

The Tide is High

Victoria Bolton

Copyright © 2016 Victoria Bolton

All rights reserved.

Hairummat Books, White Plains, NY

Smashwords Edition

Cover Concept and Design by Victoria Bolton

ISBN: 9781370392049

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, are coincidental.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

# ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thank you to everyone who has stuck around long enough to read the third book in the series. I am eternally grateful that what you have read hasn't pissed you off to the point where you quit reading.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10
PROLOGUE

##

An attractive, close to middle-age woman walks down the street in Manhattan. Her dress fits her curves perfectly. It is straightforward and classic. Her blue high heels hit the ground with purpose. Her lips are classic red and every hair on her head is in its place, while her clutch is tasteful. That is the story of many women who work and live here. It takes a particular lady to be able to present herself with confidence on the streets of New York City. It was not as it was in the nineteen-sixties when each citizen took pride in their appearance or their neighborhood. The protests were against social injustices instead of an excuse to be disorderly. Women were feminine, and men were dapper across the board, no matter what race or economic situation they belonged to. Now it was everyone for themselves and do whatever you want. This woman was old-school and was not prepared to change with the times.

The early nineteen-nineties brought social change to the city and the country. Urban styles and dress took over the cultural landscape. Rap music had become mainstream, and many of the youth adopted the style as a symbol of their expression. This often clashed with what the citizens who grew up decades earlier thought was an appropriate way to live. The change in culture brought a new wave of violence and drug abuse which was a spillover from the policies that were introduced in the seventies and early eighties. The youth did not invent the game; they changed it for the worse. There was no sophistication attached to it as with the gangsters of decades earlier. Many of those men fell to changing the laws of the country which no longer suited them favorably. These were hard and bitter adolescents using the medium to survive or get back at whatever life had thrown at them. The gun was their clutch, and they held it every opportunity they could.

No one is safe from them, especially if they are a target. None of the gunmen are sharpshooters and if you are on the street at the same time as one of their marks, watch out. You could be wounded, or even worse, lose your life. Some do hit their marks, but not without an array of bullets spreading themselves around the area. If such a target is hit, the perpetrators get temporary satisfaction, but it never lasts, and the hurt that it caused goes beyond the victim, which causes a circle of tension.

One such woman learned this lesson the hard way; her name is Bunny LeBlanc.

Bunny was leaving a business meeting at Bentley, a hip and popular club on 40 East 40th Street in Manhattan. She was getting ready to host a fundraiser there which was guaranteed to attract high-profile and wealthy supporters for her husband. The funds would also go to help community projects for the Dixon-Rhodos Foundation.

The street was semi-busy with regular traffic. Nothing out of the ordinary was happening besides the usual mid-day lunch crowd out to get their meals. A gentleman standing near a parking meter smoking a cigarette eyed her as she walked past him and a disabled van sat across the street. These scenes were as commonplace as the blowing horns.

As she strolled the pavement to head to Brooklyn via the train, she heard popping noises that sounded like firecrackers. Bunny did not think anything of it. Being in the city, she eventually became used to hearing certain sounds. Firetrucks, cop sirens, cars backfiring, and random popping sounds blast all year around. She heard a loud pop close to her ear. Seconds later she felt sharp pains in her body. She dropped her purse and clutched her shoulder. She looked over and saw blood on her shirt and hand and fell to the ground. She began to scream in pain. The people who were walking around her stopped to see what was going on.

"It hurts! Help me please, oh God, I have children!"

Several people stopped and tried to help her. Others ran away from the scene. The blood was leaving her body at a quick pace. She eventually passed out, and everyone around her was concerned. One ran into a bodega to call the police. Several teenagers darted away from across the street. No one was able to catch them.

When the police and ambulance arrived, there was chatter. One woman who saw Bunny fall was hysterical.

"Someone has to do something about this! This innocent lady just got hit by a random bullet. That could have been any one of us."

A concerned man added, "If Pasquale were Mayor, we wouldn't have any of this."

"I don't like him. I don't like him at all, but we can't live in a city like this. I don't care who gets in as long as this stops!" the hysterical woman replied.

"Isn't that Bunny LeBlanc?" a passerby asked.

"It looks like her," another one answered.

Bunny's cell phone began to ring, but she could not pick it up.

She was rushed to the hospital in unknown condition.

#  CHAPTER 1

##

Paul Aaron, a self-employed journalist, was about to pitch the story of his life. The tall, lanky man with a standard haircut and thick-rimmed eyeglasses was tired of wasting his journalism talents at local hometown newspapers. He wanted to hit the big time. He was tired of his one-bedroom flat in an aging building that often had problems with its elevators. Many tired evenings after his long days he returned to his building only to find the elevators out of order, and he had to walk up nine flights. He hated his non-existent social life and was ready to move up in the world.

His news articles consisted of local happenings like the occasional fire or animal stuck in power lines. A murder case counted as an exciting story for him, no matter how many times it happened in the city. The best plan he had to get his career to the next level was to take a leap and pitch to a high-profile publication. If the article was successful, he could get a big payday from it and have other opportunities open up for him, perhaps a book deal. He knew his ideas were great, but part of the challenge was to convince the editors at Lifetime Magazine that his vision fit their periodical. Lifetime was at the top of the magazine and publishing world. Some of the articles qualified for Pulitzers and the quality of their photographs was standard in the industry. To work there meant that you were one of the best, perhaps in the world.

A blockbuster article there would put Paul on the map for good. He received word that they were doing a double issue about the mob and he wanted in. This issue would be bigger and better than their last one on the subject two decades earlier. Since the original publication, the majority of the mob that had once held New York and other cities hostage had all but fallen after Mario Pasquale came into power as State's Prosecutor. There were few survivors left in the aftermath, and Paul felt that he had the perfect subjects for his project. He was always a fan of the Mafia world, and he followed every family that was known in the city right until each head of the Cosa Nostra fell like dominoes to the feds.

He managed to land a meeting with one of the editors at Lifetime. Paul sat down and waited for the editor to enter the office. A tall, bald, heavyset man walked in and sat down at the desk where Paul waited. "Okay, I have only a few minutes. Tell me what you got. By the way, my name is Frank Kelly, editor here at Lifetime." Frank extended his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Frank. My name is Paul Aaron. I am a freelance reporter. I have contributed articles to the New York Daily, the Times and other small local papers and quarterlies. I heard that you were doing this big issue about organized crime. I am pitching a story to you about the LeBlanc family, John and his wife, Bunny. You know them, they were the head of the infamous Chimera crime family from back in the day. It's an article that also talks about the members of that group individually. They are rock stars around here and in Jamaica. There are kids right now in the public housing buildings calling themselves Junior Mafia, dressing and carrying themselves like those two. You know as much about them as you do about the Colombos, the Gambinos, and the Ambrosinos, except they are different. They look different, talk different, and they are not Italian or Irish. They resemble the other population of New Yorkers that doesn't get the glamor treatment or the same pass as the others, and that is partly why they are loved so much here. They are wealthy, good-looking and have one hell of a backstory. You know a lot about them already, but I am sure that if you dig deeper, you will find many more layers.

"When I first saw them, John and his wife after the verdict, I was excited. I've only heard about them through the newspapers and the evening broadcasts. Back in the day, the stories about John and his crew were folklore. I admit I am a fan, and I just had to get close to them. I waited for hours on the day John was released for them to return to the residence they were staying in uptown. I believe the place belonged to a family member. He seemed to be in a rush, but I had to get just one question in before he left. I didn't know if he would ever return and I would have missed my opportunity with them. Pasquale was hell-bent on destroying him, so I understood why he wanted out of there at that moment. When I asked John if he was done with the life, he did not give me a full answer; he just grinned, like he usually does. I didn't get it, so I have to investigate more. He's up to something, and I am sure it's interesting. Sir, there are rumblings around Brooklyn that he may return and run for office here. I need to find out what made Chimera tick and what really happened to the rest of them. There had to be more to the story. None of the others who used to run with him were at the trial, and since this has a possible political connection, I know that people will eat this up.

"If you would give me a chance and the resources, I think this would make a blockbuster story for Lifetime Magazine, and I think I am the guy to bring you the goods. I know you are working on another piece about the mob being involved in politics, and I believe this will be a great addition to the issue. You can concentrate on those who are in the Midwest and the regulars here, and I can give you the good unknown story. If my plan works, I can see if I can get great photos and some new information. Trust me. This piece will be a hit. What do you think?" Paul was sure his presentation would spark Frank's interest.

"From previous experience, those types of people do not like the attention. They are not Gotti or even Mario Pasquale. I am not sure how you are going to pull this off. We are on a deadline here, and I can't rely on a promise."

"I have ways. I can get the people they worked with to talk. Who doesn't want to be in Lifetime Magazine?"

"What about the main two? 'I have ways' isn't enough assurance for me. We already have reporters on this story. Why would I need an extra one?"

"Because I will give you an angle that your national readers are not used to seeing. The magazine is falling off in readership. I don't mean that in a bad way, but I think this will make the news and give it the boost it needs. I believe that these people represent what the current times are, a more diverse view on what's happening. It's a new look, don't you think?"

Frank sat silent for a moment and clutched his hands. "I will think about it. You are a good salesman."

"Come on, help the little guy here. I hear that they are returning to the city soon, and I think that there is some truth to that, so as soon as they arrive, I will be on it. I already have everything else laid out."

"I said I will think about it. Put something together for me and submit it. If it's as good as you say it is, we will use it in the issue. Now get out of here before I change my mind," Frank replied. He said it in a joking yet serious way.

"Thank you, sir," Paul replied.

Paul left the office and went back to his apartment. He found a notebook and a pencil and began to outline his plan. He knew whom he needed to speak to; it was a matter of locating them. The hardest part was getting Bunny or John to agree to talk to him. On Paul's list was to get into the psychology of a group like this. What made them tick, why choose this life? He had already compiled a list of people to talk to about John and Bunny, and he had to get to work. He also had a big interest in Ben and a smaller interest in Jerome. Bernie Rhodos had already been profiled in the previous mob issue of Lifetime Magazine, so Paul felt that his story had already been told in detail. He heard that Ben was deceased, but information about his death was scanty at best. The best way to find out about Ben was to go through public records and see if he could locate his family for an interview.

***

Bunny LeBlanc lay down on the chair. Her feet were crisscrossed and decked out in the latest pair of fashionable high heels. Her dress spilled over to the sides. Her head was positioned comfortably, and her hands were folded. Her nerves were uneasy, but she was ready to let out what was inside of her.

"Your relationships, your life, tell me what's on your mind. Tell me about your home," a calming male voice said to her.

"You want to know what's on my mind when I am at home?" Bunny asked.

"Yes. Feel free to say anything. When you are around your husband, what goes through your mind?" The man began taking notes.

"Anything? Well, okay, at home often I just sit and stare at him. I have to pinch myself. I see him every day, and yet I still watch him in awe. I am his biggest supporter. I look at him, the man of my dreams. He is just sitting there watching the game and enjoying his time with his friends. He's laid back in his chair with his ankles crossed and his arms folded. He has his favorite drink by his side. That is the sexiest part of him. I've had a twenty-year crush on this man even though I am with him. Why? The swagger just oozes out of him with no effort, and I just want to walk over there and sit on his dick sometimes," Bunny said.

The man stopped writing and looked up. "That's interesting. What about your feelings, as opposed to just your thoughts?" he said.

"You said, say anything. I like talking about my husband," Bunny responded.

"You're correct, I did. I want you to go all the way back. What has shaped your train of thought?" the man asked.

"All the way back, let's see. You know when I was little; I never thought I would get a guy like him. I never felt beautiful even when other people told me I was. I was not traditionally pretty, like the light girls when I was a kid and was told by family and friends that those kinds of guys I had crushes on only went for model types or blondes, even the black guys, so I didn't stand a chance. This affected my self-esteem for a bit, and it made it hard for me to approach men. Those words stuck with me, and it was hard to build confidence. All it did was leave me with the guys who were buoyant enough to come to me, and ninety-nine percent of the time, I did not like them at all. I liked nothing about them. This led me to waste a lot of time trying to get rid of them. I would get hit on by various men, but for some reason, I was never intrigued by them. I'm pretty sure they were nice guys, and that is what we are supposed to look for, right? I guess being nice isn't enough for me. I needed someone who lit my fire, kept my attention, and had the very beauty I admired.

"Thank goodness I was a late bloomer and body parts started growing in the right places. I learned how to be beautiful and personable, and that is when my confidence came in. It took years for me to shake off the church shame that my mother forced on me.

"Everything changed when I laid eyes on him. That's right, even covered in blood I saw that he was good looking. He was everything I ever wanted. Even when he lay there in pain, he still acknowledged me. From that moment, I knew it was real, whatever it was I was feeling, the fairytale. Of course, the shyness came back in an instant, and I never got his name. Thank goodness fate decided it had other plans.

"Later on, some people told me that he was just okay but not great; he was not like the other guys. They said he was moody and didn't like people running up to him. I didn't care. I thought that it added to his mystique. I find his arrogance and elusiveness incredibly attractive, maybe because it fits him. Most guys can't pull that off, be believable and loved as he is.

"When I learned that he was married, I was devastated, but on the inside, I did not care. I wanted him anyway. My feelings for him were the catalyst for all of my future decisions, no matter how much disdain I received from my friends and family. I did not live for them, I live for myself, and even if I would have to explain things to God later on, I felt that if I didn't at least try, I would spend the rest of my life full of regrets. A try is always better than a fail, right? I would have met someone else, but the poor guy would forever be compared to John and forever fall short, like Ben did..."

Bunny paused for a moment. The very sound of Ben's name shook her. She quickly returned to the subject of John.

"I like the fire, I like the crazy, and I love the heart and the person who houses these qualities. I knew what I wanted and which direction I wanted to go in my life. I wanted to be in his world, be the same kind of person he is. I wanted to be beautiful and arrogant like him. He was unattainable, and I wanted it.

"When I left John, in the beginning I didn't want to leave him but how could I compete with a woman he was legally bound to? I didn't know her, but I didn't like her. She had everything I wanted, and it just didn't seem fair. Why did life present him to me if it wasn't meant to be? That is just a cruel tease. I felt that I was supposed to be there because he needed me at first, but then the pressure of her being a factor became too much, and I just didn't know how to handle it. I never got over him while I was away. Had we never fought, I would still be there, and who knows how she would have tried to destroy me one way or another?

"I think Jerome's passing brought us back together, I really do. I miss Jerome so much. He was as close to a brother as one could get. He was the only male in my family who was consistent. He was the only one who told me that I mattered when I was down. My father was not around; he had another family, and his wife didn't want him around me and my mom. Jerome was the one who helped me. When he died, the rage and the guilt of not being around in the last months ate at me. I felt that I needed to make it up to him and avenge his death."

"Avenge his death? Can you expound further" the psychiatrist said while adjusting his glasses.

Bunny knew that she had said too much. She had to clean up and fast.

"I didn't mean anything by it. I was just saying that I needed to live so he didn't die in vain. I know what you are thinking. 'What's wrong with this girl and why was she so hell-bent on this life with John? Why is she this way?'

"When you see the life of your dreams in jeopardy, what else would you do to make sure that nothing bad happens to it? You do everything you can to make sure that the vision stays on course, even if in the end you fail.

"Does any of this make sense to you? I know I am rambling. I'm not good with this counseling stuff," Bunny said.

The psychiatrist sat there, stunned into silence. He had stopped taking notes minutes ago. He did not know what to say to Bunny about her long-winded speech. He did tell her to say anything, and she did. He finally collected his thoughts and said something. He took off his glasses.

"It does make sense. You have an obsession with your husband. That is a good thing. You have essentially morphed into your husband and at this point, it would be difficult to distinguish one from the other."

"I guess you are right. That's a good thing, right?" Bunny asked.

"It could be. It can also be detrimental to your well-being. Water seeks its own level it seems. Are you worried about the responsibility of trying to emulate your husband?" he asked.

"I don't know yet. That is something I have to think about. I wasn't worried before," Bunny answered.

"What about this Ben person? You briefly brought him up. Was he someone important?"

"What about him? He's dead."

"Where does he fit in this scenario? He was important enough for you to bring his name into your thoughts."

"I don't know where he fits; he's part of the past."

"Yet, it seems like you have some guilt. Your voice pattern indicates some culpability. Where did Ben fall short?" the psychiatrist asked.

"I can't answer that, and I think you are misinterpreting. I did what I thought was right by letting him go. I'm done for today. I have to come back later." Bunny was getting agitated.

The answer confused the doctor. Bunny got up and straightened her dress. "I have to go. I'm paying you by the hour, and you are expensive. I will see you next week."

Bunny hurried out of the office. She wanted to leave before she said too much. The point of the therapy was to clear her mind. The sound of gunfire, the splash of tiny, warm blood droplets hitting her face and clothing were coming up in her dreams, which were turning into a recurring nightmare. She knew that the incident with Ben had not left her conscience. She needed the shrink to interpret what it meant. She had to do this and figure things out quickly. They were moving back to the States in Brooklyn from Jamaica and her mind needed to be clear so she could concentrate on the future. This was necessary not only for their business but for her children. If the press caught her off her game, they would have a field day with them, and that was something that Bunny did not want to happen. Going to the States was something new for the kids and getting acquainted with a new country would be hard enough without the public scrutiny. Getting everything back in order was important to John and keeping him happy was her first priority.

***

A common color in the mob is black. In clothing, it represents a constant mourning, the mourning of a fallen comrade, the mourning of innocence. It also represents the color of the hearts of some of its members, whether they realize it or not. Black clothes were slimming, and Bunny wore the color a lot these days. John also adapted the color into his wardrobe for the same reasons. It was quite the change from her younger years, where reds, yellows, and blues dominated her wardrobe. She was older, and she felt that anything that slimmed her body worked. Each child had widened her hips and her behind a little. Nevertheless, her intense workout sessions kept her in shape and her tummy flat, much to John's delight. Despite planning for a very large family, they stopped at four children, two girls and two boys. The girls were Sophie and Sandra, and the boys were John Jr. and Jaden; they completed the LeBlanc family. The numbers just seemed right. She got what she wanted, and so did he.

Bunny looked lovely, not a wrinkle in sight thanks to her rich melanin. It was getting harder for her to maintain since she was now in her forties and the two girls were now entering their teenage years. They reminded Bunny of her early years at the Playboy Club. She needed her energy to watch after them. The boys were still in grade school, and John had a good handle on them. The girls, however, took after her for the most part, especially in personality. They were facially beautiful, and their bodies were developing quickly, which brought a lot of attention from boys and much disdain from John. He found himself threatening any little knucklehead boy who attempted to put their hands on his princesses. Their Jamaican accents did not help matters. It was quite different from their parents since the girls and boys were natives of the island. John's southern accent never wavered despite him being a resident of New York and Jamaica for many years. It was a magnet for the schoolboys the moment these girls opened their mouths. John Jr. and Jaden were not a problem. They spent a lot of their time at basketball camp, as they seem to have inherited their father's height and love of sports. He hoped to teach them the ropes of the business once they were old enough but felt that their education and possible scholarship for sports could also benefit their futures.

John remained on track but after the trial, a few things began to change. In his heart, he was sure that he was done with the life of organized crime before things took a turn for the worse. However, the acquittal seemed to breathe new life into him. His fire returned, and he wanted to make a mark, but this time be a little smarter about how he proceeded. He had this brand-new reputation and wanted to retain the trust of the people who had supported him throughout his troubles. Being good was now embedded in him, but he missed the action and excitement of being a head of an organization. The mob in New York City had been decimated due to the disloyalty of some former members of various families and Camorra, including Ben. John held a lot of resentment towards Ben, more so than usual. As far as he was concerned, Ben was shit, a punk and deserved everything that happened to him.

Part of John's plan was to rebuild. He loved Jamaica, but it was time to leave. John and Bunny had made a significant impact on parts of the island. The economy there was beginning to recover as more corporations returned, so he felt that their work in Kingston was done. Returning to New York City was the only plan for him and the family despite the issues they had encountered before. He was in the clear as far as the courts were concerned and on good terms with the public. John and Bunny had now become celebrities and fodder for local tabloid newspapers. The public had become enamored with the couple. Everything about their relationship was something that held interest with the residents, right down to Bunny's fashion choices. Some had even gone as far as trying to dig up information on both of them, but John has taken steps to make sure none of the major publications ran the stories. He wasn't always successful.

Doing that had cost him a pretty penny, but he felt it was necessary to protect his kids, who would be in the city soon enough. To get back on track, John decided to partner up with his longtime lawyer, Yannay Kohn. Yannay has been with John and Bunny since the early days of Chimera, and they had developed a great friendship. Yannay was the house counsel, and John loved that Yannay knew the importance of taking secrets to the grave, which was a requirement for being a great lawyer in this business. It was one of the requirements that Bernie wanted in his circle of associates. Yannay's loyalty had been tried and tested, and John felt that his connections to New York City politicians were just the right fit for his plans. They agreed to become partners and began to buy available real estate and lots that were located around New York City for pennies on the dollar. The plan was to take them and put new buildings and businesses on those lots.

***

It was time to start planning. John and Bunny sat down at the table in their Kingston home office with their notepad and began brainstorming plans for the next few months. This was big; John was ready to return to his former glory.

"Okay, so this is it. We are going back home to New York for good. We will be back in business there. Dixon Rhodos will continue operations, and the Chimera name stays. We were wounded, but we have bounced back. It's part of us so we can't let that go. Chimera will take a stake in a few available buildings in the city. Our focus will be on food programs, day-care leases, waterfront development, urban renewal projects and minority enterprise businesses. We want to work our way into the machine. Yannay is now a financial partner. I hope you are okay with that because the plans have already started," John said.

"I'm all right," Bunny replied.

"They are selling lots around the city for a good price, and I think this is a prime time to rebuild. I'm interested in putting luxury apartments in some of those spots and others will be zoned for business. In Harlem and Brooklyn, there are plenty of available brownstones that I think we can take and flip. The city is pushing hard for companies to come back and perhaps get a few white people to move in so we might as well take advantage of this now. Operation gentrification is already in full effect," John said.

"You know what's funny about that? There used to be tour buses that would go through the old neighborhood, and you could hear them sometimes through their bullhorns. They would never stop in Harlem, even to the point of running red lights. Those tourists wanted to see us but not be around us. They used to tell them that this area was for the black people and that it was dangerous. Now they are breaking their necks to move in here. I just think that it's funny," she said.

John looked at her in agreement.

"What about here?" Bunny added.

"Kingston is our home on the island, but I think it is time for us to run the islands of New York once again. Things will be different this time. BunnyWine stays here. I've hired managers, and Lawrence is already in NYC helping with Mariana. It's time for them to get out of that small space they are in. We can run everything from New York. Headquarter it in Midtown, and keep the factory and winery here. The people and their jobs will be all right," John said.

"This sounds like a plan. I'm just worried about the kids transitioning. They have never been to New York before. Can you imagine how they are going to act once they get there? How are we going to watch them? It's a mess and, John, it's not like what it was when we were really young. Bullets are flying around like the birds out there," Bunny said.

"We will watch them just fine. We are their parents. If we are working, that is what your mother is for. She can look after them," John said.

"You know Momma has issues now. You've seen it. She is starting to forget things. She won't acknowledge it but..."

"Agnes is just fine. They listen to her. Stop worrying. If things get out of hand, then I can have some of my family come up from Louisiana or Oklahoma. We're good," John assured her.

"Alright," Bunny said and paused. She wanted to change the subject from her ailing mother. She was showing early signs of Alzheimer's. "I think Bernie would be so proud of you right now. He's probably looking down from heaven and shaking his head in approval," Bunny said.

"You think? I mean, look what has happened to all of his work since he passed. I'm pretty sure he's a bit pissed at some of the developments," John said.

