Black 01 - Black Rain (5 page)

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in the groin. He reaches down to grab his genitals. Chase brings her knee up to his forehead with swift force, knocking him backward, unconscious.

Another attacker grabs her left shoulder. She slams an elbow to his nose. It breaks on contact. She pivots and thrusts her palm upward into the nasal cavity of the assailant to her right. An upward thrust-kick to the face sends the attacker spinning to the ground in pain.

Dread grows tired of the fight. “Brutus, end this!”

Brutus comes to face the embattled woman. She sizes up the mammoth man, all of six feet eight inches and easily 320 pounds. She wipes the sweat from her brow and takes her stance. Brutus is one big son of a bitch, but right now Chase has a fuck-’em-all attitude.

Brutus pleads, “Don’t make me do this, Chase.”

She looks at Brutus. “Whatever!” She says, steady-ing herself for his attack.

Dread looks at his watch and snarls, “Get to it, man!”

She runs and jumps into a flying drop-kick. Brutus grabs her in midair and slams her into the dirt floor. Dirt, dust and straw fly around her like an explosion. All of the electricity in her body leaches into the floor as the wind escapes her lungs.

Dirt and blood fill her mouth. She is picked up off the floor. Brutus has her by the throat with one hand.

Chase struggles, but the pain is too great. Unable to gasp air into her lungs, she starts to black out.

The last thing she hears is, “Throw the bitch in the car!”

Chapter 3

Up early Saturday morning after a restless night, I have just finished walking five miles on the treadmill at home and lifting weights for forty minutes. Putting on my boxing gloves, I take to the punching bag. It’s always relaxing, exercising to the oldies station Magic 107.3 and Lady T playing groups like the GAP Band, LTD, James Brown and BT Express.

The woman is just jammin’, commercial-free, and my hands keep rhythm with the drum’s beat as I attack the suspended heavy bag. I bob and weave to the mel-odic sounds, doing a dance step with the bag, adding in an additional cabbage-patch move as I groove to “For Those Who Like To Groove,” by the group Raydio featuring Ray Parker, Jr.

I am mesmerized by the sweet/salty smell of bacon and eggs descending from the kitchen. Sierra’s Saturday
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breakfast is always a treat. I stop working out long enough to take a deep breath of fresh dough biscuits and imagine Sierra buttering the golden-brown tops the way the kids and I like them.

The laughter of mischievous children fills the air.

My impish crew is trying to be in stealth mode. I pretend full concentration and continue my workout. The kids don’t think I see them in their cartoon-character pajamas, sneaking up on me from the back stairwell. Nia is as pretty as an angel, with a head full of pigtails and quite the intelligent one for her age, and she leads the playful assault, followed by the two-year-old twins.

Vernie, with that dimple-filled smile, can melt me into her wishes with the bat of her hazel eyes. She is just as beautiful as her mother. Joe, Jr., who has his thumb in his mouth, looks more like me every day. I really can’t remember being that bad, though. That kid gets into everything, and Curious should be his middle name. They are hilarious as they follow close behind Nia, giggling the whole time. I bite my lower lip to keep from laughing.

I continue to bounce and pounce on the bag, making sure my back is to them, but watching their shadows cast by the morning sunlight. As soon as they get close enough to the mat, I turn and grab them all in one big tackle, laughing with them as they scream in sweaty surprise.

Nia yells, “Ugh, Daddy, you’re sweaty and stinky!

Let us go!” All the kids scream in unison, laughing the whole time.

I say in my best Darth Vader voice, “Naw, I got y’all now and you will pay for coming into the lair of the stinky monster.”

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We all wrestle on the floor and I see Sierra’s slippers descending the stairwell with an edge of determination.

She proceeds toward us, and even the kids can sense that we are in trouble as she stands, hands on her hips, in her green sweat pants, a Bernice McFadden T-shirt adver-tising the novel,
Sugar,
and her robe open.

“Okay, children, get upstairs to wash your hands.

Breakfast is getting cold.” The children jump from my grasp and follow their mother’s orders like military recruits. Sierra just stands there staring at me—no, through me—with her head tilted to the side as if she’s waiting on me to confess something.

