown him at the mayor’s estate when she first stated her martial problems to him. “In six months I will be officially a single woman. And single women have no use in your life.”

  “Lucy—“

  She put a finger on his lips…and rubbed them with some affection. Was that mist in Lucy’s brown eyes or was that a trick of this room’s lighting. “And I’m done with you, Thomas. I just told you that you were wonderful the other night. You were passionate.” The underling held up two fingers so that they would clearly see it. “But you committed the one unforgivable sin that even whorish married women cannot forgive.”

  He searched his memory banks long and hard but frowned when the appropriate withdrawal of recollection escaped him. “When your moment of pleasure crossed the threshold towards ecstasy—“

  “I called you, Serena.”

  “You called me by that bitch’s name.”

  The intern chimed in: “We are ready for you, Miss Burgess.”

  “Well, duty calls me, darling. No hard feelings.” She held out her hand as her smile highlighting her glorious overbite returned for Thomas one final time.

  Thomas tried to hand her back the hotel key she’d given him but she told him to keep it as a symbol of what they’d had if for no other reason she could think of.

  She stood on her tippy toes and kissed him with some affection on his left cheek. “Together we will live forever…yet apart.” She left him in his silence, but looked over her shoulder at him after only a few steps. “Remember, darling, where Thomas Pepper goes—the truth is never far behind.”

  Chris

  Christopher Prince private residence, 22nd Day

  Special Agent Christopher Prince’s business cell phone rang.

  “Damn, Christopher,” Angel’s voice sounded distant in the receiver. “You are a hard man to reach. Turn on your TV.”

  “I’ve already saw Pepper’s press conference, Doc. The shit about the president is incredible, but otherwise I don’ think he really enlightened anyone to anything that the FBI doesn’t already know—“

  “I’m not talking about that news conference. You need to be tuned in to what’s being said—and who it’s being said about right now.”

  “What channel?”

  “Any of them…all of them, you should just pick one.”

  He apparently had missed whatever Angel was flustered about. A bushy haired brunette was wrapping up her evaluation of Lucy Burgess’ information about…him and his personal life. He saw pictures of himself, pictures of Denise and Erica flashing across his 52 inch screen in full HD. They were certainly much older photos, especially of him. He still had hair on his head and face and he was probably ten to 15 pounds lighter around his middle.

  The one word that was flashed up on the screen describing his family at that time was: Dysfunction.

  He bit his lip. He cursed. The next byline read: A Key FBI Agent at the center of the 411 investigations was once taken off duty himself for alleged molestation charges against his then minor teenage daughter. One of the commentators said that while nothing was ever proven, there were already legitimate concerns to whether this man should have taken the lead on these cases anyway. He is the brother Xavier Prince. Agent Christopher Prince’s mind might tell him to be loyal to the bureau but where does his heart lead him? It is the old adage…blood versus water.

  The bushy head woman spoke up again. She hesitated to dismiss these molestation charges so easily. She told the others to remember what Thomas Pepper said to them all before Lucy Burgess spoke. If the United States government was in a cover up in a president’s death, what makes anyone think they wouldn’t protect one of their own who was a pedophile? She went on to say that this man, Chris Prince, was a victim of sexual assault himself. And everyone knew how those types of behaviors recycle themselves. A boy goes from being abused to manhood of being an abuser. This pattern had been proven before.

  The other commentator wasn’t finished however. He asked the panel how stable could Chris actually be? And then they showed Chris in a shouting match with the bystanders who were lined up at the crime scene where he and Angel hypothesized about the black action figure and what it represented. Then they replayed his throw down with Muhammad Clark at the prison down state. The editing left out the portion for viewers to see Clark grabbing him first before Chris retaliated. Finally, someone had sold the Times some still photos of his face burrowed in frustration with one of the doubles of Serena Tennyson when he and Angel had caught up and bumped the car she was driving. One of the commentators warned the audience against allowing children to see the stills they rolled across the scene next. They showed the dummy Serena pinned under the car bleeding to death. The last photo was of him clenching his fit and gritting his teeth.

  He looked angry.

  He looked like a man on the verge of losing his control.