"Yeah, but you keep bouncing back. How many times did he fail before he got the right people helping him? He took hits; he's even been to jail. I don't know if you realize it, but you, right now, are Bernie. It's come full circle. You saw the papers when you were acquitted. They called you Teflon John, nothing sticks," Bunny said with a grin. "That is what everyone back home calls you now."

"I guess if you look at it that way it makes sense. I knew it was rough, but fuck; I didn't know it was going to be like this," John said.

"All I know is that we are fine right now and will be better than ever, trust me. I believe in you," Bunny assured.

"I trust you too," John said, and he looked at her.

"Anyway, I think we have to get a move on. When the school year is up, we will all move back. The kids can return here and visit friends in Jamaica in the summers and the house stays. It will serve as our vacation home. We now own a brownstone in Brooklyn, and that is where we will reside. The Jamaican population there runs deep, so we are good. We have lots of support there. The kids will have the entire summer to adjust and then they start back in a school there in the fall. You can have full control over the décor, and I have someone commissioned for renovations if you want to do any. Sound good?" John continued.

"Sounds good. Décor, whoopee," she said in a sarcastic tone.

She continued. "I guess this will be new to me too. I haven't spent that much time in Brooklyn either." She paused. She was always in awe of John's ability to take charge of things. "Should I ask how you were able to get these deals on the lots? This sounds fantastic."

John looked up at her. "Well, our super partner, super lawyer Yannay, has lots of friends in office. He managed to get us a few deals. For our generous campaign contributions, they gave us prime lots and space for a decent price. Those same politicians have deals with certain people who will work on the projects for us. We were lucky; there were a bunch of real estate firms with the same ideas. It pays to know the right people," John said.

Bunny looked at him. She knew where this was going, and she did not like it. The enthusiasm she had moments ago began to wane. "I guess we really are full circle. I wasn't trying to be that specific when I said it."

"It's not like that. Our hands won't get dirty," John said.

"Can you guarantee that? I'm sorry if I seem like downer right now, but it was very hard for me when you were going through a trial. I don't want to go through that again. I don't want to have to do the things I did before," Bunny said.

John looked at her. "You won't. I promise. We will be okay. All I ask is that this time, just lay low."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Bunny asked.

"I'm not in the hole anymore. You don't have to worry about the big stuff. You don't have to worry about doing anything that's beyond your range or understanding," John said.

John was hinting at Bunny's participating in Ben's disappearance. They had never openly discussed it before now. It had been an undercurrent of their relationship for the last five years. The birth of two sons after his acquittal took their minds off the chaos of those months John was incarcerated. John knew Ben was deceased, but the full explanation for his death was never explained to him. John had a hit out on Ben that was supposed to be carried out by his people. Ben was a rat who went against the family he took an oath for. It's one thing to have a personal beef, but it's another to sell your brothers out to the government. It was considered treason of the highest order. John's people never got to him. All he knew was that Ben was buried in a pauper's grave because no one came to claim his body and Bunny knew something about those circumstances.

"Out of my range? So you think that home décor and picking schools for the kids is in my range?" Bunny asked.

"Oh God, you know I didn't mean it that way," John sighed.

"I'm not whining; I am just asking. I don't want you to feel like I can't do things. I think I did pretty well for us. Was it stressful? Yes. But I held us up just fine."

"And you did well, but look at you. Whatever it is that you know, it has been bothering you ever since, and I don't like seeing you being bothered. You have nightmares and just because you don't tell me doesn't mean I do not know it's happening," John said.

Bunny looked at him.

"What else am I supposed to say to you when I see that?" John added.

"A 'thank you' would suffice," Bunny said.

"Thanks, but it would be nice if you were upfront with me. You know what? Let's do this right now." John pushed the notepad and pen aside to clear the path between him and Bunny. "I demand to know what happened. Did you hire somebody to off him or did you give him to the feds or something?"

Bunny cut right to the chase. "You want to know what happened? Okay, fine, I shot him."

"You killed him?" John said, surprised. His mouth was slightly agape. He did not know what to think of the revelation. John was under the impression that she had hired some people to take care of Ben. He had no idea that she had done the work. From the rumors John had heard about Ben's demise, the shooter had great precision, something that was never a high point for Bunny. Her actions were a far cry from the stereotype that women who were married to the mob were unable to commit crimes autonomously.

"How? I mean, you're a terrible shooter, let's just be honest here," John said.

"Practice, and I had to get close. I kind of knew what made Ben tick. I didn't do anything out of order, but I had to find him and get in his face. I did what I had to do to get you out of there. He was their star witness. I just couldn't let him talk," she said.

"How close? I know him, and if you were within ten feet of him, he would have been all over you like a disease," John said.

"I had him on the floor. Nothing was going on. I didn't let him get far. When he tried, I took out my pistol and shot him. That was the only way I could get him to let up his guard. I used only one bullet," she said.

"How far?" John asked,

"If you are that concerned, he did not get to touch anything," she replied.

John was stunned. "Where did you get a pistol?" he asked.

"I got a small one from the gun range. It was the size of my hand," she said while holding up her palm. "I practiced, and I am pretty good with it. I had it destroyed not long after. I know not to keep a gun. You taught me well," Bunny said.

"What happened after that?" John asked.

"Before I did it, I told his girlfriend to let him go when we gave her the help. The agreement was that she was to never contact him again. She wanted her son back. We had the pull at the time to get her the help she needed to regain custody, and she took the deal," Bunny said.

"And she did it, just like that?" John asked.

"I think so. Brenda is a street girl, and seems like a good mother."

"She's around because you gave her a guilt job?"

"Yeah, I've kept an eye on her," she answered.

"And she doesn't know how he got there?" John asked.

"No."

"I can distinctly remember when you got angry at me for bringing Ben around, and I told you that it is better to watch him than to have him unsupervised. Is this what you are doing?"

Bunny stayed quiet.

"I understand why you did it, but she lingers around. Her name is Brenda, right? I've heard things about her, and although I am not terribly familiar with her, you know more than me, I can't help but think she has some of Ben in her. They have a kid, and you can't tell me that she isn't still emotionally attached to him in some way. Her son looks just like him. I know how you women are."

"You women? Okay watch your mouth," Bunny said in joking way, although she was a bit serious about that.

John continued to talk. "What I can tell you just from life experience is that she took the deal because it put her in a better place financially than she was at the moment. I am not saying to get rid of her altogether, because she was great PR for us, but I am saying that you made a deal with her, and we need to keep her neutralized. Be careful. Whatever Ben had going on in the head that was making him into such a fuckup is generational; that kind of fucked-up shit spreads," John said.

"I will be careful. Any conversations with Brenda have and will stay professional and relate only to her. I just don't see her as a big problem. The evil influence has been long gone," Bunny replied.

"I don't want you to think that I am jumping on you. I get it, everything you did is why he is in a box someplace, and that is some impressive shit, I admit. I'm just saying be careful. If I see something that doesn't look right about her, I will step in. It's my job to protect you, the same way you felt you had to do for me. Remember that conversation?"

"I do," Bunny responded.

"One more question. This surprise hit, it was a one-time thing though, right? Because you on top just took another dimension. I have to make sure your hands are visible while you are sitting on me at all times now. I may piss you off one day, and I don't want to be fucked up in that manner," John asked with a grin.

"Yes, it... oh my god, John!" Bunny replied and playfully hit him on the arm.

John had to lighten up the moment. He knew Bunny wasn't built for killing and that this time of confession was hard for her. It was the guilt of taking a life that was bothering her. The matter was complicated because Ben had expressed his love for her right before she put a bullet in his head. That information she decided not to tell John. She was not sure how he would react to it. John had been in that space many times, and after the initial shock of the first bloodshed leaves, it gets easier to repeat. The trick is to not let it linger in your head and to use it only when necessary. The requisite to kill was only to protect the family and in that she had succeeded.

John put his arm around her and pulled her close. He kissed her on her head. "Thank you. I mean it. You did well, but that's enough. Do we agree on that?" John asked.

"I agree. I'm dealing with it, and the nightmares will stop," Bunny replied.

"Now that we have that out of the way, let's get back to business. We don't have to ever speak of this again if you don't want to," he said.

"Good because I don't want to."

"Great, so who do we have?" he asked.

Bunny grabbed the notepad they were working on and began reading off it. "We have us, Lawrence, Mariana, and Yannay, the super lawyer," she said.

"That's great, that's our crew."

"I can hire people if we need to," Bunny said.

"We don't need that right now, but we may do it later. It depends on how much we grow; that's if we really need to get bigger. It's going to be hard, so I can't really afford to babysit. I only need people around who know how we already operate," John said.

"Where is our office? It won't be at our home, will it?" she asked.

"No. I am in the process of buying Nineteen West Forty-Sixth Street."

Bunny gasped. "John, you bought back Chimera. You told me before that you didn't want the building, it hurt too much to see it."

"I pulled some strings and got a good agreement. It was part of the deal that Yannay and I made with the Mayor. It cost us, but I thought it was worth it to get it back. It will be worth millions in a few years," John said.

"The restaurant at the bottom?"

"That's ours, well, we rent it to the operators, but the entire property is now in our name. We own sixty-six percent, Yannay has a thirty-four percent share. That will do for now until we get well off enough to buy his share," John said.

"I'm stunned. I really miss the place, John. Sometimes I wish things remained the same and that Bernie was still here," she said.

"I do too, but Bernie would be about ninety years old right now. Not sure how much he could do," John said.

"You would be running the place, I know. What is the endgame here? Are we real estate people now?" Bunny asked.

"No. This is just to secure our future; our kids will have something. The real estate is just for investment purposes. No babe, my connections are going to get us into higher places, in office. The endgame is the Mayor's office."

"You're kidding, right? What about Pasquale? He is running to replace the sitting Mayor. How are you going to go against him and win? He would run you over in the street if he were permitted to do so."

"I, I mean we beat him once before. We can do it again," John said.

"I can't believe it. You are really going for it. You know this puts a bullseye on us. Are you ready for this?" she asked.

"I'm ready. Pass the kouchie," John said.

Bunny handed him a joint that was sitting in a cigar box at the end of the table, and she grabbed one for herself. She took the lighter and lit the joints in celebration.

"Why are we smoking right now?" Bunny asked.

"We're celebrating. My love, we are back in business," John said.

The old John was reemerging. The pushback of his old habits had been a way of getting into Bunny's good graces in the beginning, but some things were embedded in him. He could not let that part of his life go. He was ready to return to his boss status, and the best way to do so was to go back to where he started.
CHAPTER 2

##

Hart Island is known as the land of the lost souls. This is the place where the unclaimed bodies of those who had died in the city were buried. The landmass is operated by the Department of Corrections. The inmates do all the work for fifty cents an hour. In that circle, that is a good-paying job. The area is covered in secrecy, and it is frowned upon to have people outside of the department on the premises. Only a very few individuals have been allowed to visit, and Paul was one of the lucky people. He was assigned a guide from the DOC to make sure Paul did not do anything illegal or remove items from the premises. Paul was allowed to take no more than a few photographs and was restricted on what activities he photographed. No close-ups of plot numbers, workers or the coffins.

Paul was able to get access on account of the fact that he was doing an educational research story about the island's history. He used his credentials and the possibility that a good PR story would be published in Lifetime magazine. His real reason was to find where Ben was buried and figure out what actually happened to him. He wanted to see his final resting place for himself.

Paul was told to limit his photographs out of respect for the dead. The truth was that many city officials did not want visitors on the island due to the poor condition of the buildings that still stood there. In addition, the image of criminals burying the bodies of innocents would not look good. Paul was excited about the trip because he had heard so much about the place, but at the same time nervous about what he might see. He heard many stories about places like that being haunted, and Paul was not interested in meeting someone's spirit in real time. He wanted to use his press pass to its fullest potential, but he had to prepare himself.

Paul was ready. His pockets contained a tape recorder, a pen, a small notepad and a miniature American flag. Around his neck was his camera. Thanks to his connections at the DA's office, he had all of the information that was available, including which plot Ben's body was placed in, so he could see for himself.

When Paul arrived, he noticed that the area was windswept and quiet, a direct contradiction to the regular noise of the city. The trees were lush and the grounds abounded with wild shrubbery and weeds. In other areas, there were fresh piles of dirt from newly constructed gravesites and cut grass. There were shells of old prison, hospital and office buildings that had been abandoned since the Civil War. Some of the spaces had pipes sticking out from the ground surrounding the buildings. Paul was told by the guide that those were trench markings, which were the infant mass graves. Each tube marked where at least a thousand babies were buried. The adults were put in a different section, with each cluster stacked in groups of two hundred.

Paul walked over to the plots. Each buried person was concealed in their bare and uniform pine box, with their name scribbled on the side with a marker and a small white tag on the side. Some had only a number because they could not be matched with a name. No one had their own tombstone. He passed over workers in dark jackets digging a new trench beside a bulldozer and a truck that contained ninety new boxes, each one holding a person who went unclaimed, just like Ben. He counted twenty-two tiny boxes within the pile. Paul knew that those were infants, many of them stillborn or a victim of the drug epidemic that swept the city. He knew where they were going. He could see the sadness in the workers' faces as they continued to dig. Those were inmates, and the city used them for cheap labor and to send a warning to them: that this was their future if they did not straighten out. Each box was stacked one on top of the other, as high as three coffins deep, to save room. He made the sign of the cross as he passed them. The reality of the situation was starting to sink in.

After walking around most of the island and taking notes about what he saw and what he was allowed to take, Paul finally made it to the marked plot where Ben was laid to rest with the other unclaimed souls. He kneeled down to reflect. The guide was confused as to why Paul stopped at this particular section.

"Do you know anyone who was buried here?"

"Yes, I mean, no. A friend of the family is here. I think this is the spot where they put him," Paul said.

"Your friend shares this spot with a lot of people."

"He was pretty popular in the city years ago, local popularity. He was part of a group. The Chimeras. They were widely known as Rude Boys. I don't know if you have ever heard of them," Paul said.

"Oh yeah, I faintly remember them. The Rudies were part of the Mafia before Pasquale came and busted all of that up. I remember when their leader LeBlanc was locked up, and it was all over the news a few years ago. A lot of guys we have digging here know him, too. Yeah, one of them is right here. When those guys go out, they go out with a bang," the guide said while laughing. "No pun intended," he added.

"I get it," Paul said. He put his hand in his pocket and discretely angled the recorder so it could catch the guide's voice. He hit record and began talking.

"So, right here is Ben Berardi. This guy was a legend back in the day, I mean, he ran with the Rude Boys. They were not part of the big five, but they practically ran the city on their own, gave the other Cosa Nostra a run for their money. They were the epitome of cool. How in the hell did Berardi end up here on Heart Island? This is where the unknown go to rest. Surely this guy had people who loved him. He was a father, for god's sakes, he had a girlfriend. He shouldn't have died a pauper; even the most despicable of New York City Mafia and criminals got better burial treatment than this," Paul said.

"There are thousands of stories just like his concealed in these grounds, son. At one point everyone here was loved by someone. Each one of these people was fucked over by life, and they ended up here. He was one of these guys out here, too. He got out of prison and perhaps made some poor decisions or got caught up with some unfortunate person who took him out. The story fits a lot of these guys, the ones who are doing the digging. If they were let out, they would meet the same fate. Since your friend was in the mob, to be honest with you, he shares this island with a lot of associates, more than you realize. See, if you are one of them and you end up here, that means you were sacrificed. Perhaps he was one of the lucky ones who was found intact. If they can bury one of their brothers in concrete or feed them to the fishes, they can be here also. If they end up like this, whatever happened between them, the group was not clean, that's for sure," the guide said.

The statement made Paul pause. He stuck the miniature flag into the dirt.

"Even if things were not clean, I still wonder what transpired up to the point where this was the end of his story," Paul said.

"Between you and me, what I know from the inmate chatter was that he was a hit, from them, them meaning the group. He wasn't a victim of a rival; I don't think the feds took him out, either. Too sloppy if that were the case. The feds would make him vanish. One of his own took him out. They took him out because he killed another member of the group. So it was retaliation. Now the kicker is, no one is claiming responsibility."

"What do you mean? When the mob puts a hit out on someone, you can pretty much trace it back to them. Someone had to have it out for him. If he killed another member, that would be plenty enough reason to do it. Those guys wear their hits like a badge of honor," Paul said.

"Yeah, but not this time. Not a single guy would claim that they know who did it. That's a first for me. It has a whole feeling of a cover-up," the guide said.

"He was a vet. He deserved a proper burial at least." Paul pulled up his camera and kneeled down to take a photo.

"Hey, no close ups of plot numbers. Rules."

"I know. I'm getting the flag on the ground."

Paul walks back from the spot, a safe enough distance that it didn't violate the agreement. He began to take a couple of photos of the entire plot. It was sufficient to use to build a story about Ben's final hours.

***

The move back to New York for John, Bunny, Agnes and the kids was taking place. Although the children would miss their friends back in Jamaica, their excitement about going to their new home overtook their concerns. Black painted rails and doorway, aged brick and large windows formed the signature of brownstones in Brooklyn. The location was ideal, as it was just over the bridge. The commute to the office every day would not be a bother. It was far enough away from the chaos of Manhattan, but still city enough to feel that they were in the mix. The proximity to neighbors was closer than what John and the kids were used to, but it brought back memories of growing up in Harlem for Bunny.

John shared their enthusiasm about returning. He and Bunny were ready to take their first steps back into the original offices of Chimera in Manhattan in almost twenty years. The area had not changed much. Ads were everywhere, just like it had been before, but they were less sophisticated than they used to be. One in particular caught Bunny's eye. It was a Tanqueray ad with a character called Mr. Jenkins. "With gifts of Tanqueray, Mr. Jenkins enjoys both giving and receiving." Another billboard had a giant roach on its back. "They can't make it here," the tagline said. She laughed at the kitcheness of it. It was right in line with the homeless man on the corner. She walked over to him and gave him a ten-dollar bill. After Bernie's death, the takeover and the fire, the building still stood and thrived as though nothing had ever happened to them. The hardest part would be the emotions that would overtake both of them the moment they stepped into the remodeled offices.

As Bunny and John unlocked the door to walk up the stairs, they held hands. The scene was reminiscent of when Jerome first walked Bunny up her first day at Chimera. Bunny held the keys, and as they approached the entryway to the offices, she handed them to John.

"We're home. Here, you do the honors," she said.

John took the keys from her and unlocked the door. They walked in, and the smell of a fresh paint job and newly installed wood floors hit them. The lighting was replaced, and the small rooms seemed brighter and bigger than when they had left. There was no clutter of paper or crowd of large furniture pieces that had once occupied the space. No trace of fire was left over. The upstairs area had not been reoccupied since the Ambrosino family unloaded the building. The downstairs restaurant thrived, and the revenue it brought in was enough to sustain the building.

Neither one said anything. They were in a sacred space. Both of them could feel the spirit of Bernie, Jerome, and Ben in the rooms. Flashbacks of better times went through both of their heads. Bunny walked into her old space, the one she shared with Ben. The last time she stormed out was after her argument with John. The return brought back ominous feelings and some guilt. Would things have gone differently had she stuck around?

John walked into Bernie's old office and stood there. This is where he would make his home. Although he had used the area shortly after Bernie died, the space was always occupied by Bernie's soul.

"Are you okay?" Bunny broke the silence as she walked up to him.

"Yeah." Inside, John was emotional, but he didn't show it. "It still feels the same. I'm going to do right by this place. I owe that to them," he said.

At that moment, the torch was passed. John had become the new Bernie. Every stage that Bernie Banks had to take to get to that moment, the struggle, the jail time, the loss, the suffering, John had crossed most of the same path. The first steps Bernie took to open Chimera, John was taking those same steps to re-open Chimera. Although Bunny had told him before, the crowning felt real this time. This was it.

"We need phone service and some new furniture," he said.

"I can get on that for you," Bunny replied. She instantly returned to her old duties as if she had never left.

"We need a new sign outside," he added.

"I can find a sign company that's local, and I'll send them our logo," Bunny replied.

"The old one. I want to put the old logo back. The fire logo was the aftermath, but I think that we should go back to the original," John replied.

Bunny nodded her head in agreement. The explanation made sense to her. She was watching him return to the man he had been when they first met. She knew that John would change once he returned to the area, except not be as brutal. He had children to consider, unlike Bernie. They would judge his actions and possibly emulate him. He wouldn't do any of the dirty work anymore; now he was in the position to delegate those duties, just like Bernie did.

Bunny stood on her tiptoes, put her arms around him and gave John a peck. "Do I get my office back?" she whispered, then snickered.

"You can get whatever you want," he replied as he grabbed her behind. "The others will have to be split among Lawrence, Mariana, and Yannay unless you want to share because I'm not sharing," John added.

Bunny sighed. "Don't you think I had enough of sharing? There are four large offices here and some smaller rooms. Yannay will not be in here every day. He doesn't need an office, he has his own practice. Lawrence and Mariana can share. The other will be our conference room. We didn't have that before. The smaller rooms can be for storage or whatever."

"I see what you are doing, putting Mariana and Lawrence in the same office..."

"Hey, I think it would be great," Bunny said.

"If you say so."

"So, it's settled. I have my office," she said.

John shook his head. "All right, all right. That sounds like a plan. I have to get to the courthouse to file paperwork," he said.

"And I will start with everything else here. We need another set of keys and maybe look into some cameras," Bunny replied.

***

The first note of business John had to take care of was to register paperwork for Chimera at the courthouse.

"My man!" someone yelled from down the hall.

John looked over to see who was making the commotion. He recognized one of his old friends from back in the day. His name was Earl, and he was working as a security guard at the courthouse.

"Well, if it isn't Teflon John LeBlanc. What brings you back to money-making Manhattan?" The two men hugged for a second.

"I have to get my permits in order. The family and I are moving back here for good. Brooklyn, actually, but I got a lot of business in Manhattan."

"Really, tired of Jamaica already? No way. The weather alone down there would make me want to never come back. You miss the winters up here, bro?" Earl asked.

"Not really, but we can deal. All business. We have big things planned. The kids will be schooling here, the wife is back in her territory so she will be alright. It's all good. I'm here at this courthouse taking care of business this time," John said.

Another man was watching the two carefully. He had also heard the commotion from down the hallway. He heard the name LeBlanc and had a feeling that it may have been someone related to John. LeBlanc was not a common surname in the city. It was popular for those who lived in Louisiana or Oklahoma, but what were the odds?

The man was Mario Pasquale, and the thought of John being in his presence made his blood boil. He had to investigate further. As he walked closer to the two men speaking, his suspicions were confirmed. It was John, the one who had left a blemish on Mario's otherwise perfect career. Mario had spent months after John's acquittal explaining away what happened to the New York press. They were quite brutal on him. Mario's infidelity scandal did not help matters, and the press credited his sloppy prosecution work to his workplace affair. These events led him to put his mayoral ambitions on hold until things calmed down. The trial catapulted John and Bunny into infamy and Mario was not thrilled one bit about his part in that. That was supposed to be his time to shine, and the fact that John was back in town did not sit well with him. He wanted to ignore John's presence but could not resist the urge to walk up to him and give him a few words.

Mario scurried over to them like a mouse darting across a room. "You have some nerve showing your face around here," he said.

John turned around and saw Mario. He had to look down to notice him. John was surprisingly delighted to see him considering that Mario had tried to ruin his life. Mario's look had changed since the last time John had seen him. Mario's once-famous helmet hair had been replaced by a comb-over supported by a few strands of long hairs that started at his hairline. He looked worse for wear.

"Why not? I'm a resident, I'm a free man. You have a problem with me being a free man?" John said as he towered over Mario. The proud tone in John's voice came out.

"I do, and I hate your smug face, as a matter of fact," Mario said.

