by James H Roby
"Uh huh." E-Man took a step back and looked up and down at Jordan. “Bruh, you got a kagillion dollars and you rocking kakis and a black T. I’m sure it’s silk or genuine Mongolian monkey fur or something, but….”
"What?"
"Nothing."
"What!"
E-Man held up his hands defensively, "Hey man you're cool. But you know you could break down and buy a, what’s that brand… Canali! Something with some patterns or windowpanes or something. Sporting that big ass Tag watch, I thought you had some style."
“Tag Heuer,” Jordan said and flexed his wrist as if any chance existed for missing the massive steel chronograph. “And I got a Canali,” Jordan said.
“Wear it, fool. Damn, I swear, Jordan you dress like you ain’t got it like that.”
Jordan returned his tuxedo to its bag. The fact E-Man wasn’t wrong was the problem. Despite his lack of tact breed from having too much knowledge of Jordan’s life, E-Man was as usual, spot on.
“I am presenting a professional image. That’s not white. That’s not black. It’s professional. So, what you gonna wear - Not that straight outta a mumble rapper YouTube video get-up you always wearing?"
E-Man had on a purple shirt with gray pants with a bit of extra space in the crotch. He bounced out of his chair and headed for the door. “Sounds like someone is sipping on the hater-aide to me. Hey, I'm going to clean up. Man, you know how Akio loves to see me dressed up. Oh, yes, I am definitely getting laid tonight!"
"Thank you for sharing that," Jordan said. "Just be ready on time."
"Seven o'clock, right?"
"Right, I'll have the limo pick you two up at your place and then get the fellas."
"Oooo, a limo! Party over here!" E-Man said as he danced out of the office.
Jordan collapsed into his chair. E-Man in all his jest, had hit closer to home than he expected. Jordan was rich. Oprah rich. Yet somehow spending the money…on looking the part…he just couldn’t. It was more than that. His soul was weighed down. He had invested so much of his life into the service. Into the mission and all the secrets they entailed. Now, without the mission, he just didn’t know who he was. It was a sickening disappointing thought. Worse of all, a not so small part of him was glad Cody Random was back. A throwback to the old days. Something to do… meaning… purpose. Not this playing at detective.
A glance at the Tag Heuer. He probably should be getting ready as well.
Chapter Ten: A Night of Fashion
Cody Random pushed open a door facing the Detroit River and entered the Cobo Center through the lower level. It was deserted except for an occasional maintenance worker. Here were the inner workings of a major convention center – a framework of bare walls and exposed fluorescent lights. He walked with broad confident steps. His eyes challenged anyone who looked in his direction. He made it seem like he owned the place. He boarded an escalator and traveled to the convention floor. Earlier, Random came to the Center to map out his course. He wanted to have a way to enter the building, find Kevin Small at his ridiculous 'Fashion Gala', make his delivery and leave again, all relatively unnoticed. No small task. The Cobo Center was one of the largest exposition centers in the world. Due to its renovation, it had become a giant maze. Particularly for someone working his way through the back halls and other roads less traveled. But Random was determined. After a few hours wandering the building, Random had a perfect route to suit his purpose for his return later in the evening. Now, he repeated the route, moving the building like a shadow, unseen and unheard.
As he drew closer to the Fashion Gala, Random’s mind flashed back to how all this began. Back to his stay at Florida's prison. Back to a phone from his mysterious employer. No. Not employer...benefactor. Yes, this word was more to his liking. How Random's benefactor made him an offer he could not refuse. An offer of revenge and wealth - the two things for which Random was now living. The chance to continue work interrupted in Miami years before. To finish the job on 'crush'. It would slide into the America, and ultimately the world as the drug of choice. He would see it happen, he had no doubt.
Random smiled as he thought back to the days when he began formulating crush. While he was still working for the CIA. While the government tapped his genius to create deadly explosive compounds for its dirty little wars, Random had his eye on the future. Producing explosives was interesting, even fun, but it was far from rewarding. With his intellect, he could easily move into a more...profitable arena. He had complete access to the CIA’s store of drugs, legal and illegal. Random envisioned a stronger, more addictive cocaine, created by him. Crush. He began his work in secret. However, he was discovered and expelled from the CIA. Before the agency could enact vengeance, Random escaped to Germany. There, he continued his dream, this time with an American airman as his partner. But, as the dream came close to fruition, the fool American developed a conscience and reported him to his superiors. Random escaped again (of course!), this time to the United States - Florida.
Random’s eyes narrowed as he recalled the results of the adventure. The showdown in Miami. His capture. And of course, his brother's murderer, Jordan Noble.
Prison was not the end, but a new beginning. Random’s benefactor gave him the chance he had waited four years, but would have waited four hundred years, for. He put Random in contact with a small time dealer in Detroit, this Kevin Small character. Big enough to have access to production facilities – small enough as to not attract undue attention. He remembered his first phone call to Small.
“Kevin Small?”
