Page 8 of Where are our Children: A Novel: Complete and Uncut

  Chapter Seven

  Deep down I know that I shouldn’t feel this way about him. I know that it isn’t right. But sometimes…well, sometimes I wish that Chris was dead, mamma. I wish that it could be just me and you again.

  -12 year old Erica Lovings’ conversation with her mother Denise Prince, in 2004

  Chris

  Parker’s Soul Food Restaurant, 10th Avenue, 8th Day

  Denise Prince:

  She was a brown skinned Person of Color who had an hour glass shape. She had light hazel eyes, high cheek bones and wore her curly hair weave to her shoulders. He had always loved a how creative his ex-wife could be with her hair. Today she wore streaks of auburn and chestnut tinted strands that highlighted the color in her eyes. She was 35 years old, four years his junior, and was drawing her usual attention from male passerby’s, even dressed in hospital fatigues. He watched her slide into one of the last available booths inside Parker’s Real Soul Food Restaurant and then sat on the opposite side of her.

  40 minutes later Denise was working on her last piece of today’s special, baby back ribs which had looked tasty and smelled better. Special Agent Christopher Prince stabbed at the one of his two chunks of grilled chicken from his salad. Parker’s had been around since he’d been a kid. No one in the Deep South did soul food better…but grilled chicken salad doesn’t quite fit the bill as soul food now does it? If the life and death episodes he’d faced at the Fox Theatre and the high speed car chase in pursuit of what he thought was Serena Tennyson through the streets of Atlanta didn’t motivate him to lose the extra pounds, then nothing would.

  He had a pain in his gut. Damn. They’d been coming a little too often and to sharp in severity as of late for his liking. He tried to put his best face forward. He didn’t want to discuss any of his biological issues with Denise, though the alternative, the reason they had agreed to meet for lunch in the first place, wasn’t going to be pleasant either.

  “No Pork chops, Chris?” She pointed a greasy finger at his plate before she wiped her hands with the wet naps. It took her several swipes to get her fingers clean for a final time. “Now I truly know the world is coming to an end.” Her hazel eyes found his glass of Ginger Ale warming in his hand. “I guess you’ll be giving that up next.”

  He stopped picking at the chicken long enough to look up from his plate and forced himself into a smile. He seemed to always be doing that in the ten years they were married, gritting his teeth and trying to stave off another confrontation. “Just trying to scale back a little bit,” Despite his best efforts, he felt himself getting angry. “Why don’t we talk about something else?”

  “Why don’t we?” Denise powdered her nose and cheeks and applied a very light shade of red to her thin lips. She’d gone from nine and a half on the beauty scale to a perfect ten in an instant. An instrumental jazz tune blared through the speakers that Chris knew his brother Xavier would have appreciated it more than he did. But this high paced horn solo with the dark overture served as a perfect theme song for the woman who sat across from him. Yes, you can be jazzy can’t you, Denise? “I haven’t heard from Roxanne today. It’s 12:30pm and so far she’s given me a daily report no later than noon. Would you happen to know anything about that, sir?”

  Sir was Denise’s code word to Chris that she was on the fringes of being particularly irritated or being particularly playful with him. He always braced himself for the former until it was proven otherwise. “I spoke to her this morning.” Chris sucked the last of his drink from his glass and sat it down with some emphasis near her hoping that she his subtle message that Roxanne would be going through his channels first, from this point on.

  “What do you mean you spoke to her?”

  “Yes, I spoke to her.” Chris said without hesitation. “I was going to bring that up here, today. I believe that Roxanne should report directly to me twice a day until Eric is found. She’ll be calling me again around 10pm tonight. ” Denise rolled her hazel eyes at him, but so far all he could hear was Parker’s noisy patrons and the Jazz music that had moved on to a piano solo now. “I wrote her a check yesterday. I know you have a lot on your plate that includes a ton of bills. If and when she finds something I’ll let you know. I promise.”

  Something won out inside Denise and her face softened. She nodded her head and rubbed her hands together, silently sending the message to him that he would take his advice and lead in this—at least for right now.

  “Does she have your full confidence?”

  “Scotty recommended her to you, Denise. Even if I didn’t already know her from her stint in the FBI’s Training Program, his recommendation alone would be enough for me.” Chris said. Benjamin Scott had worked 37 years for various law enforcement agencies. More importantly, he along with Angel’s father, Tyler Hicks, was the two men on the planet that Chris’ father trusted explicability. “In fact, Roxanne told me that she had scheduled an interview with a source tonight.”

  Denise sipped at her lemonade through her straw until she found the bottom of her glass at last. Scotty told Chris that Denise didn’t give him any particulars about why she needed to hire a private detective when she sought his advice. Whatever the matter was, his mentor and friend had said to him last night, I felt she deserved someone who would work hard for her, who was honest and wouldn’t rip her off. And when Chris asked him why he didn’t share this information with him after she came to him for the recommendation he smiled tightly and said, because you two are still at point beyond dissolution if I recall. Her business is not your business, Old Man.

  When Denise put her glass down at last the room had quieted enough for him to get on with his unpleasant business with her. He had already picked his ex-wife’s brain about the when’s and the where’s of Erica’s whereabouts and so far they’d come up empty. Now, he wanted some answers to the next obvious question rattling along in a parent’s brain. “Why didn’t you come to me directly when you thought Erica turned up missing?”

  Denise shrugged her shoulders once. “Look, Chris, I know how you feel about my daughter.”

  Chris felt a new wave of anger wash over him. “How I feel about her?” Chris exhaled threw his nostrils. “I want you to remember that I felt enough for her to help raise her since she was like six or seven years old, Denise. I care about what happens to her.”

  “But you don’t love her, Chris. You never have loved her.”

  “Of course I…” Chris’ words lost their traction and they fell off a cliff.

  “You see what I mean,” Denise’s laugh held no humor. “You can’t even lie to me and say it. Damn you, Chris, Erica didn’t mean to hurt you the way she did.”

  Chris leaned in close. The barbecue sauce on Denise’s ribs had been spiced in honey and he could smell it on her breath. “Then what other name would you have for it?” He asked her and noted that they’re little exchange had brought on some curious glances from the other the patrons whose tables and booths were closest to theirs. Chris stood up to wave the attention of the teenaged waitress down while flashing his bureau shield bright and shiny to anyone who might pay too much attention to their private conversation. “Check please,”

  They walked the half a block necessary to reach their parked cars. A strong gust of smoky, cold wind hit both of them in the face. Chris tried and failed to distinguish whether this particular whiff was from Parker’s grill or from one of the dozen forest fires that continued to plague the metro area. No matter what you say, Denise, it took a well thought out process to attempt to pull what that girl—

  Denise pressed a breast against his shoulder when they reached her Civic. “I prayed for you the other night.”

  “Did you?”

  Denise frowned and he knew it wasn’t because of the smoke or the cold wind. “Why wouldn’t I, Chris?” She folded her arms over and planted her butt on the Civics’ driver side door. “My God, you work for one of the most high profile agencies in the country, Chris. Between the explosion at the youth center an
d the hostages being held at the theatre, I knew that you were involved in all that somehow.” Denise’s gaze softened once again. “Of course, I had no idea you were one of those people being held inside Fox until after it was already over.”

  “I’m sorry, “Chris put his hands on her shoulders. “I couldn’t have been easy for you not knowing where Erica was and then adding all of that madness to your life that involved me as well.”

  “And we opened the Triage Center at Atlanta General for the first time since the quake happened a month ago. It hit me all at once how serious everything really was. All the RN’s were put on 24 hour call, but I never left the hospital once during the whole thing. The first responders kept bringing in bodies from both scenes…and then the nightmare recycled itself again when that crazy woman you arrested set off those bombs on the streets on the other side of town a few days later.”

  “Yea, it’s been crazy…”

  Denise had used the opportunity to pull his body closer to her. He got a full feel of her breast as she pushed them against his chest and his manhood responded to the exchange far quicker than he’d expected. He tried to take a half a step in retreat but she smoothly spun and pinned him to her to driver side door. She rested her head on his chest. He could smell her hairspray and perfume.

  “I kept praying…hoping that I wouldn’t see you carried in on one of those gurneys.”

  “I know…look, Denise,” He tried to peel her off of him and yet the feel of her breast, the smell of her was intoxicating to say the least. In the two years since their divorce Chris had known few women—by his choice. After he and Denise got over the initial furor that all divorces go through, they entered an interesting, if unorthodox phase that led to the present arrangement.

