Justice Black: The Game Never Ends

by Gartia Bansah

  The TV blared, and the note on the door said, “Doorbell broken, knock loud.”

  A hardened, elderly-looking woman wearing a purple floral dress and oxygen tubing in her nose opened the door.

  Wil sighed and noticed Iris’s face and legs were puffy, and her voice rasped between each draw of her cigarette and hacking cough. It was difficult to accept that Iris was four years younger than her. She had often bragged of her younger life of living hard and free, smoking, plenty of men, motorcycling, and drugs.

  “Come on in, Dr. Eastermann,” Iris rasped. “Find you a seat.” There wasn’t any need for a preamble; Iris knew the reason for the visit. Instead she shuffled away from the door, which meant Wil was to close it and follow. “I suppose you’re here about that appointment?”

  Iris slowly made it back to a brown lounger that showed several cigarette burns where she had fallen asleep while smoking. She gave a grunt and then plopped down in the lounger, which made a squeaking noise.

  “Before you start, Dr. Eastermann, I didn’t have a ride.”

  “I don’t want to hear that.” Wil glanced at the two oxygen cylinders that stood against the wall. “My office arranged a ride for you, and the driver said you refused to come out of the house. Was the driver lying?”

  Iris stared blankly at Wil. “Not really. Say, Dr. Eastermann, did you hear about the fire?”

  “Don’t change the subject. I’ve told you about smoking with this oxygen. You know Dan’s planning to remove your equipment. Every time his men have to come out here on an emergency, which is quite frequent, you are smoking. He has a serious problem with his men placing themselves in danger due to your habit.”

  Iris wheezed. “Aw, I know how Dan is; I went to high school with him.”

  “Iris, if you don’t care, a choice will be made for you. You will not be able to stay home without oxygen. You’ve been told that.” She glanced at Iris’s legs again. “You need to see your doctor.”

  Iris shrugged with indifference—or was it helplessness?—and blew smoke from the cigarette.

  “I guess he’ll have to come pick it up.”

  Wil handed Iris the appointment card. “Your husband works every day. You need to take responsibility for getting Dinah to her appointment. You know the consequence. It’s your choice.”

  As Wil headed for her car, Iris appeared in the doorway, dragging the tubing behind her.

  “What is it, Iris?”

  “You got any cigarettes I can have?”

  Wil mumbled under her breath, “I really do need to stop being a tit to the world.” She sighed. “I don’t smoke, Iris.”

  Wil pulled into her driveway in time to see a yellow Subaru pull away from her house. She didn’t recognize the car or the driver. God, she hoped no one was soliciting her to sell again. Wil then smiled at her peaceful home. She’d bought her house from Gracie; she loved the friendliness of the neighborhood. She thought of Iris and how her neighbors resented the family.

  Finally out of her car and with groceries on her hip, she fumbled for the door key. Exhausted, she placed the bags on the kitchen counter and then heard hissing sounds in the backyard. “Why on earth would the gardener leave the sprinklers on?”

  She unlocked the kitchen door and gasped, unprepared to see her backyard flooded. “Damn it,” she swore and made a muddy path to the valves. All the heads were broken off. Irritated, she trotted back into the kitchen for a wrench and finally turned the water off.

  Now she was soaking wet. Wil sluggishly walked back into the house and flopped into a chair. Between the flooded yard, Iris, Steve, and the jerk at the grocery store, could her day end any worse? Her cell phone interrupted her annoyance. “Now what?”

  “Hello.” She breathed deeply.

  “Dr. Eastermann, this is Caldwell. There was a fire at Rodney’s. We need you and your staffs here at BrightTown General.” There was a long pause. “At least four are children.”

  “We will be there.”

  chapter

  FOUR

  “Does anyone in the universe care that the moving van hasn’t brought my things?” Kaitlyn shouted to the empty room.

  She placed her trusty bat and fishing rods behind the door, as always. “Never know when a bat might come in handy,” she whispered as she unpacked her sleeping bag. “No furniture, no bed, very little clothing, one would think I’m in hell.” She then thought of the noisy idiot who lived above her and said, “It’s too late. I’m already in hell. With my luck, the guy is probably a sociopath drug dealer.”