“What?” I ask as I try to get up from my sitting position.

Sierra pushes me back down on the mat. “Don’t

‘what’ me, Mr. Man! You got something that you’ve been hiding from me, Joe? You gambling? Getting paid off? Hit the lottery? On the take? That’s what!” Sierra throws the envelope with money at my chest. “Joe, I have to worry about the temptations of your job, and I need you always to be honest with me. I know that when you are working women throw themselves at you.

Women love men in authority. I push that stuff out of my mind, because I love you. Please don’t take that away from us.”

I catch the envelope in the air with my black boxing glove before it hits me. I remove my gloves and take a moment to organize my thoughts. I have to word this just right or Sierra is going to hit the ceiling. My best strategy is to avoid the conversation right now and try to break this dangerous news to my wife after breakfast, so as not to disturb the household any more than I already have.

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That’s one thing about my baby; she has always trusted me to the highest degree. I should have told her about the money when I got home, but I decided to let her sleep. Damn, I didn’t even know what I was going to say last night, let alone today. The money must have fallen out of my back pants pocket when Sierra was straightening up the room. I’ve never known her to go through my pockets looking for anything. Fate is playing her hand.

How to get her to understand that I owe Chase my life? I can’t tell her that I spent the night with her in Jefferson City when we were on the Missouri River Serial Killer case. We didn’t make love, but we came damn close. I could not make love to Chase because of my commitment and love to my wife. That situation has never come up again and we have been cool with that.

My family is the most important thing to me.

I look Sierra in the eyes with sincerity. “Baby, is it possible for us to talk about this after breakfast? And I promise you, it’s not what you think. I couldn’t do any of those things and you know that.”

She still hasn’t moved a muscle. Sierra shifts her body weight as she folds her arms and studies my face.

“Yeah, we can talk about it after breakfast as long as you tell me
now
where all that money came from.”

“Baby, last night I went out after I got a message off my cell phone that Agent Cheryl Chase was undercover on a dangerous drug case and she felt her life was in danger. I went to see FBI Agent Royal James at Longview Lake. I got the money from him.”

Sierra’s face contorts, she eyes me for any sense of de-ceit and I raise my eyebrows and give her the sad look
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of a puppy scorned. She rolls her eyes, concedes and storms up the stairs, leaving me standing there with the cash. I haven’t seen the pissed side of her in quite a while.

I knew I was going to have to tell her, but I really didn’t think it would be this morning. I’m planning on leaving Sunday night, and if I had any plans on getting some lovin’ before I go, well, I can just throw that right out the window.

“Damn!” I say as I head upstairs to wash my hands and have breakfast with my family.

When I sit at the table, the kids are well aware that Daddy is in trouble with Mommy. They look at both of us and I give them a half-hearted smile to let them know Daddy is on top of things. They aren’t buying it.

Nia just shakes her head. “Daddy, can you say grace so we can eat?” she asks.

So much for sympathy from the children. I grasp Nia’s hand; she is seated to my left. She takes Joe, Jr’s.

hand, and he takes Vernie’s. Sierra takes the hand of Vernie and then mine. As with all meals, we pray in a circle, allowing God to be the centerpiece of our home.

I bow my head and begin the morning prayer:

“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. God, we thank Thee for this food we are about to receive and for the nourishment of our body through Christ’s sake. God bless our African ancestors, all our descendants, our family, extended family, friends, minds, bodies and souls. God bless our hearts and give us wisdom and compassion to serve Your will. Bless our enemies and those who would wish harm upon us.

Thank you, God, for all your gifts, my wife, beautiful children and our parents. Please, God, give my father
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relief from his suffering and grant him salvation when You call him to Your kingdom. Watch over our community and the world. In Your name we pray, Amen.”

I finish praying. Nia says, “Dang, Daddy, why every time you in trouble you want to pray for the whole world and thangs? Can you please pass the eggs before they get cold?”

The twins both look at me and start to laugh. Sierra tilts her head the way women do when they want you to know that even the funny things ain’t funny when you’re holding something from them. I’m sure she just wants to get through this breakfast so she can send the kids off to play and finish our conversation.

