Justice Black: The Game Never Ends

by Gartia Bansah

  “Well, here walks the man of the hour.” Caldwell grunted as Mayor Tevis Mitchell drove up with his entourage in tow.

  Justice merely frowned. The mayor was good for photo opportunities.

  “Handle the mayor, Lane.”

  BrightTown’s fire marshal, Dan Williams, signaled to Justice at the same time.

  Justice’s expression was unreadable as he watched Dan walk toward him.

  A few seconds later, there were gunshots.

  “Get down!” Justice shouted to Dan as he pushed him to the ground.

  With Caldwell at his side, Justice plowed through the crowd of reporters in the direction of the gunshots and the sound of cans overturning in the grocery store alley. Justice could hear Lane shouting at the mayor in the background. No one was in the alley. There was nothing but an old mattress, several containers of food, beer cans and used syringes strewn around the place, and a Dumpster overloaded with trash. A jacket had snagged on the alley wall where someone had jumped over it.

  “Bag that jacket,” Justice said to Caldwell. On the ground lay three rifle casings. “Take these too.” Justice very agilely jumped over the wall and looked into the vacant lot. Nothing. Lane was swearing when he and a rookie officer reached the alley.

  Obviously the officer was either too excited or his brains got lost in the crowd because, without gloves, he picked up several items.

  “Son of a gun.” Caldwell, in disbelief, turned to Justice.

  Justice shouted, “Get the hell out of here, now!”

  The officer started to explain, but one look at Justice told him that was a bad idea. Instead he left.

  “Son,” Lane added as he passed by, “I think this well may be your last day in the field. Wouldn’t that be your wildest guess?”

  chapter

  THREE

  Between her job as head of WhiteFlower’s St. Sullivan’s Psychiatry Department and running her practice, Eastermann & Associates, Dr. Wilhelmenia Isadore Eastermann, called Wil by her friends, barely had time for herself. Long, late work hours that usually involved working on demand with Justice and with the local sheriff’s department were her routine, and that broke her rule: “Don’t be a tit to the whole world. You are not a cow.” But Wil knew she would do whatever it took to help.

  The need for mental health care had become so demanding that Wil had branched her office to BrightTown, which was forty-five minutes away from WhiteFlower. BrightTown saw a steady growth of people escaping the larger cities, bringing their problems along. She finally convinced her friend Dr. Kaitlyn Adeena Gianna Joseph to join her as chief of psychology for the BrightTown Clinic. She was happy she could finally fire those elves that refused to come deep in the night to finish the work.

  To make up for a missed early-morning workout, Wil took the stairs. Shifting her usual load of paperwork to one hip, she entered the stairwell only to be greeted by Steve Winncott.

  “Great,” she mumbled, “I’m too tired for early-morning sarcasm, which this man will certainly give.”

  “Dr. Eastermann.” Steve purposely looked at his watch. “What a surprise running into you this time of day. Are you leaving already?”

  “Steve, how are you? Yes, I am leaving at five twenty-two. Are you coming in?”

  A few pensive moments passed as he took in the finely built woman with the features of an exotic queen. He liked her looks. She was tall and graceful and had beautiful bronze skin with large, expressive eyes and full, luscious lips. But her tongue was sharp, and she was too proud. The hospital staff loved her. Admittedly, he understood why. She was brilliant as head of psychiatry and hired only the best staff. Nonetheless, Dr. Eastermann was far too brazen for his taste.

  “Oh no, I’ve been here since five o’clock this morning. Got in some early-morning shooting practice at the range. I didn’t see you there. You’ve given it up?” He held back for a moment and didn’t wait for an answer. “By the way, Dr. Eastermann, how’s your brother, Elrod?” Steve took complete advantage of any opportunity to deflate the great Dr. Eastermann.

  The bite was in his remark. She expected nothing less and couldn’t understand why he was so competitive with her in everything; they were not enemies or friends. “He’s great. Thank you for asking.”

  “You know, Dr. Eastermann, everyone was shocked and surprised to learn Elrod Duncan was your brother. After all he was frequently admitted for depression. Why didn’t you tell us?”