  The neighbor came in at odd times deep in the night, dropped things on the floor that happened to be her ceiling, and banged on everything. Then those parrots screeched until dawn. They were the last sounds she’d heard before she managed to close her eyes at three that morning. She swore she’d do better sleeping in her car or the zoo. She had serious doubts about Serenity Place.

  This place was not serene. She was even more convinced it was further proof one shouldn’t believe everything on the Internet. Luckily, she didn’t need to be at work until next week.

  Kaitlyn was beyond happy when her best friend, Wil, asked her to join her practice. She didn’t hesitate in resigning her job at the prison. So here she was, way past the middle of October, lodged at Serenity Place, in a downstairs apartment, but she at least had her guitar and saxophone. She wanted an upstairs apartment, but none was available, so she had been placed on the waiting list. She hated living on the ground floor; it brought back too many bad memories. Her past, like her shadow, was always there, so much so, she hadn’t used her first name, Kaitlyn, in ten years but went by Adeena, but Wil and her grandmom called her Gianna.

  “God, I want my stuff!” she demanded again to the empty room. It had been a week since she’d moved in, and nothing that resembled a delivery truck had come to Serenity Place. She set the time on her grandmom’s bird clock, guaranteed to chirp on the hour. Thank God she hadn’t trusted it to the delivery people. The thought of her grandmom Laila warmed her heart. She loved both her grandparents and had split her summers with her grandmom Laila in France and in Savannah, Georgia, with her dad’s parents, Moses and Opal Daisy Joseph.

  Her grandmom Laila, a linguist, strongly believed language meant everything, and as Kaitlyn grew up, she pounded Latin, Russian, Spanish, Hebrew, and French into her. Her grandma Opal Daisy, who was from Ghana, and an Ewe, taught her to speak Ewe. Learning all of those languages did pay off; she did not have to rely on many interpreters in working with her patients. Kaitlyn didn’t question the other languages but asked why Latin, as she wasn’t planning to be a priest.

  Her grandmom had admonished her and said, “Gianna, be ignorant on your own time. Don’t be stupid on mine.” She’d cautioned that bad behavior came in all languages.

  Kaitlyn smiled at the only picture of her brother and smiled. She hadn’t seen Clermont since he was nearly fifteen years old. She had no idea where he was or how he was doing. They had different mothers, but it hadn’t mattered to them. Like her father, Clermont loved playing practical jokes on her and her mother just to make them laugh. A hot lump formed in her throat thinking of his lanky body with a walk that didn’t seem to hurry for anything. She remembered his ocassional laughs, but then the bad memory of what took him away from her clouded everything. If she thought too much about it, her heart would break again.

  “Enough of that,” she said. She needed to get groceries and rent a car. Her own car was in for repairs again, and even though Wil hadn’t asked, she needed to return her car. She didn’t want to wear out her welcome but took advantage of its usage for a very old habit: learning the town. Unlike Chicago, it didn’t take long. She found there were several creeks and lakes for fishing. In the nearby town Castleview, there were nice camping grounds.

  Long ago she made a choice not to date. At almost thirty, she had become comfortable being alone. She wasn’t bad-
looking—most called her pretty or cute, and she was often complimented on her eyes. Her grandmom swore her big deep-brown eyes were her conscience. Her rich brown skin meant she was able to wear any color except browns and mustard—which she wore anyway even though Wil said she looked ill in those colors. Her thick hair battled the muggy heat, which kept it moist and curly. There was no need in thinking of many styles other than wearing it loose, French braided, or in a French twist. Kaitlyn saw herself as plain and wished she were a bit taller. It seemed most apartments’ kitchen cabinets were designed for anyone over five feet six.