“Yes,” Small answered. His voice trembled. The benefactor told him Kevin was expecting his call. Even still, he sounded like a coward. Random hated him already. Nevertheless, the details of the deal were worked out. When Random would arrive in Detroit. How to contact him. It was going well, until Noble and his UrbanKnights untimely involvement. No matter. Random had plans for them anyway.
He snorted a low laugh as he recalled Worrington's pitiful offer to join his organization. What could Worrington offer him? Nothing, but a convenient blind for the police to waste time investigating as the benefactor provided him with a means of escape. For Random, killing was an occupational hazard, but he did enjoy terminating Worrington and his spineless toady, Moore. Soon, he would have what he always wanted, money and Noble's head on a platter.
~
Malcolm and Don opted out of traditional black tuxedos. Don’s was in gray while Malcolm sported a cream number. They raided the hors d'oeuvre table like they hadn't eaten in weeks. Other attendees arched an eyebrow or sniffed at the air as they passed. The two seem ignorant. Jordan found them and took them both by the arms.
"You know," he whispered, "These are for everyone."
"My mo," Malcolm said with a mouth full of shrimp.
"Want some?" Don offered a finger sandwich.
Jordan sighed. "Why don't you two look around."
"For what?" Malcolm said. He extended his neck and swallowed hard like something from a cartoon.
"Gee, I don't know. Starts with a 'c', ends with a 'lues'. Clues, dummy!"
"OK, OK," Malcolm said, "Damn, don't bite my head off."
Malcolm and Don slumped off. Jordan blew hard and shook out the social faux pau of his friends. Cobo Center Grand Riverview Ballroom had been transformed into the house of fashion. The room’s southernmost wall was entirely glass providing a view of the Detroit River and the Canadian Province of Ontario. The sun was almost done for the day and the river was nearly black. The Ambassador Bridge with its travelers streaming between the two nations, made the view postcard ready. Lights representing every color in the rainbow rained down from the room’s forty-foot ceiling.
At least two hundred people, Southeastern Michigan elite mingled with designers - another fifty or so. The first group was old and moneyed – the second young and hungry. The air was filled with chatter and some pianist's butchering of ‘Breezin'’.
Jordan wandered away fro
m the hore d’oeuvre table. He recognized the ‘elite’ from other affairs like the mayor's gatherings. He had plugged himself into the scene with the movers and shakers since he left the service. Some he met through his connection to his veteran police executive father. The others in the crowd must have been members of the fashion community. Their mode of dress confirmed this. Jordan began to feel out of place. No color nor fabric was not present. Jordan was under the impression this was a black tie only affair. He was wrong.
He gritted his teeth. Maybe, just maybe, E-Man was right about the tux.
A fattish man in a green suit, so far removed from formal wear it didn't seem right to call it a tuxedo, approached Jordan.
“Your tuxedo,” the round man said, “it is a classic.” He drew in a long deep breath and closed his eyes. He released it and opened his eyes to its widest. “It is making a statement in its simplicity.” He touched Jordan’s right breast with the tips of his fingers then disappeared into the crowd.
“What the fuck, over?” Jordan continued on his way, eyes darted and scanned each face near and far. He searched for Small, instead he found E-Man and Akio. The pair fit in the crowd well. E-Man's tux was outlandish but not as much as he feared. A few more buttons than expected. Blue – to each his own. Akio had on a red dress with a split that showed more than enough of her shapely leg.
Jordan extended his hands to take Akio's. Her slender fingers encircled his.
"Have I told you that you look spectacular tonight?" Jordan asked.
"Only three or four times tonight, but don't let that stop you." She was a stunning product of an African-American serviceman and the Japanese native he met while stationed in the Land of the Rising Sun.
"Surely a creature of your beauty cannot be alone?"
"Alas," Akio said with a hand to the forehead, "I am married."
"Oh well."
"OK, OK, that's enough of that." E-Man stepped between them which drew laughter. Jordan made a gesture to E-Man so slight that Akio didn't even notice.
"Gotta go, baby," E-Man told his spouse.
Akio fumed then looked at Jordan. "Stealing my man again, huh?"
"I always bring him back before his curfew," Jordan said.
Akio shook her head. "OK, go on, Eric."
Jordan smiled as he and his partner merged into the crowd away from Akio. She was the only person who called E-Man by his real name. She could have called him Bullethead and he wouldn't mind. Sometimes he wondered who got rich on their final mission in Japan.
"You see him?" Jordan asked.
E-Man scanned the room. His eyes didn’t alight on any one point or person for more than a heartbeat. “Nothing. Still, there’s gotta be, what? Two hundred people in here?”
“Closer to three, I reckon.” Jordan shook his head. Between the thick wave of people crashing about and the horrible pianist, it was impossible to concentrate and do a proper search. A waiter passed and E-Man stole a glass of champagne off his tray. The waiter huffed and glared but E-Man ignored it.
"What are you expecting?" E-Man asked after a sip.
