by S. J. Braden
While each one of the gangs would have liked to step up and take over the city filling Maden’s shoes, realistically, not one of them had the man power, contacts, or the suppliers to make it happen. The leaders of the Pharaohs decided to try something that had never happened before in the city. They called a meeting of the leadership from each of the gangs and scheduled it for Saturday at eight p.m. at The Shell, an open air amphitheater in Overton Park. This younger generation couldn’t be counted as fans of The Godfather movie since the majority of them had never seen it. Not one of them had the idea the meeting could be a set up in any way. Everyone planned to attend.
The meeting was not as orderly as a corporate boardroom. No one brought along a copy of Robert’s Rules of Order. It was an unseasonably warm and humid night and the leaders hoped the sticky uncomfortable weather wouldn’t spark tempers. As it turned out it was more cordial than any of them anticipated it would be. The fact was, since Maden controlled the entire city for longer than most of the young criminals had been alive, no one group was prepared to take over the city. Among the four larger gangs, boundaries were drawn and territories were set. A discussion began about how to edge out the Maden clan, now that their leader was gone.
After the meeting, each gang returned to their home neighborhoods and hashed out how to persuade Maden’s associates to join their particular gang. Leaders began contacting drug suppliers to determine how much supply they could get and move. Members were out combing the streets looking for the women, to “offer them protection” in Maden’s absence. Everyone was positive there would be some growing pains, in fact, they expected them. There would be territory infringements, supply problems and all the rest of the challenges inherent with drugs and prostitution, but it was a new day in Memphis, and all four groups celebrated the opportunity to grow. Members were already beginning to spend the anticipated increase in income. Secretly, the leaderships celebrated the prospect of being able to flex some muscle in the anticipated gang wars. The atmosphere was reminiscent of the electrically charged setting of new soldiers heading off to war. There was no one to stop them now. Each leader fancied his group as the one that would eventually ascend to the throne of Memphis to be the next powerhouse.
What none of them realized is that there were others with the same ideas. They thought that bringing the four largest groups together and splitting the city would offer the least contentious solution with the lowest body count.
Rodney Maden’s core group of members was over two hundred strong, but the gang leaders had no way of knowing that. They knew they would need to challenge and overcome the Maden family. They underestimated Rodney Maden Jr.’s determination to finally take over his father’s empire, to do things his way, to prove he was a better businessman and tactician than his now captured and incarcerated old man.
And they didn’t anticipate the desires of another man who waited silently in a condo on the bluff, waiting to claim his stake in the power play of Memphis.
Chapter 4
In East Memphis, at the end of a cul-de-sac, the Maden family home was a whirlwind of activity. The home was situated far back from the street and behind heavy iron gates bridging the wide drive in the opening of the red brick wall surrounding the estate. Bee, the matriarch of the family was presiding over the meal preparation and the women in the family. There was a lot of cooking going on, a lot of chatter, and selective pockets of whispering too. This was the first family function since Rodney’s trial began. The men were all out in the backyard in Rodney’s man cave. The large converted workshop, the ultimate man cave served as the patriarch’s meeting place. The men called it their retreat. When the men went to the retreat, the women knew to stay away. The women’s responsibility was to make sure there was plenty of food at the ready whenever the men emerged or called to the house for food to be delivered out to their grown-up club house. On this particular day, the children were not running around the house or the grounds. They were all at another house, where the older cousins looked after the younger ones. Today was about the business and what the family would do now that Rodney would be in jail.
The family had to decide who would take the helm, and what parts of the business they could still operate without more family or close associates ending up in the slammer with Pop. It was a tense and heated discussion in the retreat.
Back in the kitchen, Bee worked among the smells of cooking onions, a pot roast baking in the oven and aromas of chocolate and cinnamon while a cake cooled. Bee chopped vegetables with a mixture of determination and frustration and the girls could hear her angry mutterings from the other room. She talked to no one in particular as the anger spewed from her words.
In the formal dining room, the younger generation was setting the long banquet table for the impending meal. As the girls emptied the wall length built-in china cabinet of fine china, crystal and silverware, they too held a discussion. Amid the clatter of roughly placed dishes, the clink of the crystal as it sharply landed on the table and the tinging of the silver the conversation became impassioned and even angry.
“It’s the twenty-first century for crying out loud, why do they still think we’re only worthy of notice if we’re barefoot and pregnant. Why is our only contribution cooking and making them look good?” complained Rodney’s oldest daughter Valerie.
“Well, I say, we have an opportunity here. We all love Pop, and we know he’s worked hard always to take care of his family and build a legacy for his sons. But Pop’s out of the picture now. Maybe now is the time we make our stand. We can be important to the family business too,” added Valerie’s sister-in law, Xyloh.
“Women are CEO’s and politicians. There’s virtually no field that isn’t run by women now. I think it’s time we show them we’re more than just trophies,” Valerie added as she literally stabbed stalks of fresh cut roses and hydrangeas into the glass vase for the centerpiece.
