In the studio Frank’s heavily made up face appeared genuinely concerned and earnest. “If at some point you want me to arrange a meeting with any law enforcement agency in this city, I will do that in a way that will offer you maximum protection. In any case, Mr. Peoples, give me a call here at the station, name your time and place, and I’ll be there.”
He turned to his smoldering co-anchor. “Mary?”
Staring wide-eyed at Frank, she glanced down at her script, then up at a camera. “Frank, in a surprise move today Wayne County prosecutor Prentis Gant resigned his post effective immediately.”
Watching his desk monitor, Frank checked out the good-looking black man speaking at a podium.
Mary continued: “At a news conference this morning, the 38-year-old Gant said he was leaving only a year and a half after being elected to the job for what he called personal and family reasons.”
Gant’s voice filled the studio: “I’ll be entering private practice, but I hope to remain active in this community and to serve its needs, perhaps in some other capacity.”
On Frank’s monitor the screen showed a short, rotund man in his late 40s appearing at the podium, as Mary read, “Gant will be replaced by long-time assistant prosecutor Peter Canzoneri, who’s been with the county prosecutor’s office for the past twenty-three years. Canzoneri will serve in the post until the elections this November.”
Chapter 16
“And the press in this town, especially the columnists at our papers, where, of course, they do news way more legit than TV, went nuts with this story.”
Under a banner that proclaimed “The Economic Club of Detroit” and flanked by the mayor and other pols on one side and the suits who ran the club on the other, Frank was speaking to a large luncheon audience. He paused at the podium, his eyes closed for a moment, a gesture of vulnerability that some in the huge room thought calculated but that others were sure was pure instinct with Frank.
“Had Tommy been drinking at the time? Was he an alcoholic? Did he have a substance abuse problem? Was he toking a joint out there in the boat? All of it without the slightest foundation in fact. And there was nothing we could do to preserve my son’s memory and set the record straight. So, yes, of course I’m acutely aware of the abuses in this business.”
At a table near the podium, he glimpsed an attractive redhead pulling a ballpoint pen and a pad of yellow sticky notes from her purse. She scribbled something as he continued:
“And certainly not all of us exercise the responsibility that goes with the privilege of having such a powerful voice.”
At the same table, a fellow he occasionally employed as an attorney leaned to the ear of the guy next to him with what could be either a frown or a smile. Frank imagined the whispered message: “Look who’s talking.”
Frank’s voice was ringing now: “Maybe, you say there should be some way to curb or disallow this kind of excess? Some way to insure that we’ll all be a little more civil and considerate to each other. And I say…”
A slight pause, again for dramatic effect. “…absolutely not. The vital importance of the First Amendment is inviolable. The right to speak and publish freely is clearly indispensable to a democratic society. Let me just leave you with one brief quote.”
The attorney leaned to his seatmate again, and this time Frank could almost read his lips: “Here comes ‘good old Jimmy Madison.’”
Frank said, “James Madison, fourth president of the United States, also known as the ‘Father of the Constitution.’ Here’s what old Jimmy Madison said about freedom of the press, and I’m quoting: ‘Knowledge will forever govern ignorance. And a people who mean to be their own governors, must arm themselves with the power knowledge gives. A popular government without popular information or the means of acquiring it, is but a prologue to a farce or a tragedy, or perhaps both.’”
Pausing one last time, he let the thought sink deeper before waving goodbye. “Thanks so much for inviting me. I enjoyed it.”
Applause rose as the redhead and many others around her stood. Frank nodded and waved again, then moved from the podium, pausing briefly to shake hands with the mayor. As a suit took the microphone, the redhead embarked for the steps Frank would use to come down from the dais.
“That’s it folks,” said the suit. “We’re running late, so thanks to Frank for his inspiration, and we’ll see you all next week.”
As Frank descended the steps, the woman put her hand on his arm. “Hi, Frank, I’m Letty Pell.”
“Well, hello, Letty Pell. I love your name.” His smile said he also liked the rest of Letty.