  They began to have sex again.

  Chris felt that he didn’t have the time or energy or interest to pursuit hardcore relationships with other women. Catherine Siegel, he finally learned the family name of the woman who had been his date who died at the Fox Theatre, had only been his fourth or fifth date since their divorce finalized. Denise had been the woman he had fulfilled his sexual needs with for the most part over the last couple of years.

  “Denise, listen, I need to go.”

  “That’s cool. Why won’t you come over to the apartment for a while after we both get off work tonight?” She asked and released in him just enough so that he could breathe his own air. “You said that Roxanne is supposed to call you around ten. We can be together when she does. You can pack a bag and spend the night—“

  Chris was shaking his bald head. “I don’t know about that, Denise.”

  Just as quickly she slid back in his arms again and everything had started all over for him, all the progress he had made a second earlier was gone. “Please Chris; I don’t want to be alone tonight.” She said, her voice purring with each word. “And it has been a couple of weeks since…since we’ve been together like that.”

  Denise’s grip increased from a strong attachment to a vice grip and she twisted his head back in her direction to kiss him. She pushed her tongue between his lips, out again, and then nibbled at his ear lobe as she reached and found his fully responsive manhood in his slacks. Her tongue, her hands, all of her so inviting…but…

  “Denise,” He said. “Stop.”

  “What’s wrong with you, sir,” She shot back at him angrily. “Oh, yea, I get it. I fucking get it, Angel’s in town and suddenly you can’t find the time to spend with me.”

  Chris raised his voice to meet her tone. “Dr. Hicks-Dupree is here in Atlanta at the request of the FBI.” He planted his fist on his hips. She had folded her arms. It was on, just like in the good old days of their marriage. “Besides she is a married woman. And I’ve told you, I’m telling you again this afternoon, that thing that occurred between us happened only once and it was years before you and I were married. Damn, Denise, we’ve been over this countless times. I don’t understand why can’t you get this through you head?”

  Denise slammed her hands down on her wide hips. “Oh, I get it alright, sir,”

  “Denise…” Chris looked at his watch. He had tons of work to do but no specific place he had to be at the moment, but she didn’t know this. “Look, Denise, I need to go.”

  “Don’t run from me, Chris.”

  “I’m not running.” Yet, he was walking as fast as his legs and a stomach full of grilled chicken salad and ginger ale would carry him a half a block over to where his car was parked.

  “You know, you’re right, baby. I apologize. This really ain’t got anything to do with Angel.” Denise’s angered look had faded into something that looked almost like hurt. Hurt might as well been a foreign film in an American theatre when it came to Agent Christopher Prince’s ex-wife Denise Prince. She only seemed to know anger and annoyance and a little furor performances thrown in for good measure. “It’s about her isn’t it? It’s always been about the only woman you’ve truly ever loved.”

  Chris ground his teeth together. They’d drawn a small audience of passerby’s on the adjacent sidewalk. A driver or two had slowed enough to hear a sentence or two before moving back on to the business of driving. Chris thought he saw a man who looked too young to walk with a cane hide his cell phone from his view when Chris spotted him.

  Chris exhaled from his nose again, and knew his skin was far too dark to redden from embarrassment but he was embarrassed for the both of them all the same. Strife between a relatively young man and woman of color in a predominately Black neighborhood in the streets of Atlanta is nothing new or news worthy despite your efforts to change our image in the media, little brother.

  “Leave it alone, Denise.” Chris said when he thought he had gained enough distance between them. “Leave the dead alone.”

  But the rage was on her now. This show, friends and neighbors, was just beginning. “Fuck that, it’s you that won’t leave shit alone, Chris.” Denise screamed in his direction. “I could never compete with you dearest Hoshi. I know you, Chris. I know you don’t sleep around. In fact, I’ll even wager that you’d rather go home tonight and masturbate to one of your drawings of that woman then physically be with me.”

  “That’s enough, Denise.”

  “Angel Hicks-Dupree…Hoshi Givens…what’s her name, the woman you said died in that theatre the other night, yea I guess I don’t compare to any of them. I guess my skin is too damned dark for your taste.”

  “That is enough, Denise.” Chris fired back and if bystanders heard the conversation then to hell with them as well.

  Denise seemed to shrink a little after he had raised his voice to a near max. She seemed shaken and uncomfortable under his hardened gaze that he usually reserved for the vilest of humanity he’d investigated in his career. But Denise had crossed a line with him mentioning two women who had died so tragically and so young.

  He loosed his fist and struggled to regain his sense of calm. This absolutely was the feeling that reminded him of his marriage to this woman who he still occasionally slept with; the one who had decided to keep his name after their divorce. Control, he chided himself silently and he took a deep breath and then another the way that Scotty had always taught him. You must never lose control around Denise or any other woman; because once you cross that threshold you’ll never able to be to look at yourself the same again. Scotty had preached to him. And I’m not just talking about the man in you who plays the role of the cop, Old Man.

  “I’ll be in touch with you tonight, as soon as I speak to Roxanne.”

  Chris sat in his own BMW afterwards, cracked the windows down half way, and tried to push the last of the heat he was feeling from his latest argument with Denise of its cracks.

  Denise, apparently, had other plans for him.

  She reached over the top of him and battered the back of his bald head with her fist over and again until he had regained his awareness of time and space, caught her fist and somehow unlatched his self from her assault, opened the card door, and pushed her off of
him without injuring her.

  He stood just outside of his car door and slammed it shut, rattling the glass, and exhaled loudly through his nostrils in exasperation. He was angry at Denise for sure for an unprovoked attack against him, but was absolutely furious with the FBI Agent inside that should have expected the possibility, knowing this woman’s history the way that he knew it.

  Denise sat on the pavement and looked towards the heavens and took a few forest fire plagued breaths of her own. When she looked at her ex-husband again there were tears running down both cheeks. Chris took notice. For all of their confrontations of the years, Denise Prince was not a woman who cried easily.

  “Why can’t you forgive?” She said. He knew from long experience that the forgiveness she referred to was meant for his step daughter Erica Lovings, not for her specifically. Through all of her faults, Denise Prince knew what kind of creature she was. “Why can’t you understand that no mother wants to believe that her child is a liar? Please believe me when I say tell you that I didn’t want to believe that my little girl was capable of what she tried to do to you. And I don’t know what I will do if I lose you both. ”

  Agent Christopher Prince got back in his BMW, closed the door, and sat back against his head rest for what felt like a long time afterwards.

  Denise had returned to his window, calm as an ocean’s breeze. He powered the window the rest of the way down, found Denise’s hand and squeezed it with genuine affection, politely asked her to step back, and fired up the ignition. He decided right then and right there in Parker’s parking lot, that the sexual escapades between him and his ex-wife had run its course and needed to end.

  “I’ll call you tonight.” He said finally. “I’m sure that Roxanne Sanchez will have something meaningful to report.”

  He put the car in gear, sped off and left her there.

  Roxanne

  Councilwoman Vanessa Davis’ Bedroom, College Park, Georgia, 8th Day

  She fired a signal rifle round into the ceiling.

  Councilwoman Vanessa Davis hopped her big ass off of the face of a white man that Roxanne Sanchez figured was a fellow politician or someone of note who held a lesser post in the Atlanta political scene. Davis nearly toppled over her bed onto the carpet from jumping off her lover so fast.

  “What in the hell is going on here?” She asked. She reached for her robe and fastened it in one large bow around her waist. “What are you doing in my house?”

  Roxanne, for the moment, ignored Councilman Davis and saved her attention and a taut smile for her guest. “Hi,” Roxanne laid the rifle on her shoulder. “You might want to leave us girls alone for a while. We have so much catching up to do. I’m sure you know how it is?”

  “Okay,” The Naked Man said. “Sure.”

  He was a butterball of man who wore only his glasses, wedding ring and smelly socks while he had handled his business. He stepped in the right direction but made his first critical error of the evening by reaching for his boxers, which were draped across the chair nearest the king sized bed.

  Roxanne fired a second shot into ceiling to remind him of his slip-up.

  “What are you doing?” Davis asked her.

  Roxanne scratched her forehead. “I guess I’m not making myself clear. I mean for you to get out…right…now.”

  “Okay,” The Naked Man said again. “Sure.”

