by Gary Sapp
want, and they prepare to sacrifice whatever they feel is necessary, even their very souls, to get what they want.”
“I haven’t sacrificed anything, Mayor. Maybe you’re mistaken. Maybe it was a mistake for you to ask me here—“
“We are all in the path of darker days, Thomas. And although it hasn’t rained in Atlanta in over a year, the storm clouds are upon us. I can smell them. I can feel them.”
“Are you talking about the Whirlwind?”
“Yes,” She said. “The Whirlwind may be upon us all.” Mayor Johnson found her indoor voice where she left it minutes before. “And if an immoral man must be our beacon of light before the approaching storm then so be it. You are the truth teller. You are our beacon of light.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Yes, you do, Thomas. You’ve taught me, you’ve taught all of us in your books and on your blogs. I want you to think Thomas. I want you to truly understand what I need from you.”
“Where Thomas Pepper went, the truth was never far behind.” He said. An old lover had christened him with the stupid phrase after he promised her that would give her an intense orgasm during their lovemaking …and hence, had given his pet phrase that would become his calling card that he now always signed off on his blogs with.
Mayor Johnson was struggling for breath. “Truth…”
“You want the truth about who poisoned you.”
She shook her head. He still wasn’t getting it. “All of this is much bigger than just about me. I knew that there were inherent risks when I took the mark, when I became of member of the Circle, the governing body of A House in Chains.”
And for the first time Thomas noticed the he saw a tattoo of a chain on the lowest part of her neck. She was wearing the mark. Thomas thought long and hard before he spoke again.
“There are three questions that every Person of Color in this country wants to know.” He said with renewed confidence.
“What are they, Thomas?”
“Who killed President Adolphus Sweet?” Four years after the president’s murder, and the second largest investigation in American History behind the 911 attacks, still had brought no one to justice for firing the shot that killed the first Black president.
Mayor Johnson nodded.
After another minute Thomas said, “Who is the Caretaker?” No one knew if the first leader of Pandora had gone into seclusion years earlier or was dead. He was said to be a man without feeling or remorse.
Mayor Johnson nodded once again.
Finally, Thomas Pepper said, “And what is the Whirlwind?” Rumor said that the Caretaker had birthed an ingenious, diabolical plan to destroy People of Color before he went into hiding or before he died. Many Americans, including Thomas Pepper believed Serena Tennyson knew what this plan was.
Mayor Johnson nodded one final time, but instead of relaxing her body, she pressed all of her weight on her knuckles and gazed long and hard at Thomas, ignoring everyone else in the room including both her doctor and her husband who were pleading with her to stop this now.
“All that I ask from you, Thomas Pepper, is for the truth, nothing more.” After she mouthed her last statement, Mayor Johnson lay flat on her back at last. Thomas stood still, unable to move as he had when he first was asked by the mayor to approach her bed. She surprised him by adding, “If you help me, you will gain enemies on both sides of this conflict. They both will harass you. They will threaten you. They may even kill you. Yes, Thomas, they may try and kill you.”
“I understand.” And he hoped he truly did understand what he was signing up for. “You have my word, Mayor that I will find the answers to your three questions, or die trying.”
She smiled one final time. And Thomas Pepper knew it was that pictorial of her that he would someday take to his own grave.
Mayor Ernestine Johnson’s was engulfed in a final spasm that yanked, twisted…and ultimately broke her body and her spirit and she died a very a loud, a very violent death.
Doctor Gregory Cavetti cursed loud enough to alert security.
Antonio Johnson was proven to be a liar after all, for he finally did cry.
And Thomas Pepper exited the room a shaken man, but a man with a mission and a promise to keep nonetheless.
Where ever Thomas Pepper went, he hoped the truth was never far behind.
Angel
Outside the Blanche Coffee and Pancake House in Griffin, Georgia, two FBI agents were securing the buildings perimeter, pretending to be a vacationing couple holding hands, while out on an early morning stroll. 50 feet closer, a third agent lit a cigarette and leaned back against a light pole. Inside the restaurant, a fourth agent scooped the last morning newspaper out of the machine and secured it under his arm pit.