  “How in the hell did this happen?” Chris yelled into the receiver and instantly regretted it. “Why would anyone leak this type of information now? I told you that very few people know about what truly happened because of Erica and her lies.”

  Angel snorted. “It wasn’t me, Christopher.” She said in a defensive tone. “I swear that it wasn’t.”

  “Yea…I know that, Doc. I’m sorry that I yelled—“Chris’ personal cell phone beeped. “Look, someone’s ringing me on the other phone. I’ll call you right back.”

  “Make sure you do.” She said. “I want to help you get to the bottom of this.”

  He hung up the business phone and answered his personal one on the third ring but no one was home. Damn, I probably took too long with Angel. It rung again, Chris caught it on the first ring, but again Chris was only greeted with silence. He even answered it before it could complete one ringing cycle and yelled hello into the receiver. This time someone was laughing between breaths of saying something humiliating and degrading about him being trimmed up by Keaton all those years ago.

  Now his business phone was ringing.

  “Anything you have to say to me,” He yelled nearly at the top of his voice. “I want you to say it in person. Don’t hide behind a cell phone.”

  “I won’t need to.” Agent Sheridan said to him almost conversationally. “I already have you on the phone, Agent Prince.”

  Things were getting worse with each passing minute.

  Chris exhaled long and deep. “I’m sorry, boss.” Chris tried to keep his top lip from trembling. “I’ve got a lot going on over here.”

  “Of course you do.” Sheridan’s tone softened some. “That’s why I called you, however reluctantly, with this ounce of bad news myself.” Chris bit back bile knowing what was comi
ng next. “I’ve come to conclusion that it is time to take you off any case affiliated with 411.”

  Chris could have guessed that this day would come. He appreciated the fact that Nicholas Sheridan was man enough to tell him personally.

  It didn’t soften the effects of the blow one Goddamn bit.

  “What?” Chris asked in an exasperated voice. “What in the hell are you talking about, Sheridan? Don’t do this to me, man, not now.”

  “At times like this I have to look out for the integrity and the best interest of the bureau, Prince, you know that.” Sheridan explained to Chris as he spun around and switched the cell from one ear to the next. “No man is bigger than this organization is, especially now. If our positions were reversed I would expect you to do the same.”

  “This is about that report that just went down on television isn’t it?” Chris asked the question that he already knew the answer to. “Sheridan, you people know the truth about all that shit that went down. Internal Affairs cleared me of any wrong doing.”

  “I know that better than most, Prince, or have you forgotten that I was with Internal Affairs at that time. I led the investigation.” Sheridan said and before Chris could reply he added: “I didn’t know you at a personal level or particularly liked you then, Mister. But I didn’t believe what that kid or your ex-wife were saying about you. I didn’t believe it because that’s what the evidence, or lack thereof, told me to believe.”

  “Then why are you—“

  “You should know why you are no longer fit to wear that shield, Prince.” Sheridan said in a gruff voice. “I will say this one last time and you will stop hearing me and Goddamned listen this time: This is bigger than you or me as far as I am concerned. We have a potential crisis in streets of Atlanta and many other metropolitan areas staring us in the face. Did you listen to Thomas Pepper’s speech or did you just hear it? Somewhere well above our pay grade Americans are asking for the resignations, if not the arrest of people in this organization that you and I both know, for covering up what truly was the cause of President Sweet’s death.”

  “I heard it, Sheridan. I listened to what Pepper had to say.”

  Sheridan continued as if Chris had not spoken at all. “And as much as that tees me off, the fact that the emergence of this information…this evidence soils our reputation further. At this moment no one even knows where Deputy Director Rice is. Two or three people that I trust with my life have told me that they disagree with Thomas Pepper on one point: They believe that the Caretaker is still alive. They believe that Raymond Rice and the founder of Pandora are one and the fucking same. ” Sheridan must have stopped long enough to calm himself and breathe again. “For what it’s worth, I have temporarily been put in charge of the bureau until I am dead or this crisis has passed. And I have decided that my first action is to save what’s left of our name and reputation. Don’t make this into a pissing contest, Chris. You know that this has evolved well past all of that. If the people that we still serve with stand any chance of survival in the coming days and weeks, we can’t allow the slightest shadow of doubt to be raised over our agency…or any agent investigating our cases.”