  Professional or not, she had her limits. Wil squared her shoulders; there was no way she would take that from him. Elrod didn’t deserve Steve’s criticism. What had happened to him wasn’t his fault. As a teen, Elrod had discovered a formula for the cure of ricin poison. The formula was stolen from the school lab, and years later, a synthetic blend was used in an attempt to ruin St. Sullivan. That nearly destroyed Elrod; with clinical help, he’d fought the depression that intermittently sneaked into his life and helped Justice counteract the ricin disaster.

  “Was it necessary that I do that? But how is your brother, Dave?”

  That got him. The shame he’d lived under was such a strain. Although he and Dave were identical twins, they were very different. Dave was pigheaded, while he was more practical. Dave never should have gotten them involved in that deplorable equipment venture.

  “I need to go.” He then rushed past Wil without a glance backward. From a safe distance, he mumbled, “I’d like to cram those words down her throat.” But he had other problems on his hands. First he had to get the Moroccan wine and escargot caviar. “This is absolutely,” he swore under his breath, “the last time I’ll help that man.”

  Wil stood on the top landing and watched Steve leave. She chided herself for reacting to him. “Keep it professional, girl.”

  Sure. She and Elrod had had a screwed-up childhood. Her dad, a brilliant man, never threw anything away, and her mother looked the other way, finding an escape by having perfect work attendance and working late every night and most weekends. That left her and Elrod to cope with the neatly growing piles of newspapers and catalogued odds and ends that engulfed every room in the house, including their bedrooms. They didn’t dare bring friends to the house. It was a miracle they’d survived at all in the self-confidence area. But they had. Wil hurried down the stairs. She had other things to do than to dwell on Steve’s sarcasm.

  Daylight savings time was a bother at times. Already it was darker than she’d thought; the chill of the night air was refreshing. She fumbled for the car keys, and in her haste, the briefcase fell, spilling everything.

  “Damn it, Wil. Why do you carry all this stuff?” She looked around the darkness to make sure no one heard her talking to herself. “Now that would make fine gossip: psych doctor loses it too.”

  Deep in thought, she didn’t see her best friend, Dr. Sarah Gracie McIntosh-Rule, approach her.

  “Hi, Wil. Still pulling late-night gigs being a tit to the world, I see?”

  Wil chuckled. “Laugh if you want. You are too, I see.”

  “I had an emergency. Ezra has the boys.”

  Wil gave a visual once-over to Gracie’s bulging abdomen and laughed again. She and Rayford already had three-year-old identical twins. “How are those boys?”

  “Rambunctious as their dad, but you’d better not laugh. We’re having twins again. We didn’t want to know the sex, but I’m hoping for a girl. Although Ezra doesn’t say it, I think he is too.”

  “So I was right.” Wil grinned.

  “Yes, but I put my foot down and told Ezra this is it. He didn’t argue. At least, I don’t remember him saying a word.” Gracie thought for a moment to be sure.

  Wil was really happy for her friend. Before Rayford came into Gracie’s life, she’d lived through her work as chief of St. Sullivan’s pediatrics.

  “Gracie, the last time you put your foot down with Rayford, you told him you were not getting married
while hospitalized, and he didn’t say a word. What happened? The next day, with Justice and Pastor Earl in tow, Rayford marched back into the hospital, and you two got married.”

  “That’s right.” Gracie laughed. “So where are you off to?”

  “I need to see Iris; Dan pitched a fit again about her oxygen.” She shifted her heavy load one more time. “Something has to be done.”

  Normally Wil didn’t go to the homes, but Dan’s call made it sound urgent, and it was easier for her than to let her staff be insulted by Iris.

  “Sorry. But Iris didn’t bring her daughter to her her appointment again.”

  “I’ll take care of it. Hug those boys for me. By the way, Gianna accepted.” To show her delight, she danced a step.

  “That is so great. You need the help. Are we still getting together this weekend? I have a song I’d like for you to hear.”