“The problem with men is they continue to do everything the way it’s always been done. Especially our men. As women I believe we can come up with new ideas, we are more tech savvy and see more opportunities than they know to look for,” Xyloh contributed, her heels pounding the hardwood floor as she paced around the table.
“Yeah, they get all testosteroney and pissy, knock some “sense” into someone and go on. They don’t have the first idea how to eliminate an enemy for good.”
“Yep, you need higher heels, a killer purse and pair of pearls to take over the world these days. I got mine. Are you in?”
“All in! I say we do this!”
“What do you think Bee will say to this? She’s spent fifty years doing what Pop wanted. Whatever he told her to do.”
“Well, let’s ask her. Mom! We’ve decided it’s time the women of this family make a name for ourselves. It’s our turn at bat to take care of the family business. What do you think?”
“I wondered how long it was going to take you girls to put on your big girl panties and follow me. I’m glad you’re planning to come with me on my adventure. Pull up a chair and I will tell you what I’ve already done.”
In a home on the South Bluff, two doors down from Cybil Shepherd’s former home, another family planning session was taking place. Former city councilman Quinn Miller was hosting an afternoon poker party. While chips were anted, cards shuffled and dealt, and drinks poured, the conversation centered around a new business opportunity in Memphis. There were no women at this event. Quinn divorced years ago, his three brothers, and four nephews were who Quinn considered family. While the Miller men did well and were by all accounts successful, they wanted more. And Rodney Maden's incarceration certainly opened up some opportunities for more. Quinn recently lost his seat as a City Councilman and he missed the power and recognition it had afforded him. The first decision on the table was what to do with the remaining Maden family members, so they could claim Memphis as Miller territory.
“I have a little something already in the works. Let me tell you about it boys,” announced Quinn.
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Another family business was hard at work. Twin brothers Winston and Yancey never worked together. In fact, Yancey didn’t live in Memphis, or Tennessee and hadn’t for quite some time. Winston and Yancey didn’t experience the normal twin relationship and hadn’t since high school. These days neither knew anything at all about what the other did. Winston owned a duplex in midtown about equidistant between Rhodes University and the University of Memphis. He could rent out one side of his duplex to college students most of the year. Unfortunately, the tenant he rented to this semester dropped out and left the duplex empty. Winston ran a computer tech company out of his side of the duplex. When Yancey called and said he needed a place to stay, Winston was happy to rent it out to his brother for a while. Of course, Winston didn’t know his brother was building bombs in the duplex. But Yancey didn’t know his brother was hacking computers either.
Chapter 5
Court and Colleen spent a peaceful relaxing weekend together on the yacht cruising down the Mississippi and back again. Saturday was warm and sunny though the water was still too cold for swimming. Court was able to anchor close enough to a sand barge to wade with the dogs for a game of fetch while Colleen sat on the deck in the sun and alternately read a book and watched Court and the dogs romping in the sand. She loved the way the sun cast a sheen on both dog’s coats. It pleased her to know they were healthy and happy. In the evening Court cooked on the grill aboard the boat and they enjoyed a healthy dinner of grilled chicken breast, baked potatoes, steamed vegetables and followed up with a cognac while watching the sunset over the river. Since they had been treated to Colleen’s favorite Tony Bennett from the live concert at Mud Island the night before, Colleen had put Court’s favorite in the CD player and Willie Nelson played in the background as they sat on the deck and enjoyed the breeze coming off the river where they anchored for the night, somewhere near Greenville, Mississippi.
With no trial looming for Colleen to prepare for, they reminisced about their recent trip to Ecuador. Court’s best friend Trent Dumas, had hosted an anniversary party for his love in Cuenca, Abby Grey. Court and Colleen joined the trip to meet Abby and also met Abby’s house mates. Sarah Frances, Abby’s college sorority sister, Lily Grace, Sarah Frances’ college age daughter, and Abby’s mother Anne, as well as Missy and Frankie from New Orleans and Pierce from Virginia. Colleen and Court fell in love with Cuenca and were considering joining the movement of retiring to Ecuador, though retirement was still years away for them. Pierce called the women the Ecuadorian Roses and when they were getting ready to leave Ecuador, Colleen had admitted to wanting to be an Ecuadorian Rose too.
Returning home Sunday afternoon, the relaxed mood from the weekend continued and Colleen realized that ever since the trip to Ecuador she found herself more easily relaxed and she enjoyed her time away from work, as much as the time she was working. She wondered if it was a natural process as one grew closer to retirement age, like parents and teens arguing more as the time for the teens to leave the nest approached or if it had more to do with the slower more tranquil customs she experienced in Ecuador still lingering. Colleen and Court only knew they enjoyed spending relaxed time together every bit as much as they had at any point in their marriage and they were both grateful.
As they were settling in with the dogs to watch a few episodes of NCIS before bed Sunday evening, Court received a phone call.
“Hello?”
“Yes, I would be happy to help. Where?”
“I can be there in thirty minutes. Should I bring a dog? Who’s the officer in charge?”
“Okay, we’re on the way. See you soon.”
“Jake, time to go to work buddy,” Court told his companion. Jake gave Collen a quick lick on her face before launching off the sofa, running to the door and sitting to wait for Court.
