The Edge of Midnight

  “But will we get our wish is the question?”

  “We will. Wishes always come true when you’re on the side of right, my brother. I don’t know how much longer we’re going to be able to keep this out of the media, though. We’re busting crack houses pretty regularly now. Some of the investigative reporters in this town are very good. Sooner or later, one of them is going to start connecting the dots.”

  “So, they do a story on a mysterious force taking down drug houses. I don’t think Detroiters are going to mind that. Probably sell a few papers, too.”

  “You’re right, but we’re breaking all kinds of civil rights laws.”

  “Dealers don’t have civil rights. They lost them the moment they decided selling death to people was okay. Besides, the government has always broken the law when it’s to its advantage. Remember the Chicago Black Panthers back in the sixties? The government didn’t care about their civil rights, and those brothers stood for truth. I personally have no problem with this.”

  “Well, if this task force idea of mine comes back to bite us, I doubt any grand jury will convict us for trying to stop drugs and guns from killing our kids.”

  Myk studied his brother closely. They’d discussed the political ramifications of Drake’s being a part of NIA and how he might be negatively impacted should a stink arise over the task force’s strong-arm tactics. Myk could honestly say his brother was a mayor who genuinely cared about the welfare of the city and its residents; Myk didn’t want Drake’s good intentions derailed by scandal. “You can always pull out, you know.”

  “I know, but why would I? This is my fight, and, besides, who would keep you in line? You need me to be your conscience.”

  Myk chuckled softly. Drake was right. Without him to temper Myk’s intense nature, the NIA project might never have gotten off the ground. Drake’s counsel, though not always appreciated, kept Myk sane. “When you met with the Feds yesterday did they say they how long the NIA funding would continue?”

  Myk and Drake were both fairly wealthy, but not even they could afford to keep the NIA ship afloat without government help.

  “No. It’s been hard getting a straight answer. Maybe they’re waiting to see how much bang they’re going to get for their buck.”

  Although forming NIA had been Drake’s idea, Myk had been the one to approach the Feds about covertly supporting Project NIA because he had the contacts to do so. His four years of command with the Army’s Special Forces had been a major key to opening the Fed vault, but his connections overseas had proven even more valuable. When Myk left the Army and began his company, young Black contractors were rarely hired in the US for big municipal projects, so he’d taken his then-small operation overseas and made his reputation in the third world countries of Central America, Africa, and Asia, building bridges, roads, and office complexes. During that time, he’d met a myriad of eccentric characters, some on the right side of the law, some not. Many of the Americans, like his half brother Saint, were agents of various United States intelligence agencies tracking the flow of illegal drugs, laundered money, and the movements of cartel kingpins. These agencies had scratched Myk’s back by clearing the way for international work permits and introducing him to the local patrons he’d needed to pacify to keep the Chandler construction sites free of sabotage. Myk returned the favors by supplying the agents with any information he or his workers came across that might prove relevant to an ongoing operation. When the third world had enriched Chandler Works enough to move the bulk of his business back to the States, Myk no longer needed the government connections, but by then he knew the ins and outs of America’s shadowy agencies better than most. “Well, I just wish they’d let us know how long the tap is going to flow. I hate working in the dark on this.”

  “It’s going to take some time. This is the United States of America. You know the Feds can’t be overtly associated with a group of Black and Brown vigilantes like us.”

  “Spoken like a true politician.”

  Drake inclined his head. “Thank you.”

  Myk’s housekeeper, Lily, stuck her head in the door. “Myk, that woman from Saginaw is on the phone, again. She wants to know if you’ll reconsider doing her television show?”

  Myk’s loud sigh told all. He’d turned down the request three different times. The woman was persistent if nothing else. “Tell her I haven’t changed my mind.”

  Lily smiled over at Drake. “Maybe you want to take his place, Drake? She’s doing a show on: Michigan’s Most Eligible Hunks.”