I push Nia playfully in the head. “Daddy’s not in trouble. Why you always trying to start some mess?” I put butter and jelly on my biscuits.

“Oh, yes, you are!” the twins and Sierra say in unison.

Sierra’s face frowns up and she places her fork upon her plate, folds her arms and stares at me. She has hardly touched her food. I wink at her. No response. She’s concerned about my welfare. She has always been overpro-tective of me, but has never questioned my character or judgment. Until now.

I can’t win for losing, and I’m losing my appetite very fast. I chew on a piece of bacon and decide, why put off any longer what needs to be done? I’m going to have my whole family on my case, not to mention the harassment I’ll get from Vernon when he finds out what’s going on.

My dad is dying of colon cancer and this thing with Agent Chase has come at a bad time. I have to be as
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Black Rain

straight as possible with everyone. This is something I have to do, even if they perceive it as selfish. I have to do this. Am I tripping or what? Chase is not worth my family. I have to try and get her out as soon as possible, because I’ll never forgive myself if my dad dies and I’m not at his side. I’ll talk this out with him. He’s a man of principle, so I expect him to understand. I gave my word to serve and protect, and Chase is part of the brotherhood of law enforcement.

“Daddy, we’re done. Can we go play now?” Joe, Jr.

asks, with pancake syrup on his chin.

I wipe his chin with my napkin and stroke his head.

“Sure, kids. Your mom and I will be up in a minute to get your clothes and baths ready. We have to be at Grandma and Grandpa’s by two this afternoon.”

The kids rush upstairs as I help Sierra clear the breakfast table. She says nothing until I start to run the dishwater.

“Okay, Mr. Man, now that the kids are upstairs, what’s all the money for? What does the FBI want you to do?” Sierra squints and tilts her head as if she’s trying to look through me for an answer.

I gently take her hand and lead her to the living-room sofa. This is where we have most of our discus-sions. With her small hand in mine I try to explain.

“Baby, when we got home last night there was a message from Cheryl Chase asking for help. She sounded very desperate, like her life depended on it.”

Sierra squirms in her seat and runs the fingers of her free hand through her hair. Then she leans forward with her chin cupped within both hands. “Joe, are you sure?

Did she say that her life was in danger?”

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“Sierra, she would not call my cell and leave a message like that if she wasn’t in serious peril. When you are working undercover it is protocol not to contact anyone close to you. You protect your cover at all costs.

Chase was well-trained and would not be that reckless, and if there was someone else she trusted with her life, she would have called them first.”

“I know Agent James would not have sent her out there alone on a case. What happened to her partner?”

I rub my right eyebrow like I always do when I’m deep in thought. How to answer her without sending her into an instant panic? But Sierra is tough and God helps her handle this.

“FBI Agent Smelley was on assignment with her and Agent James has reason to suspect that he’s met an un-timely death.”

Sierra jumps up. “Untimely death? Hell, Joe, can death ever be timely? What kind of crap is that? Why do they need you to go out in the field? There are other agents they can call on. You’re a Kansas City detective, not a Federal Bureau of Investigations agent.

Let them go after their own!” Sierra pleads while pacing the floor.

I go to her and take her in my arms. “Sierra, this is Chase we’re talking about. If Agent James didn’t think I could do it, he wouldn’t send me. If Chase trusted anyone else, she would not have called.”

Sierra looks up at me and tears form in her almond-brown eyes. “Joe, you’re my husband and a father. Why do you want to risk your life for her? If it was Vernon, I’d be able to understand. He’s your partner. But you don’t owe these people anything.”

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“Baby, Chase has saved my life on at least two occasions. I wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for her.”

Sierra pulls away and walks a few steps with her back to me. She pivots and stares at me intently. “Joe, do you think I’m crazy or something? I see the way Chase looks at you. She wants you. I haven’t said anything to you because you haven’t given me reason to, but I’ve always had my eye on that bitch. I don’t trust the heffa. I would not even give her the time of day if is wasn’t for you.”