“Okay,” he said with a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “Well, guess I should get going. Like I said, just wanted to check on you.”
“And I appreciate it.”
He walked back over to the door. “Take care now.”
“I will. ’Bye.”
He exited and the door closed softly behind him. As the silence resettled, Lacy smiled.
Down in the parking lot, Drake got back into the limo and slammed the door. “Let’s go.”
Malcolm Ford looked back at his boss and asked, “What happened?”
“I gave her the flowers. She said, ‘Fine, thank you very much, good-bye.’”
Malcolm chuckled. “She didn’t want to go out?”
“No.”
Lane, seated beside Drake, chuckled and asked, “Does she know you’re the mayor?”
Drake shot him a look.
From the front seat, Cruise said, “Ms. Lacy doesn’t impress me as your average mayor type lady. You might have to work a little on this one.”
Drake drawled, “Your advice is noted. Malcolm. Drive.”
“Yes, sir.”
Drake had never been turned down for a date in his life. Ever. Not in high school, college, med school, or anyplace else. If anything, the women were stepping over each other trying to get invites from him. He wasn’t boasting or arrogant; it was the story of his life. He was a good-looking, hardworking, sister-loving man, and he never lacked for company. Apparently, Lacy Green didn’t know that. What kind of woman says no to dinner with Mayor Dr. Drake Randolph? he wondered, then smiled knowingly. He reminded himself that he had the blood of the Vachons in his veins, which meant he was just going to have to find out.
When Reynard Parker saw the news story on the mayor’s accident, he hoped the incident would damage Randolph’s credibility and reputation. After all, the driver involved was Randolph’s uncle. But Parker doubted the wish would come true. Detroit’s pretty boy doctor mayor was so popular he’d have to be caught in bed with either a live boy or a dead girl to bring him down. Instead, Randolph was threatening Parker’s power base by seeking to change the way members of the City Council were elected. Council members ran citywide, and voters elected everyone from one slate. Randolph wanted the council to be elected by district. His hope, or so he said, was to make the council more accountable and open the process to new blood, because as it stood now, the same core of council members were elected again and again, some having been in office nearly thirty years.
Parker didn’t want the system changed. The impact on his bribes, special contracts, and kickbacks would be detrimental if he weren’t able to control the whole pie. How could he ask for under-the-table payments from companies doing business on the west side of the city if the only part of the city under his direct control was just a sliver of the east side? Parker and his ally on the council, Lola Draper, had made a pact to stall the mayor’s initiative for as long as necessary. Draper didn’t want her funds affected, and neither did he.
Parker didn’t usually work on Saturday, but he’d come in this evening not to handle city business, but to take care of a problem related to Parker Environmental. The lush, plush corporate office was a sharp contrast to the bare bones, ancient space he maintained down the street in the City Council wing, and it showcased just how far he’d come. There were secretaries, the latest electronic office equipment, and a desk imported from Spain. At the sound of the knock on the door, Parker called, “Come in.”
Benny “Fish” Madison came in, nodded to his boss, and took a seat near the desk. Nicknamed Fish because of his bulging eyes, his official title was VP of Special Projects. The thirty-six-year-old former felon handled jobs for the corporation that had to be kept on the down low.
Parker asked him, “Is the Wheeler situation taken care of?”
Benny’s fish eyes gleamed with sharklike satisfaction. “Yeah. Put the body in a truck and sent it to one of the landfills. By now he’s in such little pieces even the gulls won’t be able to find him, let alone the police.”
Parker thought about the hundreds of gulls that constantly circled his three landfills in search of food. He hoped Fish was right. Wheeler had been the company treasurer but hadn’t been a team player. His outraged refusals to cook the books, followed by threats to bring in the FBI, made Parker send him on a permanent vacation. Parker hoped he was happy. Wheeler’s ethics had left his wife a widow and his two young sons fatherless. “When’s the next shipment due in from Montreal?”