  Chris hesitated one second before he said: “Damn, Nick, can’t you see that I want to help.”

  “You will help. You are helping, Chris.” Sheridan cleared his throat. “Special Agent, Christopher Prince of the Atlanta Field Office, you are officially off of the 411 case and any associated matters. Have I made myself clear, Mister?”

  “Yes, sir, Agent Sheridan, you have.”

  Sheridan gave him a few lines of scripted company speak thereafter concerning his right to hearing with union representation at the earliest convenience of both sides for the business of having him reinstated. He was being suspended without pay and would also be subject to having his health insurance being paid by the company for 60 days as well. Finally, he was instructed to turn in his two bureaus issued handguns and shield to the field office—that he used to run.

  Chris threw his cell phone across the room and it broke the mirror below a cabinet. He kicked over his sofa and shattered three photos of him in various stages of his career in law enforcement. He broke the glass of several of his paintings and tore several more to shreds—until he reached Hoshi’s portrait.

  He sat down on his tiled floor with her painting in his hands. How could I have failed so miserably, Hoshi? He asked the woman in the picture. Was there anything that I could have done differently? He had been alone so long…even through his married years with Denise. He’d lost his childhood to a monster named Louis Keaton. He’d lost his teenage years when his father, who he had adored, was taken from him in an automobile accident. And then all the joy that a young man could know was stricken from him when his dearest Hoshi had wrapped her car around that telephone phone after the infamous parent-teacher conference she’d attended.

  Tears came to his eyes…and Chris Prince let them come. They weren’t tears of frustration for losing his job. They were the latest in a long line of tears that had been shed for losing the precious woman in this portrait. If he had ever needed proof that Hoshi Givens was the only one that he’d ever truly loved up until now then the evidence, as Agent Sheridan had stated it so clearly to him, was rolling down his face while he sat on this floor.

  He had finalized both the large and small details of Denise and Erica’s funerals without shedding a tear.

  He had viewed Denise’s body, or what the morticians could piece back together again, and didn’t cry once.

  He had attended his ex-wife’s funeral. He’d listened to the pastor give a powerful sermon about Jesus’ death and resurrection…and a final commanding prayer for her at the graveyard…

  And Chris Prince never offered up even a snivel.

  And yet, the mere thought of Hoshi had driven him to emotion.

  And then thirty or so minutes after that, he thought about Roxanne Sanchez.

  What am I ever to do about you, Roxanne? She was a beautiful woman who had perhaps an overabundance of fire burning in her. Just as my dearest Hoshi did; sure, she was wild and untamed around the edges. And yet, he knew that there was an attraction between them. He had first felt it when she was in the FBI Training Program years ago. Chris had wisely kept business…and any potentially personal affairs separate.

  He was pleasantly surprised when the fire quickly had rekindled itself when he saw her again for the first time in years at Centennial Park.

  And then she showed up before the funerals and the heat between them had turned up considerably—

  Chris doorbell rang.

  He got to his feet and slapped the safety off of his weapon. He hoped he didn’t have to empty the bullet chambers of his gun before he turned it in to Alex who ran inventory over there.

  Whoever in the hell was on the other side of that door was had better be more than friendly tonight after what he had been through already.

  Chris opened the front door to his house with his gun down near his side.

  Benjamin Scott:

  He was long and in wondrous shape for a man nearing 65 years old. He still bothered to shave every day, still colored his hair and wore a suit most every place he went and liked to date 30 year olds.

  “Good evening to you too, Christopher,” He said with eyes trained on the barrel of Chris’ firearm in his face. The younger man knew that his father’s lifelong friend carried at least two guns on his person at all times as well.

  “Damn, Scotty,” Chris put his gun away, gave his normally quiet neighborhood a once over and followed his guest inside. “What are you doing here?”

  Scotty had stopped after he broke the threshold…failing to find an adequate place to rest his weary dogs. He finally gave it up, pushed his hands down into his pockets and grinned at his host. “Oh, I guess I was in the neighborhood.” Chris flipped the couch back over and both men sat down on it. “I hope you don’t mind me coming by without calling. You never answer that damned cell of yours anyway.”
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  Chris shifted his eyes…what he always did when he tried to lie. “Uh, I was just going out for a bit.” I hadn’t got any better at it. “I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

  Scotty gave the room a once over. “I see, Old Man, we are all in such a hurry these days. Oh, I miss the olden times.”