“Well, I loved your speech, and I’d love to see you sometime to further discuss all the important things you talked about today.” She pressed the yellow sticky note into the palm of his hand. “Here’s my number. I’ll be waiting for your call.”
Then, after offering a mischievous smile, Letty leaned close to say softly, “And I give incredible head.”
He glanced at his hand and then at her perfect smiling mouth. “Well, thanks, Letty. It’s so nice to meet you.”
Letty with a wink: “Call me.”
As Frank moved with the rest of the crowd toward the exits, the attorney put an arm around his shoulder.
“What’d she say, Frank?”
“She says she gives great head.”
“You bullshitter.”
“I swear to god, Jimmy. I love these liberated women.”
Jim Goodman nodded with a smile. “Hey, enough with James Madison.”
“So you’re my attorney, and you’ve heard it too many times. Most people haven’t. By the way, Jimmy, what do you hear about this city’s august Recorder’s Court? We got any judges whose palms might be greased?”
“Oh, I’ve heard stories...”
“About whom?”
“Frank, it’s just rumor and hearsay.”
“Judge Billy?”
“O’Bryan?” Jim Goodman smiled and shrugged in a way that could mean yes or no.
Chapter 17
The newsroom was quiet, almost empty after the newscast. Francine Rickey sat in front of a TV set watching Dan Rather while eating a sandwich. When Frank strolled through with a light step reflecting a good mood, he spoke in a dead-on imitation of Rather. “Francine...Good work today.”
The startled young woman seemed uncertain whether Frank was serious. “Oh, hi, Frank. You were great.”
He swapped the Rather bit for mock conceit. “Frankie, truthfully I’m always great. But seriously your writing today was excellent. Sharp, crisp, evocative yet always to the point. And that kicker about the two-headed dog had some real wit to it.”
Francine was nearly speechless. “Ah, I really, ah, appreciate that, Frank.”
“Hey, keep up the great work. But why are you sitting here all alone eating out of a bag? Why aren’t you out with your boyfriend having a real dinner?”
She put the sandwich down, half-embarrassed. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Oh, I can’t believe that. Great lookin’ gal like you.”
Francine picked up her sandwich again. “It’s sad but true, Frank.”
Grinning, Frank moved on. “Well, I’ll tell you what, Frankie. My wife ever keeps her promise and divorces me? I’ll marry you. How’s that sound?”
Francine smiled wryly. “Sounds great, Frank.”
Chapter 18
There was still good daylight left on this balmy evening when he spotted Letty Pell waiting on Washington Boulevard in front of an office building. In the red Viper with the top down Frank stopped in front of her.
“Hey, how about a lift, gorgeous?”
With a lusty smile, Letty slipped into the seat next to Frank. “I’m so pleased you called.” As if they were old lovers, she moved close and gave him a long, warm kiss on the mouth.
When she finished, he was already stirred. “Gees, you are one friendly girl.”
Letty dropped her eyes and then a hand to his warm lap. “Oh, my, we’ll ha
ve to do something about this very soon.”
“We will?”
“Oh, you bet. I’ve been thinking about this all afternoon.”
An angry horn came from a car behind. They looked around to find the driver with his hands up off the wheel, mouthing something unpleasant. Frank laughed and drove off.
Letty asked, “Where we going?”
“Little place I know. Nothing special, but it’s quiet and kinda charming.”
With her hand in his lap again: “Sounds romantic.”
As Frank moved the convertible through medium traffic on Michigan Avenue, other motorists could see Letty’s pretty red head disappear into Frank’s lap, and then bob up again with a smile and a laugh. The best view was from the cab of a furniture delivery truck moving up in the lane next to the Viper. From the truck’s raised cab both the driver and his partner were watching with considerable interest.
The driver finally gave them a blast on the horn, and the other guy rolled down his window and yelled, “Hey, ain’t that you, Frank?”
Letty bobbed up, and Frank glanced back and shook his head.