“Tomorrow evening.”
Parker’s waste haulers had been smuggling drugs across the Michigan-Canada border for years. His three rural landfills worked perfectly as dropoff and distribution points because the out-of-the-way locations made them less likely to be under surveillance by the feds. The less attention the smuggling operations drew, the more product Parker could move. “When Wheeler’s wife files the missing person’s report the police will probably come sniffing around.”
“Let ’em,” Fish responded confidently. “We made sure everything was cleaned up. We also searched his office and his car to see if we could find anything proving he’d already made contact with the feds, but nothing.”
“Too bad we can’t search his house too.”
“I’ll try and get in there on Monday. She works and the kids are in school. She has to wait forty-eight hours before she can file, so we have a little bit of time.”
Satisfied, Parker nodded.
Fish looked at his watch, then asked, “Anything else for me? I got a date with a lap dancer in an hour.”
Parker didn’t hide his distaste. “No, nothing else. Just don’t let your dick make you lose your mind.”
Fish stood and didn’t hide his distaste either. “Don’t worry. Everything’s under control.”
“So you keep telling me, but remember what happened last time.”
“I do,” he responded, his fish eyes cool. Six months ago one of Fish’s favorite pole dancers had spiked his drink, and while he lay passed out in the motel room, she’d stolen his wallet and briefcase. “I also remember that I got everything back, and eliminated the problem permanently.” The trash-compacted remains of the woman and her pimp were now mixed in with the soil beneath one of the company’s newly constructed subdivisions.
“It never should have happened in the first place.”
Fish’s face tightened. “You play your way and I’ll play mine. Are we done?”
Parker nodded grimly and watched as Fish made his exit. Perhaps it was time to find a new VP of Special Operations. But because Fish knew where all the skeletons were buried, replacing him would be easier said than done. He had to come up with a solution, however; he didn’t want any baggage cluttering up his life when he made his run for mayor.
Four
Monday morning Drake sequestered himself in his office to go over budget requests from some of his department heads. For the first time in two administrations there was money in the bank. Drake and his people were concentrating on cutting fat and streamlining services to turn the ship around, and slowly but surely the city was moving away from the abyss.
Picking up his cup of still hot coffee, he took a sip and scanned a few of the requests. There was one from Parks and Rec to reinstate the SwimMobile. Drake had nothing but good memories of the mobile swimming pool rolling up to his neighborhood, and the fun he and his friends had made him smile. The SwimMobile had been out of commission for a good six or seven years and he’d love to bring it back. He set the proposal off to the side. For the next hour he scrutinized proposals on infrastructure repairs, requests for reopening the city aquarium, and many other projects and programs that were feasible candidates. By lunchtime he had two piles—one for proposals worthy enough to consider now, the other for the requests he’d have to hold on to and deal with later, when more money became available.
One of the best and workable proposals had come from the Environmental Office. It sought reinstatement of the neighborhood Toxic Watch programs
and included a very interesting plan to go after polluters. Past administrations had been stuck with a bunch of outdated laws that gave convicted polluters and slumlords little more than a slap on the wrist as punishment. One of Drake’s campaign promises had been to clean up the city. The demolition of abandoned buildings was well under way, and litter along the highways had all but been eliminated, but getting a handle on all the old tires, junk cars, and illegal dumpings was necessary if the cleanup was to be a true success. Drake read a few more pages and was intrigued by the proposal to institute a court that handled nothing but pollution crimes. Impressed by the well-thought-out and documented presentation, he flipped to the back page of the packet to see who had put the proposal together. When he read Lacy Green and Staff, he smiled and turned to his appointment calendar. He knew she wasn’t due back to work until Wednesday. He wondered if she could present the proposal to his cabinet on, say, Friday morning. Yes, he wanted to see her again, but it was her proposal that had him excited now.
Rhonda knocked on his partially opened door and said, “Turn on Channel 7.”
