Between Brothers Page 32
Stepping over to where Larry stood, Terence pointed a thick finger in his face. “You need to watch the use of that word betray, Larry. I did what I had to do today. Who are you to judge me? Maybe I’m tired of all this pussyfootin’ around with the damn contributions.” He turned to face the entire room. “You’ve all been acting like some punks, thinkin’ you could second-guess Rolly Orange and Sheryl! Come on, brothers! I know we like to think we can save the world, but be real! Who are we to tell an established community leader and an accomplished politician how to run thangs? The whole segregated-account thing was silly!”
“So you went over our heads and vetoed it, without so much as a peep to your own boys?” Brandon’s brow grew sweaty as his nerves tensed and pulsated. Nothing was worse than having a knock-down-drag-out with one of your best friends.
As he shook a hand at the room, Terence’s face filled with bile. “Hey, look, nobody told you all to back out of the damn meeting. It’s a free country. You could have come and offset my vote.”
Larry crossed his arms tightly, trying to choose his words calmly. “T, you knew why we couldn’t make it, and I specifically asked you to keep in mind—”
“Back up, Big Dog. You told me to make sure Orange didn’t get access to the contributions. No questions ever about my damn opinion! Who am I but a poor egghead engineer, right? Nah, you gon’ just tell me how I should vote. Stop and think how you sound, company man.”
Larry had had enough. “Naw, Terence. Hell, no! I will not let you turn a discussion about the future of a center that can save kids’ lives into some petty bickering over whether or not I respected your feelings. Damn your feelings! Who was getting hurt when the segregated account was in place? Nobody! What if we’re actually right about Orange, who gets hurt? Everybody! Damn, man! I never figured you of all people to be such a fuckup!”
“I’ll show you a fuckup!” Unable to defend his actions, Terence gave in to raw emotion and surged forward to take Larry on. Brandon leaped from the loveseat to restrain him.
“Terence, don’t!” Pleading for peace, Brandon breezed alongside his friend, placing an outstretched arm in front of Terence. “We’re gettin’ way off track here. Just go upstairs and cool off, please! This house has seen enough violence, man!” His brow moist with sweat, Brandon paced between Terence and Larry. “Have we all lost our God-given minds? O. J.’s layin’ up in the hospital, Ellis Center’s future is in doubt, and what are we doing? Threatening one another with more black-on-black violence!”
Looking past the back of Brandon’s round head and outstretched arms, Larry met Terence’s eyes again. They were hard-boiled, full of indignant shame. Something was wrong. Larry knew his friend would not behave like this under normal circumstances. Someone, or something, was behind this wacked behavior. Frantically, his eyes danced over to meet Lisa’s.
“Terence, look at yourself, what you’ve come to.” She rose from the couch and went to his side, placing a hand on his heaving shoulder. Her voice took on the quality of a concerned mother. “Are you really gonna throw your friendships away over this? Was that the plan when you all started working at Ellis? To kill a friendship? Tell them, baby, just tell them now.”
“Damn!” The expletive exploded from Terence like a cannon, shaking the house. The room filled with anxious silence as he bent forward and doubled over. “I don’t . . . I don’t know what to say . . .”
Brandon could tell Larry was as embarrassed as he was by Terence’s tears. “Well, why don’t you walk us through whatever led to your decision, man. Take your time.”
Terence took a deep breath, then painstakingly laid out the dilemma regarding Biggie and Nico Lane. When Terence completed his account, he looked up into the faces of his friends, all of whom were seated again. Brandon and Sheila looked shell-shocked at his tales of Nico’s gangland threats; Larry looked like he was already cooking up a response. Too exhausted to solicit any more reaction, Terence stayed in his upright position, swaying to and fro like a venerable oak.
“Got a suggestion.” Larry’s fingers were woven tight, a bundle of nervous energy. “Brandon, why don’t you take Lisa out to pick up some coffee and Cokes. We all need to put in a long night of strategy to bust this hump. I’ll give you the money. Sheila, T, and I will get started in the meantime.”
Brandon pulled his car keys from his pants pocket. “I’m with that. Lisa, you ready?”