  Councilman Davis watched the younger man vacate her bedroom as unclothed as the day he was born. She muttered an apology in his general direction and asked him to call her. A moment later both women listened as he slammed the front door close. Roxanne still held the rifle over her shoulder, but kept the barrel pointed away from the councilwoman’s face—for now.

  Vanessa Davis:

  She was a full figured Black woman in her mid 50’s. Underneath the housecoat she’d been dressed in a panty less bustier, garter belt, and heels. She was sliding her panties back on right now and fitting one of her signature wigs on her scalp. She wore large hoop earrings and when she had spoken before it was with a raspy voice. Her teeth were darkened where they had been stained by years of caffeine and nicotine abuse.

  She forced herself to sit back against her headboard, cross her legs and relax as much as a woman who had a maniac running around her bedroom with a rifle could.

  “Alright, so congratulations, you have my attention, Little Girl.” Davis said. “How may I help you?”

  Roxanne plopped her butt in a nearby love seat. She was dressed in what amounted to a body fitting cat suit. It was so black and snug that one could barely tell where the shadows ended and Roxanne’s curves began.

  “You’ve got it all wrong, councilwoman; I’m here to help you.”

  “Help me?” Davis thin eyebrows shot up. “How do you mean?”

  “I’m going to ask you a series of questions. Trust me when I say that each subsequent question is more important than the one that came before it. You’re going to answer my questions, of that I have no doubt. But failure by you to answer them in a timely manner will result in me bashing you upside your head with this.” Roxanne emphasized her Smith and Wesson for the other woman to see.

  “Alright,”

  “Any omission will be considered insufficient. A blatant lie will be considered very insufficient.”

  “Alright,”

  Roxanne had watched Victor use these same techniques down below. Sometimes, Senorita, the mere threat of pain is enough to get the answers that you need. He had taught her well. “It’s been my experience that you will bleed a long painful time before you died of these head wounds.”

  Councilwoman Davis asked and received permission to slowly reach into one of her drawers. Roxanne targeted her forehead with the rifle while she methodically pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and to Roxanne’s anguish got one going. Women have vices as well, Victor.

  Roxanne laid the rifle across her lap. “I’ll take that as if you are ready to begin.”

  Vanessa Davis nodded as she exhaled.

  Roxanne wasted no time. “Where is Erica Lovings?”

  “Who?”

  Roxanne picked up the rifle and fired a single shot into Councilman Davis’ monitor of an old school PC that was resting on a computer stand on the far side of the bedroom.

  Davis came unglued. “Stop that, Goddamn you.”

  “Stop what?” Roxanne asked and laid the hot rifle back in her lap. “Oh, that business with your computer…I want you to think of it as my way of reminding you that we are going to reboot this conversation for the first and last time.”

  Davis inhaled another hit of her cigarette. “Look, Sweetie, I know Erica Lovings was seen with my son before she went missing. I’m sure somebody, somewhere, told you that, that’s why you’re here terrorizing my guest and blowing holes in my roof.” She said and pointed the ash end of her smoke at Roxanne. “I don’t know where she is now.”

  “Let’s say that I believe you,” Roxanne leaned forward in the chair. “At least for the time being, I do. Tell me where your son is?”

  “He’s tucked away where you or no one else will find him, Little Girl.” Davis actually smiled. “Ever,”

  Roxanne hopped up out of the chair, made her way through a cloud of cigarette smoke towards Davis who looked to hold her ground.

  “Let me get this straight,” Roxanne said in a low voice. She’d placed the rifle’s barrel just below Vanessa Davis’ chin. “You sex men who should be home with their families. Even worse, that one particular man belongs to a race that you openly despise, at least in public. You’re always rumored to be stealing public funds in some shape, manner, or form. And now you’re hiding a killer.” Roxanne pushed the gun out of the other woman’s face long enough to feign applause. “Well done, Councilwoman Davis, we should display more of your wonderful merits for your followers to see.”

  It was Davis turn to lean forward with a response. “My supporters are plentiful, rich, and see only what I choose to let them see.” Davis allowed her dull smile to
showcase itself again. She shifted her wig to a better position on her skull. Nonetheless, Little Girl, you are wrong about one of your accusations. If Xavier Prince’s niece is dead, my Trey didn’t kill her.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I just know.”

  Roxanne eased back and tucked the rifle on her shoulder again. “Sometimes we’re blind to the failures of the ones we love the most.”

  Davis shook her big head and stubbed out her smoke in the ashtray besides the bed. “I ain’t blind to shit.” She said. “Trey is far from perfect, but he is not some heartless killer.”

  “Tell me about some of his imperfections.”

  “He has some convictions. If your car isn’t parked in the garage he would steal it. If you tell him not go there he will trespass on it. If you can get high or drunk off of it he will try to sell it to you.” Davis rattled them off the top of her brain from memory. She combed her wig with her fingers and then snuffed the half smoked cigarette out in the ashtray next to all the other butts. “But more than any of that, Trey’s first love…and first failing, is that he loves a sexy hood rat more than anything else in this world.” She leaned in close to Roxanne again, to guarantee the younger woman wouldn’t miss what she disclosed next. “But he didn’t adore women any more than his running partner…Erica Lovings.”

  Roxanne cocked a brow.

  “Are you telling my Erica was bisexual?”

  “Bisexual my ass, she was a stud.” Davis said and offered a hoarse laugh that lasted far too long. “My Trey told me he’d never been around a more sexually aggressive person in his whole life, man or woman.”

  “Alright,” Roxanne wondered why either of the Prince’s mentioned Erica’s sexuality to her. “Okay, so what did go wrong?” Come on Councilwoman Davis, you and your son sound close. He had to tell you something specific?”

  Davis slid another cigarette between her lips but had seemed to have misplaced her lighter in her bed covers.

  “Maybe,” Was all that she offered Roxanne.

  Roxanne eased the rifle down some ninety degrees to remind the other woman they were still locked under the terms of their agreement that she’d established earlier.

  “Maybe you should finish talking, I’m all ears.”

  Vanessa Davis cleared her throat. “Like I said, Erica was hyper aggressive towards other females and I just didn’t get this info from my son. That girl was the talk of the streets, especially in some of the rougher neighborhoods where she and Trey spent entire days drinking and hoe hopping. Where she may have bitten off more than she could chew though, is when they stepped to some young bitches from Carver.”

  Shit. “Let me guess, one of these young women was a girlfriend of an Usher.” Roxanne didn’t grow up in the Carver Housing Projects, but she went to middle and high school with enough of the residents to know the territory and the stories that originated out of that hell hole all too well. Some in the media called Carver the most dangerous complex of its type in America to live in. A man who called himself the Bishop attired himself something that made him look nothing short of a Catholic Priest, ran the place pounding a bible with one hand and holding a gun in the other. He had deployed his lieutenants, his Ushers to establish and then maintain order in the project. The tenants living there were little more than modern day indentured servants. Their belongings, their homes, their very lives were subject to be taken by the Bishop, his Deacon or the Ushers if he were so inclined. It was recently rumored that he had his own harem of young women who were daughters and mothers and wives of other residents that he regularly fathered children with.

  “Yep, I knew you were bright Little Girl, she bedded one of his main squeezes and bragged about it to anyone who would listen.”

  Damn. “So your son believes this Usher killed Erica simply because he felt disrespected or the usual street bullshit young people swear by. Do you know any of this for a fact?”

  Davis found her lighter. A fresh stench of cigarette smoke clouded the room. Roxanne shook her head in disgust.

  “I only know that my Trey believes this to be true.” Davis said. “But sure or not, I couldn’t take any chances of any harm coming to my baby. Anyway, like I said before, he didn’t have anything positive going on here anyway. If it wasn’t this mess with Erica, then he was going to probably end up dead in the streets of Atlanta for something else. I wasn’t having that, no way.”

  Roxanne nodded in understanding. “You could have gone to the police.”

  Davis stood and pointed at the holes in her ceiling. “And you could have knocked. Anyway, like I said, he was facing other charges, and like you said, I ain’t terribly popular downtown. The APD wasn’t going to pin this murder on Trey simply because they can’t or won’t find the real killer. What you know, Little Girl, is what they know as well.”

  Roxanne watched the other woman make her way over to her massive walk in closet that one end seemed to reach towards Augusta and the other end towards the Alabama state line. She dropped the housecoat and pulled an oversized nightshirt over her head, unhooked her bra and let it fall to the floor and slipped on some pajama pants.