Drake picked up the remote and pointed it across the room at the TV. The picture came on showing council members Reynard Parker and Lola Draper—or as Drake called them, “Crooked and Crookeder”—seated around a table with one of the local news male anchors. “What are they up to?”
“Listen,” Rhonda said quietly.
Lola was saying, “So that’s why Councilman Parker and I want to put this issue before the voters. The mayor wants to change the way members of the City Council are elected. Why fix something that isn’t broken? The system already in place works fine.”
Drake sighed grimly. The only reason they were opposed was because there’d be less bribe money crossing their greedy palms. Both were suspected of being on the take, but so far had been slick enough not to get caught. NIA, a group of people dedicated to ridding the city of drugs and corruption, was trying to change that. Lola was small potatoes; it was Parker they wanted to bring down. He had enough tentacles in the pockets of area politicians and developers to be called the Doc Oc of Detroit. Although no one was brave enough or stupid enough to point a finger directly at him, Parker killed people. Or at least his flunkies did. Rumors of murder for hire, kickbacks, bribes, and peddling his influence to the highest bidder had dogged him quietly for years, but nothing stuck. Parker was an old school politician and had a large constituency. His supporters heralded his humble beginnings and cheered him each and every time a charge was dropped. They didn’t seem to care that he was crooked as a four dollar bill.
On the TV, Parker was saying, “Tomorrow we’ll begin gathering signatures to support a ballot proposal.”
The reporter asked, “Are you two going to run against Mayor Randolph in the next election?”
Parker spoke first. “Ms. Draper and I have discussed it. Although we agree that the city under Mayor Randolph is not heading in the right direction, my constituency is larger. With that being the case, I’d be delighted to have her as my chief assistant or deputy mayor.”
Rhonda laughed and pointed at the screen. “Look at Lola’s face!”
Drake knew the former beauty queen had no intention of playing second fiddle to Parker or anyone else, and the fake smile on her furious face said it all.
Draper responded tightly, “And I would delighted to have Councilman Parker as my deputy as well.”
Drake clicked the remote and the picture vanished. “I’m so tired of those two,” he said.
“So, you’re going to run again?”
Drake eyed Rhonda’s serious face. “Don’t know,” he said honestly. It was a decision he’d been grappling with for weeks.
“You can’t leave the city to them. They’ll gut it and we’ll be right back where we started.”
“I know, Rhon.”
“The citizens need you, Drake.”
He knew that too, but the idea of running again and plunging himself back into the fishbowl wasn’t real appealing.
“Just think about it, please?”
“Promise.”
“Okay. I’m going to send out for lunch. What do you want?”
He picked from the choices she offered, cleared his mind of the problems of Draper and Parker, and went back to Lacy’s proposal.
By Tuesday evening Lacy felt confident about returning to work. She’d weaned herself down to just a few over-the-counter pain pills a day and tossed the remaining prescription drugs into her medicine cabinet. She’d made arrangements to get a rental car, but with her ankle still real sore, she knew it was going to be impossible to press down on the gas pedal, so driving was out for at least another few days. Calling a cab seemed to be her only option until Ida called.
“I’ll swing by and pick you up on my way in. I have to drive right by you anyway.”
Lacy didn’t want to be a bother and tried to talk her out of it, but Ida was determined. “No, I’m coming to get you. Your mama and I are sorors—I’m supposed to make sure you’re okay. I’ll be there at seven-fifteen sharp. Be ready.”
“Yes, ma’am.” It was all Lacy could say.
True to her word, Ida Mae Richardson drove up in her chocolate-gold Cadillac at precisely 7:15 A.M. Lacy, all ready to go, crutched her way out to the parking lot just as Ida stepped out of the still running vehicle.
“’Morning,” Ida said with a smile. “Need some help?”
“’Morning,” Lacy called back, her voice sounding loud in the morning quiet. “No, I’m okay. May take me a minute to get there.”
