Baby Brother's Blues (25 page)

44

K
wame dropped Joyce Ann at school and doubled back for coffee and conversation with his wife. As she poured them each a steaming cup strong and black like they both preferred it, he knew it was time to tell her about the house. He had been procrastinating for a week, and tomorrow night, they were due at Bob’s house for cocktails and Kwame knew that at some point in the evening, Bob was going to turn to Aretha, smile, and say, “So how did you like the house?” and Aretha was going to smile back and say, “What house?”

That would not be the optimum way for her to hear that moving to midtown was a fait accompli, not simply a topic for another of those endless, interlocking conversations where the real story of any marriage can always be found. The move was going to happen. The best thing to do would be for him to tell her about Bob’s offer of the house, apologize for not telling her sooner, drive her over to see it, apologizing all the way across town if necessary, and then lobby like hell until she finally acquiesced and started packing.

At first he thought his nervousness about whether or not she would like the house was making him put off telling her about it. Then yesterday, he realized that wasn’t it at all. The problem was, he couldn’t figure out how to present the house as if it was up for discussion when it wasn’t. He had already committed them. When she understood that part of it, he knew she’d be angry and that was absolutely the last thing he wanted. The peace in their household lately had been a real blessing. He didn’t know if the job offer was responsible for the change in her, but he knew the difference it had made in him. He felt like he was in the process of reclaiming the life he’d been born to live.

“Thanks,” he said as she put the mug down in front of him and curved her graceful fingers around one of her own. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the lingering scent of the morning’s blueberry waffles were soothing and familiar, just like the cozy room in which they were sitting. He tried to imagine Aretha making waffles in her elegant new kitchen as she took the chair nearest to him and smiled.

“Will we still be able to do this when you’re downtown working for the big shots?”

“Working
with
the big shots, okay?” He smiled back. “Give me a little credit. I’m not exactly coming in as an entry-level draftsman.”

“You got that right,” she said. “Not with a salary like that.”

Bob Watson’s offer had been almost twice what Kwame had expected and included a schedule of merit raises and a generous benefits package. Even Aretha “I never think about money” had been impressed by all those zeros.

He put down his mug. “There’s more.”

She raised her eyebrows. “More money?” Her voice was incredulous.

“No. There’s a house.”

“A house?” She put her mug down, too. “What house?”

Kwame took a deep breath. “I told Bob we were considering a move to midtown and it turns out he has a house in Ansley Park that he wants us to take a look at.”

“He wants to sell us his house?”

“It would be a long-term lease, actually. He designed the house himself and he doesn’t want to sell it.”

“He wants us to rent his house?”

“More of a lease situation, but I think he’d sell it if we really like it.”

“You’re not making any sense, Kwame.”

Dragging it out was only making it worse. “The house is a showpiece, Ree, but his wife got tired of it or something, so they moved into a bigger place. He’s prepared to let us have it dirt cheap and I know he’d really appreciate having someone in there he could trust.”

Aretha was frowning. “Is this part of the package? If we don’t agree to rent his house, you don’t get to join his firm?”

“No, baby, no! Nothing like that. He didn’t even mention it until I told him we were looking.”

Her frown stayed where it was, but Aretha couldn’t deny she had agreed to look at some houses in midtown.

“We
are
looking, right?”

“Have you seen it?”

He nodded slowly, not sure if that was good or bad. “Yes.”

“When?”

“The same day Bob and I had lunch.”

“You’re just now telling me?” She sounded more hurt than angry.

“I’m sorry. I was trying to figure out a way to make you see what a good thing this is. I guess I didn’t do such a good job.”

She smiled a little when he said that. “Not so hot, no.”

He clung to the slim promise of that half smile as she leaned across the table toward him.

“You don’t have to treat me like I’m some kind of crazy woman, you know? You can tell me stuff when it happens. I won’t go off. I’m an adult, remember?”

He took her hand. “I don’t think you’re crazy.”

“You sure?” She laced her fingers through his.

“I’m positive.”

Then she surprised the hell out of him by leaning over and giving him a big wet kiss. When they came up for air, she was smiling.

“You don’t have to work today, do you?”