Dr. Angel Hicks-Dupree knew that the Blanche Coffee and Pancake House had survived a fire that gutted its infrastructure in the late 1960’s, a change of ownership 1982 when the founder died of Lupus, numerous recessions, and the Great Recession of the last few years. But will it survive a federal incursion this morning?
She watched a fifth agent enter the premises, order breakfast at the register, and angle towards where she sat alone. It was far too early in the morning to play hide and seek with the feds, even one as good looking as this one, so she crossed one pants leg over the other and waited for him to approach her booth. She knew it was also far too early for most human beings to pour gin into their coffee…so she doubled the content in her cup to improve her odds of getting it right.
Dr. Angel Hicks Dupree:
She was a curvy brunette in her mid-thirties. She had heavily arched brows curved above her big brown eyes. She wore rose colored lipstick over exaggerated thick lips and walked with a limp that grew more pronounced as she stressed. Angel’s lips were a gift from a former lover who had had bottomless pockets and an erotic imagination. The limp was the result of brief but wicked bout of polio when she was ten. She wore a pungent fragrance of perfume to douse the smell of alcohol rising up out of her pores.
“Dr. Hick-Dupree, my name is Special Agent Nicholas Sheridan of The Federal Bureau of Investigation.” He said, as way of greeting her. “Would you mind if I share this booth with you?”
Angel flashed him a wicked, playful smile.
Special Agent Nicholas Sheridan:
He was of medium height and weight, tanned to a tone that Angel wondered where his previous assignment had been, clean shaven, and had grayed early in life and now wore the snowcapped hairdo like it was a badge of honor. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ban. Angel kept the wickedly playful smile on her thick lips for a bit longer than she usually would, the one she reserved for attractive me she could sleep with, but probably would not.
“It’s your ass.” And a fine one, she did not add. And just as Sheridan’s backside hit the chair she did say, “Champion didn’t tell me where he was going.”
“Excuse me?”
Angel drank from her coffee cup for a taste of her gin laced liquid courage. “You and your people have been out searching for Joseph Champion. Whatever lead you may have had has led you here.”
Sheridan exhaled and arched a bushy brow in curiosity. “What gave us away?”
“You people are always so busy. I’m sure you don’t have enough time for me to explain.”
He glanced at his watch. “Damn. You are probably right, but I’m curious anyway.”
Angel explained the agent’s faulty positioning before the waitress arrived at the booth with Sheridan’s cup of coffee, with packs of cream and sugar in a saucer. She automatically started to refill Angel’s cup but the doctor shook her head and thanked her all the same.
“So are you going to explain to me what your involvement with a federal fugitive might be, Doctor? Joseph Champion is a person of interest in the shooting of President Adolphus Sweet. He is the most wanted man in the world. ”
“Alright, Nicholas, where do I begin?” She asked, and stole another sip of her drink. “Joseph has made overtures about turning himself o
ver to your people. He told me that he is prepared to produce prudent and specific information on Serena Tennyson’s strategies and Pandora movements.”
“Champion’s made these so called overtures before.” Sheridan said with a trail of bitterness in his voice.
“He wants to turn himself in. He told me that.”
“Which brings me to my next question, Doctor?” Sheridan said. “Why did he come here? Forgive me, but you are living here in the middle of nowhere in South Central Georgia.”
“Joseph and I share ties, Nicholas. Check your records. We were both recruited and became card carrying members of Pandora. It didn’t take long for me to realize what madness Serena is capable of. I resigned after only a few months. Joseph Champion wasn’t as bright.”
Sheridan smiled. She recognized the gesture for what it was: She’d saved him some time and energy for having to extract that information, that he should have already had filed on from her.
“Okay, then back to my original line of questioning, Doctor, If Joseph Champion really wants to do the right thing and turn himself in to the authorities, then why won’t he?”
“He doesn’t think you can protect him.”
The waitress had returned with Sheridan’s breakfast of bacon and eggs cooked over easy. Sheridan excused himself and took three bites of the eggs, and a single bite of the crispy bacon, wiped his mouth, and urged Angel to go on.
“There honestly isn’t much to tell, Nicholas,” She said. “He called me on my cell at my practice