Other people in the hallway noticed Pasquale and then saw John. They saw the tension in Mario's face and the amusement on John's face. Some stopped in their tracks to see what would transpire. Others kept walking but looked at them as they passed.

John rubbed his five o'clock shadow. "You ought to get used to seeing this smug face. I'm back home now and ready to take this city to another level."

"What are you going to do, run for Mayor? What a joke!" Mario snapped.

"Maybe," John replied.

"Over my rotting, stinking corpse, you will," Mario snapped.

A few of the people standing around them gasped.

"Did you get tired of the farce you had going on down there in that glorified vacation spot shithole you called home? We don't need you back here. You know what? You belong in the penitentiary with the rest of them," Mario added.

"But I'm not, and I must thank you for your outstanding prosecution job. Look, you are drawing a crowd, but I'm pretty sure you like that. I can't hang out with you now, I have things to do," John said as he walked away with Earl. They both laughed.

Mario stood there. He knew he had let his temper and ego get the best of him. He had said some things he knew would make headlines in a couple of papers. Causing a commotion in the courthouse was not a good look. He just knew that this would get twisted in the press. He looked around and talked to the few people who were standing around.

"Everybody can go back to their business now. Nothing to see here, just men having a discussion. We all say things in the heat of the moment that we do not mean. Carry on with the rest of your day," he said.

***

John and Lawrence went to the Chimera offices. This was to introduce Lawrence to the area he had talked about so many times. He heard the stories John and Bunny would tell him about working there, and since he was now part of the group, he couldn't wait to see the place for himself.

"Here it is. This is where it all started," John said.

"In this small-ass building?" Lawrence joked.

"Yeah but we got a lot done out of here," John replied.

"I can put my hand up and hit the ceiling," Lawrence said. He raised his hand and attempted to smack the ceiling. It didn't quite reach, but he wasn't too far. "Have you ever thought about moving? There are a bunch of places in the area that have corner offices with views of the city. That's fly." Lawrence asked.

"Nah. Not interested. This place has charm and history. This is where I grew up as a man. Can't leave the old neighborhood. By the way, you have to share your space with Mariana for now, unless you want one of the small rooms. She's running the foundation, and you help us," John said.

"I don't have a problem with that. Mari ain't difficult deal with," Lawrence said.

"Hey, what's really going on with you two? Are you hitting that?" John asked. He never held his tongue.

"I smashed her few times. We are not exclusive yet but we alright. I give her what she needs, and she'll act right," Lawrence answered.

"What's the problem?" John asked,

"She's uptight. You know that you've been around her longer than I have. She doesn't want to commit. Hey, it's not like I didn't try to make something more out of it. It's on her. She says she doesn't want to bring men around her son. I get that, but then again that boy is almost a man. She coddles him, and he is used to me being around somewhat. I think at this point she just wants me for my dick and to be a stand-in for his dad. I don't believe she loves me at all. If so, I can't tell. I asked her to marry me once. She said, not now. Maybe she is still hung up on her husband, I don't know. I don't want to compete with a dead guy, no offense," Lawrence said.

"Psst. I don't know what to say about that part. I get what you are talking about, but all I'm saying is watch out. Don't shit where you eat. It gets complicated, trust me. Although Bun and I worked out in the end, it was kind of fucked up in the beginning while we all were in the office together, the dating situation.

"As far as Jerome goes, I remember when he was in these offices. He was a lot like what Jerome Jr. is now, just a little bit older by a few years. I sent him to do an errand, and he was successful with it. Okay, he didn't know that he was blowing someone up, but that was beside the point. The point was that he stayed around and was willing to work for us. He wanted to prove that he was tough, that he belonged and he never questioned an assignment again. He did the outside work, stabbed, beat up, hit dudes with baseball bats, hit them with cars. He would leave them by Shea Stadium, out in the open as a message. Guns were the last resort. Guns were noisy and left shell casings that you can trace. You would be surprised how many guys they got just from tracing shell casings back to the guns alone. Most guys didn't dispose of their guns after they used them. We used each of our firearms only once and then we disposed of them because you could always get more. Bernie taught us to work smart. He even taught us how to use the Manchineel juice, and I had never heard of that shit before I started working here," John said.

"What the hell is Manchineel juice?" Lawrence asked.

"The toxic shit that grows from the tree. The whole tree is lethal. You can't even stand near it. You can't touch it or breathe near it without burning yourself, no part of it. Bernie had to have someone deliver it from Florida, and then you had to have your entire body covered, wear gloves and a mask to even handle it, so when we used it, it was at night. He would take it and just put the sap in somebody's drink or on their mail with a dropper, and that was it. They wouldn't know because it is supposedly sweet when they consumed it, but then it starts burning you up from the inside. After a while it was too expensive to keep having that stuff sent to us. We had a guy actually drive the leaves, pieces of the bark and a couple of the fruits from it to us from Florida. We had to stop using it totally when dumbass Ben actually picked up an apple from it that had sent to us, tried to take a bite from it and burned himself trying to prove that it wasn't all that bad. He had to down gallons of milk for hours to make that shit stop. His fingers were fucked for a while. We couldn't take him to the hospital, it would have blown our cover. He took a bite of it and spit it back out, but that was enough. After that, we switched to thallium because it was just easier to handle. Jerome was good in handling the poison tree shit, though. We got a lot of guys that way. All of that shit happened within these walls," John said.

"That sounds like something out of the bible. Don't eat the apples from the tree," Lawrence said.

"Yeah. Jerome loved that shit, though. He went from that to beating up guys in the office who owed us money. He was our hit man, and we paid him to sit and do nothing except beat up guys until Bernie gave him more duties to go out and sell with us. That's how he started. Was Jerome perfect? No way. He made some mistakes along the way. He took it too far with Sammy Ambrosino by suffocating him. That made the war between them and us go to the point of no return, but I understood why he did it. He wanted to do right by Bernie. I think all of us did. He gave us an opportunity in a society that was otherwise unheard of. We got to be made men, we had power. We were the LL Cool J's in a culture full of old fat guys. I went from broke to swimming in money. He went from an old beat-up Volkswagen and busing tables to a Cadillac and being a made man. Despite all of that, on the inside he was a good kid; he loved her and his new baby. We miss him, and my guess is that she is still holding on to that," John concluded.

"I remember when she would tell me stories when the three of you used to hide out. Jerome sounded like a cool guy you would want to know. You and Bunny are practically the Huxtables now, the gangster Huxtables. You're the dad, just a light-skinned pretty boy, and the country version. I want that. I'm just not sure if it will be with her," Lawrence said.

"Good luck with that, with Mariana. She's a real person. Just treat her right. As far as me being Heathcliff Huxtable, what? I don't think so." John laughed and tossed him a key.

"Give me Ali," John began quoting. "I'm the greatest thing that ever lived! I'm the king of the world! I'm a bad man. I'm the prettiest thing that ever lived."

***

Lawrence and Mariana developed a relationship around the time the Dixon-Rhodos Foundation was established. The stress of John and Bunny's troubles fell onto them hard, especially after John was incarcerated. Their livelihood also hung in the balance because they were on the LeBlancs' payroll. She was not the same Mariana from the early seventies. She was still an attractive woman but had put on a considerable amount of weight for her height. Mariana had come to terms with being a full-figured woman years ago. Much of it was due to stress eating after the sudden death of Jerome Jr's father. Food became Mariana's comfort, and she lost interest in maintaining a slim figure. Mariana was a skilled cook even back in the days when she would cook for Jerome Sr. and John when they were in hiding.

Being a good mother was her number one priority. The hurt from being widowed was so great that the desire to date vanished. Besides, the men in New York City were vain. The ones who were willing to date her she considered low class, and she felt that she was better than that. Mariana spent most of her time going to work, returning home and visiting family on weekends. She would go to the clubs every once in a while when she was invited. When she went to the clubs, she would dance with the men but leave when they demanded sex from her. She enjoyed the atmosphere the most.

She was lonely due to being widowed, and he was single and seeking the attention of his many female admirers, but after spending a considerable amount of time around Lawrence, Mariana developed feelings for him. The feelings were reciprocated by Lawrence, and they began seeing each other in secret. The two of them kept most of the relationship away from John and Bunny. Mariana thought it was unprofessional to be involved with someone in her workplace. It was the first time Mariana had allowed another man to enter her life.

She introduced Jerome Jr. to Lawrence, and they hit it off immediately. Lawrence never sought to replace his father but instead to be a mentor. He began accompanying Mariana to Jerome's school recitals and events. Lawrence spent money on Jerome's birthday and holidays as if Jerome were his own child. Mariana seemed content with the arrangement. The relationship calmed her, and she was able to relax more. Having Lawrence around to watch Jerome meant that it was less likely that her son would end up like many other kids with an absent male figure. When Lawrence was not available, Mariana relied on male relatives to keep him company. When Jerome was small, he would often ask why he looked different from the rest of the family. Her best way to cope with the questions was to have him spend time with his extended family on his father's side, which included Bunny, John, and their kids. He also had time with his grandparents, who still resided in Harlem.

When Mariana and Lawrence went out on dates, they frequented the dive bars, much like she and Jerome's father used to do. Their favorite was the Holiday Cocktail Lounge on St. Marks. When she visited his condo, they drank, mostly the stock of BunnyWine that was available. They became intimate a few times. This helped Mariana take the edge off. Lawrence gave her flashbacks of Jerome, whom she still missed dearly. Lawrence handled her body with care and treated her as if she was desirable. All of these things were positive, but on the inside something was holding her back from falling completely in love with him.

Mariana had strong feelings for Lawrence but was not ready to go all the way with him. Jerome Jr. was about to start his senior year in high school and Mariana felt that it would be safe for her to focus on herself entirely once he was old enough to vote and go to college. She had only one more year with him as a kid, and she wanted to cherish every moment of that.

Jerome was preparing for college, which would be paid for by a full scholarship to UCLA. It was a basketball scholarship to play for the Bruins. Jerome's academic scores also gained him more financial grants from different groups and organizations even though John had offered to pay his entire way through school. Mariana was proud of her son's success. Not only was he kind and respectful, he maintained good grades and near-perfect attendance. Jerome was popular in high school because of his height and basketball skills, which put his school on top in the city. John had introduced him to the game by buying him Knicks tickets and making arrangements for Jerome to meet with some of the people he knew worked for the team. It was all connected to the foundation.

The recruiter for UCLA offered to fly Jerome and a chaperone to Los Angeles to visit the campus. Jerome accepted and asked his mother to go with him. Mariana passed because she was not happy that he had picked a school so far from home. He was her only child, and she felt that he should be closer to her. However, Los Angeles was very appealing to Jerome. All he had heard about the place was that a lot of wealthy and famous people lived there and that they were nicer to athletes. Jerome Jr. got all of his information from television and music videos. He chose the school because he wanted to be a sports star. He wanted to see for himself. Mariana asked Lawrence to accompany him instead, and he agreed.

"Take care of my boy. I want to know everything. I don't see why he needs to fly six hours from home to go to college when there are plenty of places for him to play ball right over here. All of them wanted him," she said.

"Mariana, the boy is on a full scholarship. Those plane tickets back and forth are already paid for. I get it. He wants warm weather and beautiful women," he said.

"Planes are dangerous. They fall out of the sky. I don't like it. And what do you mean about that, beautiful women? He is supposed to go to school to learn, not chase tail. He needs to be focused, play basketball and graduate on time. Plenty of time for girls when he is done. They are all there to trap athletes and marry rich men anyway. That's how they do it, get them while they are in college and stupid. That's a party school. That reminds me, I need to make sure I have the talk with him when he leaves," she said.

"The talk?" Lawrence asked.

"Yeah, the birds and the bees," Mariana said.

Lawrence howled in laughter.

"What's so funny?"

"The boy is about to turn eighteen years old. I think Rome Jr. knows what sex is," he answered.

"Are you suggesting that my boy has sex already? He does not have sex! He's a good boy," she asked.

Lawrence was not going to tell Mariana the details. He knew that she would lose her mind if he told her that he had already supplied Jerome Jr. with condoms, and he had used most of them. With popularity in basketball at school came the benefits, which included the girls who were throwing themselves at Jerome Dexter, Jr.

"Leave the boy alone. Jerome has already proven that he is a responsible kid. Nobody is pregnant yet," he said.

"What!?" Mariana said. She was in full implosion mode by now.

"I'm joking," he answered, although he wasn't.

"I am going to make sure he stays on track while he is there. It will be only two days, and the recruiter will give us a tour, have him meet some of the teammates he will play with next year, see the practice facilities and look at campus housing," he said.

Lawrence hugged her to give her some comfort. He wasn't sure it worked. Her weakness was that she was continually on edge and uptight. Lawrence had to always touch her to get her to relax. It was exhausting at times, but Lawrence thought she and him were worth it. Lawrence was at a time in his life where he was ready to settle down. He had gone through the bulk of the single women he had come across when he was in Kingston, Jamaica and New York City.

His life had mirrored John's life in his early years. Lawrence often helped other mob families do favors in New Jersey. When those arrangements stopped being beneficial to him, he made his way to a respectable job at Johnson & Wilson Pharmaceuticals, where he met John. John was helping recruit business in Atlantic City for Bernie. This was at the same time Atlantic City was preparing to introduce a new era of casino gambling. When Bernie suddenly passed away, Lawrence was one of the people John recruited to help him, along with the Jet Mafia for protection.

He admired John and Bunny's union very much and was ready to settle down himself. He had everything else he always wanted. Money, a nice-sized bank account, a good wardrobe and a condo that was paid for. Mariana was the one who was available at the moment for him, and he felt that she was capable of making a home with him.

***

Lawrence's job was to make sure Jerome was making the right moves on the trip. The itinerary was packed, so there was no time for sightseeing, much to Jerome's disappointment. Jerome was often invited to tour campuses, and Lawrence would go with him to chaperone. This was the farthest from the city.

Jerome Jr's college recruiter invited him and Lawrence to a basketball game and after party. Jerome was considered to be a clean recruit by most schools. Others were concerned with his indirect connection to John LeBlanc via his father. He was not opposed to getting into a good program by being inducted. He had never expressed this outwardly for fear that he may be seen as a dirty player, and it may hurt his chances.

The after parties were not openly discussed. Many people considered them a kickback which was frowned upon in college sports. When he looked around, there were nothing but Caucasian women and black athletes in the large room, all holding red cups full of alcohol. There were blondes, redheads, and brunettes. All of them sorority types. He thought some of them were students, but many of them looked as if they were experienced. No one was dressed modestly. Many of them were wearing their shortest shorts, a feat that many brown and black girls would not be able to get away with in public.

His recruiter was encouraging him to mingle. "Lots of choices. The key here is to keep it safe. Don't go too far with them. Talk to one of them," the recruiter said. The purpose was to have Jerome meet possible future girlfriends. It would look good for marketing him later. He knew that his mother would never go for this. Mariana wants him to marry a Latina or cute black girl. The proposition made the place sound like a meat market.

Lawrence was quiet but surprised about how open and bold the recruiter was. 'What a difference thirty years and a few million dollars make,' he thought.

"Where are the sistas?" Jerome asked.

"This is UCLA. I don't think there are a lot of sisters around here," the recruiter said. He tried to slang the word sista. "These parties are invite-only. Mr. Dexter, I think that the women here are top notch and would be ideal for future consideration. They are all American, which makes sponsors happy."

The explanation did not please Lawrence. He did not want to say anything, considering this trip was for Jerome. He did not like what they were trying to do to Jerome. He had seen this before. It was OJ Simpson all over again.

Jerome made the rounds at the party but didn't pick up one of the girls. It was too early for that. He was still a high schooler and could not drink, but the girls took note that he would be in attendance next year.

When they returned to New York, Jerome told his mother, "Mama, I'm going to be a Bruin. I'm going to Hollywood!"

***

Lawrence made reservations at one of the nicest restaurants in town, Le Bernardin. Their specialty in seafood was what made it a favorite for him. He had taken Mariana there before, but this time, the night was special.

Mariana and Lawrence ordered and ate their food. He requested a bottle of Cristal for their beverage and had their table lit with lovely candles in her favorite color, white. He bought her white lilies, which were her favorite flower. Mariana thought that roses were too common. If a person could sell them in the middle of the street or at a gas station, she didn't want it. Lawrence wanted the scene classy. He knew Mariana's taste and wanted to make the best impression. She was never fond of tacky proposals, or tacky anything for that matter.

Lawrence finally gained the nerve to pop the question. He had never proposed to anyone before. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a black velvet box. When he opened it, he pulled out a beautiful three-carat heirloom diamond ring. "Mariana, will you marry me?"

Mariana paused. She didn't know what to think. She looked Lawrence in the eyes.

"No. I can't marry you now, papi," she said and got up. She walked out of the restaurant and left him at the table with the ring box sitting there.

He was stunned. The couple at the table next to them had been looking and seen the entire exchange. When Lawrence looked over at them, obviously embarrassed, they turned their heads to pretend that they hadn't seen what happened.

The situation was awkward because both Mariana and Lawrence had to return to work the next day and see each other. Lawrence was hurt, but he sucked it up. He was so sure that they were on the right path. He put the ring back into the box and collected the check. He handed the remaining Cristal to the people at the other table. "I hope this brings you better luck," he said and left the restaurant.

***

When Lawrence and Mariana returned to the offices, Mariana wanted to speak with him to clear the air.

"Look, I like what we have. I... feel a lot for you, and I like our arrangement. I'm not there yet. We should keep it the way it is for now. I don't want it to be weird here, and they can't know. We can try that again later on," she said.

"I get it. Fine, we will keep our arrangement," Lawrence said dryly.

"I'll come over tonight to keep you company. I'll put a smile on your face."

"I guess," he responded in a nonchalant tone.

***

Next on Paul's list of people to interview was Mario Pasquale. Mario agreed to do the interview with Paul because he still used his popularity with taking down the mob to his advantage. Mario never let an opportunity for good press pass by. The promise from Paul was a photo and a few paragraphs in the article about his greatness. He warned Mario that a few questions about John's trial would come up. He agreed but informed Paul that he would stop the interview if the questioning were inflammatory or unreasonable. Paul was prepared to get sanitized answers from Mario, as he was always strict on what he revealed to the press. If there were any negative stories about Mario in the media, it was because he was not familiar with the correspondent and he kept such reporters on a "do not engage" list.

"So, Mr. Pasquale. If you decide to run for Mayor of New York City again, this will be your second attempt. Can you please tell me what will be different about this subsequent run for office?" Paul asked.

"Well, the next time there will be less distraction. The only reason I stopped my campaign before was that I had personal issues at home that needed to be resolved first. The well-being of my family, my children comes first," Mario answered.

"Can you honestly say that your marital issues were only part of the problem? You also had a failed conviction at the same time," Paul said.

"My marital issues were a big distraction. As far as that case blemishing my record, I disagree with that. I did not have a one-hundred-percent conviction rate during my career. I was almost perfect, but not there. LeBlanc's trial was just an unfortunate series of missteps from both sides. I don't think the loss reflects negatively on my career as a whole. My approval ratings among registered voters are still very high. As far as the last trial is concerned, I honestly think the jury made a mistake," Mario answered.

Mario resented any talk about John's case, but he had to do it. Every reporter would ask him about it, and he was forced to be open about the situation, even if it pained him.

"Did they really make a mistake? Even if you had no credible witnesses to back up some of the insider claims that were made in the trial?"

"Correct. I know we had a strong case. I was very confident with the work of my associates," Mario said.

"Many of the experts disagree with that statement," Paul said.

"Well, the experts did not spend years on these mob trials. I have more inside information about the cases than they do. Anyone can be a Monday-morning quarterback," Mario said.

"If you can tell me, why didn't you have anyone come forward to back up the assertions made in court? That is uncharacteristic of your style. You were successful with Gotti and others. What happened here?" Paul asked.

"I can't say too much. We did have a witness, but he fell through. We could not get a few of the particulars in order in time for the trial, so we did not use him," Mario answered.

"So, do you think this witness's absence had a fatal effect on your case?"

"I guess you could say that. I just did not like that the jury seemed to dismiss the years of other evidence we had on those guys. Maybe if the jury makeup was different..." Mario said.

"Different in what way?" Paul asked.

"If I had my way, I would have had a better grade of jurors. A few of them probably had no understanding of what they were looking at or listening to," Mario said.

"Grade of jurors? There were two black, three female and seven white males..." Paul said.

"Look, I know where you are going with that, and I am not going to entertain trick questions. I never stated that their race or gender was an issue."

"But you implied..." Paul said.

"Next," Mario interrupted.

"But a few of them said that the evidence was weak," the reporter added.

"I said next question or this interview is over," Mario said.

"Well, while we are on the subject of running for office, Mr. LeBlanc is rumored to be returning to the city and possibly looking to run for borough president or a higher office on the encouragement of many of the citizens, Brooklyn, to be precise. They have a large Jamaican native population there. Many of them are voters and transplants. His popularity is very high right now. How will you appeal to those voters?" Paul asked.

The statement brought Mario right back to the incident at the courthouse. "The same way I appeal to everyone else. Listen, that guy isn't a native of New York, or Jamaica for that manner. He's from Louisiana, for God's sake. His wife is, but she's a glorified cocktail waitress. I am a native of Brooklyn. I would think the voters there would appreciate a person who was born and raised there and not a transplant," Mario said in an annoyed tone.

"He's done a lot of good things. You can't dismiss that entirely. He has also spent many years in Manhattan. He's like a lot of New Yorkers who migrated here. His wife is a native. He can still run because he was not convicted. He still meets the residency requirements. He has an appeal to a class of people who see a public official like you as a threat. There is this sentiment in certain areas that law enforcement and other parts of the local government are systematically trying to keep them disenfranchised," Paul said.

"See, that is another thing I disagree with you about. That is a small minority of people. The majority of the citizens of New York City see their officials as friends and as people who want to keep them safe. If those people are so threatened, perhaps they should go back to the crime-ridden island they came from. He can go back there too or go back to his real home in Louisiana," Mario said. He paused for a couple of seconds. There were times when his mouth moved faster than his mind. "Wait, strike that last statement. Don't add that," Mario added.

"Ok," Paul said.

"What I should say is that those people need to look for the guy who knows their area like the back of his hand. He's just a borough. I represent the entire city. Use that," Mario said.

"One more question for you, Mr. Pasquale. Do you think that your efforts have eliminated organized crime in New York City?"

"I would like to think so. Now, do I believe that remnants of their past still exist? Of course I do. However, when I take office, and I anticipate that I will do without challenges this time, there will be no organized crime in our city government. If there is after all of my efforts, I am either a crook or too stupid to be Mayor," Mario replied.

"Well, that's all we need for now," Paul said.

Mario was not finished with Paul. In his years in the public eye, Mario had mastered the art of manipulating the press. He knew what to do to get certain members on his side. He needed a reporter who was going to shift articles about him to his favor. Because the story about the LeBlancs was so important to Paul, he decided to use Paul to his advantage.

"Mr. Aaron."

"You can call me Paul, Mr. Pasquale."

"Fine, I will return the favor, call me Mario. This article you are doing, about the LeBlancs and their group, what have you found so far?"

"I just started. Right now I just have information about the members who are deceased. The last piece was on Ben Berardi. I did not want to bring up his name in our earlier conversation because I know you wanted to keep the interview straight. He was your star witness, am I correct? I still have a couple more people I would like to interview about him," Paul said.

"I won't confirm or deny your identification of the witness."

Paul knew that Mario was not going to ratify a name, but his answer was a confirmation on its own. Paul decided to go for the kill.

"Are the rumors in the street true? I'm getting different accounts. Did you or the feds have Ben Berardi executed?" Paul asked.