  “And anyway, I didn’t have a whole lot of choice. The APD was the least of my worries. The Choir Boys may have had Trey on their radar for different reasons. He has had ties to the Black Knights gang on near north side of town as well.”

  Roxanne shook her head again. As much as she hated to admit it, Councilwoman Davis had done all of the things she would have if their roles were reversed. She didn’t know how rotten a kid Trey Davis was at his core, but he apparently was stupid enough to be mixed up in a lot of crap that put his life at risk.

  And Roxanne knew all about stashing someone where no one would find them. All the roads seemed to be leading to the dead end which was Carver Street Housing Projects. She turned—

  “Do you have any kids?”

  “No,” Roxanne said and then added, “I don’t have anyone.”

  Davis waved an accusing thick index finger at her. “Then don’t ever try to tell me what I should or should not have done when it comes to the safety and well-being of my baby.”

  Roxanne switched the safety on her rifle and threw its strap over her left shoulder. She stood on the desk that seated the computer, disengages two wires above the window seal, betraying how she managed to get inside this mini mansion in the first place. She began to squeeze her thin frame—

  “What are you planning to do with this information I’ve given you?” Vanessa Davis wanted to know.

  “I’m going to Carver.” Roxanne said as a matter of fact. “All trails lead me there. I’m going to find Erica Lovings, dead or alive, and bring her home to her mother.”

  Davis reached into her underwear drawer in the same cautious manner she did before when she found her pack of smokes. Roxanne has already disengaged the safety on the rifle just in case this woman gets stuck on stupid and tried something irrational. Although Roxanne can feel her pulse in her ears, she tells herself that she is calm and in control of this situation.

  Roxanne Sanchez is surprised when the older woman draws cocaine from a zip lock bag onto a sheet of paper, and eventually takes a small hit up each nostril.

  Roxanne’s stomach churned.

  “Sweetheart, I’ll let you in on another secret besides all of my nasty habits I’ve displayed for you tonight.” Davis said. “You tough and all of that, but the Carver Housing Projects is as about as far from an ideal travel destination as you get in this city…if not this hemisphere right now.”

  “I’m touched.” Roxanne failed to mask her sarcasm. “But I was born and raised in this city. And by all accounts I shouldn’t have ever made it back here from Mexico alive. I know the turf. I know how dangerous it can get over there.

  “Then you don’t know a damned thing. I should show you something.”

  The older woman had gained enough of Roxanne’s attention for her to climb back down to the carpet. Vanessa Davis pulls her blouse back over
her head and exposes a heavy breast with Tell me what you see when you visualize our future, tattooed on left boob and I visualize a future filled with misery and pain, inked on the right one. A chain seemingly meant to connect the passages lies on her chest wall in between.

  “I saw you at Mayor Ernestine Johnson’s press conference on the day that Senator Lavelle announced to the world that she had been a member of A House in Chains.” Roxanne tried and failed to keep astonishment out of her tone. “I thought you were playing for the camera. You’ve taken the mark. You are a member as well.”

  Councilwoman Davis left her blouse in the floor where it was and reached for the housecoat instead. When she felt it was adequately secured, she opted to return to her stash and took another long whiff of her nose candy. When she raised her head again, blood had begun to trickle down her left nostril. She must have felt it dripping because she wiped the blood and the tears associated from the hit from her left eye as well.

  “Listen, sweetheart, any fool with a right hand and a pair of lips can read Isaac Prince’s mandates and become a full-fledged member.” She said. “But to join the ranks of The Peacekeepers they put you through various mental and physical test and an extensive background check and training period before you are initiated. And to admitted to the Board, well, I’ll tell you that the secondary governing body is an honor only bestowed to 12 people nationwide and you must be unanimously be voted in by the Circle.”

  “And you’re on the board?”

  “Were would be the more appropriate term for it, Little Girl. It only takes one circle member who can prove you as unworthy to excuse you from the Board and Grace Edwards has her sources and exercised her authority in doing so a couple days ago.” They stood in silence a moment. “You see, I suffer in the ‘self-respect’ part of the mandate, as you probably can tell.” Vanessa Davis looked down at herself and then the plate of cocaine. “I’m sure these tattoos will take longer than those same couple of days to scrub off.”

  “I’m sure recovering from your dependency will take more than a couple of days as well.”

  “Amen,” Councilwoman Davis said gruffly. Her gaze hardened and she looked into the dresser side mirror and her eyes quickly darted away, ashamed at the truths the reflection revealed about her life. For a moment Roxanne felt a tremor of sorrow for her. “Perhaps I’d given myself into the audacity of hope…or whatever that means for me.” She refocused with some effort and found Roxanne’s dark eyes. “Listen, Little Girl, I know you all grown and have a job to do and all of that, but take this warning from me—you’ll want to steer clear of Carver.”

  Roxanne ejected the rifle’s final shells and sat them on the nightstand. She found a spot right in front of Vanessa Davis. Victor Castillo wouldn’t have approved.

  Someday, when the time is right, Gonzales and I will stop what we are doing here…and find you.

  I will see you suffer for what you have done here down below.

  I will see you suffer before your end.

  But that was her own private apocalypse for another day, her Whirlwind. Tonight, she had needed an opened door when all others were slamming shut. She even had something to report in her phone call to Chris Prince a half an hour from now that she might not have without this conversation having taken place. And if showcasing the smallest bit of respect and pity for this woman was the price she would have to pay—

  “Councilwoman, what is going to go down at Carver?” Roxanne asked and when the other woman didn’t immediately answer she added: “Please tell me.”

  Fresh tears misted in Councilwoman Davis’ eyes. Roxanne couldn’t tell rather they were the result of the potency of the cocaine or from the information about Carver that the woman had learned from her tenure on the Board.

  Yet, after a moment, Roxanne Sanchez realized that she’d shed enough of her own to know that these were genuine and true enough.

  “Carver is going to experience a tragedy unlike any ever seen before.” And then Roxanne watched Davis’ face brighten with sudden mix of pride and wonder. “While as the same time Carver is going to experience a rebirth that will be glorious and long overdue.” And then Roxanne could not decipher if the hysterical fit that had taken hold of the other woman was laughing or crying. “Now that Xavier Prince is freed from prison, I expect Carver to experience a purging none of us shall ever forget.”

  Xavier

  Morehouse College, Activity Center, 9th Avenue

  The Circle had scheduled a meeting for 4:30pm sharp.

  The President of Morehouse College was wearing a new suit, new loafers but had forgotten to brush his teeth. He shook Xavier Prince’s hand for a second time in as minutes when he and his four associates stepped into the school’s administrative conference room on the third floor and began to seat themselves at the large spit shined table.

  The president’s assistant, a gray haired man who had that old eagle eye going audibly objected to the use of this seat of higher learning for A House in Chains affairs. He reminded his boss of the attacks 0f 411 and Pandora’s promise of more reprisals if Xavier and his people did not turn themselves over to local authorities immediately.

  The president slapped his assistant warmly on the shoulder as if to say that everything would be fine, but never unfastened his gaze off of the One. He explained to his friend and colleague those attacks were perpetrated against People of Color in general and not A House in Chains exclusively.

  Outside the room Xavier noticed that the campus was a bustle of activity as the students continued their preparations for graduation ceremonies that were only weeks away. With so many people coming and going about the Peacekeepers will be challenged to secure our place here. Yet, it warmed him to his marrow to see so many people that looked like him succeeding at such a high academic level. No, this wasn’t Princeton to be sure, but he wondered if he had missed out on a life experience by not attending a predominately Black school here in the South. Dad, I think you would have been proud of what are people are accomplishing, despite all of the challenges that we continue to face.

  Isaac Prince.

  Xavier wondered if the dreams that he had been having of his late father, especially in the days since his release from Calhoun State Prison meant anything in the grand scheme of cosmic events.

  I’ll leave that speculation for another day. We have much business to discuss, the Circle and I, and time is short on so many different fronts.

  The president allowed his Second to talk him into only allowing the Circle use of a smaller ready room on the far side of the corridor where they sat now. Quincy Morgan grunted in annoyance but Grace Edwards and the others lifted themselves from their seats and silently began the trek to the reserved area.

  It was tight to say the least. The space…or lack thereof, seemed to squeeze them around the collar and the waist with its closeness and stuffiness. Nonetheless, a spectacular mural showcased up on the wall just above their heads was a jewel. The artist was as nearly talented a painter as his brother Chris was at drawing. The mural featured men who had done much to farther the cause of People of Color in America: Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther King Jr., John F. Kennedy, and Malcolm X, his father Isaac Prince, President Adolphus Sweet…and himself were painted from left to right.