“I’m coming.” As she headed out to the foyer with Brandon, Lisa squeezed Terence’s arm. “You can thank me later.”
Only after she had left the room did Terence raise his head and meet Larry’s eyes.
“That is one hell of a woman there, T. Now let’s get busy.”
The next morning, William “Buzz” Eldridge strolled coolly across the marble floor of the Waterston Towers lobby. He spotted the security guard, Wardell Burton, at his station. An amiable middle-aged man, Burton had worked the desk on weekends for some five years running. He could have been mistaken for Eldridge’s younger twin, so similar were they in height, weight, and hair color. Eldridge almost found the man’s presence embarrassing. He could hardly look at Burton without feeling that there but for God’s grace went he himself.
“Mr. Eldridge, fancy seeing you here, sir.” Burton looked at him with glassy eyes. “Five years, and I’ve never seen you here on a Sunday morning. Shouldn’t you be in church?”
Eldridge smiled wryly as he signed in at the desk. “Wardell, church is a nice institution to partake in when it’s convenient. But when a big deal requires my time, well . . . you do the math, my friend.”
Burton beamed broadly. “Well, gee, you do have a point. You’re probably doing better than most poor saps who are in church right now, huh? You have a good one, sir.”
Eldridge flashed a condescending smile as he headed toward the elevator bank. “You, too, Wardell, you too.” He wanted to make sure not to say anything memorable, nothing that would tip off the authorities if they ever interviewed the security officer.
As the elevator climbed to the sixth floor, Eldridge denied the urge to stop at the fifth and take one last look around. There was no point. Savoring the beauty of his offices and possessions would only reduce his will to do what he must for the sake of his family, especially his children. Orange had done his best to play dumb when confronted with Whitaker’s allegations yesterday. He could hear the fat man’s stumbling, bumbling claims even now.
“Buzz, wh-what are you talking about? I ain’t sold nobody out! We just got Terence Davidson to sign over access to the money! Don’t you see? We’re on the tenyard line now. Spears will be back in town Monday, I’ll sign everything over to him, and he’ll have the money wiped out by week’s end! Game, set, match, Buzz! What are you babblin’ about?”
Eldridge had been unable to contain himself. “You stupid, stupid fool! There’s no way that Whitaker kid could have figured out all the things he did without hearing something from you! He told me everything!”
“Buzz, what—”
Buzz had hung up on the buffoon before his rage got the best of him. By the time he’d accepted what was happening, he’d realized it was time to make peace with Plan B. The most important thing from the start had been the survival of Develcorp, so that his children could run the business and make a good living long after he was gone. Now, whether Orange was telling the truth or not, this Whitaker kid, as bright and charismatic as he was, was sure to make enough of a stink about his links to Orange to draw media attention. That would mean the immediate end to his hopes of getting in on the riverfront project. And no riverfront project meant no Develcorp. It was time to utilize the only other source of capital to which he had access.
He laughed to himself as he stepped off the elevator onto the sixth floor. A large printed sign sat just outside the elevators:
THIS FLOOR IS OFF LIMITS TO ALL PERSONNEL.
EXCEPT FOR DEVELCORP OFFICERS
AND CONSTRUCTION WORKERS.
FLOOR IS CLOSED FOR BUSINESS UNTIL
RENOVATIONS ARE COMPLETE.
Eldridge swept his eyes across the area, which had been stripped almost bare. To his immediate right was a large room framed in gray concrete. The floor was full of rooms just like this one. This one would be the main conference room when it was complete, chosen as such because of the panoramic view it offered of the Mall skyline, almost identical to the one from his office. The workers were in the process of enlarging the window so that it would cover almost the entire length of the wall—one of the reasons the floor was so dangerous now. Stapled across the large gaping hole in the wall was a thick latex sheet; a few strong winds had already loosened one corner, exposing an opening large enough for a person to slip through.