Mario was taken aback by the ambush. "Why in the hell would I throw away years of work on a criminal investigation by taking out my star witness before he was set to testify? Does that sound right to you? He probably deserved it, but if anyone killed him, it was someone he knew, not us. If the feds want to make someone disappear, they will not leave a body to be found. Makes sense?" Mario answered.

"It does," Paul confirmed. He decided not to ask any more questions when it came to Ben and Mario's involvement with each other. "That's all about that, Mario."

"Good. Now let me ask you something. This project you are doing, I have a keen interest in it. I also would like to know what else you have found on the LeBlancs," Mario said.

"Not a lot that isn't already known by the public, but that will change. I have a list of people who I am trying to get an interview with. These are individuals who knew them or were close to them at one point. They could give me some insight on how they think and operate," Paul said.

"That's useful. This article is for Lifetime Magazine, correct?" Mario asked.

"Yes."

"I have a proposition for you. I have friends who are on the editorial team there. They have been good to me, press-wise, and I have done some favors for them in the past. I can pull some strings and assure that your article is included in the issue." Mario told him.

Paul was elated for one second, cautious the next. "That is very gracious of you. What's the catch?" Paul asked.

"Ah, see, I knew you were a smart kid. Let me explain something. As you can already tell, I don't like them at all, the LeBlancs and anyone associated with that group. I know they are not clean. None of those organizations are. They don't like the feds and are excellent at sniffing them out. You, on the other hand, are press. LeBlanc and his wife may not be media friendly, but that doesn't mean the people around them feel the same way. Offer them five seconds of fame and watch them sing like a bird. I need you to get them to talk, tell you everything they know, for your article of course, and share what you have with me. That's it," Mario said.

"That's it. Let me guess, you are using this information against LeBlanc," Paul said.

"No Paul, I did not say that. I am just curious like everyone else. I want to see what you have before the editors take it and butcher it. I am a master of the press. I know what you guys do. You take the most unflattering parts of a subject, no matter how insignificant it is to the actual story, and magnify it to guide the narrative. I want to see all the parts before they are filtered. I'm sure the end result of your work will be great on its own, but sometimes the demo is better," Mario said.

"What do I gain, besides a guaranteed spot in the magazine, from giving you my work?" Paul asked.

"You are gaining more opportunities. When I win my campaign, I will make you my top press contact, give you unrestricted access. You will have your article in Lifetime, and possibly other deals will come with that. All of these perks come with a good amount of notoriety. I'm sure that's what you want out of your career.

Paul knew that getting into a deal with Mario would step over an ethical line. Still, the pluses outweighed the minuses for him, and he would not be the first journalist to do it. The press and politicians had had their conflicts of interest in the last thirty years, ever since the Watergate scandal with President Nixon. The media had become a tool for politicians to gain favorable and filtered news coverage through careful wording.

He decided that he would take the offer and share whatever information he acquired with Mario. Paul paused before he verbally confirmed. "It's a deal."

Both men stood and shook hands.

"Before you go, can I get a few photographs? I think that photos of you in this office would look great in Lifetime Magazine," Paul said.

Mario agreed and posed for the photographs. When they were done, Mario and his entourage left. "My people will give you a call shortly," Mario said as he walked away.

This interview was one of many that Mario had planned for the public relations part of his campaign. His second bid for office had made national news, and every popular magazine wanted to have a piece on him. His deal with Paul would help guide public opinion away from LeBlanc and into his favor. John wouldn't stand a chance if the plan succeeded.

When Paul returned to his apartment, he began adding Mario's parts to the story.

***

The furniture arrived, and everyone's offices were being set up. While Bunny and Mariana directed the movers on where to put items in the office, John bought out his mini wine rack stacked with BunnyWine and other dated alcoholic beverages. He had his stereo system with his rebuilt collection of music.

He decided to bring out some of his old framed photographs that he had taken years before and put them up in his office. Many of them were from the early days of Chimera, with the original five in them. Others were framed favorable newspaper clippings and tabloid stories about him and Bunny. He had them situated on the mantle of the fireplace that was not functioning as well as on the bare spots on the walls. He had one particular photo blown up to put over his chair. It was situated behind his chair high on the wall behind him. To the left of his desk were the windows to the building, and to the right was the doorway to the office. The photo would be apparent when a person walked into his room and stood in front of his desk. He didn't care what anyone thought about it. It made him happy every time he saw it.

"Hey, I have a question." Lawrence walked into John's office. He stopped in his tracks, his mouth agape.

"What's up?" John asked.

"Who is that girl in the picture and is Bunny okay with that?" Lawrence asked while putting his hand over his mouth.

"The photo?" John said and smiled. "That is Bunny. I took that picture a long time ago and had it blown up."

In the photo, Bunny was in one of her old Playboy waitress uniforms. She was posed provocatively. She was on all fours with her bunny tail in the air. She was looking at the camera with a sultry, beautiful face, her bunny ears pointed up. The arch in her back was magnificent in its vintage pin-up glory.

"Wow, she was fly. I mean, she's beautiful now but damn. I see it," Lawrence said. He was arching his head to see if he could get other angles of the photo. "You took that? I didn't know you were a photographer."

"Many years ago it was a hobby. I took pictures of her when she was working at the club. She did that one for me," John said proudly.

"Was she ever in the magazine?" Lawrence asked.

"No. Celia was a waitress at the club, the one that closed a few years ago. She was asked to pose in Playboy Magazine but didn't. Her mother would have killed her. She did take photos on the side. One of them made it to the front page of the papers some time ago. Her breasts were out. That was a bit scandalous."

"She doesn't have a problem with that being up there?" Lawrence asked.

"Nope. She picked it out of the bunch. I let her know that I was putting one of her photos up. She told me that she wanted me to get a hard on every time I walk into this office and see her. It's not going to be that much outside traffic in here anyway," John said.

"It's working," Lawrence replied.

John looked at him sideways. "And you can get the hell out of this office now."

"What I do?" Lawrence joked and shrugged his shoulders as John pushed him out of the office.

John picked up a couple photographs from one of the boxes. Both were poster-sized. He grabbed one of the workers and instructed him to hang them on the wall in the entryway of the office. He wanted everyone who walked into Chimera to know what they were about. One of the images was the famous Muhammad Ali knockout photo. He wanted everyone to know what they were dealing with the moment they stepped into the area. The strength of the picture said it all. The other was a Chimera legacy photo with all five of the original members with smiles on their faces—Bernie, Jerome, Ben, John and Bunny in the old days.

#  CHAPTER 3

The deal Paul made with Mario permeated his thoughts. He could not get the idea of stepping into a territory that was unethical out of his mind. He looked around his shabby apartment with second-hand furniture and quickly gathered his thoughts. If he stayed straight, he would never leave this place and would be stuck in a rut for the rest of his career.

He had managed to locate Ben's best friend Harold in Connecticut. This was a significant find for him because Harold would give him some insight into how Ben operated as a person. Paul had found his name when he was researching details on Ben's death. Interviews like this were considered significant. The answers he would get would be unfiltered.

He made his way to Harold's home from the train to the cab, the same way Bunny had done when she made her fateful last visit to Ben a few years ago. Paul was expecting a skinny vet with a veteran tribute cap and an old jacket—the same uniform many of them wore when he spotted veterans on the street. When Harold opened the door, Paul was surprised at his appearance. He was older but heavyset and dressed like someone who originated from the deep south.

Harold led Paul up the stairs to the second-floor residence. Harold didn't mention the bottom floor or whether or not it was reoccupied. They sat down and the interview began. The rest of Harold's family was away at the moment.

"I hear that you are good friends with Ben Berardi," Paul said.

"Good ole P1C Berardi. Benny and I were in Nam together. We were good friends. We ran hundreds of combat missions and spent lots of time in the villages. We spent three weeks at a time in the jungles. Lots of greenery all over the place. He was a machine gunner and I carried out interrogations. After we had been sent home, we kept in touch here and there over the years. We would meet up on occasion at the tavern. I visited him in jail once. That was when all of his other so-called friends wouldn't go. He wanted to visit me here. I told him he could come any time he wanted because he had an open invitation to my home. I gave him a key, said he could crash downstairs if he needed a place to sleep. It was the least I could do. He took care of me while we were on the front line. I thought it would be great to have him around, and it was, while he was here," Harold answered.

"Sounds like you two were close like family. How did Ben take care of you while you were serving in Vietnam? What exactly happened while you were there?" Paul asked.

"Are you ready for me to get truthful? Every time I try to tell people how it went down over there, they get offended; they try and shut me up. I have no time for sissies. I'm not going to waste my time telling you any of this if you are one of those people," Harold said.

"No, I am here to listen to you. The more truthful you are, the better. The public needs to hear these things, what happened during the conflict," Paul answered.

Harold cleared his throat. "We don't call it a conflict. It was a war," he answered.

"Sorry, war it is. You can start," Paul replied.

"It is hard to describe the enormity of the things we were made to participate in. There were no rules in Nam. 'Kill anything that moves' were our orders. If it didn't die, beat it until it surrendered. A lot of people thought we were monsters, but we were just doing what we were told to do by our superiors. People these days call it 'war crimes.' Not all of us wanted to do that kind of shit. We came from good, God-fearing families. How could you go from church to having a rifle in your hand and blowing off every kid's head you see? That will fuck you up, man, and it fucked a lot of us in the head. We dealt with it by drinking hooch and smoking. Some of us were shooting up with the needles and through our noses because they had the good, potent shit over there," Harold said.

"Wow, that's stunning. Ben had the same experiences, I assume. How was his demeanor?" Paul asked.

"Benny was tortured I will say. He saw a lot of things happen with his bunkmates and had a hard time processing it. He watched guys next to them shoot people without a second thought," Harold said, and he took a deep breath.

"He told me that he once watched a fellow private get raped by three GIs. They choked the guy and had him on the floor. Benny sat and watched them do it from a corner. Ben squatted behind some bunks to stay out of sight. The guy was screaming and trying to fight them off. Benny wanted to help, but he was too scared to say or do anything. He had been to jail before and knew what was happening because he had seen it before. They were all high, drunk, and he was aware that he could be next if he opened his mouth. Those guys really messed that man up, injured him to a point that he needed a walker. No one wanted to report it. That kind of thing was frowned upon. Who wants to be labeled a pansy or coward? Guys getting raped was not talked about back then. Ben felt a sense of betrayal, and it soured his whole outlook on service. There was no more trust. First, the killings he saw and then this. He was a mess.

"Benny would complain to me about how it was a mistake signing up for service and that he had bigger plans for his life. He went because it was a way out of a bad situation he was in. I was called in, but I didn't mind serving my country. I thought I was doing the honorable thing. Benny wanted to be a star, not one of those soft Hollywood guys but one of the gangsters. He had outlaw running through his veins. He wasn't a killer, but I think if he had ever gotten a taste of blood, he would not be able to stop himself from doing it again. He had so much pent-up frustration in him and no sensible escape for it. I had my family to lean back on, but Benny did not have that option. He was never able to get a good relationship. He was too unpredictable and caught up in his problems to focus on someone else. He couldn't make rational decisions, and his self-esteem wasn't great. He was a sociopath, to be honest. I don't know if he was like that before or after the war.

"At one point it was so bad that he took sheets and tied them together and tried to hang himself at his job, he told me. No one else was around at the time and his boss, Bernie Banks, saved him and got him together, cleaned him up. Banks tried to keep him in order, keep him off the drugs. Benny looked like he was doing okay over there. He was clean shaven, kept his hair neat, wore nice suits and made a lot of money. I was happy for the guy. He had a bachelor pad in the city and kept women going in and out of there all the time, but he was doing the drugs real bad, he was hiding his habit. That was the big problem with him. He could not kick the habit. Since he couldn't end it all, he used the smack to cope. I think since he witnessed the rapes, he hadn't been whole since. He wasn't in good shape from the get-go, but Benny was a shell. He was always scared of losing his manhood, his edge. That made him aggressive and competitive. He always wanted to win."

"Do you think he was ever attacked?" Paul asked.

"I doubt it. Ben was open to talking about what he saw and about everything else. He never hinted that it happened to him," Harold answered.

"Did you two ever kill anyone while you were there?" Paul asked.

"That is not something you are supposed to ask a vet," Harold responded.

"I'm sorry, I did not know that. May I ask why?" Paul said.

"Who on earth wants to admit they are a killer unless they are some fucked-in-the-head kind of person? I would never want my daughters to know what kinds of things I was forced to see and be involved in while I was there. I can't teach my girls to be honorable, and I am an admitted killer. I am not saying that I am, but sometimes things are better left unspoken. I will tell you everything else, but I won't incriminate myself," Harold said.

Harold would never tell Paul the full details of his statement. He once had to shoot a little girl who was walking towards him. The child was strapped with explosives and was instructed to detonate them when she got close to soldiers. Another time he had to run over a toddler boy because he was sent to block trucks The small girl reminded him of his daughters. He had a hard time getting the memory out of his head.

Paul shook his head and decided to continue on. "What else can you tell me about the environment you two were in?" Paul asked.

"Everything was up for grabs. Some of the prisoners we would capture, we tortured them for fun. They had this bamboo there, and bamboo, you know, is strong. We would cut the edges with our pocket knives until they were good and sharp. They made good weapons and pointers. We would poke the prisoners with them, and the women..."

"What about them?" Paul queried.

"The women were there for our picking. We were encouraged to go after what we wanted, just don't take it too far. Some of us did, and that is something I am a bit ashamed of. Ben's problems were watching guys rape other men. I saw another GI stick a weapon in some woman and..."

"Whoa, hold on. Let's take a break for a second," Paul interrupted him and stopped the tape. The first story about Ben was bad enough, but he did not want to hear more about the abuse from soldiers. It ruined his image of what they were about. Harold's story was shattering a lot of beliefs he had about the war, one syllable at a time. Harold's words were hard to process, but he had to get the story.

"Do you want me to continue?" Harold asked.

Paul collected his thoughts and resumed recording. "Yes. Go on. How about we talk about after the war. What was Ben like? How did both of you deal with the aftermath?"

"Benny was calm once he got himself together. I didn't sense that anything was urgent with him whenever I saw him later on. When he came back from combat, he went straight to his job, became a workaholic. He once told me he would rather work and smoke than deal with the memories of what he experienced. I didn't judge him because I worked and made a family that helped me cope with my own stress. That's what a lot of us did. My kids are going off to college, and it will be just my wife and me. She's great, but now memories of being out in the field are coming back, and it's been hard to fight them. It's always been at the back of my mind and reappears at the most inconvenient of times. I would go to the veteran's office, but they are not much help. Seeing Benny again was great because there was someone I could talk to and he understood. Whenever I was in a rut, I could go to him, and we would just talk it out. That's different from talking to my wife or someone like you. You are young and will never understand the unbelievable amount of trauma many of us had to go, though. Have you ever watched a group of your peers who thought they were headed back home on a helicopter get blown out of the sky? I did. Those of us who did make it were abandoned once we made it back home. Sometimes I feel that your generation and the like are just ungrateful," Harold said.

"I appreciate your service. I think we all do, sir," Paul replied.

"If that's your answer, then explain this. We have a day for our servicemen, then you throw us a day for our brothers who died. You fly our flag, cook out, vacation and shop in our honor but the rest of the year you shame us as if we did something wrong. Every march and protest in the street is a slap in the face...to me at least. I'm not proud of everything that went on, but I am proud to say that I did what I had to do to protect your peers' right to go out there and make asses of themselves in the street. Some of us didn't have a choice of whether we wanted to go. Because of what we had to go through, though, you punks do."

Paul was stunned.

"What's wrong there?" Harold asked.

"Nothing. I just needed a second. We will continue. I want to talk about how Ben was the very last time you saw him. What was his demeanor like? Was he calm or was he panicked?" Paul asked.

"He was in the middle of travel, and we met up. I can recall that he told me about knowing a woman who lived in Jamaica. He said something about wanting to move there and convincing her to let him stay. There was an opening for him soon, whatever that means," Harold said.

"Did he give any more specifics about this woman?" Paul asked.

"No. I mostly told him that he was batshit." Harold laughed, then suddenly paused. "I'm gonna miss that guy." Harold became somber for a moment. "I can't get the vision of him lying like that out of my head, and I've seen a lot of bodies in my time. It's no big deal if it's someone you don't know, but this..."

Harold began to cry. He was emotional but could not give away too much to Paul. He wanted justice for Ben but could not indulge in details of his involvement in the situation.

"I didn't know it was him at first. It didn't look like him. I thought it was an intruder in my house. I was ready to take care of that fella. But when I walked closer, I saw that he was white as a piece of paper. There was blood all over the floor. His eyes were cloudy. It was Benny. I just can't get that out of my head."

"It's been hard to go to work since I saw that. I would get flashes of his body in my head at random. I haven't said much to my wife and kids. They are still in shock. I had to leave the house a few times to sort things out, get out of town, you know. Haven't been back to the bottom floor since. I don't want it to be true. Seeing it again will make it real. I have these pills to help me deal it," Harold said.

Paul sat there, unsure of what to do. He was watching Harold have a mini breakdown. He knew it was time to end the interview.

"I want to thank you for inviting me to your home. Your words were incredible and insightful. I understand if you say no to this, but I would like to take a look at the area. I won't contaminate anything. I think the best way to honor Ben is to tell his whole story in accurate detail, and maybe it will spark something that will help find the missing piece of the puzzle of his untimely demise. This is also for your honor and your service. I agree, more people do need to hear your story. I would also like a quick photo of you," Paul said.

"Go on. I don't give a shit. Take the picture. Just close the door when you are done downstairs. You won't find much of his remains. We had a company come in and mop up," Harold said and got up from his chair. He grabbed the keys and walked Paul downstairs to the front door of the bottom level. He unlocked it and let Paul in. "Just close the door behind you," Harold said and walked away.

Paul walked through the bottom level of the home. Nothing was extraordinary about the area. It was a typical single-family unit. He looked around until he entered the room where Ben was found. He looked down and noticed a spot. Despite the attempted cleanup, the blood from Ben's body had left a sizable stain in the wood flooring. The blemish was faint but visible, and a bullet hole remained. Paul knew this was the point. He took his finger and rubbed it across the spot. The wood felt dry. The rest of the room did not seem as though it had ever been disturbed; there was no struggle for Ben. Paul sensed that Ben had been executed in cold blood without resistance. None of it made sense. Who was this woman? Did the feds take him out? The whole scene left more questions than answers for Paul. All he knew was that Ben's demise had left one person with indescribable pain and additional post-traumatic stress disorder. He wanted to get Harold help, but he knew that Harold would be resistant. He left the house and headed back to the city.

***

Brenda Wilson had been working with the Dixon-Rhodos Foundation since its inception. Bunny brought her in because she wanted to get her out of the way to get to Ben, who was the father of Brenda's son, Junior. Junior had learning disabilities and was entering his early teenage years. Brenda had battled abuse, heartbreak, and homelessness in the past. For a few years, she had maintained a steady job and an apartment in the re-emerging Harlem. Her son Junior had made strides in his development. He was social, but his grades were low and he was always seeking attention from other kids his age. This was much different from when he was in the early childhood program and would not socialize. His hormones were kicking in, and he was asking questions. He was probing so much that he was becoming a challenge for Brenda to deal with. She didn't know how to answer his questions. The hardest ones were about his father. Junior was old enough to have heard stories about his father through his friends at school and from old newspaper articles at the library. The way Ben was being speculated about by the impressionable masses was that he was a rebel and a hero who died at the hands of the feds. This made Junior proud and at the same time disappointed that he couldn't physically spend time with his dad. All he had were photos of his father with him and whatever his mother and friends could describe to him. Ben was his hero.

Despite all of Brenda's efforts to keep things in order, Junior had found himself in trouble a few times. He didn't have a keen interest in school and would rather run the streets with older teens during the day. His record of cutting class had gotten out of control, and he had been left back in school a couple of times. Like his father, education was not a priority. Instead, he wanted to be like the other young teens who had left school and become dope boys or gangbangers. They were the ones who had all the girls, cars, and flashy jewelry. Earning an honest living wasn't glorified at the time. That was for the old folks. Quick and easy money was the motto of the day.

Brenda and Bunny's working relationship at Dixon-Rhodos had been minimal. They did not communicate much outside of the company. Brenda's success had been great PR for the foundation, and Brenda's image and story were used in a lot of the promotional materials. Mariana had the most contact with her and offered her a bigger role as a spokesperson with the encouragement of Bunny. Bunny felt that this way they could keep an eye on Brenda and make sure she stayed in line. Everyone knew about Brenda's past, including Mariana, and she was not sure if Brenda was fit to walk around the office, much less be the spotlight for their organization. The foundation carried her late husband's name, and she wanted something better to represent it.

"Something isn't right about her. Bunny, she's too hood," Mariana told her.

"Are you speaking about Brenda? If so, you have to know that we are helping the hood. We need women who look like her to be in the forefront. Everybody looks like that in the area. It's not like when we were younger. Hip-hop rules right now and everyone is dressing that way. People like her are who we help. Had neither of us made it, we would probably be just like her. It's the environment," Bunny said.

"I get what you are saying, but my spirit...something about her messes with my mind. I can't put my finger on it. All of my interactions with her have been okay, but it's her attitude. She won't let some of her habits go. She still smokes weed. I know because I can smell it on her sometimes, and who knows what else she is doing? The drugs are what got her son snatched away in the first place. I hope to God she doesn't do that around her employers because that would make us look bad. I would think she would try to improve herself. She's stagnant. If it weren't for us, she would be living in one of those casitas on an empty lot somewhere and stripping at the Baby Doll Lounge. We don't need any bad publicity. She won't change her language. Every tenth word that comes out of her mouth is 'shit' or 'fuck.' She won't change her look. The earrings are big, and that braid ponytail she wears has to go. She's thirty-something years old, for God's sake. She looks like one of these teenaged girls running around here. She looks like your daughters. No thirty-something woman should carry herself as if she were still a teen. At some point, you have to upgrade the way you carry yourself," Mariana said.

"Okay, I see what you are saying. I will bring Brenda here and talk to her myself. Maybe if she gets a look at a business environment instead of the department store she works at she may be encouraged to change. Besides, we have some catching up to do. Mariana, I can't just cut her off. Whether we like it or not, she has some connection to us through her kid. This would be a different situation if people did not know who Junior's father was," Bunny replied.

"Ugh. I hated him. The boy's father was the biggest jerk I've ever met. Sexist and disgusting. Fine. But I think she has a lot of his qualities. He was an asshole, and she has remnants of it, too," Mariana said.

"Handle her like you handled him. I have faith in you, Mami. Just keep it legal," Bunny replied.

Mariana smiled. "Okay, I trust you, but if things get out of hand, I'm taking over. We can always choose one of our other clients to be the face," she replied.

***

Since it was a Saturday, Brenda had the day off from work. Bunny contacted her and invited her to see the new offices of Chimera, in which the Dixon-Rhodos Foundation was also housed. She encouraged Brenda to wear something that looked corporate so that she could get a feel for the environment. Bunny wanted to set a standard for the group, and she expected everyone involved to follow suit. It was their signature to be dapper at all times, just like the old days.

When Brenda arrived, she walked into the office in her black two-piece sheath dress and wearing a long, braided ponytail. She wore her favorite bamboo earrings. This was her power suit, or as close to one as she was going to get. Regular suits were too stuffy and reminded her of the old ladies in church. She never abandoned the look of the around-the-way girl. It had been her signature since the mid-seventies. Bunny made note of her outfit and didn't have much objection to it outside of the large earrings. Her hair was neat and tasteful. The braided ponytail was well done. At that moment, Bunny thought that Mariana had been too harsh about Brenda's appearance.

"You made it," Bunny said with a smile.

"I did. The trains were not full," Brenda replied.

"Welcome. This is your first time here at Chimera," Bunny said.