  Drake grinned, “Really? I couldn’t possibly fill big brother’s shoes on that one.”

  Myk shot Drake a look.

  Lily left the room laughing.

  When they were again alone, Drake continued his teasing. “Why don’t you do the show?”

  “Because I don’t need the hassle. How many of those women do you still have to write to from that magazine thing you did last year?”

  Drake grinned sheepishly. “Probably fifteen, twenty thousand.”

  “See what I’m saying? A hassle.”

  During last year’s mayoral campaign, Drake had agreed to be featured in a national magazine spread titled, “The Most Eligible Black Men on the Planet.” For Drake, it had been a silly and fun way to blow off the stress of the upcoming election. He’d taken the day off, done the photo shoot, and thought no more about it. Three months later when the article ran, the responses began trickling in, first in twos and threes. Like most brothers, Drake had been happy as a kid in a candy store as he eyed the beauties in the pictures and read the letters they’d sent. The trickle soon became a river, and the river, a flood. Over the next six months he received close to thirty-five thousand letters from women of all races, from all over the world. “That was more mail than I’ve ever received in my life.”

  “And you’re still determined to answer them all,” Myk asked doubtfully.

  “All of them. A good brother would do no less. Besides, it’s been fun.”

  While Myk shook his head with wonder, Drake cracked, “Hey, I can’t help it if your idea of fun is brooding in a dark room.”

  Before the smiling Myk could give the mayor a terse, two-word response, Drake warned prophetically, “Watch your language. I’m a servant of the people.”

  Both men grinned.

  Drake brought the subject back to the television interview. “So, this woman’s show comes out of Saginaw?”

  “Yes, and I have no idea how these people find me. I’m not in the phone book. My office secretaries know better than to give out my home number.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it, man. If people want to find you, they will. That’s the price you pay for being a rich, handsome, eligible brother. If you were still living in the Andes, maybe you could be a hermit. But this is the new millennium—nobody has any privacy.”

  “Well, I’m tired of being in the public eye. I almost missed that meeting with the Feds last week because when I walked out of my inner office, I found Dot Dexter sitting in the reception area with four of the homeliest young women I’ve seen, ever.”

  Dot Dexter had been a member of the City Council for many many years and wielded a tremendous amount of power. Unfortunately, that power did not extend to finding husbands for her four, plain-as-paper-plates daughters.

  Drake felt compelled to reply out of fairness. “Her girls are quite nice, actually. They can’t help it if they all look like their mother.”

  Myk took a swallow of his cognac, then observed, “Well, next time they can visit you. I didn’t want them in my office, and I especially didn’t like missing that meeting because of having to take them out to lunch.”

  Drake’s handsome face registered surprise. “You took them to lunch? I do believe you are mellowing in your old age.”

  “No, I’m not. I took them to lunch because I knew you needed Dot’s support for the upcoming bond vote. In fact, you owe me $112.65.”

  “They ate that much?”

  “I felt like the tr
ainer at the zoo.”

  Drake burst out laughing. “That’s cold, Myk. Truly cold.”

  Myk grinned. “Yeah, well, you’ll be getting my bill.”

  Drake shook his head and chuckled. “Had you met the daughters before?”

  “No. I’ve only met Mama Dot once before. When she asked me to join them for lunch, I told her I had a meeting to attend in an hour and that I’d have to take a rain check. So she says, ‘An hour? Then you have plenty of time to have lunch and hear my concerns on the bond vote.’”

  “So you took them to lunch.”

  “I took them to lunch.”

  “I’m proud of you, man. Five years ago, you’d’ve turned your back on her and walked out.”

  “Five years ago, you were a surgeon, not mayor. Like I said, you’ll get my bill.”

  “Okay.” Drake chuckled. “So what were Dot’s concerns?”

  “Besides whether to have three glasses of the best wine in the house, or four, it was my being impressed by those frogs she calls daughters.”