He grinned at her. “I’m all yours.”

“Good,” she said. “Then why don’t you show me this fabulous house so I can decide if it’s fit for my family to live in.”

Kwame felt a weight lift from his shoulders. “Thanks, Ree.”

“Don’t thank me. Get your keys.”

So he did.

45

S
amson Epps was shorter than Regina had expected him to be and louder. He was one of those people who can shatter your eardrum on a cellphone as well as informing everyone within a six-foot radius of a matter you had hoped to keep confidential. His picture in
The Sentinel
had given her the impression of a tall man, and when she called to schedule an appointment, his big voice had suggested an imposing personality that she had mentally translated into physical size. She was surprised when they shook hands and looked at each other eye to eye.

“Mrs. Hamilton. Please come in,” he said, ushering her into his office and closing the door behind them. “Sit down.”

Regina took a chair and Samson Epps went back to sit behind his desk. Something in his manner made her feel like she was imposing, although he himself had chosen this time for their meeting. She had said she’d like to explore some fund-raising ideas that might get the neighborhood involved and he had been enthusiastic. Now he seemed to have no memory of her or of their positive telephone exchange.

“I appreciate your time,” Regina said. “I’m sure you’re busy.”

His smile was restrained. “We’re always busy, but I do appreciate your interest in our program. What can I do for you?”

“As I mentioned on the phone, I’d like to support the work you’re doing with returning vets and their families. The piece in
The Sentinel
made such an impression on me.”

At the mention of the Sunday story, which had been full of praise for his program and his vision, the slight smile flickered again briefly. “That was well done, wasn’t it?”

Regina waited for him to say more, but he just looked at her.

“Yes, it was,” she said. “It made me want to get involved instead of just complaining. I live in West End, where we’re already feeling the consequences of what’s happening, and since you’re right here in the neighborhood, I thought this would be a good place to start.”

He placed his palms together under his chin and an expression she couldn’t read flickered across his face.

“To start what?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Samson Epps shook his head disapprovingly. “Mrs. Hamilton, there is no need for either of us to continue this charade.”

Regina felt her cheeks flush, although she had no idea what he was talking about. “If you have something to say to me, Dr. Epps, I encourage you to say it. I came here to talk about helping you raise funds for your program. Your tone is inappropriate.”

He pushed his chair away from the desk slightly. “
Inappropriate?
I mentioned to one of my colleagues that a neighborhood woman who had seen our recent press coverage had called to explore a possible fund-raiser to support the project.”

Regina hated the way he described her as “a neighborhood woman.” It was the way people talked about the human beings they had decided to think of generically. A
native
woman. A
Palestinian
child. A
homeless
man. The more he talked, the more she didn’t like him.

“My colleague was pleased, but when I told her your name, she kind of laughed and said, ‘Don’t you know who that is?’ ”

A sudden realization made her cheeks flush.
This was about Blue!
The article had said Samson Epps had been in Atlanta for only a year, but how long did it take to meet the community that was the campus’s nearest neighbor? How long did it take to notice how different that community was and ask somebody
why
?

But there was another voice in her head arguing the other side almost as strongly. That part of her wanted to know why she was blaming Samson Epps for not knowing that in some circles, her husband was regarded as less than respectable and, when crossed, undeniably dangerous. That part of her wanted to know whom she was really mad at, Samson or Blue. Regina sat silent, not knowing what to say next.

“Mrs. Hamilton, you must be aware of your husband’s reputation,” Samson Epps said.

“Go on,” was Regina’s answer.
Aware of it?
She thought.
I live with it every day.

“Then you must know that there are certain trade-offs for the lives we choose.”

He was talking to her like she had come to him for pastoral counseling.

“I respect the choices your husband has made and I’m asking that you respect mine. This is a government-funded program, Mrs. Hamilton. I can’t accept money from
gangsters.
”

He said the word with such contempt he almost spit it at her. Regina tried to compose herself before she responded. She wanted to find the words to explain how careful Blue was never to take his role lightly or use the power he had irresponsibly. She wanted to say it weighed on him. She wanted to tell Samson Epps about the women and children whose lives were saved by Blue’s willingness to defend them. She wanted to witness for the brothers who had been transformed by working with her husband in West End. She wanted to tell him how they had become men who could be loved and trusted without fear. She wanted to tell him that her husband acted out of absolute love for his people and a definition of manhood that did not depend on any commander in chief other than the one he saw in the mirror every morning, gazing back through his own blue eyes.