"Yeah. I heard a lot about this place. Ben used to talk about you all a lot," Brenda replied.

"Really? What did he say?" Bunny asked her. She was nervous about Brenda's answer. Ben could have said anything to her.

"He once told me that these were the good years and then other times he would be cursing out your husband and cousin. He did that mostly when he was locked up. He loved Bernie, though. He called him 'Dad' a few times," Brenda replied.

"Oh..."

"He mentioned you too, but that was before I knew who you were," Brenda said with a slight attitude. She didn't add more to that statement. Bunny didn't push for more information, either. She decided to change the subject.

"Good. Let me show you around. In this office is where the foundation is run. You will probably be here a lot when you visit," Bunny said.

Brenda looked at the office. It was typical and nondescript. The only thing that stood out was the person in it.

"Who is the tall chocolate over there?" Brenda asked.

"Tall chocolate? The only person I see over there is Lawrence," Bunny replied.

"Lawrence is his name?" Brenda nodded her head in approval.

"Him? You are asking about him? Yeah, that's Lawrence, he works with us...and he is taken. Let's go," Bunny replied. She put her hand on Brenda's back to push her along.

Bunny and Brenda walked away, but Brenda kept her eyes on Lawrence the whole time. Old habits were kicking in again for Brenda; once she set her eyes on something, she was going to get it one way or another. Lawrence looked up and briefly locked eyes with her. He waved, smiled and looked away.

"This is a nice office. I will be here more often," Brenda said.

***

On the day Bunny introduced Brenda to the offices, Mariana made an appointment with Brenda to return once the office had settled in. Brenda made good on her promise to keep her appointment. The day was rainy, windy and chilly. At times the gusts were strong enough to turn an umbrella inside out. Brenda was wet, but she made it in on time. When she got to the bottom entryway, she buzzed upstairs. Lawrence looked at the cameras and answered. He let her in and she walked herself up.

Brenda entered the Chimera offices. No one else was there but Lawrence. He was working on paperwork for John. Mariana was nowhere to be found.

"Hello. May I help you?" Lawrence asked Brenda and smiled. He was suited up and clean cut. He sat back down at the table at which he was working.

"I'm looking for Mariana. She told me to be here around three. I left work early for this," Brenda replied.

"She's running very late. I'm so sorry. I don't know when she is coming back here or if she is even coming back today," Lawrence said.

"She could have beeped me if she knew she wasn't going to be here. That's inconsiderate of her. I ought to tell her to reimburse me. I'm wet and my umbrella is busted," Brenda said in an irritated tone.

"Well, I apologize on her behalf. We will take care of you. I can give you mine. Do you need carfare back?" he asked.

Brenda looked around and noticed that no one else was in the office. "Are you the only one here right now?" she asked.

"Yeah. Everyone else is gone for the afternoon. Just me here right now," Lawrence answered.

"Well, no, I don't need carfare back. I can talk to you. I'm not ready to go back to the apartment yet. I want to see if the rain will let up a little. We haven't met officially. My name is Brenda Wilson." She extended her hand to him. He took it and shook it with a firm grip. His hand was soft, and Brenda made note of it. She wanted that hand somewhere on her body.

"My name is Lawrence Bellinger. I work for Chimera, and I help out with Dixon-Rhodos when she needs me. Have a seat."

Brenda sat at the table. Lawrence began to gather up the paperwork in front of him. Those items were confidential, and they had tightened their rules on how they handled sensitive information, especially around visitors. He locked them in a fire-proof vault they had installed in one of the smaller rooms. He sat down in front of her.

"I remember seeing you for a brief second when I first walked through these offices," Brenda said. "I thought you were fine as hell. Bunny told me you worked here."

"Thanks," Lawrence said, blushing. "I think I remember that. I see you on some of our pamphlets. You are a lovely-looking young woman," he replied as he grabbed one of them.

"Thank you," Brenda replied.

Brenda was trying to find something to talk about. In her mind, she wanted to see what Lawrence was working with. She knew that Bunny had told her he was taken, but he didn't look taken. In her mind, he was still up for grabs. Brenda did not have time periods for dating or dealing with new men. If she saw an opportunity, she hopped on it, literally. In her mind, you snooze, you lose. She cut to the chase.

"Do you spend a lot of time here? It must be hard for your girl and kids," she said.

"I don't have kids, or really a girl, so I can stay here as much as I want," he said and paused. "I love it here. The people are grade A. Much better than corporate, where it is cutthroat. This is black-owned now, so I'm alright," he added.

"I thought you woulda had a girlfriend somewhere. I was under the impression you were taken," she said.

"No, but it's not like I didn't try to get taken," he said and laughed.

"That's too bad. The girl you were interested in would be a dummy if she didn't take you up on your offer. I would have done it," Brenda said.

Lawrence looked at her. "That's sweet of you. What about your family?"

"I have a son. That's it. He just turned sixteen. He's a handful, but he's a good kid," Brenda said. She knew she was exaggerating a bit. "I'm single. I have brothers and sisters," she added.

"That's a shame. How did you hear about this place?" Lawrence asked.

"My son's father used to work here. He passed away a few years ago. You may know him. His name is Ben."

"Oh, I know who you are now. Sorry about your son's father," he answered.

"I don't know what they told you about me." Brenda tried to explain.

"Look, no judgment from me. Nobody is perfect. My past ain't clean either. No one here is sin free. I have questionable family members, too. It's something we all have to deal with at one point or another and sometimes circumstances may be out of our control," Lawrence said.

Brenda took a sigh of relief.

"I get an around-the-way vibe from you. That's cool. You are too beautiful to be single. That's a shame," Lawrence said.

He was flirting with Brenda, and she sensed it. He knew it was unprofessional to flirt with the clients, but he was still a single and grown man. He could not help it when it came to a beautiful lady. Brenda was eating the compliments up like candy. Nobody had ever told her she was beautiful, not even her father. Brenda had a beautiful face, a cute smile, and she maintained her body throughout the years, but she was always referred to as sexy. Someone to lay down with but to never keep. Lawrence saw something different.

"We should go out, just to get something to eat. That's it. If you want to reimburse me, give me some food, and maybe a few drinks. It's been a long day," Brenda said.

"You know what, I can make that happen. We can go out in the rain, or I can order in. Which would you like?" he asked.

"Let's go out. We can share your umbrella," she replied.

"Cool. Where would you like to go?" he asked.

Brenda did not know the names of any nice restaurants. She was used to the chicken places around the corners in the neighborhood. They were great but hardly qualified as fine cuisine. She had never been to an eatery that wasn't a diner in Manhattan.

"You choose the spot," she replied.

"It's a deal. I know where to take you."

***

Brenda did not want to seem too greedy but on what occasion would she be able to eat lobster and steak from a high-end restaurant? There were other items on the menu that she had never heard of. She felt out of place. The only things familiar to her were the names of some of the alcoholic beverages on the menu, mostly because she saw advertisements in magazines and not because she had actually tasted any of them.

"I want just a salad," she said.

"Salad? Girl, who you fooling?" Lawrence said and laughed. "Order whatever you want. It's my treat, I mean it. The Australian rack of lamb is good, and the lobster bisque with sherry is great here if you don't want plain lobster. If you are not a seafood person, try the steak. Most people like theirs medium rare, but I don't play that. Cook my steak well done. I don't care if people say that it's no longer a steak. I wasn't raised to eat meat that is still bleeding."

Brenda laughed. She felt comfortable with him.

They continued to converse for the next couple of hours. Lawrence ordered wine for both of them, and they finished the bottle. Brenda lost count of how many glasses she had. She was not a novice to alcohol but the drinks she had that night were of better quality and more potent.

Brenda was overwhelmed. This felt like her first real date, although she just met this guy. This was what she wanted all of these years, to be treated as though she deserved some respect. It was getting late, and Brenda was tipsy. She wasn't falling down, but she felt light-headed. Lawrence offered to watch her until the drinks wore off. It was the least he could do since he was the reason she was in this condition. He would have ordered her a car service to take her home, but did not want her to ride alone in that state. Instead, he took her back to his place to crash.

When Lawrence and Brenda arrived at his apartment building, she noted how opulent the place was. There was no trash around and the place had a doorman. When they walked into his home, he wanted to put her on the couch to let the alcohol dry out of her. She was a mess, but a cute mess nonetheless. He walked her over and sat her down. He offered her some water.

"You can stay here for the night while you sober up. I will call a cab for you in the morning," he said.

"Thank you. I'm so sorry I'm a mess like this," she replied.

Brenda sat there. She looked around his living room. It was impeccable. The leather furniture was beautiful, and he had a large television. He had expensive-looking paintings on the wall, a few African-themed sculptures around and the lighting was crystal. It was the essential high-end bachelor pad. This was somewhere she could stay.

"I'm cold," she said.

"Let me grab you a blanket and a pillow." Lawrence went into a closet and grabbed a blanket. He went into his bedroom and grabbed one of the pillows off his bed. He walked back into the living room and sat them next to her.

"You can get comfortable. If you want anything from me, just ask. I'm here to take care of you," he said. No man had said that to her and meant it. It made Brenda's heart jump.

She took her shoes off and grabbed the blanket to wrap around her. She put her feet on the couch as if she was ready to lay down. She grabbed the pillow he gave her and sat it on her lap. She could smell Lawrence's cologne in it. She sniffed the pillow.

"It's late. I'm going to head off to bed. The bathroom is over there, and you can watch television until you fall asleep. I have Tylenol if you have a headache," he said.

"Thank you," she replied and smiled at him. Lawrence went into his bedroom area, where he a personal bathroom. He proceeded to take a shower. Brenda could hear the water from the living room. She sat for forty minutes and listened to the movement in the other room. A rerun of "A Different World" was playing on the television, but she was not paying attention to it.

When she sensed it was quiet, she got up and peeked into his bedroom. His door was cracked, and he was sound asleep. She walked into the room quietly and up to his bed. She sat down and looked around for a second. She glanced at his nightstand and saw a photo of him and Mariana. 'That's who he's supposed to be taken by,' she thought. She looked away from the photo to watch Lawrence lying on the bed. Under his thin sheets he had nothing on but a pair of boxer shorts. She could see his manhood through the layers. He sensed something in his sleep, opened his eyes and saw her. He was confused at first.

"I couldn't sleep," she said.

"That's not why you are in here, is it?" he murmured.

He sat up and kissed Brenda, and she returned the favor. He started removing her clothes, and when she was fully undressed, he pulled her under the sheets with him.

Lawrence's phone rang during their encounter. He didn't pick up.

***

The next morning, Brenda got up from Lawrence's bed.

"I can take you back home," he offered.

"I can go. I don't want you to be late or get in trouble. You will see me in the office, whenever she decides to make my appointment."

"I will make sure that is done. Can I call you before then?" he asked.

"If you want to, you can," she responded.

"I want to. I want to see you again."

Brenda was used to chasing men. She was always the one who had initiated something long term. A man insisting that she stick around was something she was not used to hearing. Those words usually came from her mouth first.

"Okay, I'll see you." Brenda gave Lawrence her home and pager numbers. "Thank you for last night," she added.

Lawrence sat up. "Let me at least call you a car home. I want you to get home safely," he said and kissed her.

***

When Lawrence arrived at the office, he was in good spirits and relaxed. Mariana was her usual stressed self. She had a lot of catching up to do since she left the office early yesterday. Lawrence had to do the same since he had spent a long time with Brenda the day before.

"Hey, you had an appointment yesterday. Her name is Brenda. She said you two were supposed to meet around three o'clock," Lawrence said.

"Oh, her? I forgot about that. It slipped my mind. I had errands to run so I could not meet with her," Mariana replied.

"Did you tell her you wouldn't be here? She said she took off of work for the meeting."

"No. I forgot. We can reschedule. No big deal," Mariana said.

"But she lost money. I offered to reimburse her for her loss. She needs her income," Lawrence said.

"That's great. I'll call her sometime today. She's no big deal."

"She seemed like a nice person when I talked to her. I didn't know that she was the girl on the brochures," he said.

"Brenda is okay, but she is like a lot of girls who come from the Bronx. She's rough around the edges, ghetto," Mariana said.

"Aren't you from the same area?" he asked.

"Yeah, but that's different. I have an education, I'm well spoken, more refined. She isn't. She seems to not want to let go of the street mentality," Mariana said.

"What do you mean by 'street mentality'? Unless she is out there gangbanging, I don't see what's wrong with her. The mentality is a survival method, considering where she is. I get it," he said.

"Okay, let me explain this to you and then I am done talking about it. There are two types of women from that area. One is the kind who works for a living, pulls herself up and gets an education to leave her situation. The other chooses to stay because she doesn't want to leave her homies. The only similarity is that we live in the same area. That's it," she said.

"But you had extra help, and she didn't..."

Mariana cut him off. "Why do you care? Let it go. I'll take care of it." She was bothered by the constant questioning about Brenda. "I called you last night. You didn't pick up," she continued.

"I was in la-la land," he answered.

"But you always pick up."

#  CHAPTER 4

Paul had a lot of information for the editorial so far, but he still wanted to talk to John and Bunny. When Chimera made their new number public, the phones rang off the hook in the office. One of those calls came from Paul, wanting a statement. Bunny picked up the phone and spoke to Paul.

"Is this Bunny LeBlanc? My name is Paul Aaron. I am a freelance reporter. There is a feature in Lifetime Magazine coming up soon about the rise and fall of the Mafia. Chimera will have a large part of the issue, mostly you, your husband and your popularity in the city. I was wondering if you would like to contribute your side of the story to the article. It would be greatly appreciated. We will also do a photo spread of you and your husband," Paul said.

Bunny, like John, did not talk directly to press. They knew that showing out would eventually backfire on them like it had other people who had the same past. John was preparing to announce a campaign soon, and volunteering information for an article about his criminal past was not a good look for anyone.

"That sounds great...but I'm going to say no. It's not a good time." Bunny told him.

"What about Mr. LeBlanc?"

"I'm saying no for the both of us. Good luck on your article. I'm sorry, but it's a no," she replied and hung up.

Paul's announcement of an article about them to Bunny concerned her. She went straight to John with the news. She was worried that something like this would derail their plans once again. A second setback would ruin them in the eyes of the public forever.

Bunny walked into John's office and closed the door. She walked over to his desk and sat on it, the same way she used to in the early days.

"I got a call just now. A guy named Paul Aaron. He's doing a feature on us in Lifetime Magazine. He wanted us to do an interview," she said.

"Lifetime Magazine," John said as he sat back in his chair. "That's big. When is the interview?" he asked.

"It's not that kind of an interview. It's a 'where-are-they-now' sort of thing, with the mob," Bunny said.

John's enthusiasm waned. "So you told them no, we are not doing that shit, right?"

"I did. I declined the interview. I'm concerned. They could say anything. Who knows who they are talking to about us?" she said.

"Whatever they come up with will be hearsay if it didn't come out of our mouths. Things like that are easily refutable.

"It sounds like it will be out by the time you announce. That is a disaster waiting to happen. What are we going to do? People are not going to care about you buying up buildings and rehabbing struggling parts of Brooklyn and Harlem. They are going want to know who you knocked off, how much you made," she said.

"Babe. Calm down. I got this," John said. He scribbled Paul Aaron's name on a piece of paper and folded it. "Come over here and give me a kiss," he said. Bunny got up, walked behind the desk and straddled him. She kissed him and put her hands inside his pants.

***

Paul went to Five East Fifty-Ninth Street. The building was gray and nine stories high. On the bottom floor was a bar, standard like the hundreds of other restaurants in New York City. Four years earlier, the Playboy Club had reigned in the spot. The classic nightclub scene was dying in New York by the time 1990 arrived. Women's liberation and changing tastes dictated which establishments survived. Only a few specific locations thrived in the aftermath. The Playboy Club was one of the casualties. Paul had to see the spot that he had heard so many stories about. The tales were legendary, and the landmark was a stop he had to make before he made the next visit for his story.

When he arrived, he was disappointed that there were hardly any traces of the club left over by the new owners. There were no photographs of the bunny army that used to occupy the space, and none of the décor remained. It was just another commercial building in the changing landscape of midtown Manhattan. Instead of the Disneyland for adults the place once was, it was now part of the growing Disneyland landscape of Manhattan. The mystique that once filled the space from the Jazz Age was gone. Paul had to go elsewhere to get his information.

Paul spent some time looking through the public archives of the Playboy Club. He wanted to find information on Bunny's past. A few of the people who worked there during her heyday were still easy to locate, so he talked to them. The ones who worked with Bunny remembered her like it was yesterday. They told Paul about what she was like as a waitress and gave theories about why she was subsequently fired. Paul found this information fascinating. He was given access to some of the old snapshots that she had appeared in with patrons and that had been taken by one of the in-house photographers. Most of the employees who worked at the club were friendly, and they all knew each other. The photographer had held on to a collection of photograph he had taken. Hers were in the bunch. The photographer also told Paul about her roommate Rose, to whom Bunny had not spoken in years.

There was no argument between the two women; they had just drifted apart after Bunny and John married. Rose never agreed with the union due to his lifestyle, but Bunny felt that her relationship was more important than her friendship. Rose never got over the slight. He wrote down Rose's name and began to get information about her current whereabouts. He knew that Rose could give him insight into what Bunny had been like as a twenty-something. After a few phone calls, he discovered that Rose was a married housewife whose husband worked as a real estate broker. He called her last known number and, to his surprise, she picked up.

"Hello, my name is Paul and I am a reporter. I am doing a story for Lifetime Magazine about the aftermath of the mob in New York City. I am interested in interviewing you about your time at the Playboy Club and your friendship with Bunny LeBlanc."

"You mean Celia Jones," Rose replied in a raspy tone. Her once-cheerful voice had taken on a lower tone due to her smoking habit.

"Celia Jones, her maiden name, I guess."

"Yes, because I know her only like that," Rose said.

"Great. Can I schedule a day to sit down with you for an interview? There will be a photograph of you included. The magazine loves photos with their articles. It will be a good interview," Paul assured.

"I will be glad to give you the information you need."

They both agreed on a time and date for the interview.

Rose's demeanor had not changed much over the years. She maintained her looks within reason. The shoulder-length nineteen-sixties flip with fringe was replaced by a modern nineteen-nineties feathered hairstyle that was swept off her face. The bunny suit had been replaced by a more conservative housewife style. She and her husband maintained a residence in Midtown, as he held a position at a high-end real estate firm. The firm was in direct competition with John and his partners for all of the available properties in the city. Rose had met her husband at Julliard while she studied music there. His brother was a student, and they had been introduced at a party. They dated for many years while Rose finished her education and pursued other interests. She eventually graduated with a bachelor's in music. The original plan was to go through the program with Bunny, but when Bunny was rejected admission, plans changed. Rose's passion for music was never the same, so when her boyfriend proposed, she accepted.

Bunny and Rose wanted to maintain their friendship, but after Bunny's wedding to John, they began to lose touch. It was hard to manage visits because of their locations. Rose was not able to travel to Jamaica much due to schooling and Bunny was pre-occupied with her own education and family life on the island. When Bunny became pregnant with Sophie, contact became non-existent after the initial phone call about the pregnancy. The last time they spoke, Rose wanted to share the good news with Bunny about her engagement. Both had reached a milestone in their lives, much to their excitement. Rose wanted Celia to be her maid of honor. Rose never warmed to calling her Bunny. She, like Ben, preferred to address her by her birth name.

"Okay, I need you to be here. Don't worry, I will pay your way. I just need you to be here," Rose said.

"I will. John and I will make sure we get there soon. Don't worry about the cost. You keep your money, you're gonna need it to build your home," Bunny said.

Rose was quiet on the line for a second.

"Are you still there?" Bunny asked.

"I am. Celia, I need you to come alone, unless you want to bring your mom. Then that's okay," Rose said.

"My mom? Why would she come? She loves you and all, but why would I bring my mom over my husband?" Bunny asked.

"I don't know how to say this, but I will. He can't come," Rose said.

"He can't come? Why?" Bunny asked.

"John has a reputation, and there are people in my fiancé's family who know what he really does. I just don't think they will be okay with him being there. They are very traditional," Rose replied.

"But it's your wedding too. You can invite whom you want. Why are you letting them dictate the guest list?" Bunny asked,

Rose sighed. "It's not just them. I just don't think it's appropriate."

Bunny was offended. What was wrong with John? He had changed for the better, he was nice, and they had invited Rose to their nuptials with open arms, all expenses paid.

"Rose, I don't get what's going on. Why are you saying this? You seemed fine at our wedding. What changed?"

"Celia, John has a history and you can't get rid of that, no matter how much you say he's changed. If so, that's great, but it doesn't work that way, not around these circles. A lot of my fiancé's friends are conservative and they see John as an outlaw, plus he's a particular type, and you know..."

Bunny cut her off. "So if he were, let's say, Italian or Irish, his history would not be an issue."

"I didn't mean it that way," Rose said.

"That's what it sounds like. You bought it up," Bunny snapped.

"Celia, I need you to listen. You're okay because you are not like that."

"I hear you loud and clear. I guess you think that just by being there John is going to do something like shoot up the place or have his friends come and crash the party. For your information, I will tell you that won't happen. He's not that way, he was never that way. He had a job to do before, and nothing that happened occurred to anyone who didn't deserve it. John and I are not that different," Bunny said.

"Celia, I can't change this. I really want you here, but he can't come. There is nothing I can do," Rose said.

"You could if you really wanted to, but it's your wedding and your say. When have you ever not been able to speak up? You were so free to do so when it came to my matters. We're friends. We are supposed to defend each other in our absence like we used to do. What happened to that? I have to go. I will call you later," Bunny said and hung up the phone.

Bunny and Rose had not spoken since that phone call.

Bunny knew John would not have cared one way or another, but that was not the point. Bunny was not happy that she had been made to choose between her best friend and the man she loved. It put her in a position to have to explain to her husband why she was not bringing him as her plus one. Bunny chose to keep things happy at home and not attend. Rose would understand one day. Over the years Rose heard stories about Bunny from gossip and the newspapers like everyone else. She was sad about how things had ended between the two, but she still cared. In Rose's heart, she wished that things would have ended differently.

Rose never had children with her husband. They chose to live a jet-set life once her husband's business took off. Kids would have slowed them down, and she was okay with that. Her other companion was Winston. Winston was not a human being but a brand of cigarettes. Rose enjoyed smoking, which was something she was never able to do when she bunked with Bunny. After they parted ways, Rose would smoke a pack a day despite the warning labels on the packages. She enjoyed the taste. Back in the sixties and seventies, it was hip to have a cigarette in your hand if you were a young woman. It was socially acceptable. Rose never let go of that image and picked up her first cigarette when she started school. Over time, Rose used smoking to calm down her anxiety and fix her headaches. She substituted it for meals. Her voice began to change, and she developed a constant cough. Her smile, which had once been pearly white, had a tint of yellow. Later on, she developed breathing difficulties. She knew what was happening to her, but she decided to live her life her way.

When Paul arrived at her high-rise penthouse at Sutton Place on Manhattan's East Side, he sat down and began the interview. The place looked comfortable. It was a modest two-bedroom, two-bath apartment that had a solarium and terrace. It had a great view of the East River and the 59th Street Bridge. He figured that this was a childless couple. The place was small and well arranged. Rose lit up a cigarette as she began the talk with Paul. She offered him a smoke.

"No thank you. I don't smoke. I want to say before I begin that I am psyched to be speaking with you. I think that you are a big piece of this puzzle. Sometimes the supporting characters make the difference in the story. It provides a whole other unedited insight into things," Paul said.

"You're welcome. Now these photos after, make sure you get my good side," Rose said.

Paul laughed. "Will do. Let's get started. I'm recording now so everything we speak of will be on the record."

Paul hit record.

"Your name is Rose and you are engaged," Paul said.

