War (19 page)

              “Jon-” Jackson says.

              “Jax,” Elise says as she rushes over to her husband. “Let’s go.”

              “I’m not going a damn place without my daughter.”

              Mac strolls over to Danielle as she places her orange juice glass on a food tray off to the side. He lifts her out of her bed, grabbing her robe from off a chair nearby and drapes it over her as he walks her to her father. Jackson takes Danielle as Elise rushes them out the room. Everyone else in the room looks confused.

              And Mac drops his smile.

              “Get out,” he says to everyone and no one in particular. Dena rushes over and eases Sunday out of Winnie’s hands before rushing out of the room. Everyone else hurries after her, out the door. Everyone but Adam. He’s still standing by Matt.

              Now Jon, Marlon, Matt and Demetrius are confused. They all look at each other.

              Whop!

Cadence.

Cadence Blair.

Cadence Elliott Blair delivers the first blow. Demetrius, completely taken off guard, falls back into a table, knocking over about a dozen flower vases. They all come crashing to the ground. Cadence starts to deliver a round of lethal blows to Demetrius who’s struggling to get on his feet. Too much water. Too much glass. Jacob grabs Marla out of the way and tosses her off to the side with Winnie. Jon’s ready. He throws the first blow at Jake. Jacob trips up and nearly falls back. Jon’s on him now. Bop! Bop! Bop! One after the other. Marla starts screaming for Jon to stop. Jacob gains his balance and starts delivering blows. Jon and Jacob exchange blow for blow, no clear winner in sight yet. Both giving as good as they’re getting. Jasmine runs into the bedroom of Danielle’s hospital suite. Rena grabs Marla and Winnie and they run to the bedroom too, sliding, slipping on glass and water, stopping each other’s falls before they hit the ground. Mac coolly grabs hold of them, helping them all to the bedroom, lest they hurt themselves.

“Careful, baby,” he says to Marla who nearly takes a nasty fall. He grabs hold of her arm and walks her to the room. Matt runs to break up Jon and Jacob’s fight. Adam grabs him. He’s not there to fight Matt, he’s there to keep Matt
out
the fight. Matt and Adam struggle. Marlon sees this, takes it as Matt fighting Adam and heads over to them. I rush up behind Marlon, pull him onto the ground by his neck and start to deliver the blows. I hate to fight the man, considering our wives are best friends, but in times of war… He throws blows back, struggling to get up from the ground.

Malcolm’s in the center of it all. Watching it happen. He gets a pass today. Today’s the birth of his only daughter. Wouldn’t want to taint the day by getting banged up. Danielle’s family is coming to town soon from Baton Rouge, he must look his best.

And the brawl continues for a full minute. Marlon’s on his feet now and we’re going blow for blow. Demetrius is bleeding, most likely bits of glass stuck in his legs, arms, face. Cadence is ripping him to pieces. Cadence is a lover, not a fighter. But nobody fucks with his little brother. Jon and Jacob are still going blow for blow. Adam is now trying to drag Matt to the door. He’s trying to get him out of here before the-

BOOM! The undercovers bust through the door. Before they can say a word…WHOP! Matt’s instincts kick in. He turns and floors one of them. I’ll be damned.

Malcolm drops his head back and closes his eyes.

MALCOLM

“You have the right to remain silent.”

“Malcolm, do something!” Rena screams at me inside of the hospital’s suite.

There were eight undercover cops in total. These are the cops in Boston that I turn to when I’m faced with a dilemma: sealing the record of a wayward child, sealing the record of a domestic dispute, sealing the record of Winnie Blair. All of them are a part of the Special Force Team of Boston undercovers who hope and pray to make it into the Secret Service one day. Only eight cops are allotted to the Special Force Team at a time and the faces change each year as some get in my good graces and are recommended for their dream job: Secret Service Agent. The real undercover cops in America. Each Special Force undercover cop is just waiting for their turn. They’re waiting for me to say ‘job well done, the President will see you now.’ Each is handpicked by the Chief of Police and placed on the Special Force Team to assist in the ‘delicate matters of Boston’s leading citizens who need private care in order to receive fair treatment that may otherwise be violated due to their elevated social status.’