  “Look, Scotty—“

  Scotty’s gaze turned serious and focused. “I had the feeling that you could probably use some moral support right now.”

  “Yea,” Chris finally admitted after a moment. “Yea, you’re probably right. You should excuse my manners. My father taught me better than this.”

  “Yes, he did,” Scotty’s smile was as warm as a summer’s day. “And we won’t mention anything else about it, Old Man. And I always thought this place could use some redecorating anyhow. It looks that you took my advice quite literary.”

  Chris leaned back on the couch, settling in. “Since I was little boy, I’ve never known you to ever do anything at random. You don’t live nearby, yet you walked over here this time of the night to speak to me. I think you used that time to think long and hard about what you wanted to say to me. I’m here, Scotty. You have my attention. What do you want?”

  “I want what I always want, Old Man?”

  “I’m not in the mood to solve one of your puzzles, Scotty, not tonight. Spit it out.”

  “Alright,” He rested his arms on his knees. “I loved your father like the brother that I never had. You know that I chose never to marry. There won’t be any little Scotties running around the streets of Atlanta anytime soon. You and your brother Xavier are all the family that I know, all the family that I will ever know.” He looked to the ceiling and then found Chris’ eyes once again. “The love that I had for your father produced a pack that I hoped I have honored. I gave him my word that if anything ever happened to him that I would watch over the two things that he cherished more than anything in the world.”

  “I imagined that either one of us have made that an easy promise to keep.”

  “You imagine correctly, Old Man.” If Scotty’s smile was a summer day, then his laugh was the thunderstorm on a summer’s evening. And then just as suddenly his look went deadly serious. “A storm’s coming.” He said and on cue the wind howled outside of Chris’ front window. “This storm is going to threaten to sweep both you and Xavier in its wake. And look at me…I’m an old man now, I don’t know how much longer that I will be able to keep my word to your father.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Chris pointed at the panel continuing to offer muted words on his television. “And you are wrong about one thing, my friend, the storm is already here.”

  Scotty stood up, straightened his jacket out, and pointed at the screen. “You think that I’m talking to you about these tall tales and fables that have been perpetrated against you by a second tier reporter on a modern day which hunt?” He circled the room and came back to he was originally standing. “That was an illusion of truth, Christopher. I am talking about real truth; the type of earthshaking truth that Thomas Pepper claims that follows him around. You are on the cusp of learning a truth so wondrous…and yet, so very tragic, that you will never look at the opposite sides of the same coin the same ever again.”

  Scotty took two long strides, stepped over some more debris and opened the front door.

  “Why won’t you tell me?” Chris asked his father’s dear friend. “Why didn’t you tell me before now?”

  Scotty held the door handle but offered no explanation and no other movement for a very long time. He finally opened the door and the stench of burning brush rushed into Chris’ living room. “Because I gave my word, Christopher,” Scotty offered as if his explanation made all of the sense in the world. “Pepper aided somewhat in answering the three questions that every Person of Color in this country wanted to know…I will tell you that the one question that you’ve asked yourself your entire life is soon to be answered.” He walked outside of the door and looked in Chris direction one final time. “All of your adult life you’ve dreaded the lies about your past would come back to destroy you…when it has been the truth all along that may be the most damning. You will need to be strong.”

  And Benjamin Scott walked away and took Chris’ truth with him.

  Roxanne

  Unspecified location, 22nd Day

  She slapped Chris across his cheek.

  He said: “What are you doing, Roxanne?”

  What was she doing? “I’ll ask the questions here. Who are you Chris Prince?” She threw a series of blows that he fended off with relative ease. “What kind of man are you? What kind of man?”

  She unleashed another volley of rabbit punches, slaps and when those failed to connect she clawed at his face with her fingernails. In the end she could not have said how many punches landed. She could not say if she’d wounded anything more than the man’s pride.