“Hell, yes, it’s you. Hey, man, how’s she doin’?”
His head back with a laugh, Frank gunned the Viper ahead.
Letty giggled. “You always attract so much attention?”
Frank shrugged. “Comes with the job. At least with a gorgeous red head in the car.”
Chapter 19
Though the hour was earlier this time, at Marvin’s Bar there was only a sparse crowd. Jackson was again behind the bar, and Myra, an overweight waitress with a limp, took her good, sweet time serving two booths and a table. When Frank and Letty entered looking wind-blown, they headed for an empty booth half-way back.
Letty was obviously trying to spot the place’s charm as Frank called out, “Jackson, how you doin’?”
“Okay, Frank. We seen you tonight, and I was tellin’ everybody you was in here. Nobody believe it.”
“You want an autographed photo to put over the bar? That way they’ll have to believe.”
“That would be good, Frank. Thanks.”
Letty slid into the booth as Frank said, “No problem, man. You know, I’ve been telling the lady here that Marvin’s has the best burgers in town.”
“They ain’t that good, miss. But if you’re hungry, we can probably take care of you.”
Frank sat across from Letty. “Jackson here is the world’s last honest man.”
Letty took Frank’s hand. “Well, Jackson, you have a charming little place here.”
“Well, that ain’t true neither, ma’am, but we thank you for sayin’ it.”
Letty laughed, and by now Myra had limped up to the booth.
“Hello, I’m Myra, and I’ll be your server this evening.”
Frank chuckled. “Hey, Myra. We’ll each have a burger deluxe, and I’ll have a Bud Lite.”
Letty said, “Me too.”
“You too what?” snarled Myra.
Letty laughed again, this time a lusty peal. “I’ll have a Bud Lite.”
Limping off Myra screamed, “Two Bud Lites!”
Frank said, “I told you, they treat me like royalty in here.”
Jackson had moved around from behind the bar to the booth. “Frank, that guy I run outta here when you was here before?”
“Yeah?”
“Name is Byrd. Randal Byrd.”
“Bird, as in cuckoo?”
“Yeah, Byrd with a Y.”
“Randal Byrd, B-Y-R-D.”
“Right. He come in again and I carded him. Said he don’t look 21.”
“How’d he take it?”
Jackson was heading back behind the bar again. “He was pissed. But he wanted a drink more than he didn’t want to be carded.”
With Frank and Jackson talking, a bearded, heavy-set fellow had moved from the back of the bar and was standing now directly in front of Frank. He was wearing a T-shirt that strained to contain his belly. The shirt said, “I Like Tits.”
Frank looked up, read the shirt and said, “Can I help you, pal?”
“Yeah, Frank, you could retire.”
“Retire, eh?”
“Yeah, man, then I wouldn’t have to watch your fuckin’ face on TV.”
Frank glanced at Letty, telling her with a brow lift that he’d been through this a million times. Then he said, “You know, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Name’s Merle.”
“Well, Merle, why not turn the dial?”
Merle smirked and swayed, glancing back at his two buddies watching avidly at the pool table. “I don’t have to turn the fuckin’ dial. I don’t never watch your ass anyways.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem? I’ll tell you what the problem is. You, Frank. You’re the fuckin’ problem. You don’t never give just the straight news like people want. You always gotta put your fuckin’ two cents worth in. And that’s about all it’s worth, is two cents.”
“So you’d like a little more journalistic objectivity.”
“No, I’d like a lot less Frank on TV.”
“Well, Merle, but how do you know all this if you never watch me?”
“See, right there, that’s your problem. You’re a smart ass. I don’t have to watch you. Everybody knows this shit. Like tonight talkin’ about that car bomb like you know all this stuff, like it’s drug-related, and you don’t know shit.”
Frank’s tone remained reasonable and friendly. “So, Merle, you know something about it?”
“I don’t know nothin’ about it. But I’m not on TV like you, actin’ like I do.”