  Gracie was a fantastic singer and piano player. Wil believed in music therapy and had convinced Gracie to help start a band. So far it was coming along very well.

  “Sure. I’d like to hear it.”

  The green, orange, red, and gold leaves stubbornly held on to branches in spite of the recent storms. If it didn’t rain, the Halloween festival would be outside, but the locals were prepared to move the festival to the high school gym if needed. Wil loved the rain.

  “Great time for snuggling,” she mused, “providing one has someone to snuggle with, which I don’t.” She immediately thought of Gracie and Rayford. “It must be nice.”

  The familiar sounds of sirens reminded her of Dan. “I need to hurry before it gets too late.” The last time she saw clouds, she’d postponed her shopping, only to wake up the next morning to snow up to her knees. She’d been forced to trudge to the local supermarket on foot. It took her forty-five minutes to get to the store when on good days it was a fifteen-minute walk. No, she would heed the warning and go now. Otherwise, when she left Iris, she would be too uptight to do anything.

  The store parking lot wasn’t full tonight—a good sign she could easily get in and out. She grabbed the first cart and rushed to the fruit-and-vegetable aisle to avoid the tempting chips section. In her rush she ran into a filled shopping cart. The wheels locked, and groceries spilled everywhere. She laughed at the numerous boxes of pizza, ice cream bars, soda, and chips.

  “What knucklehead eats like this?”

  “This knucklehead does.” A strong, deep, rich male laugh interrupted her criticism.

  Wil nearly fell into the pile of frozen pepperoni pizza, trying to balance the ice cream in her hands, but was graciously aided by the shopper. She was more embarrassed when she recognized the southern accent.

  “Oh my goodness. Mr. Boudreaux, you frightened me.”

  Of all people, she had to run into him. Trenton Raphael Boudreaux, an occasional hospital volunteer who also brought gifts for the children. She and the hospital staff were taken by surprise learning Trenton was the unknown benefactor for St. Sullivan’s new pediatric wing. The nurses called him the handsome angel. Three years ago she met him when his wife had refused to attend diabetes classes. Instead he came. His wife shortly thereafter stopped taking medications, started drinking heavily, and died in an automobile accident.

  “Sorry, Dr. Eastermann. I didn’t mean to frighten you. It’s not every day that my shopping selections are laughed at. Frowned upon, yes, but not laughed at.”

  “I’m sorry, but you actually eat like this?” She thought the man must have remarkable metabolism and had no idea where those carbs went.

  “Before you think the worst, these are for my six-year-old niece and eight-year-old nephew. She’s having a birthday slumber party, and he’s camping out in the backyard this weekend. I’m guarding and gatekeeping, and”—he nodded at the overloaded cart—“their list was long.”

  “You’re brave to take on a long night of kids burning energy.”

  An air of uneasiness suddenly surrounded them. Wil thought of how some of the nurses had teased her that she was also one of the reasons he made so many trips to the psychiatric unit, to “accidentally” see her. Trenton merely stood there smiling. To break his stare, she hurriedly placed the rest of the groceries back into his cart.

  “Yes, the rituals of youth,” he finally added.

  “Yes. I am afraid I am late. It was nice seeing you.” Nervous, she bumped his cart again, but luckily nothing spilled. She turned into the snack aisle and out of the corner of her eye saw that he was still there, grinning.

  She reached the chicken section without knocking anyone else over and gasped at the price. “Sixteen dollars and seventy cents a pack. My God, are they feeding them gold grains? I could raise the things myself.”

  “You probably can,” a deep voice interrupted.

  She looked up at a tall, red-eyed man who was staring and breathing heavily.

  “Oh, excuse me,” she apologized. “I was caught off guard by the prices.”

  The man leaned over into the bin and passed several whole chickens to her. As he did, he slightly brushed against her.

  “Here. You can take these.” He leaned closer and whispered, “Can I come over for dinner?”

  Wil took one of the chickens. It was not her intention to cut up several of them. He leaned past her again and intentionally brushed against her as he placed another bird in her basket. She politely removed the bird and herself out of his way.