  Roxanne only knew that she was only faintly aware of the half a dozen or so patrons seated in Walter’s Bar and Tavern where she had found Chris about four blocks from his home.

  Chris finally caught hold to one of her wrist and pulled her close enough to him for her to smell his breath. Smartly, he guarded his family jewels and pushed aside one girlish trick after the other as if it were child’s play.

  His mouth was near her ear. “One of the local papers dug up Erica’s phony accusations against me. That’s all they were, Roxanne…accusations. The FBI was aware of them, investigated, cleared me of all wrong doing and dismissed it.” He got real close and sneered in her ear. “I think that you should do the same.”

  Roxanne tried one final sucker punch when he released her…but he blocked it, reversed their positions in an instant and pinned her against the bar’s counter. The bar’s owner looked half amused half nervous about what he was seeing, but hadn’t acted as if he were going to call the law, yet.

  “I should have known something shady was going on,” Roxanne said, trying to work her arms and torso from Chris ‘clutches. So this is how we spend our first date, Chris. I know that you are somewhere below the border laughing at me, Victor. She felt her arms…all of her tiring. “When I first saw you in the park and told you that your step daughter had gone missing…you acted the part of a cold fish.”

  “Well, now you know why. And anyway, Erica had always been trouble. I wasn’t surprised that the possibility existed that she’d put herself in a position to get herself killed.”

  Chris released her with a warning glance that said: No more, Roxanne. He turned back to whatever he was drinking and slid the miniature glass down to the bartender for a refill.

  Roxanne said: “Are you saying that the young woman that you helped raise deserved to die? Are you telling me that she had earned that bullet lodged in her brain after nearly being strangled?”

  “No…of course not, Roxanne,” Chris sat down. “But I refuse to be one of those parents who get in front of the TV cameras after my child is killed denying any knowledge of their child’s despicable activities. Erica lived a reckless lifestyle. She pissed on and pissed off a lot of the wrong people. It was bound to eventually catch up with her.”

  “She was young, Chris. People her age make mistakes.”

  “They do. Erica was vindictive and manipulative…and not without a hell of a lot of effort trying.” The bartender slid the brown colored alcoholic drink back towards his customer. It took two swallows for Chris to get it down. And the frown etched on his face, immediately told Roxanne that had little to no experience with alcohol. Men and their vices, She had such high hopes that he was above such trivialities.

  “I didn’t know that you were a drinker.”

  “I didn’t either,” He spun around in his chair to face her. “I promised myself to never touch this stuff. I made it all the way until tonight before I finally broke that promise. My whole life has been about maintaining control. I’ve watched Xavier teeter on the edge of losing it because of it. But I didn’t pester him. I let him find his own way. We both needed to
after what happened to the old man. You see, Roxanne, the great and reviled Isaac Prince was taken from his beloved sons by a drunk driver. The man who killed him was three times over the legal limit when his car crashed into my dad’s. He had scotch and soda…ginger ale in his system at the detox.”

  “So that’s why you all ways drink the ginger ale. It was your way of honoring you father’s memory, yet never forgetting that alcohol had forced someone else to lose their control.”

  Chris nodded but held his finger up summoning another drink all the same.

  He said: “And where in the hell do you come off judging me anyway. I found out about the questionable methods you used to find your way to Carver. You threatened people. You assaulted two others specifically. Councilwoman Vanessa Davis is far from a saint, but the woman deserved better than to be nearly tortured by you in her own home.”

  In her mind’s eye, Roxanne could see how that entire episode played out. But who dared argue her results was either a liar or a fool. She hoped that Chris Prince was neither. “I did what I had to do…no matter the ills that Erica Lovings was involved in while she lived; she deserved to be treated with some respect and dignity after she died. From the moment Denise hired me…I knew that she was dead. I can’t tell you how, but I knew. It didn’t change the fact that I wanted her found as if she were going to walk through your ex-wife’s door with me. So if I took a few liberties to gain information to her possible whereabouts, so be it.”

  “So because you don’t wear a badge and don’t have to answer to any authority figures, you feel that you don’t have to show…restraint.”

  “I did what I had to do, Chris.”

  “You crossed the line, Roxanne.”