The rise in temperatures over the weekend had reduced the piles of snow to dirty little bumps here and there, so Lacy didn’t have to worry about falling. Ida met her halfway and took the tote and long-strapped leather bag Lacy sometimes used as a briefcase.
“How you feeling?” Ida asked, keeping a slow pace at Lacy’s side.
“Not bad.”
Lacy maneuvered her way into the soft warmth of the leather-encased interior while Ida took the crutches and stuck them in the backseat along with the bag and tote.
After the short ride down Jefferson Avenue, Ida pulled into the city’s employee garage and swung the car into the space. “Sit here a minute. My sister Maxine sent you something.”
A puzzled Lacy turned to watch Ida go into the trunk, but the raised lid kept her from seeing what Ida was up to.
What Ida was up to was bringing a small trikelike scooter around to the passenger side of the car. Lacy had seen seniors driving the motorized vehicles in the mall and at the grocery stores.
“Max bought it last year when she broke her foot,” Ida explained. “She said to keep it for as long as you need to.”
An elated Lacy studied the cute little red machine. Sizewise, it was smaller than a golf cart, and there was a wire basket attached to the front. “Give Max a big kiss for me. This is perfect.”
It took Lacy only a few moments to master the controls, and then she and Ida headed for the elevator.
The city’s Environmental Office consisted of Lacy, Ida, and their young secretary, Janika Doyle. Felton Adams, the former director and the man who’d interviewed and hired Lacy, had taken a job in New Mexico back in February, and no one had been hired to replace him. The people in H.R. kept promising to find a replacement, but when the mayor’s hiring freeze went into effect a few weeks later, all bets were off.
It hadn’t taken Lacy long to get acclimated, though. Thanks to Ida and Janika, she learned to negotiate her way through the maze of city offices and regulations. It took her even less time to realize that although her office reported to the Department of Public Works, the director had his hands full coordinating garbage pickup, demolitions, and infrastructure headaches like broken water mains. It left him little time for much else. Her office was a fly on the butt of a rhino in terms of importance, so she and her staff had no champion for any proposals they wanted to bring to the table.
Lacy found her bottom rung position on the city’s totem pole frustrating be
cause she truly believed in what she was doing. Although her zealous campaigns against polluters had gotten her fired from her last job, she’d accepted the Detroit job because, one, it was the only one offered, and two, she thought her ideas could make a difference. Since the birth of the environmental movement in the seventies, most of the focus had been on clean water and air, virgin lands, and animal populations. Only lately had urban areas like Detroit, Philadelphia, and Chicago come under scrutiny. Illegal dumping, abandoned factories, and toxic waste were affecting its citizens in ways that demanded action, and Lacy wanted to bring the fight here. Landlords who refused to rid their houses of lead paint should pay. She felt the same way about illegal dumpers and business owners who walked away from their dying enterprises leaving behind barrels of toxic chemicals or contaminated sites for the cities to clean up. She was girded for battle but still waiting for a sword.
Around ten that morning, Janika stuck her head into Lacy’s office. “Girl, check your makeup, His Fineness just came in!”
Lacy’s eyes widened then she got hold of herself. No sense in being crazy, Janika already had that covered, so she took a deep breath, composed herself, and waited for him to appear. A few seconds later he was knocking on her open door.
“Ms. Green?”
Lacy looked up into that blinding handsomeness and fought to sound nonchalant. “How are you, Mayor Randolph?”
“I’m okay. You?”
“Doing fine. Fine. What can I help you with?”
He held up a green folder. “This. You sent up a budget request?”
She recognized the folder now. “Yes, for the Blight Court.”
“Can you present this to the cabinet Friday morning?”
Lacy went still. “Yes. Why?”
“This is exactly what I’ve been looking for. It’s cheap, effective, and fresh.”
“Really?”
“Really. Now, if Friday’s too soon…?”