But she didn’t tell him any of that.
What was the point?
Besides, she didn’t think she would be able to get the words out without crying. She stood up, gathered her things, and walked out of Samson Epps’s office without uttering another sound. She had nothing to say to him. The person she needed to talk to was Blue.

46

P
recious was not looking forward to this meeting. She had liked and trusted Lee Kilgore,
but no more.
The things Blue had told Precious made it impossible for her to even consider keeping Lee around as part of her team. It was Precious’s intention to be in and out in fifteen minutes,
tops.
There was really nothing to discuss. Blue had not only confirmed what Mrs. Robinson had said, but had identified Kilgore as part of a network of dirty cops and corrupt civilians who were making millions with little or no danger of arrest.

Before she had fully digested that news, Blue also shared a rumor he had not personally verified yet that Bob Watson had a hand in it, too. That was the part that had really thrown Precious for a loop. She had no idea how she could tell Kwame that his new idol had feet of clay. Taking a deep breath, she pulled into the visitors’ lot behind the Atlanta Police Department’s downtown headquarters and tried to compose herself before she confronted Lee Kilgore.

Police headquarters was always crowded. Police officers and perpetrators, people being charged and discharged. There was a grim determination in their faces. Everybody knew that once you walked inside those doors, everything that happened was going to be serious. Precious knew it, too, but she still smiled back at the young female police officer at the security desk inside the front door who directed her to a tiny cubicle on the second floor.

When Precious knocked on the door, Lee’s voice answered with the edge of someone who doesn’t want to be disturbed.

“It’s open!”

Somehow, Precious had imagined Lee in grander surroundings. This small, airless space was barely large enough for a desk and a tiny bookcase. A chair for visitors was wedged in the corner almost as an afterthought. Lee’s annoyance at being interrupted was immediately replaced by her surprise at finding Precious standing in her doorway.

“Senator Hargrove.” She stood up and came around to extend a hand. “What a pleasant surprise. Sit down.”

Precious stepped in and closed the door behind her without a handshake.

Lee frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“I’ll get right to the point, Captain Kilgore. As part of my investigation into the death of Kentavious Robinson, I’ve been given some information by a completely reliable source that not only confirms his mother’s suspicions about police involvement, but points to you specifically as one of those protecting the dealers. Is there any truth to what I’ve been told?”

Lee sat back down behind her desk. She tried to keep her face impassive. This was the moment she had been trying to outrun.
Remain calm,
she thought.
Just remain calm.

“I’m shocked that you would ask me such a question.”

Precious didn’t blink. “That’s not an answer.”

“No. There is no truth to it at all.”

The two women looked at each other for a minute, each taking the measure of the other. Finally, Precious spoke quietly. “I don’t believe you.”

Lee’s left eye twitched slightly. “These rumors always follow a cop who tries to bust the dealers, Senator. You should know that.”

“You’re a talented woman,” Precious said quietly. “I admire some of your ideas, but I can’t ask you to be part of my team. Not anymore.”

Lee felt her future drying up like Georgia crops in a summer-long drought, but she didn’t flinch. “I’m sorry to hear that, Senator.”

“I won’t be pursuing these allegations personally at this time, but I think it’s only fair to warn you that I will be passing on what I’ve heard to your superiors, and one more thing.” Precious stood up. “When I’m elected, cleaning up the police department will be job one.”

Lee’s eye twitched again. “I understand.”

“Good.” Precious picked up her purse.

Lee stood up, too. “Do you mind if I ask you one question?”

“Go ahead.”

“Are you really destroying what we both know could be a productive partnership based on the word of a bunch of crackheads and con artists?”

“No.” Precious opened the door. “I’m dissolving our association because it’s still working.”

“What’s still working?”

“My built-in bullshit detector.”