  “Oh, Myk.”

  “I believe she actually drank herself into believing I was interested in hooking up with one of them. I heard all about their degrees in Home Ec., which one liked horseback riding, and which one wanted six kids. Go ahead and laugh; you weren’t there.”

  Given permission, Drake did just that, out loud. When he calmed himself, he asked, “She didn’t say anything about the vote?”

  “Not a word, and it isn’t funny. Since you got me involved in politics my life’s been hell. Rallies, balls, community meetings. Everywhere I go, I’m beating off panting, salivating women.”

  “Some men consider that heaven.”

  “Feeling like meat on a rack is not my idea of heaven.”

  “Having Faye on your arm isn’t deterring the hordes?”

  Myk ran his hands over his head in distress. “Faye, why did I ever start seeing her? I’m so glad to have her out of my life.”

  “Because you needed dates for all those ceremonial functions, and you seem to be a slow learner.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Myk, you never learn. You date these beautiful, fine women, and not one of them has any substance. They bore you to death after six weeks. Now, granted, some, like Faye, even last six months, but in the end, you wind up paying them off so they’ll go away.”

  Myk had to admit Drake was right, even if Myk didn’t like hearing it. Myk stayed away from long-term relationships because his work came first, and that made it difficult to conform to the usual standards women expected. Some women, especially those with brains, had expectations about conduct and treatment. Others had expectations that once they finished planing, sanding, and painting him, he’d be their fantasy model of a perfect mate. Myk, on the other hand, didn’t think he needed any polish or paint; he liked himself just the way he was. So, by choice, he kept to those women who didn’t care if he were working in São Paulo and hadn’t called them in weeks, just as long as he sent them a fur coat or a pair of diamond studs to beg their pardon. Expensive? Sometimes. But infinitely easier on the psyche of everyone involved.

  Drake brought the conversation back. “You know, you might enjoy being with a woman who can do more than figure the interest on a T-bill?”

  Myk shrugged, “The women I date know the rules going in. No ties. No expectations.”

  “So why’d you dump Faye?”

  “Because her greed was wearing me out. Every time I turned around she had her hand out. When she demanded I give her a key to the house, I knew it was time for adios.”

  “She wanted a key?”

  “Demanded a key.”

  Drake spoke sagely, “Well, at least now you won’t have to worry about her accidentally stumbling into NIA business.”

  “True. Now, if I could just shake the rest of the females on my tail, I’d be home free. Dot invited me to dinner next week after the bond vote. Connie makes excellent macaroni and cheese.”

  A laughing Drake asked, “Did you accept?”

  Myk didn’t even dignify that ridiculous question with an answer. “Drake, if I’m going to head up NIA, I can’t spend my time being hounded by the Dot Dexters of this world.”

  “So what do you want to do about it?”

  “I don’t know, but something you said a minute ago got me to thinking. Remember when you asked me if Faye had been able to keep the women away from me when she and I went out?”

  Drake nodded and took a small draw on the Remy VSOP in his glass.

  “Well, wouldn’t a wife be more effective than, say, a lady friend?”

  “Sure. A wife has a tendency to quash stuff like that, especially when she’s on her husband’s arm. So?” Drake knew Myk well enough to recognize when the computer Myk called a brain was booting up. Drake stared at him a moment, trying to figure out where this line of thinking might be heading. When the lightbulb finally came on, Drake’s eyes widened.

  “Yep,” Myk said, “I need a wife.”

  Drake began to choke.

  “No, wait,” Myk cautioned. “Think about it. I could marry, drop off the set, and run the NIA missions in peace because no one would question my absence. I’m married. I’m settled down. And when it does become necessary to attend some function or other—a wife on my arm would deter the wanna-bes.”

  “So, am I hearing you correctly? You want to get married?”

  “Yep, it’s the perfect solution.”

  “When was the last time you had a full night’s sleep?”

  “Can’t remember, but I’m serious, Drake.”

