Harlem Hit & Run

by Angela Dews

  “Why the hell was Cecelia keeping lists?” Adrianne asked. “You don’t keep books of money laundering.”

  “Hell if I know why, except she was always the one who was keeping track of the details. And we still don’t know how much,” I said. “There were only withdrawal amounts written next to the companies and no balances. And I don’t know which cash business she used to channel the cash through. Both Gary and Viola have cash money coming in and both had a connection to Heavy. He was the bouncer at the Kit Kat, and Gary said Heavy called him when he moved into Al’s.”

  Adrianne said. “Damn. Make sure to leave what I’ll need to get the rest of the story when you go back to Cali.”

  “There will be a lot more to it, but I’m betting we can get the opening act of this story in the can now.”

  “You’ve really gone Hollywood, Pearl. Your movie might go into a can, but the Journal goes to bed. Remember?”

  “Of course, I remember.” I said. And as I walked along the long drafting table, I dropped into images of me sitting in the publisher’s office with my books and notebooks while Daddy talked to people. Or in the production room where I would get blue and black ink all over myself from climbing to see. And dressing up, starting as a little girl, to sit in the audience with him or watching him talking to people, asking and answering questions. And after, he would answer mine.

  At the end of the row, I pointed to an empty square, forlorn, on an inside page. “Do you have a good photo for this one?” I asked.

  The small headline read:

  CLARENCE (HEAVY) JACKSON

  MAY 10, 1968 TO NOVEMBER 8, 1990

  “His parents are sending some pictures and an obituary,” Adrianne said. “I thought we might go lightly with the news about the drugs and the murder.”

  “I like what you’ve done. You’re putting the bank stories outside and the other news inside. That way we don’t lose any momentum waiting for the regular edition.”

  “In fact, we don’t know whether or not this stuff is connected. I miss Al. He would have made one of his presentations out of this edition. Made it pop.”

  “Do you think Al can stay clean after this week of being arrested and threatened and worse?”

  “Don’t start that shit, Pearl. Don’t judge him. Your father hired him when his chances were slim to nil for staying off drugs. But he did, and now he’s excited about his new life.”

  “I don’t rule out recovery. But I do know it’s a long shot.”

  “Most things worth doing are,” she said.

  “I know it’s a long shot because I have the experience of watching people get straight and not. Don’t lecture me.”

  “You’ll forgive me for doubting you understand,” she said.

  “And you do?”

  “Perhaps we should talk about something else.”

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  I went home and drank some liquor. The drinking did what it was supposed to do. It took some of the edge off. I was thinking a few more drinks would maybe dull it completely.

  I’m not sure how soon it was before the doorbell rang. The space was sort of out of focus as I walked over to see.

  It was Obsidian.

  C H A P T E R • 45

  * * *

  Monday morning, I woke up on the couch downstairs. When I picked up the edge of the duvet, tentatively, I was relieved to see I was in my PJs. When I tried to sit up, the head was screaming and the stomach was swishing and I wished I was dead.

  “You slapped me.”

  I whirled to face him, which was a big mistake, and I had to stop and hold my head in my hands.

  “Obie. I don’t remember. But I’m glad if I did.”

  “You’re lying. How could you not remember?”

  “I’m not the liar; you are. I thought you said you would wait for me.”

  “Janice is what I’ve been doing while I’ve been waiting.”

  “I wish I wasn’t so sick, so I could slap you again.”

  I got up and when I got back from the bathroom, there was a Coke and a Gatorade on a tray on the table.

  “What are you doing here? Did you undress me?”

  “I was afraid you’d go out.”

  “I’m at home. You can go now.”

  “I am afraid, disappointed, sad. How did this happen? Is this how they do it in L.A.? Get all drunk and stupid?”

  “Is this what we’re going to do now? Talk about my drinking instead of grief and broken promises?”

  “This is bad. Your father’s pancreatic cyst was related to his drinking years ago. You have a family history.”

  “Mind your business.”

  “You’re right. My mom used to get like that. I know what to do, but not if you don’t want me to. It’s too hard.”

  “You need to go see about your girl Janice.”

  “I’m going.”

  C H A P T E R • 46

  * * *

  Samantha and Adrianne greeted me at the door to the office.

  Samantha announced, “The hard thing about this week’s column was finding a secret everybody doesn’t already know. But I did it.”

  “You need to see this,” Adrianne said.

  We walked to the production room and found a beautiful front page laid out on the long drafting table. Al was sitting at the other end wearing headphones.

  REGULATORS SET TO THROW

  BAIL-OUT $ IN HARLEM’S FACE

  After a long Veterans Day weekend, more than 6 million dollars in oral commitments came in to purchase the assets of Independence National Bank. But the banks where that money would come from will still be closed by the 7:00 A.M. deadline after the holiday. And the FDIC will have to give community leaders time—those extra hours—to convert those letters of credit into cash.

  “We won’t technically have the cash in time,” board member Reverend William Garrison said. “But we have the pledges. And since when did banks stop accepting promises?”