  I’ve done nothing to deserve to be placed on a pedestal with these pioneers in the cause of justice and liberty for our people. He found himself mostly disturbed with the artist rendition that showed him facing out with his palms up in a Jesus like pose. I’ll say that I’m closer to the devil with the way I lead my personal life: I smoke too many cigarettes, drink a little much malt liquor, and whore around too often. In fact, after he spent the first 24 hours of his freedom with his boys, he helped escort them both back to their mother’ s homes and their lives and school while he returned to the Circle. He spent his second day mostly on his cell conferring with allies, attending press conferences and tending to other Executive matters that concerned A House in Chains.

  M
y nights were far more relaxing though. He had bedded two women…at the same time last night. The thicker of the two seemed particularly eager to please him. She would whisper in his ear as she rode him, what do you see when you visualize our future, baby, and the other woman would respond between sticking her tongue in either of their mouths, I see hours and hours of drawing a line between pleasure…and pain.

  He bit back at the self-criticism. The numbers that Grace Edwards provided him from the rise in Black illiteracy rates and the lowering of unwed child births to falling murder rates, drug arrest, felony convictions all told him he had done much in raising his people to new heights of prosperity and perception on his watch. However, our greatest challenges still lie ahead…and so do our greatest opportunities.

  He decided—and not for the first time, that the liquidation by any means necessary of his people by Serena Tennyson and Pandora would not stand while he still lived.

  The five members of the Circle sat at their cramped table and got to it.

  Xavier placed a toothpick in his mouth. “I appreciate everyone’s attendance on such short notice—“

  “Excuse me, Xavier,” Quincy Morgan eyed the entrance from which they had come. Aren’t we going to wait for Senator Lavelle to arrive?”

  Grace Edwards shook her braided hair and peaked up from over her glasses. “The senator has been…let’s say, uninvited from Circle meetings until further notice.”

  “Who authorized that?” Quincy asked.

  “I did.” Xavier responded.

  Quincy looked at his leader with inquisitive but respectful eyes. “Xavier, Lavelle is a United States Senator. He is an important man to both as an individual and as a front man to our cause.”

  “And he would probably have been the Democratic Nominee for president two years ago if would stop displaying his faults for the entire world to see. Anyway, he’s not an official member of the Circle, and if he isn’t careful he’ll find himself out on his ass the way we culled Councilwoman Vanessa Davis and her cocaine habits from the Board.”

  “The senator has no such habits that I’m aware of—“

  “I don’t like the man, Quincy.” Xavier fixed his Sergeant at Arms, and newly positioned number two, with a hard glare. You were a friend and an ally, Ernestine. I will miss you deeply. He asked that they stand up once again to honor the city’s former mayor with a moment of silence. When they sat down again Xavier opened his attaché case that he’d brought with him, picked up a stack off of the very top and slid them towards Quincy Morgan. “I have complaint after complaint after complaint from other House staffers and other support parties about how they are spoken to and mistreated by the Senator from Ohio. He is a bully. I won’t tolerate his arrogance one second longer in this organization. US Senator or not, Anthony Lavelle better change his spots or he is out.” Xavier swung the toothpick around in this mouth from side to side hoping to calm his nerves. “Think of it, Quincy, these same types of questions of character got brought up about Lavelle during the primaries. He was this close to closing in on the nomination. America almost told the world that a second Black man, even one with open ties to our House, could be voted to the most powerful office in the free world. Do you realize what better position we would be in today facing down our enemies if Lavelle were the first or even second in command of the country?” Xavier let out a long, low whistle. “All politicians are rich, Quincy. All politicians lie to some extent or the other. And all of them have dirt under their fingernails. But Lavelle cost himself…cost us a wondrous opportunity because people don’t like his personality not his politics. He’s a masterful public speaker, though no more so than my brother Chris would have been, but otherwise he has no innate value to our House. So I put his ass on a plane and sent him home to Cleveland or Akron or wherever the hell he’s from so he can hope to get his act together before the next election.”

  Quincy Morgan searched the table for support…or at least a comment to dispute what Xavier had said but found that none was coming.

  “Anyway,” Xavier Prince continued as if the Lavelle conversation had never taken place. “I want to say how proud of what each and every one of you has accomplished for our House in my absence. You honor yourselves and you honor my father’s vision. I am sorry; however, to inform you that this will likely be our final gathering as a governing body until this crisis concerning Pandora has passed.” He found Percy Harrison on his far left specifically. “I guess you picked one hell of a time to join our ranks full time.”

  Percy Harrison laughed:

  He was tall but slouched enough even when he was seated that he lost in an inch or so off of his given height. He was dark skinned though not to the brilliant opaque skin coloring that Xavier’s brother Chris was shaded with, but dark enough that his thinning mustache and patches and sideburns were almost luminous on his face. Xavier had asked for this man’s full inclusion into the Circle after he learned of Ernestine’s death. He felt that Grace Edward’s background with the FBI, Warren Washington’s ties to the sports and entertainment circles, Quincy’s controversial but successful run as they leader of The New Black Panther Party and his own background in law gave the Circle the versatility and credibility to command both loyalty from its base and a certain element of fear from its opposition. But you are the Everyman I believe that we’ve been missing, Percy. He should indeed feel comfortable even in these close surroundings considering he had come up through the education field.

  “And at what point will this crisis pass, Xavier?” Quincy asked him.

  “Yea,” Percy added. “Serena Tennyson is on the street again.”

  Grace Edwards looked up from her notes. “Her wild escape from the APD and the FBI is a victory for Pandora’s moral alright and a devastation for all law enforcement. I wish I could say it any other way.”

  Grace Edwards: The House in Chains number three was a smaller figured, dark skinned woman in her early 30’s who was pretty enough, but far too slender and sweet for Xavier’s exotic taste. She had big brown eyes made even larger inside her glasses and wore her hair in dozens upon dozens of small, slim braids. She looked professional, as she always did, in a brown business suit and pumps. Xavier knew that Grace’s Intelligence background and her friendship was his biggest assets offsetting the death of Ernestine.

  He heard Warren Washington snort and slouch down in his chair as if someone had let air out of his personal balloon.

  He was a 6’8” tall former hoops legend, who was high yellow in skin tone, still looked very athletic and had been graced with the sparkling gray eyes that most women could find themselves lost in. Xavier only knew the man had been slow to integrate his father’s beliefs as his very own, since he’d come over with Quincy and so many others from the New Black Panther Party.

  “The fucking FBI,” He finally said. “They are such incompetent bastards.”

  Quincy snatched a penny from out of his dress pants tossed it at eye level and tossed it again. “I hope you’re smarter than that, Warren. Serena escaped without a trace of her whereabouts. I know you don’t truly believe that was by mere chance. It was obviously a conspiracy. They were all in on it.”

  Xavier shot out of his chair and got into Quincy’s face.

  “So which party does my brother belong to, the incompetent or the conspirators?”

  Grace played the part of the diplomat, as she had many times before. “We need to concentrate our efforts and our energies on the issues at hand and we have a host of them to consider, gentlemen. Firstly, we have Serena’s not so subtle threats against the children of our communities to consider.”

  “You’re over Intelligence, Grace.” Percy said. “You’re people must know something about Louis Keaton’s whereabouts.”

  Four sets of eyes bore into Grace. Xavier had to admit he was curious to what Grace knew as well. She had predicted the 411 attacks…at least the substance of some type of attack against Atlanta citizens’ weeks before the onslaught on the first day of this month.
Evans and other Peacekeepers in Calhoun had fed the data to Xavier and the One did what he could from the inside to gain all the information for a defense…any type of resistance against what eventually struck Atlanta and their House; that’s why Julian, myself and his Black Knights approached Michael Davenport in the first place.

  He had gambled and loss. Davenport didn’t know about the attacks, I’m convinced now—but he did know something, and he was confident enough with the information that he tried to bargain for his life with it.

  Xavier wished he had a little more time to drag it out of him.

  Grace was saying: “I don’t have anything, guys. I’m not picking up the levels of chatter that filtered out of the internet, in phone lines, and word off of the street like I did in the days before 411. And to make it worse, Keaton’s disappeared off of the map. Serena has him tucked away somewhere, until she’s ready to unleash that pervert again.”