  Kaitlyn caressed her instruments and smiled at her fishing rods. Then she carefully unwrapped her two antique prized possessions, the Steuben Blue Aurene glass and mid-century 1960 solid brass swan centerpieces. These were all her greatest pleasures. “Thank God I didn’t allow the incompetent moving company to transport them. I would be hunting that miserable truck.” She angrily unpacked a few boxes, mostly bathroom items and personal things. “I definitely need to find a church.”

  chapter

  FIVE

  One day later

  Everyone waited in silence. Those red, puffy eyes meant the chairman hadn’t slept. A loud, chilling, raspy voice laced with cynicism cut into the silence.

  “In case you are kidding yourselves like idiots, we all know why we are here. We need Justice Black gone. Lomax and Dragus, what do you have? And it better be damn good.”

  Kyle Lomax, now secretary of the council and payroll master after Jarrod Weatherman disappeared three years ago, fidgeted in his seat. He had no good news.

  “So far we don’t have anything. Justice Black comes and goes. He hasn’t been in his office for the past week.”

  “You mean to tell me we spent all that money for that piece of worthless information? Hell, I know that much. Everybody has something they want to hide. Did you check the black community again? Those people know more than you think about everybody in this town. Don’t buy their ‘I don’t know.’ I want more than ‘He comes and goes.’ Who does he go to? Does he have kids? Where does he go? When that hearing starts next week, you tell those senators I don’t want them to leave Justice Black standing.”

  Dragus Barns spoke from the back of the room. As head of security, he protected the chairman and cleaned up the chairman’ son’s messy things. Dragus was plain and ordinary looking. He stayed in the background, working behind the scene as much as possible. A quiet man by nature, nothing really stood out about him.

  “Understood, Chairman, but most black people can be pretty tight-lipped. They don’t trust Sterling, and we haven’t verified the information found on Justice Black.” Dragus shrugged toward Kyle. “Isn’t that right, Kyle?”

  Kyle wished Dragus hadn’t said that. He couldn’t afford the chairman’s wrath. He was paid well and didn’t need his salary cut. His daughter’s wedding was costing a fortune, and he was running short of cash.

  Annoyed, the chairman gave a warning look to Kyle. “Get Sterling back out there. He’s from the neighborhood. I want you to push hard. Give Dragus that list. Dragus, I want you and Kyle to start on these names tonight. Have their probation violated. Get the collectors on their parents’ backs. Find warrants, even if you have to make something up. Repossess whatever they have. Get me something on Justice Black.”

  Someone yelled from the back of the room, “We made that mistake before. Are you sure this is what we need to do?”

  Disregarding the person, the chairman responded, “Plans are set in motion to start building a racetrack on that piece of property outside of town. Most of you in this room are investors. If Black interferes, you lose the damn money. Does that answer your asinine question?” No one said a word.

  “I thought so. Now, Dragus, find out whom Justice Black values the most. That’s my order. I want that sarin ready to go. If I have to inject him myself, I will. I’ll contact that imbecile we put in the Senate to apply pressure on the citizen protection bill. We need to weaken the people’s confidence in Black’s ability to provide security. Justice Black is not a god. He is not untouchable. He has flaws like any human, and he has a weak spot. I need you to find it. The restaurant fire should keep him busy and distracted. I understand two people died, one was a kid, Jamie somebody. Put that kid’s death on his plate with the media. The people will bleed more for the kid than the man. You know how to do it. Get that coroner report out to the media.”

  Dragus estimated close to $2 billion was lost in the WhiteFlower operation. He leaned toward the recruit and whispered, “You did a good job with the restaurant, but remember: use the name Jacobson Cooper in every transaction, and nothing else. Keep it up, and we’ll have more jobs for you.”

  Ed Drayton was full of sarcasm and said, “Sure, Dragus, no problem. By the way, I need more pills. Take care of that.”

  chapter

  SIX

  Peki, Ghana, West Africa

  Justice knew he had to go to Ghana. He needed to see Jarrod, who was being held in their foreign detention center. Over three years ago, Justice had chased Jarrod Weatherman from the United States to Ghana. Jarrod was a retired drug representative who sold drugs and tainted chemicals on the black market to other countries to finance his own greedy pleasures. For ten years Jarrod was also secretary of Legion.