Eldridge checked his watch. The construction supervisor, Joe Klein, would be here soon. He had called Joe this morning and told him of some concerns he had about how the work was coming along. He’d agreed to meet Joe this morning to go over the floor, claiming that he would be out of town the rest of the week. He’d chuckled when Joe suggested he wait for him in the lobby for safety’s sake. Surely he knew Buzz Eldridge would be too naïve and arrogant to wait for him like some dependent child. When Joe arrived to find that a horrific accident had occurred, he would be sure to report to the authorities that he had told the foolish old man not to venture up there on his own. The claims adjuster for his life insurer would have no choice but to fork the dough over to the Eldridge family. No one would suspect him of suicide.
As Eldridge gingerly lifted the plastic flap, feeling the harsh rush of wind and the cold smatter of raindrops whip his sport coat, he wondered what Nico Lane would think. He’d not even bothered to call the boy. What did he have to fear from him now? He regretted ever getting entangled with the thug, but what did it matter now? The way things had turned out, he’d have bought it one way or the other. As he ripped the flap loose and began to remove his jacket, he stifled a sigh at the thought of his Katie, whom he had kissed good-bye an hour ago, before driving in from Alexandria. He would miss her, but whether she admitted it or not, she would be happier as a lonely but wealthy widow than she would have been as a loyal but impoverished wife. Her constant questions about his success in getting the riverfront project always sounded genuine, but the message there was obvious: no romance without finance. He’d have lost her love along with the business, if he’d ever allowed it to go under. And there was no question that this was best for the children.
His heart broken but his spirit resolute, Buzz stepped to the ledge of the building. He reached underneath his sweater and removed the small kitten that had meowed softly from beneath his coat for the last hour. He set the purring feline onto the ledge, a few inches to his left. The kitten was frightened out of his wits, evidenced by the high pitch of his purr and the wooden quality of his little legs. He’ll be all right, Buzz told himself. He’ll be perched here innocently when the police arrive, a living testament to my attempt at a heroic act.
Teetering on the cement ledge, Buzz retrieved his cell phone from his pants pocket and held it limply in his right hand. “Wardell,” he shouted into the phone above the roar of traffic and the heavy roll of thunder, “when Joe Klein gets here, please have him come right up. I just saw a kitten out on the ledge.” He sighed for dramatic effect. “It looks like one of the cats that fat secretary on the fourth floor is always sneaking in. I’m going to bring it back in. I’ll be out on the ledge if Joe arrives in the next couple of minutes.” Burton’s voice was full of foreboding. “Sir, you should not be out on any ledge. Especially as windy as it is! Trust me, sir, we got workmen who can handle the situation. I’ll just call—”
“Not to worry, Wardell. I can handle myself. Just send Joe up as soon as he’s here.” He clicked the phone off before Burton could object further. Everything was set now. It should never have come to this, but the welfare of his family demanded it. Before he could change his mind, William “Buzz” Eldridge lifted his right foot and stepped forward into thin air, implementing his final business decision.
Biggie Davidson was sound asleep, a crooked smile across his crusty face. His was a peaceful rest, aided by the knowledge that his brother had delivered on Nico Lane’s demands and saved his life. Nico had called personally last night, ensuring him that he was officially off the hook. In celebration, Biggie had painted the town red, one reason he continued to sleep soundly on a Sunday afternoon. He didn’t know how he was going to support himself, now that Nico had kicked him to the curb, but he was planning to get up later this afternoon and troll through Northeast D.C., see if he could break into some markets there. As his bony chest, covered only by the thin cotton comforter stretched over him, rose and dove in rhythmic fashion, he was oblivious to the slow turn of his doorknob.
The silent intruder tiptoed across the threshold and looked across the stuffy, musty room at the boy’s wiry frame. Before moving to his target, he sniffed in amusement as he surveyed the one-room apartment. The neon blue walls were plastered with posters featuring Lil’ Kim, Foxy Brown, Smooth, Wu-Tang Clan, and a few old heads like Run-D.M.C. The kitchen sink, off in the right corner, was stacked high with generic plastic dishes, many of them still sticky with uneaten food and buzzing with curious flies and ants. In front of the boy’s bed, in the far left corner, sat the most obvious testament to Biggie’s Big Willie lifestyle: an eighty-four-inch wide-screen TV equipped with Sega, Nintendo, two VCRs, and a gigantic Sony system, flanked by an arrangement of powerful-looking Bose speakers. How the wealthy lived. The intruder slipped on leather gloves and headed toward the bed. He would be doing good, removing the boy from this life of wasteful misery.