No one outside of the Special Force Team knows what in the hell special force even means. But the undercovers who belong to it do. It means a higher salary partially funded by the leading citizens they help. It means entry into an ideal job, somewhere in Washington DC, somewhere diving on top of Presidents to block a bullet, somewhere that offers a nice government pension, somewhere where they can feel important, somewhere where they can feel like a part of history.

Therefore, they like doing favors for me, in particular, the lead counsel of President Carlo Rossi. Well, with the exception of the one arresting Matt. I’ve never seen this undercover before and I can tell that he doesn’t understand the magnitude of what he’s doing. His comrades tried to talk him out arresting Matt but the rebel undercover would hear none of it. His colleagues left him alone; they wanted nothing to do with the arrest. Plus, they’re all in competition with each other to be the next man recommended for the Secret Service. The rebel undercover is just one less competitor they have to worry about. They’re allowing him to dig his own grave. Smart men. Currently, three smart undercovers are gone, escorting Jon, Marlon and Demetrius to Police Station 83, Nat following behind them in his truck. The other four smart undercovers are taking pictures of the scene. The broken glass. The spilled water. The pink roses and yellow lilies scattered on the floor. This is a crime scene. The rebel undercover continues to read Matt his rights.

“Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

“Malcolm!” Rena yells. “I swear to God. Do something!”

“I will, baby. Relax,” I say as I grab my cell out of my pocket to call the chief of police.

“Malcolm,” Winnie says as she rubs Rena’s back. “Fix this. Now.”

“You have the right to an attorney.”

“I’ll be there by the time you get there,” Jacob says to Matt before he rushes out the door.

“If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”

“Malcolm!” Rena screams as she rushes over and shoves me in the chest. “Do something!” The police chief’s phone rings.

“I’ll handle it Rena,” I say to her.

“I can’t believe this,” Jasmine says as she puts a hand to her heart and sits on a couch. “What do I do now, Malcolm? I don’t know anything about prison.”

“He’s not in prison, Jasmine. Relax,” I tell her.

“Blair,” Police Chief Bryans, says as he answers his phone. Chief Bryan. The first black police chief in Boston’s history. He’s tough, fair, bi-partisan and a Harvard law grad who decided to enforce the law instead of defend it. At 6’4” his stature is intimidating, his scowl terrifies Boston kids and peers bow to him like he’s the Queen of England. He’s clean, not a spec on his record. He’s a family man, been married to his wife, Mahogany, for twenty-one years. A devout Catholic, he has four sons and one daughter with whom he eats dinner every night and attends Sunday Mass every week. This family man wasn’t thrilled with the fact that there was a group of men creating a scene the day my only daughter was born.

“Chief, we’ve got a problem.”

“Who is it?” he asks in his standard baritone voice.

“What’s your name?” I say to the undercover arresting Matt. He squints his eyes at me, gives me a ‘and who the fuck are you’ look and looks away.

“Do you understand the rights I’ve just read to you?” he asks Matt. “With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?”

“No. And yeah,” Matt says before clenching his jaw.

I’m not a very humble man, I have to admit that. I’ve had a slight sense of entitlement since the doctor announced ‘it’s another boy.’ It wasn’t because I was born a Blair. It was because I was born Malcolm. I love being a Blair, but honestly, being Malcolm is good enough for me. So when someone eyes me with a look of indifference, it makes me want to ask ‘do you know who I am?’ but that would be rude. That would be pretentious. But let’s face it, my public persona, Attorney Blair, is built on a dose of humility that I simply wasn’t born with.