  “What’s your gut tell you, Grace?”

  Grace gave her leader and the remainder of the room a once over.

  “This so called escalation, where are our children, is no doubt about Keaton kidnapping Black children just like he did 30 years ago when this Caretaker fellow ordered him to do the same.” She looked as if she were searching for some specific terminology, and then decided to dumb it down for the boys. “I expect these abductions to be on a smaller scale. The first fireworks have already been lit by 411and then Deliverance when Serena made her epic escape.”

  “I agree,” Xavier made his fingers into a cage and sucked on his toothpick. I need a cigarette. “We don’t know that Keaton will be involved at all. She may send an individual—“

  “Or a group of individuals,” Grace added.

  “You’re right, Grace, she may send an army of men or women to our neighborhoods trying to abduct of children for ransom…or worse.” Xavier finished his thought.

  Warren and Percy both nodded in unison. Quincy tossed his penny up higher again and caught it. And what is the symbolism behind the penny, Quincy?

  “I have a suggested course of action that I would like us to pursue but I am willing to follow and reasonable idea any of you may have.”

  Warren slunk further down in his chair. Quincy Morgan squeezed his penny. “I apologize if I offended you before, Number One.” He said sardonically. “I didn’t mean to suggest—“

  Grace intervened smoothly again. “What is done is done. We need to concentrate our efforts on the matters at hand. I’m thinking that with Serena back in the field that Pandora’s next attack is days if not hours away. I don’t want to be caught completely flatfooted again as we were with the 411 attacks.”

  “Her escape did serve our cause in a manner of speaking.” Quincy pointed out.

  “How,”

  “Her threats against our children, Percy, caused a huge uptick in applications for admission into A House in Chains in general and the Peacekeepers specifically. We’re struggling to process all of the applications and background checks right now.”

  “That’s good,” Warren sat up straight. “That means more ‘Keepers on the streets.”

  Grace grunted.

  “If you have something to say, Grace—“

  She removed her glasses and chewed on the end of one of them. She was looking up, but not at him and it wasn’t the first time that Xavier had noticed it today. Something very bad has happened. A House of Chains was blessed to have arguably the finest Intelligence officer in the country seated at this table. She knows something she’s not sharing. Xavier made a mental note to ask her about it when the time was right.

  “I have no doubt to what the Peacekeepers are capable of.” She finally said and looked streamlined at Quincy Morgan when she said it. As the Sargent at Arms, he was directly responsible for the recruiting, training, and day to day operations of the Peacekeepers. No one at this table, save Xavier himself, could override his authority in military matters. “But unless you have a personal escort for the 10’s of thousands of school aged children in the Atlanta Metro area then your numbers, no matter how impressive, are ultimately irrelevant.”

  “But surely a heavier Peacekeeper presence will be a deterrent against Keaton or anyone else from trying to abduct our children?” Quincy said.

  Percy looked if he had a point to make as well. “We’ve also set up hundreds of safe houses as well. These families can be counted on to help any child who runs into unexpected trouble. They’ve been asked to notify us first even before the police, if they come in contact with a child or a potential abductor.”

  “These are all wonderful ideas.” Grace went back to taking her notes. “I don’t believe it will be enough.”

  Xavier nodded in Grace’s direction. “She’s right. The safe house idea is a splendid one and I think we should implement it immediately.” Xavier found Quincy’s gaze. “Expedite the admission policy for a Peacekeeper position in the Atlanta area only. Do not arm these prospects until a full back ground check and gun training are completed as per usual policy. Still, these new recruits can serve us the front line defense against these potential kidnappings in our neighborhoods. Let’s hope that the sight of Khaki suits and sneakers will be enough.”

  Surprisingly, Quincy was nodding in agreement. “I would love the opportunity to use our more seasoned troops in campaign directly against Pandora. I’m sure Grace can supply us with a target or two, a stronghold or a point of interest that we can attack while they are full of themselves and vulnerable.”

  Warren’s face brightened even more as a large smile graced his pink lips.

  “Hell yea,” Was all he said.

  Xavier shook his head.

  “And why not,” Quincy looked up at the man standing near him. “If these veteran Peacekeepers aren’t going to be used to supplement the recruits in the protection of our young—

  “You will have your war with Pandora in due time, my friend.” Xavier sucked on his toothpick and patted his Sargent at Arms on the shoulder. He leaned down and spoke loud enough for all of them to hear, but his words were specifically spoken for Quincy’s ears alone. “I have a little somethin’ somethin for your Peacekeepers to handle for me first.”

  Quincy’s eyebrows raised and a light seemed to go on in his eyes. The man’s interest had definitely been raised. “I can’t wait to hear what you have in mind, Number One.”

  Xavier stood as large as his petite frame allowed. “I told you when we gathered in here how proud I was of each of you while I was away at Calhoun. I meant every word.” He eyed Percy Harrison first and the man seemed to shy away from his gaze. You are indeed a humble man, Percy. “You stepped into your role while I was away, and now you are filling the shoes of a great lady who has passed on to a better eternity than the fate that was given to her in life.”

  Now he faced down Warren Washington and struggled to keep the sneer of contempt from curling his top lip. As a human being you are not much better than Senator Lavelle. You’ve been pampered, praised and highly paid your entire life. Still, he had almost single handily brought the Hollywood crowd to their doorstep. Warren had powerful friends with very deep pockets. Xavier lowered his voice a decibel. “You secured our business arraignment with the Liberians, Warren. And I can appreciate how difficult it was for you to keep the millions of dollars off the books.”

  Warren looked apologetic. “It wasn’t good enough, Xavier. The IRS still found the pipeline that led them back to here…back to you.”

  It did. But in Xavier’s eyes, the two years he served for laundering and racketeering money would prove well worth all he had gone through in that hell of a place. Chris, your government friends still haven’t figured it out.

  And by the time they would it would already be too late.

  A House of Chains had latched themselves to the Liberian people, or at least with an ethnic minority in their civil war. The government eventually found the channels that told them that Xavier’s people here in the states, were laundering money to buy weapons for this m
inority to fight their oppressors. Xavier Prince, the true leader that he was, fell on the proverbial sword and pled guilty to all charges and served time at Calhoun for the crimes of his House. But even finding me guilty, your sister agency was still sloppy in their investigation, Chris. They never found these so called millions that a House in Chains had earned for distributing these semi-automatic guns, these explosive devices, these rocket launchers and other weapons of war that the report said was enough hardware to arm a small army.

  Your peopled didn’t find the money, Chris, because we weren’t selling weapons big brother…we were buying them.

  “My arrest and incarceration was necessary to stop the investigation before our government found out what we were really up to.” Xavier’s voice was a whisper.

  To Grace Edward he said: “You are the Circle’s rock, my lady.” She wouldn’t hold eye contact with him, but she could not help but blush. “Your efforts are tireless and your professionalism is unmatched of anyone who sits between these walls.” He heard his own tone alter to one of reflection. “I wouldn’t have survived my visit to Calhoun without you. It was you who kept me informed on what was going on the outside both professionally…and what was going on in my boys’ life. It was you who turned me on to the presence of Officer Evans and the other friends of this House who were on the inside. As I’ve said before, you are the Circle’s rock. You are my rock, Grace.”

  “I am here to serve you, Xavier,” She finally looked into his eyes…and for the briefest moment, he thought he saw something there that she had somehow kept buried deep in her soul for no one to see. It can’t be. God bless your poor soul if it is. “I live to serve our House.”

  He peered down at Quincy Morgan…and felt the other man steel himself for whatever words found their way out of his mouth.

  “And you, old friend,” Xavier grinned and to the shock of all who sat in this room, of all who were members of the Circle, watched as the sitting man grinned as well. “It is not often that you and I see eye to eye is it, Quincy?”

  Quincy pulled out his penny again and turned it over in his large hand to that each side of it came into view. “I like to think that we are opposite sides of the same coin, Number One.” He said.

  “Perhaps,” Xavier nodded his head. “But we had a list of campaigns for your Peacekeepers to complete while I was away.”

  It was Quincy Morgan’s turn to nod.

  He told Xavier that the Peacekeepers had netted that asshole that was doing those home invasions in predominately Black neighborhoods near Six Flags about six months earlier. They also nabbed the cross dressers who were hitting small business owners and even some churches off of Simpson and Tyler streets.

  “They were easy pickings.” Warren added.

  “We were also able to finally locate the twins as well.” Quincy said.