"No, I'm married now," Rose replied.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm working with dated information, so forgive me. Congratulations," Paul said.

"Thank you. Well, I am here to fill you in. When you told me you wanted to talk to me for an article that is appearing in Lifetime magazine, I could not say no," Rose responded.

"I am doing a piece on the LeBlanc family. I am interviewing those whom they encountered on their way to the top. You were one of the people who came up in my research. Thank you for talking with me," Paul said.

"You're welcome," Rose smiled.

"I understand that you know Bunny LeBlanc," Paul asked.

"I do. I've known her for many years. We used to work at the Playboy Club together. We were waitresses, and we were also roommates. We were all over the city. Those were great years before things went to hell around here," she answered. Paul could sense the shade in her voice.

"Can you tell me about the time you two spent together back then?" Paul asked.

"Sure. We met at the club and hit it off immediately. We auditioned on the same day. They were looking for a Negro bunny and other new bunnies for the club. She was hired first, earlier in the day and I was hired later. We were different but alike. Her being Negro and me white, it was like we were the same person. It was wild. We liked the same things, the same music, and the same shows. I never had a sister or a black friend, so she was the two for one. It was a bit pricey back then to have your own apartment if you were a single gal so we decided to be roommates. We split the rent and bills, we shared clothes. We went out to the social clubs to meet guys. I met a lot of nice fellas at those places. She was always the more conservative one."

"You could not meet people at the Playboy Club?" Paul asked.

"Oh no, no way. We were not allowed to do that. We could not date any of the people who were members. We would flirt, but there were limits. Some of the guys were creeps. They would touch us or beg us for dates. Bunny was better than I was when it came to dealing with that. She was always so strict about her work. She would cover for me whenever I needed it because I didn't always follow the rules. She was one of the top bunnies in the club. That was until he came along..." she said.

"He?" Paul said.

"Yes, John." Rose took another puff of her cigarette. "It seems that when she met him, things started changing. I am not so sure that those changes were for the better."

"Really? Can you elaborate on that more?" Paul said, intrigued. He scooted closer to Rose and held up his recorder.

"In my opinion, from the moment she met him, she changed into a different person," Rose said.

"How did she change?" Paul asked.

"That girl you see in the papers, the so-called gangster girl, that is not the Celia I know. Her real name is Celia, by the way. John gave her that nickname. I think he was obsessed with her in the uniform. Anyway, we first met him while he was fighting in the street. Some guy was beating him up. I wanted her to leave that alone. It was right across the street from our brownstone. There were a lot of crazies out there then, not as many as now, but they were there. Celia wanted to be a hero and go over and help him. All I heard was one of them screaming at the other about not having their money. When you hear something like that, you know nothing good is going on. I tried to make her come inside with me, but she refused. One of the guys saw us and ran off. John laid there and she went over to help him. She stayed until the ambulance picked him up. She did not mention him again until she saw him at the Club. I thought that confusion was over. It was something out of a movie because after that time she could not stop talking about him. She went on about how tall and handsome he was. She loved his accent, which sounded like he came from the south. He would come to the club with those other guys; they tipped nicely, by the way. I don't know who they were, but they were well dressed and smooth, not corporate like the other keyholders. I don't know exactly what they did for a living, but after the two of them met again, he was there a lot to see her. When they were not at the club, they were around the city, but not in Midtown. They did not want to be seen with each other for fear that someone would see them. Who, I am not sure. That was her excuse. I heard later on that he had a wife, the jerk.

"So, they would call each other 'Babe' all the time. 'Babe this,' 'babe that.' It was almost getting to a point where it was annoying. I kept quiet for her because then, by dating him, the rules were being broken. We looked out for each other that way. She had done the same for me," she said.

"So you were there in the beginning," Paul said.

"I guess you can say that. In hindsight maybe I should have done more to stop it," Rose said.

"The LeBlancs look very happy. They have been together for two decades. What would make you come to that conclusion?" Paul asked.

Rose took a deep breath. She was ready to spill her real feelings about their situation.

"First, she started breaking the rules and she lost her job at the Club. The management was very upset about her actions with him. It was because John was married and he did not tell her, as she says. He was parading her around town as a mistress. She had no idea, apparently. Someone ratted on her, and she got dismissed. It wasn't me, I swear. Then she took a job at this place where John and his guys worked. I don't know why she chose to go there. She told me that a relative worked there, and the money was good. She wanted to say that my moving out forced her into that situation, but she could have moved back in with her mother or found another roommate. Who would want to be in the same place with an ex unless you were not over them? It was all so confusing to me. Then, later on, something else happened. Something immense happened at the job, and she had to run away. She would not tell me the specifics. Her reasoning was that I wouldn't understand. I remember her being very upset and having me promise not to say anything about her whereabouts, not even to her mother. She did not tell me much of anything about that place. She left a lot of the stuff she cared about with me to go to Jamaica and clear her head. She ended up staying there for about a year. She came back here for a relative's funeral. From there, she got back with her ex-boyfriend, John, and they ended up getting married. I continued school and got my degree," Rose said.

"This place she worked at. Would it be Chimera?" Paul asked.

"That's it! Over the years I've heard a lot of things about that place. To tell you the truth, I think they were the mob. Everything we know about those types of guys now sounds like that place where she worked. She was supposed to be a secretary. I would tell her about my time in Julliard, and she would say nothing about her job. I don't know if she was still upset about not getting in. It was not the same when she worked at the Club. She used to talk about the Club all of the time. When she went to Chimera, everything changed, everything was a goddamn secret. Then she had all this money. They were paying her well, but I don't know many secretaries who were bringing in six figures. That is executive business money. I would have quit Julliard if I had landed a job like that," Rose answered.

"That is interesting. Did all of the women there earn that kind of income?" Paul asked.

"She told me she was the first and only woman to ever work there. A place like that surely could have used more than one gal," Rose said.

"She must have been special," Paul said.

"I guess, she dated two of them," Rose said.

"What?" Paul exclaimed. His face lit up.

"She dated John. They broke up after she learned he had a wife. Then she dated another guy there," Rose said.

"This is interesting information. Do you know the name of this man?" Paul asked.

"I don't remember exactly. It starts with a B. He was nice looking from what I remember," Rose said.

Paul looked at Rose and nodded his head in agreement. He continued to record everything she said.

"Was he a young or old guy?" Paul asked.

"Oh, he was relatively young. Let's see, who I can think of who looks like this guy? Ah...he seemed like a young Tony Curtis. He had a faint scar on his face. I would be honest, had I seen him first, I would have dated him too. He seemed laid back like the other guys who were there with him." Rose giggled.

Paul knew she was speaking about Ben. No other notable people in Chimera fit that description.

"What happened with your relationship with Bunny?" Paul asked.

"I still call her Celia. That's how I know her. She didn't adopt that name until she started dating John. I thought she would give that up once she was fired. I guess not. She has her own wine now, lucky her," Rose said.

"I sense some frustration in your voice," Paul said.

"Maybe I am. I did not want her to marry him. She could have done so much better. I know it seems like she has it good now, but look what she had to go through to get there. She had other choices, other options. She chose to chase after an unavailable player who made her cry. What was so special about this guy? I don't understand it. There were plenty of other colored guys she could have picked up. I wanted her in my wedding, but I could not have him there. My husband's family would not have allowed that kind of trash at our wedding," Rose said.

"That's harsh, don't you think?" Paul said.

"I don't think so. She could have come, but she chose not to. She gave me an ultimatum that I could not agree with. She said I made her choose. It was either both come, or no one comes. She chose him over our friendship," Rose said.

"To play devil's advocate here, don't you think she had a point? You were in their wedding, and it seemed that they welcomed you with open arms. Why couldn't you do the same?" Paul asked.

"Do you know how it would have looked to have black gangsters at my wedding? Celia was okay. She was classy, but him, no. If he were a banker or worked at a respectable company, I would not have had a problem with him being there. John and those guys had a reputation, and I did not want my husband's family to think I was associated with those types of people. I could not do it. It breaks my heart that she wanted it this way. We haven't spoken in years. I wonder how she is doing," Rose said. Her tone was sad.

Paul was taken aback by her response. "I'm sorry to hear that. It sounds like your relationship with her was special," Paul said.

"It was. We went on different paths. She chose hers, I chose mine. I've been hearing things about what's happening with them in the news. This isn't the same Celia I knew. The one I knew was innocent and excited about the future, a little naive, wanting to settle down with a well-to-do guy. I don't recognize this new person who calls herself Bunny. I don't know this Mafia label that she has on her. I knew she wanted to do interesting things, but I had no idea this was what she had in mind. I know her heart, and she is not built for that. She got these ideas from him," Rose said.

"So she is one hundred percent influenced by John," Paul asked.

"That would be my guess," Rose answered.

"Anything else you would like to add?" Paul asked.

"Despite everything I said here, I miss her. I really do. I felt that way in the past, but I don't care too much about that anymore. My concern is for her. If you could locate her for me, pass her my number. I want to talk to her before it's too late," Rose said.

Paul knew she was sincere. Friends fight all the time, but he felt Rose's pain. "I will do that if I get to see her. I promise," he said. Paul checked his tape. "Great stuff. That is all I need. This was great. Thank you for your time and your insight."

"No problem. I trust that you will do a great job on the article. I've seen your work," Rose said.

"You have? Thank you very much. I'm small press so I didn't think many people noticed my articles," Paul said as he stood up with his camera and had Rose pose for photographs. She took them with ease. "Thank you. I will contact you when it arrives in print," Paul said.

He left Rose's home and went back to his apartment to begin adding Rose's parts to the article.

When Paul made it back home, he started looking at all of his notes. He was in the process of piecing the timeline together when something clicked in his head. Harold speaking about a mysterious woman in Jamaica, Ben having a crush and dating history with Bunny and Ben being the star witness against John. The link there was Bunny.

Paul had to figure out a motive. The best explanation he came up with was that Bunny needed him to not testify. No one else was claiming responsibility for his demise. It made sense. However, Paul did not want to definitely say she could be the missing link to Ben's death until he was able to talk to one last person. Once he spoke to this person, he felt he would have enough to get a detailed exclusive out in a couple of months. He did not need John and Bunny's co-operation to proceed, much to his disappointment.

***

John and Bunny were preparing a speech for the people of Brooklyn, New York. He would be speaking to the youth borough. It was a friendly audience because the area where the building was located was in the middle of a high Jamaican transplant population. His goal was to explain to the young people the pitfalls of living a life that does not agree with the laws of the land and he was using his experiences as an example of how to turn it around. John knew what this life really was, but he was riding the wave from the glamor. The kids saw the outside, where everyone ran around with money, but they didn't see the part where they went to jail. Not many of them retired from the mob. John wasn't proud of his past, but he did what he had to do to make it. He was talking to young people so that he could respect himself when he died of old age. John and Bunny didn't discuss his past with his daughters, and Mariana went to great lengths to avoid conversation about Jerome Sr.'s history with him. Both wanted their children's futures to be in legitimate careers. No one was sure what Chimera would end up as in a few years' time, but the investment in buildings across the city restructured the company into something that one day his sons could take over.

While he was there, John would make a surprise statement regarding his political future. This was it; his Mayoral plans were going to be publicized in two days. He had the posters and buttons ready to distribute to the crowds and his staff had been hired. No one in the media had any idea that he would make the announcement during the speech. He wanted it that way. John didn't want anyone attempting to ruin the moment. Flashbacks of his being dragged out of the church hall back in Kingston were too fresh in his head, and he had learned his lesson in terms of what not to do.

While Lawrence and Bunny were hard at work getting the details in order, John sat in his office arranging his dialog. It was going to be recorded.

Twenty years ago this week, I was just a shell that on paper seemed to live my ideal life. I was rich and had a remarkable job, and most of the people I worked with were great. The truth was, though, that I was a miserable person. I tried to fix it by overindulging in every temptation that was readily available to me. I didn't always follow the law and I got in trouble a few times. This was the reality of my life until one evening, when I laid eyes on a woman who would change my life forever. She took the paper that had my existence on it, erased everything, and rewrote it. I didn't realize it was happening immediately. Our union was a slow burn until every obstacle, be it a situation or a person, was charred away and all there was left was she and me. I think that everything we have encountered in our lives was necessary to put us in the position we are in at this very moment. Every achievement and setback prepared us for what was to come. She taught me that there were other options, better options, and choices I could make.

If I had the opportunity to go back, I would not change a thing. Wait, I wouldn't change most things. I would have never set foot in a prison or had to fight for my innocence. I would bring back my best friend and the man whom I considered a father. I don't know if it was in God's plan to have these people leave my life for me to succeed, but what I can say is that I learned a lot of life information from them while they were here, and for that alone I am forever grateful.

I hope to pass this wisdom along to my four children. It's okay that you make mistakes, but make sure you learn and improve the next time. I hope they grow up with the same endurance, beauty, and strength their parents possess...

"Hey Bun, come here and look at this. Tell me what you think," John said.

"It's only half a page," Bunny answered.

"I know, I'm not done. Just tell me if you like it so far," John added.

Bunny reads the words. "This is beautiful, John. That last sentence, though, it may come off as a little... how should I say it? Arrogant," Bunny said.

"I'm not arrogant. I'm confident. I have a lot of heart, you know," John said.

"I know you do, and that is what I love, but you have to make sure the people know the difference. Remember the last time we tried to return to the city and do this. We don't want people to think you are smug because you beat the charges. I say make it more general. You can take out those last seven words. You are running for Mayor, not accepting an Oscar," Bunny said.

"Nonsense. We deserve all of the credit for them. The girls are teenagers now. They have never been to jail, pregnant, or in trouble. Because I will put a foot in their asses if they did. Our kids are a reflection of us, and we should be proud of what we made," John added.

"Are you prepared for the avalanche of crap that is headed our way once we announce?" Bunny asked.

"As ready as we are ever going to be. We have lots of positive things to tell them. We are rebuilding the neighborhoods, helping out those in need. We are legit now, honey. Nothing to worry about," he said.

"I'm nervous that they are going to keep you as a gangster, no matter what you tell them, no matter how many people you help. Your being a gangster supports their narrative," she said.

John shrugged it off. "If they did, they would be right. Let me explain this. There are levels to this shit. The guys in jail and in the street, they are considered amateur gangsters. The crime families, like we used to be, are the intermediates. The politicians are the professionals. We are moving up to the professional level. Mario Pasquale is a professional. He hates me because I am a real threat to the status quo, and I know how he actually operates. The best way to knock out the competition is to put them all in jail. That anti-crime, anti-Mafia bullshit he has been pulling for twenty years now, that is to keep the eyes off him and his cronies, cronies in the White House, cronies in city hall. It's classic deflection."

"So from one bad rep to another? Politicians are not that popular, babe."

"Not quite. From one bad rep to a more respectable bad rep. Besides, I think you would make a great first lady of the city," he said.

Bunny smiled. "You think so?"

"Yeah," John said and winked at her.

Bunny liked the sound of that. "Since you put it that way, hell, I'm ready then," she laughed.

***

Brenda and Mariana's meeting finally took place. John and Lawrence were in the office, too. Dixon-Rhodos wanted to have Brenda make an appearance at an upcoming fundraiser. That was part of Brenda's role at the foundation. They got her a job and housing; she represented them during appearances. The plan was to have a big party at Bentley Nightclub in Manhattan to raise funds for both John's future political campaign and the foundation. Brenda and others who were being sponsored by them would serve as spokespersons and talk to the attendees about their experiences. Mariana informed Brenda that this would be a great opportunity for her to network. While Mariana, Brenda, and Lawrence sat at the conference room table, John stayed to the side to observe. He was impressed with Mariana's management of the foundation. He was investing a significant amount of money on the venture. Between the buildings project, his family, and Chimera's operations, he was on a tight budget. The returns on his investments would take a little time, but it was worth it. Dixon-Rhodos was the least expensive of his projects. A lot of it was run from donations from corporations that had not abandoned them and from the public. Everything else he covered, such as Mariana's salary.

Mariana got up from the room for a few minutes to take care of some business, leaving Lawrence and Brenda alone in the room. As she passed John in the doorway, he stopped her.

"Good job," he said.

"Thanks. We are doing big things," Mariana responded.

John stood there and observed Lawrence and Brenda talking. They did not seem to care that he was around the corner. It was like they were the only two in the room. John noticed that Lawrence grabbed Brenda's hand and held it. It wasn't a professional hold. His fingers were rubbing her hand. Brenda could not stop smiling and blushing. They were talking in a tone that was so low, only the two of them could hear the conversation. This was not the first time they had done this, and the looks on their faces said it all. John had seen this scenario before. That had once been him, and the girl had been Bunny. They were messing around, it was evident. Lawrence was smitten with Brenda. It gave John flashbacks to the time when he was just the underboss of Chimera. Bernie had known what was happening between Bunny, John, and Ben the whole time when it happened before, but he never intervened. If he did, it would make it seem as though he were picking sides. John now understood Bernie's stance. If John said something, it would bring discord into the group from the top. John did not want that. He was concerned about Mariana's reaction, though. She was going to lose it, much like he had. He would comfort her if that happened, but until then he sat there and said nothing. It was just a matter of time before this exploded. He looked at them. John had no time to focus on them. He had to continue his plans.

The sound of Mariana's heels cold be heard walking back in the hallway. When she returned to the conference room, Lawrence and Brenda had already returned to their previous positions as though nothing had gone on. John slowly and quietly backed out of the room and pretended that he had seen nothing.

***

Paul waited outside of the Chimera offices. He had been following Brenda's moves for the past week. He wanted to meet with her at her place of employment, but loitering rules were strict in that area. He had seen her go in and out of the Chimera offices and knew it was just a matter of time before he was able to catch her on the sidewalk and have a quick talk with her. He desperately wanted a chance to interview her.

Brenda was walking out of the building after her follow-up meeting with Mariana. She was headed back to her apartment when Paul spotted her.

"Excuse me, aren't you Brenda Wilson?"

"Yeah. Who the hell are you?" she answered. She looked Paul up and down.

"I'm Paul Aaron, a reporter. I would like to talk to you about Ben Berardi."

Brenda stopped in her tracks. Not many spoke to her about her relationship with Ben outside of Bunny, family members, and whoever knew them at the old apartment building where they had once lived.

"I am doing an article for publication in Lifetime Magazine. The report will be based on the Chimera group, with the primary focus on John and Bunny LeBlanc. There will be a section on the supporting players, including your husband. They were the mob family with which your husband was associated," Paul said.

"We were never married, he was just the father of my son, but go on," she replied.

"Oh, well, I've been working on his story for months, and I've found some things, some inconsistencies. I want to talk to you because I think you can put all of this together. I promise that this isn't a trash article. It's being done in the most respectful way possible, to honor him, give the public a full picture of how they all were as people and perhaps give him some justice. You are probably one of the few individuals who knows him best," Paul said.

"If I talk to you, what's in it for me? Do I get paid for doing this?" she asked.

"No, it's on a volunteer basis," he answered. No one had ever asked him for payment for an interview. "It's a feature in a globally distributed magazine. Everyone in the world will see this. If you do the interview, I can add your picture. It may make you famous. I've talked to a few people already who were close with members of the group and one who knew Ben on a personal level."

Brenda looked him up and down. "I don't have much to tell you about him, about the LeBlancs, about anything." She started to walk away.

"With all due respect, Ms. Wilson, I'm not entirely sure I believe you."

"Excuse you?" She turned around and snapped.

"I'm going to be honest with you. In the work that I have collected over the last few months, the mystery surrounding your boyfriend's death, he may have died from foul play. There are just a few small pieces missing in the puzzle, and I think you can fill them in. I just need about an hour of your time. Please consider," he said.

"Are you an undercover? Because I don't talk to pigs," she said.

"No, I'm not. I actually am working for the magazine, and I am also a follower of the group."

The revelation shook Brenda to the core. All she knew about Ben's death was that he had been taken out by the feds and buried at Hart Island. This was the story Bunny had sold her in order to help her regain custody of Junior. Bunny was so eager for her to cut ties with Ben right before his death, but Brenda never questioned her. She was too focused on her son at the time to put the pieces together. Although Brenda did not do much after the news of Ben's demise, she still felt sadness in her heart about his passing. Brenda felt sad that her son was missing out on a long-term relationship with his father. A small part of her was still in love with him.

Brenda took a deep breath. "Okay, what do you want to know?"

Brenda's sudden change of heart gave Paul relief. "I can interview you at your place or we can meet in a public area that's comfortable for you."

"Okay, that sounds good. One condition; leave my boy out of this. I'm doing this only because I think he deserves to know the truth about his father. He glorifies an image of Ben that is boosted up by street people. He wants to be a gangster just like him. Ben was more complicated than that," Brenda said.

***

Paul met up with Brenda in her apartment. It was on one of Brenda's days off from work. Junior was supposed to be in school but had cut classes so he could go back home and lay around. When he noticed his mother coming back into the apartment with Paul, he went into his room to hide. He stayed quiet so she would not hear him. Junior did not know what was going on.

"I know that I agreed to talk to them but I also work for them, so could you do me a favor? I really don't want my picture in there, and please don't put my name in there. They may not let me back in the building if they know I talked to you. They don't like the press they don't call," she said. Brenda thought the interview would upset Lawrence, with whom her relationship was blossoming. She wanted to do this for her son but at the same time protect her love life.

"I can agree to that," he said.

"Give me your word or else I will come and find you, I swear," she added.

"You have my word, Miss Wilson. I will use regular nouns and not names."

Paul asked her a few questions about her past and Junior's upbringing. He also wanted to learn more about her and Ben's relationship. Brenda kept it real and told him about the fights they used to have, the years of bi-weekly visits to prison with baby Junior, and how mean Ben was to her sometimes. She also told Paul she wasn't sure about his real feelings for her. Paul was satisfied with the answers. He wanted to know what she thought about being around the LeBlancs.

"I believe they are real people. I've got to know them better. I don't spend any time around John, so I don't know him. Mariana, who runs the foundation, I don't think she likes me that much, but who cares what that bitch thinks. Bunny is probably the most innocent person I've ever met. I don't believe she has ever stepped on any insects."

Paul thought this would be a good time to reveal his thoughts about Bunny and Ben's dealings. He wanted to see what reaction Brenda would give him.

"You know, Ben's death is shrouded in mystery. There is a theory that the streets have, and there is the truth. I also have some ideas about what happened there, based on my research. You may not want to hear this," Paul said.

"What's your theory?" Brenda asked.

"I think that she, Bunny LeBlanc, may have been responsible for Ben's death, or at least know exactly what happened to him. I came up with this using the process of elimination. It's wasn't the feds, and that makes sense. I'm pretty confident about that at this point. The rest of what I am saying is just my theory, but all of the pieces fall into place. I spoke to Ben's friend Harold. They were pretty close and served in the war together. He told me a lot of information about the time leading up to Ben's death, the conversations they had.

"How do you know it's her?" Brenda asked.

"Harold mentioned that Ben knew a woman in Jamaica whom he wanted to see and that she would be available for him soon. From my research, the only people Ben could have known there were the LeBlancs. He may have been referring to John's trial regarding her availability. Harold made it seem as if Ben had a thing for her."

Brenda's heart sank. She knew what Paul was saying was true. Ben loved Bunny, and she knew it. Brenda began to flash back to the moments she watched coverage of John's trial on television and sat with Bunny on the park bench, pouring her heart out to her. Bunny was so eager to help and throw money at Brenda for no reason. Bunny could have walked away, but didn't. She was trying to get Brenda out of the way by using her son as bait, and she fell for it. Despite everything she had been through, Brenda at that moment had never felt so stupid in her life.

"I've should have known. She was too eager to help me," Brenda said.

"She helped you?" he asked.

"Yeah. The foundation thing. I was going to cut her at first," she said.