  “You’re insane, Chris.” She said. “And what’s worse is that you are clueless. You’re a member of that Mickey Mouse Club called the FBI and you think that know everything about law enforcement and investigation. And don’t try to tell me again about how I should handle my business. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t having a fucking clue what I’ve been though.”

  The bar grew very quiet after Roxanne had finished her tirade at last. Roxanne felt her temples throbbing and she could feel her pulse racing in her ears.

  “I understand a lot more than you might think.” Chris said.

  Roxanne didn’t want to understand. In the deepest depths of her mind she knew that was being said on the TV about Chris wasn’t true. Yet, she wanted to be angry. She wanted to be argumentative. She was a little hurt. That’s all she ever the emotions she seemed to know…anger and hurt.

  “Do you understand that Carver would have gone a lot smoother for me if your brother hadn’t decided to wage his own private war campaign in there? It was just a matter of time and the Choir Boys would have been ousted. I had to get the information about Erica before her trail went cold.”

  “Who doesn’t have the clue now? Roxanne. You want to talk about limited windows of opportunity, well Xavier saw an opportunity to liberate those residents and he did do. No one gives a damn about the tenants trying to raise their families in that hell hole.”

  “But you do care?”

  “I do. My status as a FBI Agent causes me to mute a lot of what I say about what goes on in Black communities. But I am sick to death of hearing these same neighborhoods talk about our problems as a people…single mothers, guns, drugs and the lack of employment opportunities among the ever growing list of difficulties. I know Xavier has performed well as the One. But I can’t help but think that we’ve missed some openings to make things better for People of Color. Like I said, I am sick to death of talk.” He said and rubbed his forehead. “Everyone is interested in talk because the very nature of it is simple enough. I want to see someone be proactive. Solving problems is a lot more difficult than just talking about solving them. When it came to Carver, my brother and his people solved a problem. I’m interested in resolving problems as well. I’m a licensed protector of this community…or at least I was.”

  Was…Roxanne wondered what else had happened to Chris since Denise’s burial.

  “What if what the Peacekeepers accomplished in there was nothing but a temporary solution?”

  “Maybe it will turn out to be a fact, though I highly doubt it.” Chris downed another shot and his eyes lost much of their focus. “Maybe you are right, Roxanne, maybe the drugs and the drug runners will return. But I believe that when you ignite the light of hope…sometimes that hope burns a lifetime.”

  “You believe that.”

  “Yes, I do.” Chris said. “How did you find me anyway?”

  Roxanne exhaled. “An old friend of your father promised him that he’d watch over the two things that were most precious to him. He said that you and your brother, Xavier, are making that increasingly difficult on him as he gets older.” Roxanne showed Chris Benjamin Scott’s picture next to his number on her phone. “He asked if I could lend him a hand tonight.”

  “Scotty did that huh?”

  “Yea, he did.” Roxanne nodded. They both took in the quiet moment. The others in the bar had gone back to their own conversations and their drinks. The bartender looked even more relaxed and assured that he won’t need to call his insurance carriers tonight. He offered her one on the house tab. Roxanne blew the old bartender a kiss but kindly shook her head no to his gracious offer.

  Chris rose to his feet suddenly…and kissed her deeply.

  Roxanne returned his kiss in full.

  “I know for sure that I killed at least one of the Peacekeepers at Carver.” The confession came from her suddenly and without preamble. “Councilwoman Davis, Carver, I did it…I did all of it for you, Chris.” Roxanne said in a voice that was nearly a whisper.

  Chris rested his forehead against hers. She could feel him nodding and muttering something under his breath. “I have to go,” She finally heard say aloud enough for her to hear. “I’m falling in love with you, Roxanne.”

  Roxanne heard the bar door shut behind him after he left. Roxanne wanted to move but she could not. She wanted to wake herself out of this dream but could not accomplish that either. This is a nightmare. The bartender leaned his elbows on his counter and flashed a mouthful of his rotten teeth at her.

  He told her congratulations and that he had seen stranger things in his time.

  “Then I was right about you all along, Chris.” Roxanne mutters almost to herself in the spot that the man of her dreams had just vacated. “You are insane, Chris. If you are truly falling in love with me then I have to ask you this question: How could you love a monster?”