  Xavier nodded, remembering the Intel on them when his days sometimes grew particularly long…and lonely in that cage. Twin males who were originally from Jamaica were hiding in parking lots of Mom and Pop establishments and specifically were targeting single black women and the young kids that were riding in cars or walking with them. They would kidnap the women and force the kids, with the threat of murdering all involved, to watch why they raped their mothers. When they were being real nasty, they would shoot the mother anyway, even if she had fully cooperated, leaving these young children to fend for themselves for hours before help arrived.

  “The APD wasn’t making in ground in their investigations. We found them first.” Quincy’s smile had gone the way of the telegram. “It was an honor killing them both myself.”

  Xavier lowered himself in Quincy’s private space and said: “There is only one item that your people did not complete to my satisfaction.”

  “Carver,” The other man made the word a statement. He slowly stood to face down his leader. “Forgive me, Number One, but I figured with what was transpiring between our House and Pandora that you had shied away from a campaign that we eat up so many resources, material and manpower. Bishop is not going anywhere. Carver can wait.”

  Percy rubbed at the hair of his thin mustache. Warren’s gray eyes shifted back and forth in anticipation of what might transpire between the two men next. Even Grace had stopped with her note taking and looked as if she were holding her breath.

  “Carver will not wait. In fact those poor people have waited far too long already.” Xavier pointed at the great men in the mural above the table. He walked over to the other side and stood directly underneath the figurine that had been his father, Isaac Prince. “Read my father’s three mandates again.” He said to all of them. “If you do you will certainly understand my rationale. We are to respect self, we are to respect family, and we are to respect community,” He said at the top of his voice. And when his Circle no longer dared to blink their eyes in his wake he added in a softer tone. “And the people of that community have suffered for years under the rule of hoodlums, the gangs, and lower life’s that came before, and those who would eventually displace the Choir Boys some day in the future. We gave our word that someday we would liberate them. I gave my word.”

  “Respectfully, Number One,” Quincy said cautiously. “Pandora is a more immediate threat to the Black community as a whole than these lowlife gang bangers and drug dealers will ever be. If 411 is not evidence of this then I don’t know what else is?” Quincy took a few long strides and was standing next to his leader in no time. “We know that some type of provocation is launching soon if not already under way. Serena Tennyson represents a clear and present danger to our people,” It was the Sargent at Arms turn to look at each member of the Circle, one and then all. “Ernestine Johnson has already fallen, must we all die before we bring the fight to Pandora’s doorstep.”

  Xavier stepped into the taller man’s shadow. Xavier knew that he was unlikely to last long in any physical confrontation with Quincy Morgan but he held his ground and the other man’s gaze all the same.

  “Are you telling me that I am not performing my duties, Quincy?” Xavier didn’t give his Second a chance to respond. “I was an intended target of the 411 attacks as well.”

  Quincy balled his hand into a fist…but turned away. “And someone is going to pay with their life for that transgression against you.” He said. And after a moment of weighted silence he pointed his long index finger at the portrait of Isaac Prince. “When your father founded this House he was the sole ruler, with the Circle and the Board serving under him. You, on the other hand, gave the Circle more discretionary powers on matter of state.”

  It had been his greatest mistake in the ten years he had been the One. But it was the only way that I could convince The New Black Panther Party to put their outdated mandates and methods aside and join our cause. Xavier had needed their numbers and their money to keep his father’s fading dreams alive then. Now was the moment that he would find out if it was all worth the price he paid.

  “Alright, Quincy, you’ve made a fair point.” Xavier said.

  “I’m not interested in making any points,” He made the last word a curse. “I am only interested in the short and long term goals of what is best for People of Color and this House that your father built. That being said, I believe that you are playing this liberation thing with Carver far too politically. This campaign will cost us resources and lives of scores of Peacekeepers for sure.”

  Xavier took one long and final look at his dad, who sat high, and looked low over them.

  “Quincy, what did my father’s final mandate say?”

  “Number One, please—“

  “I want you to tell me what it says.”

  Quincy Morgan inhaled deeply and then stood as straight as his athletic build allowed. “Your father said that only after the first three mandates are completed may we turn our attention to the Rooster.”

  Xavier nodded slowly, Quincy’s words were like a beautiful musical score playing in his ears, but the One knew he was still far away from celebrating his triumphan
t victory just yet. “But you have respectfully reminded me of the way that I have chosen to run our House. So I will count your vote as a no to carrying out this campaign against the Choir Boys.”

  “I know we’ve spoken of these plans for an incursion in that place time and again before you were locked up and even in the past few weeks with members of the Board—“

  “So I will count your vote as no, Old Friend.”

  “I respectfully submit it as just that, Number One.”

  Xavier spoke over his shoulder to Percy Harrison without looking at him.

  “I am with you, Xavier.”

  Xavier breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ve already counted my vote as a yea, which is two votes for the campaign and one against. What say you, Warren?”

  “I’ll stand with Quincy on this one, Xavier. Your heart is in the right place, but I believe my Second’s argument is a more logicality sound one.”

  “That’s two for and two against. Grace, you will cast the deciding vote.” Xavier took the time to seek out his Intelligence Officer’s face to try to gage where she had stood on the issue. She had always supported him in this manner in the past.

  Grace did not hesitate. “We will honor your father’s mandate and liberate the tax paying citizens of Carver Housing Projects by bringing those motherfuckers to their knees.”

  The other four men all gasped at Grace’s…colorful choice of an adjective that she chose to express herself, but the tension in the room lessened because of it. And that was probably your intent, Grace.

  If Quincy Morgan had been defeated he did not wear it on his sleeve. “If I may be excused, Number One, I need to contact Ronald Broward, he had always been my choice to lead any assault that we had planned on Carver.

  Good choice, Xavier thought. The man looked like the type who would take your lunch money and dared you to stop him while he did it. He also had a long scar on each arm that stretched from elbow to his wrist. Xavier wasn’t aware of the tale behind his disfigurement, but the man was lucky to be alive if lost that much blood when this accident or this brutality was forced on him.

  Yet, despite the man’s horrid exterior, he’d proven to Xavier that his business of killing was a trickling of his true personality. He was an engaging gentleman who had two daughters about the same age as Xavier’s boys. He wore a locket around his neck at all times with their baby pictures inside. The leader had watched him open the locket up and gently press his big lips on the picture more than once.

  Xavier asked Quincy to hold his water for a minute longer. “Grace, are your people still at their post inside Carver?”

  “They are.”

  “Express to them that I appreciate all of their sacrifices, hard work, and most of all—their patience. None of it has been in vain. Tell them to hold on to the audacity of hope. We are on the way. Tell them that A House in Chains is coming to take back what is rightfully ours.”

  Grace stood up from her chair as if she’d been launched by cannon and blushed for the second time today. “I will, sir.” Grace’s smile lit up the room. But then she began to gnaw on her glasses again. “If I may have a word with you in private once we are done here? I hope you remember the small matter I needed to cover with you before we left this campus.”

  A small item she says. He would hate to know what qualified as a cosmic item in Grace Edwards’ world. “Gentlemen, if there is nothing more I will leave with this until we are together again. We will accomplish three goals while we carry out this campaign against Bishop and his Choir Boys: We will be keeping to my father’s mandates—and just as importantly in my eyes, we will be keeping our word to our followers which is a powerful recruiting tool as we move forward. Secondly, as I’ve stated countless times before, we will be ridding the citizens of Carver from a cancer. And finally…”

  Xavier walked to where Quincy Morgan was standing.

  “We will show Serena Tennyson and her Pandora cronies what they are up against if they do not stand down, if they do not disband their ranks, if they do not turn themselves over to local authorities.”

  He wrapped his arm around Quincy Morgan so that he could face the rest of the Circle.

  “Let’s show them all who runs this town tonight, tomorrow, and for years to come.”

  The four of them who were his Circle cheered and whistled and called his name;

  And Xavier Prince, the One, the most dangerous man in the world began to stomp and the Circle stomped with him.

  “One last thing, Number One,” Quincy said before he turned to depart. “A penance must be put in place at Carver when our job there is done.”

  Xavier peered sharply at the other man as if he’d spit on him.

  “Without a penance, Xavier, we are pissing in the wind. We will revisit this road again a year or six months from now. It may be tenement in Chicago or a neighborhood in LA…it may be a return to Carver.”