Behind Merle Frank spotted Randal Byrd walking into the bar. Byrd saw Frank at about the same time, and their eyes locked. After a second Frank called out: “Hey, Randal Byrd, let’s talk.”
Byrd froze for an instant, glanced at Jackson, then wheeled out of the bar. Quickly on his feet, Frank did a brief dance with Merle, then sprinted for the door.
Crossing the dark street in front of the bar, Byrd ran hard, spinning around a car that nearly hit him as it screeched to a halt. As Frank reached the street, Byrd was disappearing into an alley on the other side. Dodging traffic, Frank followed, but when he finally entered the alley, there was no sign of Byrd.
Back inside the bar, he found Jackson sitting with Letty. Obviously in Frank’s absence the bartender had carefully outlined Merle’s options for him. When Frank passed his table, the man who loved tits barely gave him a glance.
Jackson struggled out of the booth as Frank arrived. “Any luck, Frank?”
“Naw, must have slithered down some rat hole.”
“Who was that?” asked Letty without a smile now.
Frank looked up suddenly feeling weary. “Oh, just a little rodent who gave me trouble the last time in here.”
“Well, you look exhausted. We need to eat our burgers and find a place for you to lie down.” She tilted her head and gave him a wink.
Giving her one back, he nodded. “Yeah, I was up at six this morning, writing.” He slipped his vial of little reds out of his breast pocket, popped one out and swallowed it. “You want a little extra energy?”
She smiled and shook her head. He swallowed some beer and put the pills away, knowing that he’d be quietly boasting in a few seconds. There was clearly no need to with this gal. So was he that insecure, or did he just want an excuse in case his performance later was less than sterling?
“Up at six! What are you writing?” She was already impressed.
He blew smoke at the dingy ceiling. “Oh, it’s a labor of love, mostly. I’m writing a history of the small Belgian community in this city. Probably about four people outside my family will read it, but I’ve been interviewing folks of my grandfather’s and father’s generations for a couple years now, and I’m telling their tales.”
He brightened as talked about this, as he usually did. “Really, their stories are incredible, the ones who came just after the turn of the century. Like
my grandfather who arrived from Antwerp at the age of 16 with a buck and a quarter in his pocket. Unbelievable what they went through and how they made it.”
Letty took his hand in both of hers. “Well, you’ve already got me hooked. I’ll be reader number five.”
Chapter 20
On a gorgeous Sunday evening Frank leaned against a wood piling on his dock next to the speedboat and stared at the big orange sun setting over the mirror-like lake. The familiar whine and slap of the screen door at the back of the house called to him, and he turned to find his 19-year-old daughter walking across the large deck. Jennie waved, smiled and moved down the steps to a lawn that sloped gracefully to the lake. She was a pretty blond with a cute figure in her shorts-over-leotard, and she moved with her mother’s sly swing of the hips.
“Hi, Daddy.”
“Hello, baby.”
Nestling to him, she kissed him on the cheek. “How’s my favorite dad?”
He puts his arms around her, then leaned back to look into her narrowed blue eyes. “I’m fine, sweetie, how about you?”
“Fine.”
“Little hung over this morning? You seemed a tad under the weather.”
“Oh, maybe just a little. But I ran it off.”
“Keep ‘em little, and you’ll be fine.”
Jennie frowned and pushed lightly away from him. “God, Daddy, don’t you start on me.”
“Start what?”
“Oh, Mom’s been on my case like crazy.”
“About?”
“About drinking and carousing—just normal stuff.”
Frank gave her a shocked look. “You’re carousing?”
She gave him a small smile. “A little.”
“Honey, you know your mom. She’s just a worry-wart who loves you to pieces.” He took her hand, and together they walked down the dock. At the end they stood and gazed at the sun’s perfect reflection on the lake.
Always the touchy-feely one in the family, Jennie snuggled up to him again and spoke softly: “What was all the yelling about?”
The Car Bomb (The detroit im dying Trilogy, Book 1) Page 4