Paul was stunned and wasn't sure how to respond to Brenda's revelation.

"You were going to kill her?" Paul asked.

"I went to the courthouse and waited for her. I wanted her gone so Ben could concentrate on us. I was going to cut her face, not kill her." Brenda paused. "So he wouldn't want her anymore." A tear escaped her left eye. It wasn't from jealousy, but from the shock of the circumstances.

"She dangled my son over my head. She promised to get him back to me, but I had to leave Ben alone. She knew people who would be able to get me settled so I could regain custody. I love my boy, but I would have never willingly sacrificed his father to get him back. We fought hard, like dogs, but there was still love there. That happens when you have a kid with someone. Junior needed his father, and she took that away from him. I don't care about myself at this point. I've moved on. Now look at my son. He never had a chance to be a regular kid. He was always slow, but he had his dad around, so he had a chance. Now he's senseless and runs the streets. I can't tell him anything because he is trying to emulate his dead father. I'm working on getting him a better role model." She sighed.

Paul had to finish his explanation and in a hurry. The moment was becoming tense.

"Now, to be fair, I have to finish my theory. The rest of the story goes that Ben may have killed Jerome Dexter, his partner in Chimera. That is the chatter amongst the inmates who shared space with both John and Ben. It was a retaliation killing and not some random thing. Ben was going to testify against John and Bunny may have felt that this was the best thing to do not only to save John but to punish Ben for Jerome's death. I did some research on Ben's backstory, and I also found out he was suspect number one in the passing of an agent he was working with and a police officer. His hands were not clean, Brenda. I know you said your son needed him around, but at what cost?" Paul said.

Benda's anger turned to shock. What kind of person had she been living with? She had no idea Ben had been that involved. He had never shared specifics with her. He was always so secretive. "I'm a little mad, but I get it. I'm mad at her for not being upfront with me, but I am grateful because right now things are looking up. I wish you never told me this."

"No one's death is necessary, but he was very troubled. The war messed him up. I talked to his friend, who told me everything. You are not going to do anything rash, are you?" Paul asked.

"No. I promise. I will speak to her woman to woman. That's all."

Junior was still crouched behind the door, listening to every word Brenda and Paul were saying. He could not believe it. He was friends with the LeBlanc girls and Jerome Jr. because of their interactions in school. How would he be able to look at them? The image he had of his father being a hero was shattered. Junior was upset at the situation and upset that his mother was not angry enough. "I don't care. Who gave her the right to do that?" Junior yelled from behind the door. He got up and stormed past the two. Brenda and Paul were both shocked to see Junior there. He was supposed to be in school.

"Junior! Oh my God," Brenda yelled as he flew by. Junior left the apartment despite calls from Brenda. "Junior, stop!"

"Oh, I think I should end this now. Did he hear anything?" Paul asked.

"I don't know, but you should go," Brenda replied.

"I will scrap this part of the story if you would like. I don't want to cause more of an issue with your son," Paul said.

Brenda paused. "Please. Don't tell any of it. This is not okay."

In an instant, Brenda regretted every word that had left her mouth. This entire thing was a disaster.

***

Junior disappeared for about twelve hours. Brenda shed a few tears while she sat on her sofa waiting for him to return. Street and gang violence were at an all-time high in the city, and she was worried about his safety. She wanted to call Lawrence to vent but knew this would not make her look good. She was ready to call the authorities to look for Junior when he suddenly walked back into the apartment. He seemed calm and tried to walk past Brenda to get to his room. Brenda stood up and hit him.

"Where the hell were you? I was worried sick."

"You've never asked where I been before," Junior responded.

"Well, I am asking now. Don't get smart with me," she said.

"I was with my friends. Why you in my business?" Junior said with an attitude.

"When you run out of here like that, I have to ask. Your business is my business. I'm your mother. I'm the only one who is going to ask about you. Nobody else is gonna care. I was hoping you wouldn't do something stupid."

"Yeah, because you think that I actually am stupid," he said.

"No! You are a good boy when you want to be. Some of your decisions are stupid. Running with the gangbangers you call friends makes you stupid."

"You used to do it. Let's keep it real. You ain't perfect either, Momma. You can't tell me you haven't done things you knew were wrong," Junior said.

Brenda paused because she knew he had a point.

"You are going to let the LeBlancs get away with killing my dad," he added.

"That's hearsay. That guy is a hack! The difference between you and me is that I grew up. I had a kid and had to grow up! Since you want to keep it real, even if it were true that your father was not a saint, he is part of the reason why you have some of your problems right now."

"Nah," Junior said and waved his hand dismissively at Brenda. He started walking away from her. She followed him around the room.

"Oh, you don't want to hear it? Your father was not a street hero, he was not legendary, he was a bum! He was in a war, and that was it. Everything he did after that was shit. He was a cheater, he sold drugs, killed people, caused your overdose, and hit me. That's your real hero, boy! That's what happens in life. You do shit like that, and it comes back to you one way or another. You haven't been around as long as I have. I've seen more than you have, I know more than you do. You are a child! That is a concept you are going to have to learn. He had to find out the hard way, even if he was your daddy. That is keeping it real," she said to him.

Junior hated every word, but he knew she had a point. He walked back to his room and slammed the door.

"Don't slam my doors! You don't pay for shit around here!" she yelled. Then, 'Ooh, that boy gets on my last nerve!' she thought.

#  CHAPTER 5

##

John was dressed in a light blue shirt and navy blazer. He kept the loafers but had ditched the tailored trousers from his earlier years in favor of jeans, which were more comfortable for him. He topped it off with his traditional Ray Ban sunglasses. He had a fresh haircut and was ready for the meet and greet. John's new look appealed to the public because it made him approachable. Everyone wanted a piece of him. Bunny was there in a flowy light orange dress, ready to meet the crowds. It was the first hint of color she had worn in months. She stayed by his side from the moment they stepped out of the vehicle.

The community center had gone all out for the LeBlancs. The line to get in and see John and Bunny stretched for blocks and those who were lucky enough to get close to him were all over him. The cameras were in the middle of the crush and women were pushing their babies toward him to hold and kiss for a photo.

"Hey, I'm so glad you are here. We need more people who look like us in office. I wish you were running. If you do, you got my vote!" one woman said.

"Thank you. I will do my best to make sure everyone in the city is taken care of, not just the elites," John said.

"I hate that other guy, Paco, whatever the hell his name is," she said.

John laughed harder than he should have. "Good ole Pasquale. Well, I understand your pain."

A cameraman saw their exchange and went up to them. This woman was lively but stereotypical and the perfect person to feature on the five o'clock news. "Hello, ma'am, can you repeat what you just said?" the cameraman asked.

She took the camera and pointed it at her face. "I said, I don't like Paco, Im'a call him that because I can. He doesn't like black people, and we don't like him back. He doesn't represent us. Make sure he sees this cause the people need to know. We got the real winner right here!"

John stepped back from the woman after she made the statement. He knew she was stating the truth, but he did not want to be directly attached to it. He admired her passion and gave her a nod of approval as he walked away.

Right before the speech commenced, John's hired campaign workers emerged from a van full of boxes and began passing out campaign posters, buttons, and t-shirts to a surprised crowd. Before long, many in the room realized he was going to make an announcement. The audience chatter was full of excitement. Someone with whom they were familiar was finally going to run for office.

***

The 27th floor that housed Mario Pasquale's law offices on Barclay Street was an efficient but impersonal area. He had recently moved his offices from Midtown Manhattan to Seven World Trade Center. He wanted to take advantage of the new facilities and the fact the many insurance and banking companies were tenants there, as was the CIA. They often used Pasquale's services whenever they were in legal trouble. He also wanted to take advantage of the elegant elevated walkway that connected the building directly to the Twin Towers. The office hadn't been designed as a rat race, but the cherry wood was dark, and the lighting depended on small lamps and whatever sunshine was able to sneak through the windows and reflect off the granite exterior.

The pressure was always to work and win. There were no other options, even for him. Mario was putting the finishing touches on his plan to run for office. He had assembled his exploratory team, ordered the advertising time, and paid for the posters. He estimated he would be ready to announce in about another week or so.

His telephone rang. It was one of his favorite congressman, Lee Warren. He served on New York's 9th congressional district.

"Hey Pasquale, it's Lee Warren. How are you doing, buddy? Lee asked.

"I'm great. What's going on?" Mario answered.

"Do you see what I'm seeing?" Lee asked.

"See what?"

"Turn to Channel 4. LeBlanc is on the news live," he said.

Mario laughed. "This time of day?" he said as he looked at his clock. "Is he getting arrested?"

"No. I think he's gunning for your position. Take a look."

"Gunning for my position? The hell is he talking about?" Mario mumbled.

Mario got up and turned on the television in his office. He kept the telephone receiver in his hand, stretching the cord to its limit. He watched the live coverage of John's speech. Mario saw John standing next to Bunny and the crowds who were holding up signs with "LeBlanc" on them. Blue balloons were everywhere. The ticker banner on the bottom of the television screen read: "John LeBlanc announces run for Mayor's office as the Democratic candidate." Channel 4 ran it as breaking news. Mario's face began to turn red; veins and wrinkles formed. Every swear word known to man started coming out of his mouth. He did not care how loud he was or who heard it. Mario wanted to be the first to announce his candidacy. That was to assure his supporters that he was ready to take the position. John had beat him to the punch and therefore had a week-long advantage in coverage over him.

"Goddammit! Who knew about this? Did you know?" Mario asked Lee.

"No, I didn't. I'm just as surprised to see this as you are. I've heard rumors for years that he planned on running, but nobody around here took him seriously. The guy was in jail at the time. We just dismissed it. The guy's popularity is at an all-time high," he responded.

Mario started banging the telephone against the desk. The sound was piercing from the other side.

"I'm getting off the phone and calling you later," Warren said.

Mario did not hear him. He had already broken the receiver.

Mario began talking to himself. "I paid these bastards to keep me informed of these people. How in the hell did this happen?" He kicked the desk.

In Mario's office, the scene was chaos. Mario's secretary, Audrey, sat outside his door. Her desk was a convenient distance away from him. She was the only one to have full access whenever she needed him for assistance. For the past hour, all Audrey could hear was banging and things crashing on the other side of the door. She had no idea what was happening and was a bit afraid to go in and see. She had run into unexpected things going on in his office before. She decided to get up and check on Mr. Pasquale. When Audrey opened the door, a glass award that Mario had received came flying near her head. It almost hit her. She screamed and quickly closed the door in fear. Audrey went to look for a security guard for help.

"Excuse me, I need a little help in Mr. Pasquale's office," a worried Audrey told a security guard outside the office.

"What's going on, ma'am?" the guard asked her.

"It's Mr. Pasquale. Something is going on inside his office, and I don't know what to do," she said nervously.

"Do I need to call an ambulance?"

"I don't think so, well, I don't know yet. Just follow me. Hurry!" she said.

Audrey and the security guard went to Mario Pasquale's office. The sound of papers flying and things being hit were still audible. As they slowly opened the door, they looked in. It seemed like a tornado had hit the room. Mario was tossing whatever he could pick up around the office. Boxes of paperwork, items on his desk, and the CRT computer monitor, which was on the floor to its side. He was pissed. John's surprise announcement to run against him had sent Mario into an uncontrollable rage. He toppled furniture, kicked around whatever was on the floor, and threw papers. He did not know any other way to express his anger except to let it out in the privacy of his own office.

"Who the hell does this guy think he is?" Mario shouted. He was pacing and still kicking objects aside. Mario was out of his mind.

Audrey looked at the guard. "He threw something at me, but I don't think he meant to do it."

"Mr. Pasquale!" the guard shouted. Mario was picking papers off the floor. At first, they thought he was done. When Mario heard the guard's voice, he threw the papers at him.

"What the hell do you want?" Mario answered.

"Is everything okay in here?" the guard asked.

"Does it look okay in here? What kind of question is that? Am I surrounded by morons here?" he said. He picked up a pen holder and started banging it on his desk.

"Can we help you with something, Mr. Pasquale?" Audrey asked him. She tried to be as gentle as possible. She was ready to be yelled at.

"You can help me ship LeBlanc off to fuckin' space," Mario snapped. He stood on his desk, then started jumping on it and kicking the top of the chair.

She looked at the guard. "Now I know what's wrong. I think he's mad about John LeBlanc announcing his bid for the Mayor's office. I don't believe they like each other," she said.

"Did he miss his meds?" the guard asked.

"He's not scheduled to take them for another few hours," Audrey replied.

"Is he really that mad about the announcement? Everybody is talking about it. Get out of the way, I think he is coming over here," the guard responded.

Audrey and the guard moved out of the doorway and into the waiting area.

Mario came out of the office with a fire ax. He was ready to use it as a weapon.

"Nobody! You mean to tell me no one around here knew that LeBlanc was going to announce today?"

Mario took the ax and hit Audrey's desk. She was terrified.

"Who the heck gave him an ax?" Audrey screamed.

"It's supposed to be for the fire extinguisher!" someone yelled back at her.

"I pay all you assholes good money, millions to do a job, and you can't keep up with one fucking guy?"

Mario started knocking items off her desk and was on his way to his associate's offices to do the same. One associate quickly closed the door and locked himself in it along with a few other people. The security guard had seen enough and decided to immobilize Pasquale.

Everyone who was on the floor stayed and watched the meltdown. They just made sure to get out of the way. They had a chance to run, but they didn't. Some of them wanted to see the Mario show they had always heard about. They were used to his verbal tirades but had never seen him physically pick up things and toss them. Others secretly wanted to be him.

The officer stayed on Mario for two minutes until he calmed down. When Mario got up and realized he had just had a breakdown, he tried to clean it up, like he always did. He looked at Audrey and then at her desk with the ax still sticking up from it.

"Sorry about that. I'll order you a new desk and computer."

He straightened out his suit, went back to his office, and gently closed the door.

Audrey went to sort out what she could. One of her colleagues helped her. He picked up the cracked computer monitor. She was shaken from what she had seen.

"Are you okay?" the man asked.

"I need a better job," Audrey replied.

"I'm glad you are okay. If that asshole had thrown something at my head, he would be on life support right about now," he told her.

***

Paul was in his apartment editing his article. He had an unusual amount of stress. The deadline for submission was coming, and he wanted to make sure every sentence was polished. He looked outside his window and noted the full moon. Maybe it was the pop of gunfire that had him uneasy. He was used to it, but he had yet to be comfortable with the sound. It gave him an idea for a graphic: have a photo of a topography gun made from everyone's names. It made sense to him. Gangsters were known for their weapons and their dealings at night. It was brilliant, and he got to work on designing the concept. He had a working title for his part in the issue: The Tide Is High. It meant the highest point of something. This article represented the highest point of interest in this particular group of people. His mood began to change for the better.

It was a great distraction from what had happened during his last discussion with Brenda. Out of all Paul's interviews, even the one with Harold, this bothered him the most. The information he got from Brenda was good when it came to Ben, but the shock of the kid hearing about the details of his father in that manner bothered him. He was debating whether to scrap their portion altogether.

Paul was working on his graphic when the evening news began. The top story was John's surprise announcement to run for the Mayor's office. Paul added the announcement of John's run for the Mayor's office to the story.

All of a sudden, his telephone rang. It was Mario Pasquale. When Paul answered the phone and heard Mario's voice, there were no signs of the previous meltdown Mario had had hours earlier. Mario's medication had kicked in.

"Paul, this is Mario. How are you?"

Paul sighed. "Not that great," he said.

"Sorry to hear that. Are you sick? Family okay?" Mario asked.

"Not sick. My family is fine. It's other things," he answered.

"Whatever it is, it will be okay. I know that the deadline for the article submission is near. What do you have for me? I need what you've got right now. It's a bit urgent," Mario said.

Paul knew the urgency had everything to do with John's announcement to run for office. He was having second thoughts about his deal with Mario, but he was in too deep at that point.

"I have the first draft just about done. I'm adding graphics and John's announcement," he said dryly.

Mario made a dismissive noise on the phone. "Anything good in your story?"

"You may find some interesting information in there," Paul replied.

"Great, you can send it to me now. I can have someone come over and pick up the paperwork, or you can bring it to me. I'm still here in my office cleaning up. I don't want anything in the mail. Just to let you know, I am announcing my run for office tomorrow. It was supposed to happen next week, but plans have changed. I expect that we will be successful this time around, and I have you to thank for helping us out on this. If you would like, I will give you exclusive rights to the announcement. If there is a newspaper you would like to submit the notification to, you can go ahead and make the phone calls now. I am not doing a large press conference. I'm keeping it low-key this time around."

"Sounds okay, I guess. I will drop it off," he said. Paul didn't want Mario's goons coming to his place.

They ended the call and Paul went back to his article. He paused in creating his graphic and decided at that moment to scrap the section about his theories on Ben's death. He scaled down the information he collected from Brenda. He also watered down Rose's words about John. He knew nothing good would come from it. He thought that Pasquale was slimy, but the deal was already done.

Mario called his team. It was time to take his campaign into overdrive. Something had to be done. The television stations were already running hypothetical polls penning John against Mario and John had a slight edge. Mario went to his bar and poured himself a straight vodka. Mario told them to get to work.

***

The homeless man who sat around the corner spotted Bunny walking up to the office. He put out his cup when he saw her. Like clockwork, Bunny gave him a ten-dollar bill. She noticed that he had a bottle of alcohol concealed in a brown paper bag.

"You know you make about seventy dollars a week from me. Are you sure you don't want us to help you? I can get you a job and help you find some lodging," she said. Bunny knew that giving him money was probably contributing to his alcoholism, but she could not pass him up. She had a soft spot for the homeless. It made her realize how fortunate she truly was. Sometimes she would see him buy food with the money. She wondered why he chose to sit outside in the elements and not take cues from the squatters in the city who lived in the abandoned buildings or panhandled in the subway cars. "Do you ever go to the city shelter?" Bunny added.

"The shelter is worse than this concrete. In there, I might get robbed for my blanket and my possessions." The homeless man pointed to his shopping cart full of miscellaneous items. "I used to sleep in Tompkins Park, but they kicked me out of there, so I'm here. It's busy, and I watch people. Ain't no money sitting in there. No one can help you," he added. He pulled out a dirty American flag from under him. "See, I sleep in this," he said and showed her.

"Were you in the war?" Bunny asked. She was taken aback by the flag.

"Shole was. I've had this blanket ever since. It's all I have," he said.

Bunny felt terrible for the man. She took out another five-dollar bill and handed it to him.

"Thank you, young lady. I'm okay right here. You have a blessed day, beautiful," the homeless man said.

Bunny walked to the front door of Chimera to unlock it and saw a note that was taped to it.

The letter said: I thought we warned you. QUIT!

Bunny was terrified. She looked over to the homeless man, who was drinking his beer. She looked around and snatched the note off the door. She walked inside, immediately locked the door behind her, and went up the stairs. No one was in the office, and Bunny felt uneasy. A minute after she got in, one of the phones in the office rang. Bunny picked it up.

"Hello, Chimera Inc."

No answer. Bunny hung up the phone. Seconds later the phone rang again.

"Hello, Chimera Inc."

No answer. Bunny could hear someone breathing on the other line.

"Hello? I'm hanging up," she said.

"Quit the race, bitch!" a male voice on the other line said and hung up.

She slammed down the phone.

Bunny was frustrated. It brought her back to the days many years earlier when she had sat in the same area and received harassing phone calls from members of the Ambrosino family. She vowed not to run this time; they certainly were not going to scare them into quitting. Bunny was going to bring this to John's attention and ask for security. She used to hate the concept of having some tall guy who was not her husband standing over and looking at her all of the time. That stance had long since left. She needed the protection for herself and her children. Her pride had to take a back seat to common sense.

***

Back in Mario Pasquale's office, everything was seemingly back to normal. Everything that Mario had kicked around was back in place. Whatever could not be fixed had been replaced. Audrey had seen enough. She put in her two weeks' notice, so Mario was interviewing for her replacement. Mario did not want her to leave and offered her a raise for her troubles. He knew that he was hard to work with, but she had made up her mind. No amount of money was enough to keep her around. She thought that Mario had more than a few screws loose.

"I really don't want you to go," Mario told Audrey.

"I have other plans for my life," she answered.

"I'm sorry to see you go, really I am. If you decided to change your mind, I'm right here," Mario said.

"I will keep that in mind. If my plans change, I will let you know," Audrey replied. She turned around, walked away, and mumbled to herself, "Plans to not die in here."

Mario called an emergency closed-door meeting with a few of his colleagues and campaign workers. Audrey was instructed not to leak any information about who was present at the meeting. In fact, she was not invited to take notes. For the first time since she worked there, she had to stay on the outside. The meeting consisted of all the men who were affiliated with the Pasquale for Mayor campaign. It resembled a CIA meeting at the Pentagon.

Mario wanted to check on their progress. He took some of the material Paul had given him and instructed his campaign staff to make phone calls and leak possibly damaging stories about John and Bunny to the press, even if the stories were false. The goal was to cast doubts on John's qualifications for Mayor. Mario thought to use John's first marriage against him because Mario thought that minority women would not like the fact that he had been with a white woman before his current wife.

Mario knew that the tabloids were hungry for news and he was willing to provide them with information as long as it was not harmful to him. He felt that both John and Bunny were fair game. A couple of his workers explained some of the strategies they had already employed and planned to use against John and Bunny. A tactic the workers brought up was that they went into neighborhoods where they thought John would do well and then intimidated the voters into siding with Pasquale using scare tactics. They sent out mailers to individual voters telling them that they were in violation of election laws. Others were misleading robocalls to black voters, informing them that the Democratic election was on a different day than the Republican election. A couple of them told people that if their child support was not paid in full, they would be arrested at the polling station. While participating in these activities, they used insignia on their vehicles that made them look like officials and law enforcement.

"Hey, I saw something on the news. They were playing it over and over again from LeBlanc's rally. Some uncivilized woman was on television, yelling that I don't like black people. Do they all feel that way?" Mario asked one of his staff.

They all looked at him. One of them bravely answered. "Ninety-nine percent of them are mad at you and don't view you favorably. The other one percent are really mad at you, I'd say. LeBlanc is their hero."

"Well, I guess we have the ninety-nine percent to work on. They don't know what's good for them anyway. They are uneducated, and some are just downright stupid. He's their hero. What a circus. He was married to a Caucasian woman before. Just keep doing what you are doing for now," he said.

Mario was pleased with what he heard. He encouraged them to continue and do whatever they needed to do by any means necessary to win. There were no boundaries.

"Good. I like everything I am hearing. Oh, and if you can do something about those campaign signs he has all over town, that would be great. The less I see his name, the better. Tear them up and toss them in the garbage where they belong," Mario told them.

John was doing better in the polls than Mario expected. He needed to do something. The leaks about Mario's temperament and his past philandering ways were hurting him in the polls. The best strategy he had was to convince voters that he was the best man to tackle crime in the city, so he made it his entire platform.

***

Paul checked his mailbox. Lifetime had mailed him an advance copy of the issue. The cover said it all: "The Tide Is High: The Rise, Fall and New Faces of the Mob". The editors at Lifetime accepted his graphic and title. Paul was elated. All of his hard work was on display. He quickly went up the stairs so he could sit down and read the story with a cup of coffee.

Paul could not believe it. Nearly half the issue was dedicated to his expose. It was done in two sections, New York and Italy. He skipped directly to his section of the magazine, where there was a large stock photograph of John and Bunny. The editors used nearly everything he gave them, and there it was, Paul Aaron's photo and name listed in the New York section of the story.

***

John and Lawrence were at the Chimera offices discussing the plan of action for his campaign. Lawrence arranged the stops and interviews for John to go over and confirm. Lawrence was encouraged by the positive feedback in the press. It was going better than expected despite some tabloid stories that had made it into the media about John and Bunny's past. They were leaked by Mario Pasquale's crew to discourage voters from seeing them in a positive light. The negative ads had already begun, and they were preparing for a counter-attack.