  The subheads set up the other related articles.

  WHO BUYS A BANK?

  The F.D.I.C. has not found a successor bank that will buy First, after offering it to a bid list of 61 banks. Because of the savings and loan crisis, nobody is rushing to buy a bank.

  ACCOUNTS CONSOLIDATED:

  BALANCES OVER $100,000 NOT INSURED?

  Kiss and Tell, by Samantha

  Rumor has it that accounts at Independence National Bank with balances over $100,000 won’t be insured by the FDIC if the bank folds. They have been insured at other banks that closed. And, also, significantly, separate accounts held by the same depositor will be combined and some of those totals will be way over the insured amount. Such accounts could include nonprofits, community development groups and churches, and the United Negro College Fund. Continued on Page [__].

  “Samantha? Why is this running as your gossip column?”

  “There’s a New York State law that charities with multiple accounts are trust accounts and each account should be insured for the whole amount.”

  “Then if they do this, it’s illegal.”

  “Yes. And I can call out an illegal action in my column where it’s not exactly news yet. I’ve done it before.”

  Adrianne said, “I agree. We’ve got a page one story. We’re going to run it with Sam’s question mark and rumor-has-it lead.”

  I walked the length of the long drafting table that stretched down one side of the suite’s largest room and waited for Al to finish making a cut with the mat knife to place an ad on a half-page.

  I nudged his arm.

  “What a relief you’re out of jail,” I told him. “We needed you to tighten up this special edition. It looks good.”

  “What a relief is right. I think the cops were as surprised as me.”

  “Tell me about Heavy and about those movies I saw at your apartment. They had to come from a postproduction house,” I said.

  “I spent some time on the coast getting straight. Met some people. You’d be surprised.”

&nb
sp; “Was that what Bobby was talking about when I saw you at his black-market factory?”

  “Bobby was giving me a tour of what I needed to do to get enough copies produced to make some real money. He needs me to get those movies. His are mostly unwatchable, shot on camcorders with the audience sounds. And I needed him to distribute. He has people in Florida and Texas and Chicago.”

  “He said you owed him some money. Is he the loan shark?”

  “Sometimes. He’s the only banker that won’t throw a small businessman like me out into the street.”

  “What about Heavy?”

  “He called himself street muscle. He ran errands for money.”

  “Murder?”

  “I’m surprised as you. Didn’t know he had it in him.”

  “Somebody paid him to hit Cecelia?”

  “When you find out who, you’ll know something.”

  “So, tell me who. He must have told you.”

  “You sound like the police. Like I told them, he figured the only way he was going to get out of it was to man up. And I sure the hell don’t want anybody to think I know who they are.”

  C H A P T E R • 47

  * * *

  Samantha walked over.

  “I’m fat with column copy this week. And I’m thinking I’ll let you all help me decide what secrets you want me to publish in my second column. Let me see. How about Pearl Washington is selling the Journal?” she offered.

  “No.” Adrianne was firm.

  The rest of the staff turned to us.

  I spoke slowly, realizing I was moved. “I am Charles Washington’s daughter and I want you to know that whatever happens, whether there is a sale now or later, whether I end up here or not, I’ll look out for you. You all are the best. This paper gives this community what it wants—what’s happening and why, a laugh and a secret. And it gives them what they didn’t know to want—the truth without the excuses. I am privileged to work with you, all of you. Adrianne and I have been talking over these days and she will be in charge until I get back and we can figure this out. I will not have someone else second-guessing her.”

  “Thank you again,” Adrianne said.

  Sam tried another story. “What Harlem cop is back with his first love.”

  “No,” I said, louder than I meant to.

  Sam smiled at me and tried another one. “What bar owner and grieving widow can now give her full attention to her outside man?”

  “Viola was running around?” I asked. “Who?” I felt the sour in my stomach rising dangerously. “I wonder if Daddy knew?”

  “Yeah, I kind of doubt he wouldn’t know. How are you going to be tipping around Harlem and nobody knows? But it doesn’t matter who. I’m not one to use names in these cases.”

  “You don’t have to run it.”

  “I don’t have to. No. I never have to run any of this stuff. But I probably have a better one. How about somebody paid somebody to scare Cecelia Miller and he accidently killed her? Then they had to kill him because he wouldn’t keep his mouth shut. They found out where he was hiding.”

  “Yes.” It’s a trio with Al. We all agreed to the hit-and-run story.

  “He told me she stepped off the curb,” Al said. “She was supposed to be on the curb.”

  “And Al, you won’t say who paid Heavy?”

  “I don’t need them to think I know.”

  “I love that Sam’s column can hold all the suspicion and rumor. You all can get to the facts soon. But we don’t have to wait for them.”

  “I need a drink,” Adrianne said.

  “Me too. But I need you to wait for me at the Kit Kat. I’m going to Jackson & Robinson for the preview of what Dad’s will has to say.”

  “I’m coming too,” Al says. “Attorney Robinson told me I’m in the will.”