Let’s look at the facts here: I was seventeen years old when I saw a redheaded sixteen-year-old, while sitting beside a brunette I was fucking, and decided that the redhead would one day be mine. The nerve of me. I told this redhead she would be standing beside me on The Hill, and at that moment, she didn’t even know who I was. I left her, waited twelve years and then came back for her. Oh, you’re married? No problem. Got a kid? Even better. I love kids. I’ll treat him like my own. Is he a redhead? No? No problem. I’ll give you one some day. Your husband? No worries, I’ll take care of him. But that’s Malcolm.

Malcolm would walk over to this stringy ass blond arresting Matt, look down at him and dare him to try me. But Attorney Blair has to behave with the eloquence attributed to his position within Boston society and the inner circle of the President of the United States.

“You’ve got a new kid working undercover?” I say to the Chief.

“Yeah, Detective Pauls. Why, he causing problems?”

“I think he may have forgotten who he’s here for.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Arresting the wrong man.”

“Have the other three been arrested?”

“Already down in the squad cars.”

“Who’s the guy he’s got in cuffs now?”

“A friend.”

“Alright. Either you or Jake meet me at the jail in an hour.”

“Jake’s already on his way.”

“I’ll see him there.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Oh, and Malcolm.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Pauls is a good kid. Been on the force for about a year. A little over eager but dependable. Secret Service hopeful; loyal to a tee. Just joined the Special Force Team so this is his first bust, just wanted him to get some practice. Get to know you and what you expect of him. Now that I’m thinking of it, I should have introduced you two before this. Mistake on my part. Anyway, I’ll probably go easy on him this time. Next time—if there is a next time—it’s a different story.”

“No problem. Thank you, sir.” I almost don’t want to tell Rena the news. Marlon will be booked. He’ll be saved, but he’ll be booked. I end the call and put my cell in my pocket.

“So?” Rena asks, her eyes wide, her hands shaking as she brushes her hair out of her face and then smooth over her red dress.

“Let’s go, buddy,” the rebel undercover says as he turns Matt around to lead him out of the hospital door. Rena’s face snaps from worry to rage.

“You better watch your fucking back!” Rena screams out as she charges after him.

“Rena!” Winnie yells, wrapping her arms around Rena to hold her back.

“Are you threatening me?” The Rebel asks.

I grab Rena from Winnie and pull her to me, wrapping my arms around her.

“Rena…” Matt says as he looks at her. He shakes his head no. “The kids.”

“I’ll take care of this, Rena,” I say to her. “I promise. I’ll take care of this.” And Rena shakes in my arms as she watches Matt leave the room.

DEMETRIUS

              Goddamn. We walked right into their trap.             

Over the weekend, I went back home to Charleston since we all decided that it would be best to lay low until Danielle had her baby. Just wanted a good time to start a war. Plus, I had yet to come up with nothing that validated Marlon’s claim that Jacob was sleeping with his wife. So, I went back home to Sammie and the kids, stayed there for a couple of days, checked in with my constituents, the mayor and a few state senators, and then flew Sammie and the kids up to DC this morning. I have to be back on The Hill by Monday, Congress is in session. Sammie and our kids are at our loft in Georgetown waiting for me to come back. I told Sammie that I was in Boston trying to work on a new bill and I needed the help of a few politicos here. She didn’t question it. I left. Damn, I wish I would have stayed there with my woman.

Marlon, Jon and I were escorted through the officer entrance of the jail. We were privately booked in one of their break rooms where we had our pictures taken and our fingerprints stamped. We were not, however, asked to surrender or remove our personal belongings. Our button-ups, slacks, Rolexes and wallets were fine. We were simply escorted by Officer Wise directly into the police chief’s office, an office as big as a moderately priced condo. Boston keeps their officials comfortable. Sitting here now, I’m assuming that Boston’s chief of police is black, judging from the pictures he has around his office. He’s in all of them, posing with various heavy-hitters in the New England scene. As the three of us sit on couches surrounding a coffee table—quiet, livid, inwardly blaming each other for what happened—we hear the clicking of the wall clock’s second hand. I now have a chance to really look at the pictures along the walls and wood tables.