  Victoria Vinlay ran their Ghana office. She stood five feet seven inches and possessed a beguiling beauty and an infectious laugh that gathered everyone’s attention. Victoria was not to be taken lightly. Most of the deadliest terrorists were housed in her unit. She was good at her job and ran her office with a firm, no-nonsense hand. Her style of management didn’t go over well with some of the staff. Justice didn’t care. She took a lot off his back, and Pen loved her.

  “Efo nyuia? How are you, Justice?” Victoria greeted him when she picked him up at the Takoradi Airport.

  “Me fo. I’m fine,” he answered. He was at ease speaking in the local Ewe language. He had not been able to regularly speak the language since he was a young boy living here, where his Peace Corps parents taught school.

  “How’s America?” Victoria knew about the fire, the messages, and the weight it had placed on her boss’s shoulders. Pen told her that bullet was meant for Justice. Victoria knew he would never react to it.

  “It’s still standing.”

  “You need any help?” Many wanted her boss to fail, but they didn’t know Justice Black or the people who were loyal to him.

  “We’ll see how far Jarrod goes. Dillon McKnight is on standby.”

  “Dillon?”

  “Yes,” Justice answered. “Is Jarrod ready?” It was safer to steer away from the mentioning of McKnight. The two were good agents but disagreed on a lot of things and loved arguing, but they’d protect each other at any cost.

  “Sure, boss. Do you need me to stick around?”

  “No. I’ll let you know whether to flush or not.”

  Victoria only nodded. She understood.

  Justice had walked that narrow red dirt pathway to the cottage far more times than he cared to count. It was never for pleasure, always after he’d tracked some mother’s offspring and the fruit of some man’s loins who’d inflicted tragedy upon the innocents and run.

  In Ewe, Justice said, “Move Jarrod to the annex.” The place was the size of a cubicle. Everyone was familiar with the routine.

  Jarrod squinted from the sunlight. He flinched hearing that familiar voice. After all these years, he still didn’t know Justice’s name and he also came unexpectedly like a ghost. Justice nodded for Jarrod to sit in the chair conveniently placed near the window where the sun faced his eyes.

  Jarrod had no idea how long he’d been here. There was no way of knowing. There were no clocks, calendars, phones, or TVs around, and no one spoke to him. They either pointed or nodded. He often wondered why he was still alive.

  Justice pulled his chair in front of Jarrod a
nd straddled it, silently looking into Jarrod’s eyes—his empty soul. There was no need to rush. There wasn’t much to Jarrod. He was a sleazy husk of a man who, at at age fifty, had fathered a daughter with his sixteen-year-old niece. The niece was five when his sister gave him custody while she “found herself.” She’d never looked back. According to the last tracking on the niece, at twenty-three, she was on the streets. Through Legion, Jarrod had sold the baby overseas. They had yet to find her. Jarrod was never held accountable for anything. His get-out-of-taking-responsibility card was his conservative politician brother who ran on the Legion ticket.

  “Jarrod, it’s you and me again, and as usual, I expect the truth from you. Am I clear on that?”

  He hated Justice. The African woman he hated worse. To Jarrod, the two had black hearts and no souls. With his funds frozen, his life meant nothing back in America except death from his own people. Sweat crawled under his armpits, the room was musty, and the mosquitoes were punishing. The tropical air was suffocating; he could have kicked his own ass for coming here in the first place.

  “Why are you back? I told you and that African bitch everything.”

  “Jarrod,” Justice warned, “I advise you not to bring that Western behavior here. Call her a bitch again, or other poor choice of words, and you’ll be writing notes. You don’t get to ask the questions. You get to answer them.”

  Jarrod looked away and stared at the geckos crawling up the wall. They were like American houseflies; they were numerous and crawled everywhere.

  “Sure,” he sneered.

  “You know the rules. No games, no compromises.” He waited for Jarrod to think before he spoke again. “There was a restaurant fire, with people in it.”