  “If I were you, I’d stop,” she sternly warned and walked away.

  Wil made it to the checkout, breathless, and in her hurry bumped into the customer ahead of her.

  Without turning around to see who’d struck him, the tattooed man with sagging pants angrily said, “Say, why don’t you kill a bunch of people today? That’ll be good.”

  When he did turn he gave Wil a lecherous grin and a wink. “Whoa, Cleopatra, ain’t you a pretty thing. Why don’t you let me pay for those, and then we’ll go to your place for a night you’ll never forget.”

  She glanced at the two boxes of Pampers and feminine pads in his cart. He’d broken three of her rules: pay no attention to men who called her Cleopatra, never talk to men buying Pampers and feminine pads at the same time, and never ever talk to a man who showed the crack of his butt, especially in a grocery store.

  “No thanks. You’d better hurry home.” She nodded at his items. “I’m sure the missus is anxiously waiting for her particulars.”

  She didn’t smile as he grabbed his bags and hurried away.

  “What is with this grocery store tonight?”

  “Weird people shop around this time,” Jakeith, the young clerk, said.

  Jakeith worked part-time as a bagger. Not only was he her patient but an honor student, and the star rider on the high school equestrian team. Everyone in the store liked Jakeith. Wil had met him as a frequent ER admission referral for his shellfish reaction. He had asked her for a letter advising the manager he could no longer work in the frozen seafood section due to his allergy. She convinced him being around frozen seafood was not the problem. Eating shellfish when he knew he couldn’t certainly was. Jakeith had developed a crush on her, and soon after she’d told him he’d be transferred to Dr. Joseph, Jakeith didn’t show for his final appointment. He was back in the ER the same night. That admission nearly cost him his life.

  “You sure put him in check, Dr. Wil. He comes in here almost every night and makes stupid lines like that. The other night a homeless guy wearing an eye patch came in here asking for escargot caviar. I guess he was trying to punk me. I told him we don’t have any, but my grandma has a gang of snails in her flower beds I could sell to him.”

  “Jakeith, I hope you didn’t let the manager hear you say that.”

  An elderly lady attentively watched Jakeith handle her groceries and then became annoyed at the thud the meat packages made each time one was thrown into her bag. She said, “Young man,
I don’t want you to throw my meat like that.”

  Jakeith gave her a quick teenager’s look of indifference and responded in a matter-of-fact manner, “Why do you care? It’s dead anyway.” He continued to drop the meat, harder than before.

  Angry, the lady asked for the manager. True to his nature, without taking his eyes off the conveyer, Jakeith pointed toward the far booth in the back. A few minutes later, a loud laugh came over the intercom. The poor lady returned and, with vile words for the store, jerked her bag away off the counter and swore never to return.

  “She’ll be back,” Jakeith nonchalantly offered. “She comes in every Wednesday night complaining with her expired coupons and always asks if the eggs are fresh. I told her I don’t know. I don’t look under the chicken’s butts when they drop them out.”

  “Jakeith, that wasn’t very nice of you,” Wil admonished. She had to admit, she loved this southern town and the people in it. For the most part, everyone was open and friendly.

  Jakeith cheerfully carried her groceries to the car, updating her about his new girl.

  “Dr. Wil, I’ll keep my appointment with Dr. Joseph. I’m kind of tired of the ER, and I guess I sort of was liking you.”

  “I know, Jakeith. Give Dr. Joseph a chance.”

  Trenton drove past, stopped, and rolled down his window. “Dr. Eastermann, remind me to never get on your bad side with my particulars.” He gave a loud laugh and drove away.

  “Oh my Lord,” she moaned. “Now he thinks I’m nuts.”

  Wil sat in her car in front of Iris’s house and frowned at the No Smoking sign plastered on the door. In this town practically everyone knew each other and left well enough alone—that is, until Iris and her family moved here. Her husband had not removed the washer from the front porch after the neighbors complained and threatened to report him to the city. To show them he didn’t care, now the dryer sat next to it. Needless to say the family was not the most liked neighbors in this neat little neighborhood of well-maintained homes.