Seconds later, Biggie was awakened by the whump of a cheesecloth bag as it enveloped his unkempt head, Afro puffs and all. Shooting forward in the bed, he instinctively clasped his hands to his throat, hoping to release the bag before it was too late. The intruder’s strong grip immediately told him resistance would be futile. This was no ordinary man sent to take him out.
“Bobo, p-please, how you gon’ do a brother, man?” The words came out muffled through the speckled holes in the bag’s skin. “Nico,” he pleaded. “Nico promised!”
With an unforgiving grunt, the intruder pulled the drawstrings of the bag tight around his neck before grabbing him around the middle. As best as he could, Biggie kicked, screamed, flailed his arms and legs like a fish wriggling on a line. Left with no choice, the intruder dropped Biggie and stood over the boy’s quivering body. Biggie was covered only by a skimpy pair of silk boxing shorts, which he had bought just last week to impress his latest skeezer. Now his panicked reaction had ruined them.
“Oh, Lord . . .” The intruder had not expected to have to deal with urine. “Geez, where are your clothes, kid?”
Still unable to see, Biggie choked out the answer, meekly extending an arm behind his head. “In . . . the . . . closet, over there.”
“Thanks.” The intruder ceased Biggie’s movements with a smacking uppercut across the lower portion of the bag. “Now be still.”
Five minutes later Chuck Dawkins emerged into the back alley of Biggie’s apartment building, the boy’s body slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The car that Larry had rented for him was idling faithfully just outside the door. Right on time. He went to the back of the white Taurus station wagon, set Biggie against the wall, and opened the back hatch.
As Biggie felt his body being tossed into the backseat, he came to. “Please, Bobo, I ain’t never hurt you, man. I—” He tensed as he felt rough hands move to rip the bag off his head.
“Biggie, this ain’t Bobo.”
“T-Terence?”
“Damn skippy. What up, lil’ bro?”
“What . . . how?”
“Biggie, I got good news, and I got bad news. The good news is, Larry, Chuck, and I are gonna make sure Nico doesn’t get his paws on you. The bad news is, you’re goin’ away.”
“A-Away where?”
“See this big lug in the driver’s seat?”
“That’s Chuck Dawkins, one of Larry’s boys. He’s gonna see to it that you get safely to your new digs down in South Carolina.”
“What? Nigga, is you—is you crazy?”
“Crazy or not, brother, I’m the only hope you got of survivin’ this mess. Now listen to me. Chuck’s uncle runs a home for wayward boys down in Charleston. He don’t take no shit. When Chuck drops you there, I suggest you make nice and do as he says. I mean it.”
“Wayward boys! What is you sayin’, man? I ain’t no boy!”
“Technicalities, Biggie. You just turned eighteen, you barely over the threshold. Besides, Uncle Dawkins could care less about that, right, Chuck?”
“You know that, T. Biggie, my uncle takes in strays like you all the time, former gangbangers who realize they need to learn a trade and make something of themselves. Granted, he normally takes dudes your age when they come to him voluntarily, but I’ve already cleared the way for you. He’s got a mop, broom, and lawn mower waiting for you, all with your name on ’em. That’ll help you earn your keep, you know. Oh, and Biggie.” Dawkins grinned, turning around to face the backseat. “My uncle makes me look like Spud Webb. You’d do well to heed his every word.”
Terence bored his eyes into his brother’s. “Besides, after he kicks yo’ tail, he’d just report you to the authorities, after he calls me, of course. By the time the police hear from him, they’ll have a hand-delivered package tying you to all your most recent crack deals. I know you got mad evidence sittin’ up in that rat-hole apartment right now.”
Biggie’s eyes bulged like a chipmunk’s cheeks. “This, this, naw, nigga, this—”
“Biggie, I love you, man.” Leaning over into the backseat, Terence embraced his brother’s trembling shoulders. “I’ll explain everything to Granny, don’t worry. Once Nico’s taken care of, I’ll fill yo’ babies’ mommas in, too.”