  “He didn’t tell me. But that’s good. Adrianne?”

  “Yes. I’ll see you at the Kat.”

  After the printer’s messenger picked up the special edition, the staff started dispersing to catch the last hours of Veteran’s Day.

  Adrianne said, “I know you’ve asked yourself this question. But what are the consequences if we’re wrong about the bank? And about all of it?”

  “We’re not going to miss another scoop. The Wizard of Racism that Mister Bell talked about is out from behind the screen. We need to bust him.”

  When they left, I got daddy’s 10mm out of the false bottom of the side drawer in his desk and loaded it.

  But I noticed the possibility of once more stepping into a place of dishonoring the mindfulness trainings I had vowed to live my life by—a life where I was aware of how I showed up, where I could pause and intend no harm and hear the voices of others who shared my intention.

  But here I was running around taking all manner of unskillful actions. I had harmed Bobby Bop, but as carefully as I could, and that was without a gun. It was true, as Roger said, my lovemaking with Obie could I suppose be called illicit sex since we both had commitments to others. I had consumed many substances that made me confused. Thank goodness, Ceel’s money was gone before I could steal it for my payroll. And at least, so far, I had only lied a little.

  I saw myself slipping and sliding around my intentions and aspirations as I put the gun back in the drawer.

  C H A P T E R • 48

  * * *

  My father’s widow made her entrance at Jackson & Robinson in a red suit and kid gloves, and when Attorney Robinson went over to greet her, her smile blazed at him in the dim conference room.

  When Robinson returned to the head of the conference table, there was a smudge of red on his check.

  Gary arrived and walked to the other side of the room.

  A secretary handed out an asset list.

  “What the fuck is this?” Viola waved the sheets at us. “This is what he has for me? An insurance policy? And only enough to finish the work we already started on the bar.” She turned to Robinson. “What is the date of this?”

  “This was drafted in the last month. A very recent accounting.”

  Viola’s chair fell against the floor as she stood up. “That stingy bastard. What the hell? After all this time?” She turned to me. “I’m going to be getting all the money back. If you fight me, I’ll win. I’m his wife.”

  “I’ll tell you what I know about you fighting me,” I said. “My father probably didn’t leave you the money because you were cheating on him.”

  She started to cry. “We married so I could take care of him and he was supposed to take care of me,” she said. “You don’t know how it was. I promised him I would tell him if it got to be too much. He would not look up and find me gone without a goodbye. It’s hard to be with a person who was sicker and longer than we expected, especially when it’s someone who is used to being in charge. But to do that, I needed to get away for a few hours. I had to find comfort, to get my shoulders rubbed, to have a glass of wine. Then I was able to come back and love him.”

  When she walked out, Robinson spoke into his intercom. “Stop Viola. I’ll be right there. Excuse me.” And he left us.

  Gary, who had also stood up and started to follow her out, sat back down.

  “It looks like everybody wants to save the damsel in distress,” I said.

  “She put the H in hustle, and I think your father and I both liked that about her,” Gary said. “But it is also her undoing. She and Cecelia were in way over their heads.”

  C H A P T E R • 49

  * * *

  When we got outside, Viola was sitting on the bench, waiting.

  “Pearl! Come. Sit down next to me,” she said and patted the seat with her glove.

  Al waved and kept walking.

  I sat down next to her. What the hell. It was at least some part curiosity to see what she was going to get up to next. And it was the opportunity to get at some of what was on my mind.

  “We didn’t use your name in our money laundering story,” I told her. “You were the cash business the dirty money
was funneled through to Cecelia to deposit in the bank.”

  “I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out.”

  “When did she start withdrawing money from the bank?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I found some,” I said.

  “When I found out, I stopped depositing the money they brought to the bar. Then she nutted up on me. Started giving information about the bank to Samantha for the newspaper. She said she was doing it to alert the community to save the bank. But she alerted our partners as well. And she said I was the one who was reckless. I spent some. It’s true. But not enough for her to nut up on me like she did. I didn’t trip on it too tough. She was spending money too and she had more reputation to protect than me.”

  “How much are we talking about?” I asked.

  “Tell me how much you found,” she asked.

  “Over $400,000 in bank-wrapped bills.”

  “Where is it?”

  “It’s safe,” I said, which was a half-truth based on trusting Mister Bell.

  “Good. That’s good. But she said she couldn’t get it all out the bank without raising an AML alarm.”

  “AML?”

  “Anti-Money Laundering. But she didn’t write down any balances on the list you gave me or those insider lists, only withdrawal amounts. So, I don’t know what we’re talking about as you put it.”

  Funny how things land. “You saw the other insider list? That was in the safe. You broke into my office. That was you who shot Obsidian.”

  “I didn’t mean to shoot your man, Pearl. I was shooting to miss you and he was just there.”

  She turned on the tears again which gave me a minute.

  “I need your help,” she said. “It was an accident. And Obsidian’s going to be okay. Can you forgive me? I need your help. I need that money.”