  “But the penance guarantees us that there will be no further Carvers.” Grace Edwards said in dark voice. “The deterrent will be very real and the mere memory of our response a stark reminder that some things come at too high a price to pay.”

  Twenty minutes and two cigarettes later he met Grace Edwards on a balcony that overlooked the courtyard that led to the school’s auditorium, then out to half of Morehouse’s campus. Xavier felt as if this was a piece of the world existed outside of the real planet that they all lived in right now. The garden was full of color, life and fragrance if his nose could be trusted. He had slid his third cigarette out of the pack, but opted not to spoil the scenery or Grace’s fresh air with his smoke.

  Grace introduced him to a young man and a younger woman who approached from over by the dorms.

  Mario Stalls: He was a light skinned Black man who had dimples. He looked as if he could have been of mixed heritage. He wore both his hair and his shorts too long for Xavier Prince’s taste.

  Tiffany Spores: She was a brown skinned 18 or 19 year old teenager whose body was on the fast track into blossoming into womanhood. She wore a tight shirt, tighter jeans, and had a stud earring in her nose.

  Xavier shook the young man’s hand. Tiffany wouldn’t settle for anything less than a hug from him. He did the political thing and asked how they both were doing and what were their short and long term goals as they reached adult hood.

  After the small talk concluded the two youngest of the group trailed off on their own separate paths. Though, Tiffany stole another hug from Xavier before prancing off.

  Grace watched them for a long time after they walked away. “I appreciate that, Xavier. Mario just recently got his mark and joined our prospects program. He will be casing the neighborhoods near his house on the eastside. There are two elementary schools and a middle school nearby. Quincy and Warren already have him on their radar to fast track up the Peacekeeper ranks. His dad served two tours each in Iraq and Afghanistan. He understands the…sacrifices the military is often asked to make.”

  “I understand. What about the girl?”

  Grace eyes misted a little. “She has a good heart and a gentle spirit. She doesn’t have a ton of family and only a few close friends. She’s still a virgin. She told me that herself. No one will ever suspect her. They probably won’t suspect the two dozen or more of the others either. But none of the others are as an ideal recruit for what our House needs than she is.”

  Xavier Prince and Grace Edwards watched the two young people, from two entirely into a crowd filled with youth. The world was so young at heart. Xavier couldn’t help but to think of his own boys. Suddenly he felt old and very tired.

  Perhaps this is the last generation of color that will know strife like this. He found that he was having an issue steadying his hand at the prospect of what these young people would be asked to do if and when that fateful time came. I could really use that cigarette right now.

  “I get the impression that you have something else on your mind.” He reminded her of what she said to him as the Circle disbanded for the day. “You
didn’t want to speak of it in front of the others. I think it’s time that you spill it?”

  Grace tried to put her best face forward but Xavier saw all of the light disappear from her eyes. “I wish it was that simple.”

  “It is that simple, Grace. Try the most forward and direct path. It saves a lot of time. And it’s what you are best at.”

  “I’m worried.”

  “That’s understandable.” Xavier said. “A strong gust of wind whipped past them both carrying the sweet stench of an area brushfire that somehow ruined the serenity that the moment once had. Xavier lit his Newport and exhaled the smoke as far away from Grace as he could. “Quincy’s theoretically correct in his assumptions about Carver. The liberation of its residents is by far less strategically vital to us politically as our coming war with Pandora.”

  Grace nodded. “I agree with you both, but that’s not the worry I was speaking of.”

  Xavier took one more long last drag and doused the flame with his shoe. “I’m fine, Grace. You don’t have to expend any more energy than necessary worrying about me.”

  Xavier followed Grace’s gaze to where Warren Washington had jogged over and was now conversing with a school of Peacekeepers near the basketball courts. He had changed into battle gear: He wore a black hoody, khakis, and black boots.

  Grace said: “You won’t be fine if this Carver campaign as much as hiccups when the Peacekeepers go in. There is a reason why no one has tried to take Bishop, Deacon and all the rest. The way that place is configured. The locked gate to enter in the front; the way the driving lanes reduce themselves from eight, to four, to two in about half a mile. They have what could double as a prison wall bordering the project from the back. They pitch pigeons and have shooters guarding the top of the buildings 24 hours a day.”

  Xavier had remembered sitting in some of the tactical meetings with Quincy, Grace and Ronald Broward before he had ended up in Calhoun. But the plan that his second had contrived was technically all-encompassing, strategically sound, bold, daring, and just audacious enough to work. There would be Peacekeeper casualties most certainly. But at the conclusion of the day the ends would definitely justify the means.

  “Anyway, whether we succeed or not at Carver I am going to reiterate to you that you must not turn your back on Quincy Morgan or Warren Washington or anyone else closely associated with the former New Black Panther Party.”

  “I won’t.”

  She wasn’t satisfied. There’s more isn’t it, Grace.

  “What else is wrong?”

  Grace pushed one of her braids out of her eye. “Your brother’s stepdaughter has gone missing.”

  “Erica? When did this happen?”

  “I can’t pinpoint a specific day, but it was had to be just before 411 and your release from Calhoun.”

  Xavier pointed Grace in the direction of an old wooden bench. After they sat down, he smoothed out his slacks.

  “There is certainly no love lost between those two. And Denise often complicates things more than making them better.” He looked at Grace Edwards. “Is she still alive?”

  “I wish I knew for certain, Xavier.” Grace said quietly. “Your ex sister in law hired a private detective, a Roxanne Sanchez, to find her daughter. Ms. Sanchez is ruthless. She is efficient. I like her. If Erica Lovings can be found this woman will find her; I’m certain of that.”

  Xavier stood quickly and fastened the buttons on his jacket. He was struggling with the top button when Grace rose and helped him. She also straightened his tie for him. That look that Xavier saw in her eyes before had returned…and gave him pause.

  “If there is anything more, I hope that you will share it with me.”

  “Julian Moore is dead.”

  “What,” All of the dread Xavier was feeling boiled to the surface. “How…we must not have gotten all of James Carter’s men. They must have moved on him after—“

  Grace planted a gentle but firm hand on his chest. “No, that’s not it at all, Xavier. In his own mind Julian was trying to become a reformed gang banger. He had taken the mark, said the words. He had given you his word to follow your father’s mandates as best he could.” She said. “But he was still just a gang banger in the eyes of his enemies who shared the same skin color that he did.”

  “Damn, are you telling me that the Choir Boys got him?”

  “They did.” She nodded once and again and lowered her head. “You and I have spoken before about our need to rescue the good people who are suffocating under the choke hold of the Bishop and the Choir Boys. But I didn’t want to announce Julian’s murder in front of the others so they would wrongly think that you were motivated into acting by a sense of loyalty to a man who had protected you more than once while you were at Calhoun.”

  Grace Edwards was right of course, she was always right when it came to matters of state. Now that Ernestine was gone he would lean on her consultation and her expertise more than ever before. Damn you, Julian, he felt tears sting at the corners of his eyes. They were unexpected and unwanted. He bit them back but Grace had already grabbed him and pulled him into her embrace.

  “I appreciate you confidentially.” He said in a matter of fact tone and broke her grip. “I’m grateful for everything that you have done here today. You honor your House and you honor me.”

  They found themselves staring at each other in the minutes that passed. He could see his charcoal colored skin, sideburns and drunkard eyes in the reflection in her eyes. Likewise, he glared at her dark skin, her braids, and the look in her big brown eyes. She was a little slim for his taste and he liked a little red beans with his rice…a little sleek and nasty in his female and he couldn’t imagine this woman being like that at all.

  Finally, he said: “We are only to unleash this…what is it called… Scar campaign against the Rooster only in retaliation for the imminent threat of this Whirlwind being released on us.” He shook his head in mild disgust. “Although, even with all of your skills and resources, we still don’t know exactly what this Whirlwind is.”

  “No,” She admitted it to him. “But we only get one chance…and one chance only for Scar to be as effective as it needs to be.”

  “So it’s our only way of winning against Pandora.”

  Grace’s voice took on that dark tone again. “Scar isn’t about winning, sir, it’s only about giving voice to a message that will be to grave for them to ever ignore our cause ever again.”

  He exhaled deeply. “What an entangled web Quincy Morgan weaves for us.”

  “Xavier, Quincy Morgan may has the greatest talent for controlled aggression and violence that I have ever seen. He is also very good for the originality of our campaign’s names.” She flashed the ever slightest look of pride in her eyes. “But the devil and the details in both our coming operations are all mine.”