Jordan continued surveying the room. He narrowed his eyes occasionally as he focused on a far face. "I'm not sure. Small won't do anything with all these people about. Maybe I just want to rattle him."
"Hmph."
Jordan snapped his head at E-Man. "What was that for?"
"Nothing," E-Man said. He took a long drag from the glass. He pulled it away, his lips pursed tightly and his eyes reduced to lines in his face. Jordan took a step so that he was inches from E-Man’s nose.
E-Man rolled his eyes and sighed. “You want to rattle him, like he rattled you."
"Robin?"
E-Man nodded. "It's really screwing with you that she’s wrapped up in this." He ventured one more sip and he coughed and gagged for his trouble.
"You're right," Jordan said though his voice was beaten down by the noise of the crowd and an unholy rendering of “Straighten Up and Fly Right.”
Jordan said, "But does it strike you as strange... Random ...Robin. It's like all my past debts are returning to haunt me."
E-Man burst out a short laugh. "You so dramatic! You should write this stuff down!"
Jordan frowned. "I'm serious. I don't believe in coincidence."
E-Man's smile vanished. Another waiter passed and he dumped his glass on the tray. "Yeah, I've been thinking the same thing, truth to tell."
Jordan arched an eyebrow. “Why you giving me a hard time, then?”
“Gotta keep you in line somehow. You my boy, but damn, ‘Robin this’ and ‘Robin that’ gets old.”
“Crystal.”
E-Man’s face drew together like a magnet was at its center. His nostrils actually flared for a moment. Just as quickly, mirth returned to his eyes and his lips curved up.
“That was a long time ago. We said we never speak of that.”
“Just the same, for a while there, her name was in your mouth every – hang on a second.” Jordan turned to the approaching Don.
"What's up?" Jordan asked.
Don said nothing but instead jerked his head to the right. Jordan and E-Man turned in the direction indicated. About thirty feet away, in the midst of the crowd, stood Kevin Small. He smiled and shook people’s hands. The presence of diamond bracelets, fur shawls and expensive chronographs led Jordan to believe the crowd was sponsors and would-be sponsors of Unlimiteds.
Jordan shot daggers with his eyes. There's that punk-ass, pencil mustached, baby face looking mother...
"Thanks, Don," E-Man said. The message delivered, Don silently disappeared into the crowd.
"I wish he didn't talk so much." E-Man smiled.
Jordan grunted a response and motioned E-Man to follow him. He cut through the masses with E-Man in his wake. The crowd reacted with harsh looks as he pushed people aside to reach their mark. Jordan envisioned using the various methods taught to him by a Marine sergeant years ago of quickly and silently killing a man. It was all pressure points and internal bleeding. He tapped down his emotion, going to his place of operational readiness, when a form stepped into view stopping Jordan in his tracks.
"Shit." Jordan whirled around and forced E-Man to stop short.
“What?”
"Look." The word hissed out through clenched teeth.
E-Man peered around Jordan to see, standing next to Small, Robin Summers. "Shit."
Her hair was up and revealed a slender neck. The low v in the rear of the midnight colored dress showed the deep bronzed skin – flawless.
“Don’t mind saying,” E-Man said, “shorty looking good!”
"Yes." Jordan risked a glance over his shoulder to confirm.
"Damn, she is wearing that dress..."
"Yeah."
"I mean, I thought she was, you know, all right in college. She did dress kinda homely. But now, I’m just waiting for her to drop something so she can bend over and -”
"You're not helping, E."
"Huh?" E-Man snapped out of his ogling. “My bad. So, now what?"
Jordan bit his lip as he thought. Repeating his previous encounter with Robin was a non-starter. Just the same, he did not want this opportunity to 'rattle' Small to slip by. As if the patron saint of private detectives was watching over him, an avenue of entry presented itself. A man, who looked old enough to remember slavery, came up to Robin. He hugged the woman with a passion unexpected from one of his age. He gestured wildly and seemed intent on leading her off somewhere. She smiled at the old man and tapped Small’s shoulder. They exchanged some words and the fossil spirited her away. Jordan had his own smile. So did E-Man.
"Keep an eye on Robin," Jordan said, "Let me know if she comes back.”
Kevin Small’s head rocked back and out came some of the fakest laughter Jordan ever heard. If the fashion industry was like any other, money alone would not make you a success. It would fall on the old networking game. Not what you know, but who. So, Sma
ll laughed at the dumb jokes, shook hands with everyone like he was dying to meet him. For a moment of time, almost unmeasurably short, Jordan felt guilt at his plan. He struck Small with the heel of his left hand, squarely in the back with enough force to knock him forward. Small teetered on his heels for a moment before he turned around.
"Why, I'm terribly sorry. I-" He froze mid-apology. "You!" His eyes expanded.
Jordan wore a cock-eyed grin as he watched Small stumbled for words. "Small, old boy. You do pop up in the damnedest places. Was that your building that burned down last night? My God, that was simply awful! Who would do such a beastly thing?"