Colleen chuckled and wiped at the dog saliva, then turned to Court and her voice was laced with concern as she asked, “What’s going on?”
It was highly unusual for Court to be called at home on a weekend night now that he owned the company and was no longer in police work.
“A maid at one of the hotels called the police. She entered a room and things looked suspicious to her. When the police arrived, they called the bomb squad. It appears someone was making bombs in the room.”
“Aren’t the police handling it? Why do they need you? I don’t mean that to sound like you aren’t the best expert in town, I know you are, but isn’t it unusual for the police to call an outsider to the force?”
“They said there is something uncommon and asked if I would mind coming to look as a consult.”
“Please be careful, Bear. Lucy and I will be waiting up for you and Jake.”
“No, don’t wait up. I don’t know how long I’ll be. It all depends on what’s going on and what’s there. The officer who called was calling for the detective and didn’t give me any details. Go ahead and go to bed, I’ll be careful, I promise. Are you still taking the day off tomorrow?”
“Yes, I am. I was hoping you could too, this weekend has been fun. Hopefully this won’t be too complicated and we can spend the day together tomorrow.”
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said as he kissed her goodbye. He turned to go out the kitchen door and saw Jake dancing at the door waiting to go and he chuckled. He opened the door and headed for his work truck, Jake in the lead.
Chapter 6
As Court and Jake pulled into the circular drive of the Crowne Plaza in downtown Memphis there was a cacophony of red and blue lights. This is not good, one of Memphis’ largest hotels in the biggest tourist area of town covered in police and fire vehicles is certain to have reporters and looky- loos here in short order. As he pulled into the portico an officer approached his vehicle and asked “Are you a registered guest sir?”
“No, I’m Court McAllister and I was asked to consult with the investigation.”
“Wait here,” the officer replied skeptically. He stepped away from the truck and talked into his radio. After just a moment he returned to Court’s window. “Sir, thank you for coming. If you could park over there, you are cleared to report to the seventh floor. Ask for Sergeant Billings.”
“Thank you officer.”
Court parked where instructed. He and Jake proceeded into the hotel, onto the elevator and exited on the seventh floor as instructed, where he met another officer. Court produced his ID and again introduced himself to the officer.
“Thank you for coming, we have a really strange case here, Sir. Sargent Billings is waiting for you in room 710.”
The closer Court got to room 710, the more pungent an odor became that he quickly recognized as chlorine. After repeating the process of introducing himself again at the door of room 710, Court asked, “Sargent Billings, what have you got? You said on the phone the bomb squad was here, why do you need me?”
“Come on in. This is a new one for us. Take a look around and if you wouldn’t mind, give me your best guess as to what we stumbled upon here. The chemistry equipment alerted the maid who told her supervisor who called us. She thought someone was making drugs, I think we have something much more deadly going on here.”
Court entered the room and looked around. The smell of chlorine permeated everything. He felt like he was swimming in a barrel of bleach. Court told Jake to search and released his leash. At first glance he saw the set up on the bathroom counter that had prompted the call. A Bunsen burner, several glass flasks, a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, measuring spoons and cups, tape and pieces of cotton fabric. He understood why the maid was alarmed. There was a room service table sitting near the window. He also noticed three large suitcases and four shipping boxes, but he couldn't see inside and Court knew enough about crime scenes to not open them. Jake walked by the bags, sniffed, seemed interested but did not give an alert signal. Court returned to Billings and told the man, “I understand why she was alarmed, but what I can see doesn’t set off any particular warning bells. Jake doesn’t smell anything. What ma
kes you think there are explosives involved?”
“Let me show you some things. That suitcase over there contains your normal traveler possessions. Clothes, toiletries, etc. No laptop, though. These two suitcases and the shipping boxes are another story altogether.” Billings opened the smaller of the suitcases. The suitcase, the one Jake smelled more attentively, contained two bottles of Nitric acid, three boxes of fuel tablets, three bottles of battery acid, five pounds of aluminum powder, a dozen cheap cell phones, a plastic bag full of spent bullet casings, and a plastic bag full of syringes. The contents were definitely the components to make an explosive, but nothing Jake would have alerted as an explosive.
“Okay, now I know why you called in the bomb squad. What’s in the other bag?”
“That’s the odd part.” Billings opened the large rolling suitcase. Inside were at least a dozen quart containers of a yellow liquid and a half dozen empty containers.
“Uh- oh. Have you tested to see what it is?”
“The smell test. We have to wait to get it back to the lab, but the smell test was as conclusive as I need. I just can’t figure out who or why someone travels with a suitcase full of urine.”
“Someone planning to construct IEDs with Urea Nitrate,” Court replied shaking his head.
“Urea Nitrate? I haven’t heard of that in years. Why travel with urine? Isn’t it easy enough to produce more?”
“It’s become quite popular in the middle east because it’s easy to come by and there’s an unlimited supply. The maker isn’t using his own, which tells me he may have DNA on file, or he’s just smart and cautious. Most likely it’s not even human, I suspect it’s animal.”