  “When do you want to do this?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  Drake rubbed his eyes. The man mouthing such an outrageous proposal had to be an impostor. Mykal Chandler talking about marriage? Mykal Chandler, bachelor forever? “I take it you have a woman in mind?”

  “The idea is only a minute old, Drake. Give me time to work out the details.”

  “Okay, here’s a detail: Have you lost your mind?”

  “You don’t think it will work?”

  “On paper, yes. In reality, too many holes.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as, you don’t even have anyone picked out. Do you plan to stay married?”

  “Of course not.”

  “How long then?”

  “I don’t know. Long as it takes for my life to settle down. NIA will be officially funded for what, eighteen months, two years, max?”

  Drake shook his head in amazement. “Where are you going to find a woman who will agree to a proposal like that?”

  “No idea, but for the right price, I’ll bet it won’t be hard.”

  Drake thought Myk was probably correct. However—“How are you going to keep her from finding out about your work with NIA? Not even you can live with a woman for two years and not leave some clue lying around.”

  “Hey, I’ll buy her her own place. She only has to be around when I need her on my arm.”

  Drake thought Myk’s attitude would go over real well with a prospective bride, but the more he mulled over the outrageous idea, the more possibilities he began to see. Myk hadn’t been lying about all the attention he’d received since joining the mayoral campaign last year as financial chair. The women had been giving him fits, and he did need to keep a low profile if he were to continue to head up NIA. But where would he find such a woman? She couldn’t be just anyone. Myk traveled in the highest social circles and rubbed shoulders with society’s elite. This mythical wife would need to know deportment and proper etiquette. She would need to know how to conduct herself in public so as to not embarrass herself or her spouse, and, she would have to be a stunner. No one would believe the marriage ruse if the woman Mykal Chandler married had a face like one of Dot Dexter’s daughters. “Do you really think you can pull this off?”

  Myk shrugged. “Won’t know until I try. We can talk about it at the next NIA meeting. Maybe someone knows a woman who’ll fit the bill.”
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  “I can’t believe you’re serious about this.”

  “I need my life back, Drake. We have a lot of work to do, and I need the freedom to do it right.”

  “Okay, but I still think you’ve lost your mind.”

  “Your support is noted.”

  Two nights later, the other NIA leaders echoed Drake’s skepticism. Everyone agreed Myk needed to free himself in order to continue to be an effective leader, but a wife? No one thought the idea would work, but since Myk had already made up his mind, he let them toss the idea around for another twenty minutes, then moved the discussion on to the next item on the agenda—a report from NIA’s intelligence wing.

  Myk brought everyone back to attention. “Our Federal friends would like us to pick up a man named Barney Fishbein.”

  He passed around pictures of the lumpish, blue-eyed, glasses-wearing accountant.

  “Mr. Fishbein likes to bet sports so much he owes his bookies fifty grand.”

  Someone at the table whistled.

  “I know,” Myk acknowledged. “Fish has agreed to be a courier for his bookies, so his wife and kids don’t wind up wearing cement shoes at the bottom of Lake Michigan.”

  Drake asked, “What’s he carrying?”

  “Blood diamonds.”

  In the silence that followed, Myk added, “With all the emphasis on homeland security, the Feds are spread pretty thin, so they’ve asked if we’d be their legs on this one. They’re confident taking Fish and his contact down will be a no-brainer.”

  “Are these diamonds connected to Rand?”

  Myk shrugged. “No one’s sure right now. We pick up the Fish, we find out.”

  “Who’s the contact?”

  “We don’t know that either. We do know that the diamonds are worth—best guestimate—three-quarters of a mil.”

  One of the female members at the table asked, “When is all of this supposed to go down?”

  “According to the tap on Fishbein’s phone, 2 A.M.. Day after tomorrow.”

  They spent a few more moments discussing the logistics of the operation, then moved on to the next item on the agenda.