"Brother, this is incredible, I mean, really fucking outstanding. You're ahead in every demographic except white working males. The white women think you are good looking and the fact that you were with one at a time makes you attractive to the liberal ones at least. Thank goodness this city is diverse. I think this is the best opportunity you—and, frankly, the rest of us—ever had in this town. If we concentrate on making sure our people and other minorities get out to vote, we could win it all. You have a shot at being at the top of the food chain," Lawrence said.

"Shit, well hey, this may even open up an opportunity for you to run when I am done," John said.

"Nah man, this political stuff, I have already seen enough to know that this is not for me. I gotta change too much. I excel behind the scenes. You have the look and personality for this shit. You, sir, are the star. Everyone knows who you are," Lawrence answered.

"I spent many years on these streets. Who doesn't know me? I am not worried about those white males. They will come around as soon as they see Pasquale for the fraud he really is," John said.

"I think you are missing my point. I'm saying the gap is now big enough that we may not even need them. Remember, many of them left the city and left us behind, so they can't vote in a New York City election if they are living in Westchester or Long Island now. They are commuters. Your newly learned Patwah is now your privilege," Lawrence said.

"You're right," John replied.

"I'm gonna tell you like I had to say to Rome Jr. when we visited UCLA. They had the white women ready for his picking. I didn't even know they did shit like that. They see your potential early, stick around while you are broke and then you sign a contract. They love you while you are hot and maybe even drop a baby or two. They stick around for at least eighteen years or until you are not hot anymore then they drop you and collect spousal and child support because they need to keep a certain lifestyle. That's how they work. Your identity belongs to you. John, you are becoming successful, and part of that is because the people, our people, know who you really are. Before Carmel Bunny up there came along, you were seduced by white society, like they were trying to seduce Rome Jr. at the school. You were inaccessible. Remember when you were married to Wonder Bread," Lawrence said. He was referencing John's first wife, Edina, with the "Wonder Bread" comment.

"That ain't right. I hung out with whites, but I wasn't seduced by anything," John responded.

"Yeah, it is. The only black society you were around before Bunny came along was Jerome. The chicks you were laying don't count," Lawrence said.

"Nah." John shook his head in disagreement. "Edina was trying to run my life and take my business away. My role is to be the man in the house. When she undermined me in the manner she did for so many years, it pissed me off and I was fed up. I chose to leave."

"It was a lot more than just her trying to snatch your business. Even when we met, you were not quite black. You still had a lot of milk in you. You were beige. With Edina, you lost your identity. You were brainwashed, and she wanted to erase the fact that you were a black man, a light-skinned black man. Part of that was also attributed to your association with Bernie. I liked the guy, but let's be honest here. As long as people knew that you were directly under him, you could walk anywhere in New York City in 1965 and the cops would leave you the fuck alone. The white people would golf with you, hang out with you, have dinner and drinks with you, hand you money without hesitation and let you fuck their women. Fine women at that. Not Bunny fine, but you got easy access to them. Everybody else black in 1965 was out there trying not to get shot by the po-po and marching just so we could sit at a counter at Woolworths. You were self-aware like a mug, and both of them made you that way.

"Bunny made you black and approachable to us. Prison made you blacker. All of that privilege by association went right out the window because Bernie was not there anymore to cover for you. When he died, only then did they realize that, hey, John LeBlanc is actually black. Only then did they look past your light skin tone and start noticing your features. Then they treated you accordingly. Your perception of yourself and the outcome was shaped by the people who were running your life. You ain't have choices. You were stuck in a marriage because you did not want to piss off the boss. Your Christian upbringing guilted you into staying with someone whom you knew was no good for you in the long run. Your actions, attitude, and outbursts reflected it. You were free once both were out of your life. Before that, you were trying to get rid of your country accent," Lawrence said.

"I had money but nah, brother, you could never take the country out of me."

John was in denial on the outside, but he knew that Lawrence was right. He had always been fighting Edina's moves to change him. He also knew that he thrived in the privilege it brought. Selling out to get ahead wasn't something John was proud of, but it was a survival tactic that paid off.

"You are already past the redemption phase and now it's time to build on it. No one hardly remembers beige John, who was a wise guy. You are now the John LeBlanc who beat the system, a system designed to put you, a black man, in jail, a system that sent your white counterparts to prison for life. Do you realize how big that really is? You are not dark white anymore, and that's why they are mad; that is why Pasquale wants you six feet under. You made them look like the bunch of clowns they are. You are an anomaly right now, but mark my words, you won't be the last. Now you are political candidate John and guess who is responsible for that? Give her props for planting the seed and growing you into what I am looking at right now. If it were not for her, you would still be out there being a mobster in a dying culture, or worse, locked up forever," Lawrence said.

John looked behind himself and stared at Bunny's photo for a few seconds. He turned back around and looked at Lawrence's hands. "What's that?" he asked.

Lifetime Magazine had also sent a copy of the magazine to Chimera. Lawrence saw the issue and opened it to take a look. He did not know anything about Lifetime running the story, so when he saw John and Bunny's photo, he ran into John's office to tell him.

"You didn't say you and Bunny were going to be in Lifetime Magazine. That's big," he said.

"I knew about that. It's not what you think. It's some expose story about the mob. I never talked to them," John responded.

"But they got a big-ass photo of the two of you right in the middle. It's like two pages wide and shit. It was done by some guy named Paul Aaron. They got the dude's photo in there," Lawrence told him. He handed John the magazine opened to the section where their picture was shown.

John took a look at the photo and stared at Paul's picture. He remembered that he had written down a name from Bunny when someone called previously and asked for a comment from their camp. He opened his drawer and saw the folded paper he had put in there before. When he opened the paper and saw that the name in the article matched what he had written down, he shook his head. John began reading the first lines in the article.

"Back in the nineteen-sixties, the Chimera group was run by Bernard Banks Rhodos, who went by the street name Bernie Banks. Banks was born to poor immigrant parents and eventually worked hard enough to open the family's first chain of grocery stores..."

John kept reading. He was scanning for their names.

"John LeBlanc, a mysterious yet popular figure. Mysterious because he values his private life among the adoration of the public. Popular because of his good looks and sketchy history." John stopped reading and frowned. He knew the rest of it was not going to be fun to read.

"How about you read this and tell me if there is anything in it that I will be pissed about. I don't feel like reading that shit. I got too much on my mind right now. How the fuck can they write an article about us without asking us?" John said. He got up, walked over to his wine rack, and poured himself and Lawrence a drink.

"Do you think we need to counteract this?" Lawrence asked.

"That's why I have you scanning the article," John answered.

Lawrence began reading quietly. John handed him his drink.

After about fifteen minutes of quiet, Lawrence stopped to ask John a question. "Who is Rose?"

"Rose?" John's eyes squinted. "I haven't seen her since our wedding."

"I detect some shade here from her," Lawrence said.

"They talked to her too? This guy really had to dig all the way back to put something together. I haven't heard Bunny talk about her that much. When she does, she gets upset. Bunny won't share with me why, so I don't press it," John said and took a drink.

"Do you want me to tell you what she said?" Lawrence asked.

"Summarize it."

"She is basically saying that she thinks you were a bad influence on Bunny and that she thinks Bunny changed after meeting you," he said.

John looked at Lawrence, then at his folded hands. "I don't think she did. I mean, she was young and didn't know much when I met her. I think Bunny is okay. Rose can't know, anyway, if they haven't seen each other. I'm not worried about what she says. Maybe she wanted Bunny to hang around with her or something, I don't know," John said.

"Good thing she didn't. This Rose is wilted, man; she looks sixty years old."

Lawrence showed John her photo. He was shocked at how much Rose had aged.

"That can't be her. Man, Rose used to work with Bunny at the club. Bunny is a year younger than her. I don't remember Rose looking that bad. She was thin, but she wasn't ugly. She looking like Skeletor in that cartoon now, the one my kids watch. Goddamn, what the hell happened to her?" John said.

Lawrence started laughing. "That's a hard-ass forty-five. Thank God for melanin...well, you have some of it, not as much as me," Lawrence joked.

"And I still look good for fifty-something, nigga. What else they got?" John replied.

"They got Pasquale's bitch ass in here. This ugly motherfucker."

"Who cares, next," John answered.

"They are talking about Ben now. Now this is some pretty depressing shit."

John rolled his eyes.

Lawrence saw the part that mentioned Ben's poor fathering skills. He knew that information was about Brenda. He did not want to bring it up. He decided to bring up the other stuff first.

They talked to one of his Vietnam friends, and he's saying that Ben saw rapes and shit. They talking about Ben having post-traumatic stress syndrome and that Bernie once stopped Ben from hanging himself in the office."

John looked at him. "Naw man, let me see this." John got up and got the magazine from Lawrence. John started reading the article. He was pissed. He had no idea about this incident. Bernie never gave an indication that something like this had ever gone on. John knew that Bernie coddled Ben to a point where it was irritating, but he never understood why. When he finished Ben's part in the article, John stopped reading and went to pour himself another drink of BunnyWine. He knew that Bunny was going to see this eventually, and he did not know how she was going to respond. He was aware that she was still sneaking in counseling sessions due to her nightmares about the hit.

"You know, Ben Berardi was a pain in the ass, but he used to be tolerable. He grew up to be the ultimate rat chaser," John said.

"Rat chaser?" Lawrence asked.

"Yeah. Calling other guys rats and the whole time you are a rat. He used to go to Bernie and call himself diming on us for the dumbest shit. How elementary do you have to be to do that? That's not made man behavior. The day we brought Bunny in to work for us, he totally lost his marbles and from then on it was like World War III in this office. I believe he went after Bunny to get back at me," John said.

"You don't think he ever loved her?" Lawrence asked.

John paused for a second. "Not at first. He did not want a woman in the office, let alone a black one. He didn't even like black people that much. You had to hear him talk. He used to call us 'coloreds.' A woman like Bunny was supposed to be a secretary or waitress at best, not working in an office beside him handling money. Her being in there and sharing his office took a massive shit on his ego. He knew he had fucked up."

"You ain't answer my question, though," Lawrence said.

"He may have loved her some point down the line, but that has nothing to do with me. He was a rebound. I think what Bunny and I had, even though we were not together at the time, was solid. He had nothing to offer. Ben was the type of guy who, when you go to sleep, you don't put your money down. He'll spend it and smoke it. Don't leave your wife anywhere near the room with him; he'll try and fuck her if she is someone he found attractive. He had no respect for anyone but himself, and that was questionable at best. Not even for Bernie, whom he stole from, the man he said was like a father to him. This whole thing is about respect; without it, you are just a piece of shit. He drew blood, he didn't honor it. Whatever he saw or whatever happened to him in Nam was negated the moment he decided to live like a jackass. Sympathy goes out the window. Me, I acknowledge my role in everything, but I grew up. He chose not to, and he was given way more chances than I ever got, so fuck him," John said and took a drink.

"It's sad all the way around. I think without Bernie to babysit him he didn't stand a chance. A group is as strong as its weakest member, and Ben's was that link that brought down Chimera the first time. It wasn't only Edina; she had lots of help. Most people will turn on you to save themselves. That is human nature," Lawrence said.

"He ain't even around and he is still causing us problems. He became somebody's daddy. We have his mother here and financing her solely to keep his kid from becoming Rat Jr. We have to find a way to fix that. As I thought, this article is not good for us." John closed the magazine and gave it back to Lawrence.

"The mother is nice, though. The kid needs work," Lawrence said.

"Paul Aaron. I want to have a talk with him. See if you can get him in here. We have some things to discuss. If he can't come here, I'm going to him," John said.

***

Junior spent the days he cut from classes hanging with his new friends, the 131st Street crew. All of them were hardcore teenage gang members who attended the same school. Junior was the youngest and the most unaware. The other boys were mindful that he was not as academically smart as the others and that Junior had some issues. They saw him like clay, something they could mold into what they needed in the group. They were also impressed by his eagerness to join them. Junior was very impressionable, and he desperately wanted to be like the image of his father that he had in his head. He felt the best way to do it was to start off in a gang, and they seemed perfect. This was the only group that would accept him as a member. He watched this group of boys get into numerous fights at school, and they won many of those matches. They stole Benzie boxes that were left in cars by their owners. If the stereos were not removable, they just took the entire system and stripped the cars. They had their own colors, which were orange and black, and they wore them proudly everywhere they went. The group's other name was the Halloween Crew. They frightened their rivals at school. Their leader was named Tank because of his thick build, and everyone in the gang answered to him. He was eighteen years old and had dropped out of school some time ago to sell drugs full time. He spent a lot of time lifting weights, which gave him huge muscles. Tank earned a lot of money in the drug game and often shared the wealth with his younger brother, the second in command. His name was Yummy. He was still in school but not doing well. He stayed in to keep an eye on the other members of the group as well as the up and comers, which included Junior. The group used the up and comers to do most of the dirty work. It worked that way in most cliques.

The boys in the gang shared their pot and beer with Junior to get him acclimated to the group and spent their time staking out turf. Junior wasn't an official member. He had to be initiated like everyone else. After a few months, the rest of the group pulled Junior aside and had a talk with him.

"If you want to be in the 131 Crew, you have to be put in. You got two options, little yella nigga. We jump you in for two minutes, or you have to shoot somebody. You have to do one or the other. No way out of it. If you do neither, we are going to beat yo ass for smoking and drinking our shit without contributing."

Junior knew he didn't have the capacity to fight twenty boys for two minutes. He has seen what they could do. He was aware he wouldn't survive. It was bad enough that some of the members viewed him as soft because he was very light-skinned and had light and soft-textured hair. His only option was to shoot someone. Junior did not feel good about doing it. In his mind, you shoot someone only if there is a reason to do so.

"I'll shoot. Will it be a rival?" he asked.

"Rivals, punk asses, people we don't like, suits, those who don't have our money or do what we tell them to do. It's a variety of niggas. You are going to be our trigger boy for now. Since you chose to shoot, we are going to see what you are actually made of. We are taking a trip over to money-makin' Manhattan.

Junior and the boys went to Midtown. They needed to pick a spot. Many of the kids were not too fond of the business crowd and wanted to take their aggression out on them. Robbing people was too amateur to them. Everyone was robbing people in the city at that time. Gun slinging was better to them. Popping one of the suits, as the boys called them, would be like shooting something in one of their video games. The suits were hated because many of them were disrespectful to them whenever they passed them on the street. This had happened before they decided to join a gang. They felt that the suits were privileged, white Anglo-Saxon men. Those who could not afford the fancy attire the suits wore or who did not have the same opportunities were left behind in the world. The cops favored the suits even when they were in the wrong.

The boys carried a black duffel bag with them. They went near a place they knew was popular and out of sight of heavy traffic. It was Club Bentley. Many of their older friends and hip-hop celebrities frequented the club. Not only were they down there to pop a suit, the hope was also to catch a famous person walking in the area. No matter how hard they acted in front of certain people, they were just as much into celebrity culture as anyone else.

The boys squatted by a white van on the street that appeared empty. The back door was unlocked, so they snuck into it. It had many tickets stuck in the windshield, and it was full of graffiti on the outside. Two of the tires were flat. It appeared that someone had abandoned the vehicle. When they got in, Yummy opened the duffel bag and pulled out a semi-automatic gun. It was the biggest firearm Junior had seen in real life. He'd never held one before, so when Yummy handed it to him, he was excited. This was his moment to prove himself.

"This is how you hold it. You pull the trigger like this. It sprays, so don't get too crazy with it. Hit one suit and we are out. You ain't gotta kill em, just hit one in the leg or something. We are in the middle of the street so we have to spread out and get to the subway. That's the plan. Don't fuck this up, little yella nigga, or else we will fuck you up ourselves." Yummy opened one of the windows in the van and positioned the gun. There were many people walking in the street. Most of them were suits.

"Let's make this quick so we can be out. Take your first shot, man. You gotta do it if you want in. Look at all of those fuckin suits and take a pick. How about that guy over there? He looks like one of those corporate bitch asses. He's ugly like the Mayor." The other boys laughed.

"I can't get him. He's getting into a taxi," Junior responded.

"Hey, look at that lady over there. Try her," one of them said.

"Ay, yo, dude, don't hit her. We hitting suits, not bitches," Yummy said.

"She got a phat booty, though," another one said.

Yummy looked closer. "That looks like that lady your mother knows," he said.

Junior looked closer. "Oh yeah, I know who she is. That's the lady who killed my dad."

"Wait, what? That woman killed your dad?" another boy said.

Junior picked up the gun and aimed. The next moment, the popping sound of gunfire filled the block. A second after that, Bunny fell across the street.

"You hit her?" one of the kids said.

"I didn't. I swear I didn't get a chance to pull the trigger yet. You didn't hear anything," Junior said.

"Nigga, stop lying. Let's go," the kid responded.

Yummy snatched the rifle from Junior and shoved it back into the duffel bag. They all vacated the van and ran away from the scene. While they were scattering, Junior repeated, "I didn't shoot her. I was still aiming." No one was able to catch any of them.

When the commotion began around Bunny and people started looking to see where the shots had come from, the boys were long gone.
CHAPTER 6

##

John scheduled a sit-down pre-taped interview that was set to air on the Sunday morning political roundtable. The pundits were hammering him hard with questions, but he took them in stride and answered each of his critics with precise answers. John called Bunny on her cellphone before he started because he wanted to hear her voice, but she did not pick up. He went on to do the interview. After an hour, it went well, and he was comfortable with the result.

When taping stopped, he stood up and shook hands with all of the hosts. An aide on the program walked up to Lawrence to inform him that there was an emergency with Bunny. Alarmed, Lawrence immediately approached John to tell him that Bunny was injured, and they had to leave right then. John's heart skipped a beat, and both men rushed to the hospital to see her. When they arrived, there was a crush of reporters blocking off the entryway of the hospital. They decided to go in from the side doors. Lawrence called Brenda and left a message. He told her something was happening and not to go near the building. He then called Mariana and told her to go home and get away from the office for her safety.

John's heart was beating fast. He knew Bunny had been shot but had no status on her condition. He rushed to the floor she had been taken to so he could see her, but was stopped by doctors and security. Bunny was already in surgery. The doctors told him that Bunny had been hit three times, the biggest injury being the bullet that hit below her shoulder. John began to freak out. His voice was at an all-time high, and his face turned red. He was angry and worried at the same time. He wanted to get his kids out of class and let them know what was happening before they saw it in the media. John feverishly made phone calls to many people, and Lawrence sat by his side.

Lawrence and John were in the waiting room waiting for Bunny's surgery to end. John's mood was somber. He did not know how to prepare himself for the outcome once she was out of surgery or for what her condition would be. He was afraid to lose forever the Bunny he had fallen in love with. He wanted vengeance, but was filled with worry. He was not prepared to explain what was happening to his kids.

Lawrence decided to turn on the television to pass the time, but Bunny's shooting was breaking news on all the local channels. He could not avoid it short of turning the television off, so he decided to sit and watch the coverage. Not long after the broadcasts started, the press already had Mario Pasquale making statements about the incident, which irritated both of them.

"Mr. Pasquale, do you know what's going on right now with the shooting? Do you have a comment?" one reporter asked him.

"There were reports of a group of black youths running from the area at the time of the shooting. The authorities are investigating that as we speak. That's all I know," Mario stated.

"Did anyone see them with a weapon?" a reporter asked.

"I don't know the details, but I will say this kind of activity is typical among that demographic, so if there was a weapon, it's likely it was fired. When I am elected to office, our top priority in the city will be to eradicate the groups these kids run in. The gangs will be off the streets. Law and order will prevail, and such activity will send them directly to prison," Mario answered.

"Do you have plans for prevention? How do you plan to stop kids from low-income areas from wanting to join gangs? LeBlanc has a fully detailed program focused on keeping kids from joining gangs in the first place by restoring activities that were cut from the city budget in previous years. He says the problem is economic and that options are limited for black and Hispanic youths in the city," a correspondent inquired.

"We clearly have different philosophies on how to run things. His plans will be too costly, and I don't think it's fair to the rest of the city to toss money to only certain areas of the city. I just don't believe that it is conducive. You're alive, that's enough."

"Do you have any other comments about the situation?"

"It's unfortunate what happened to Mrs. LeBlanc. I think her husband's past is a precursor to her circumstances. We have random violence, with innocent bystanders caught in the crossfire of drug dealers' turf wars. There are groups of feral youth who run in gangs in the city and who look up to people like him. You got the movies that glorify them, like Scarface and The Godfather, and all these knuckleheads want to imitate them. Just because you throw a few dollars around and take photos with a bunch of people doesn't negate what you did in the past, at least to those of us who know better. Murder, theft, and robbery are on the rise in record numbers, about two thousand people; it's really a shame. My goal as Mayor is to bring crime down more than anyone else in the history of this country. The police will have the power to do their real job because I will put the funds there. I will give them more leeway to carry out their work efficiently, and that will start with basic quality of life enforcement, getting the drug pushers off the streets," he said.

"What about your critics who say that the police are unfairly targeting them?" another reporter yelled to him.

"The police will not target you if you are not doing something wrong. The police will be where the crime is. I know where you are going with that question, and I will answer it. Most black and Hispanic kids are being killed by other black and Hispanic kids, and now the crime is spilling over to decent people's neighborhoods. Let's just face the facts here. Why don't they go and protest that instead of calling me a racist? If you don't like it, stop being animals so I will not have to send white cops to your neighborhoods."

Lawrence and John sat in the waiting room staring at the television.

"Listening to this, aren't you? He just said the cops won't target you if you are innocent. When he says you, he's talking about us. Such bullshit that is. White policemen have been undercutting the abilities of blacks to live since Jim Crow. His attitude reinforces that. He basically just told the kids in our city to fuck off. 'Do as we say or go to jail.' He just told police that it will be permissible to beat the hell out of our kids. Does he know that our children are dealing drugs because of the old policies that were put in place and that their other options were taken away from them? When you cut funding for schools, economic growth, and neighborhood maintenance in the Bronx, Brown Brooklyn, and Harlem, then flood the streets with drugs and liquor stores, what do you think is going to happen? They wouldn't dare go to Borough Park and do that kind of shit. They reserved that for Bed-Stuy and the Boogie Down Bronx.

"When is he gonna tell the whole story? His entire platform is about hating mobsters when his own father worked for one, was a thug himself and in Sing Sing around the same age as the kids he is bashing. The whole 'I hate Italian gangsters even though I'm Italian' was full of bullshit. He is the son of one, one who got a chance to reform himself. His father got another chance because the system threw money and support at him to start a business. Otherwise his father would not have that shop he opened. Who is to say that boys like Jerome Jr. and Ben Jr. can't get the same chances he did? Why punish them? How does Mario Pasquale know that Jerome won't be the next President of the United States? He's a bright kid. Pasquale should just tell the truth. This stupid fuck is a racist troll, and he's hiding under the sheet of being Catholic. His entire platform is built on lies. His real interests are in the deals he has with prisons. He has to fill them up with folks, so he and the others like him target our kids. He can be bought just like the rest of them. Look where his office is, look who he is surrounded by. How would he like it if his real past were thrown back into his face? He's blaming her. He's made her culpable in her own assault, and that's fucked up. She had nothing to do with this," Lawrence ranted.

John listened to Lawrence and was in agreement but in a daze. He could not get all of his thoughts together. He mumbled an answer to Lawrence's rants. "He's saying it's because of me. He hates me. He's making her guilty by association. He's using her as political fodder," John said as he stared angrily at the screen.

"He rants about crime because that's all he has. Dickhead is one-hundred-percent PR. The real problem is the economy. People who are working don't have time to gangbang. When unemployment came, they brought the drugs to keep the users out of the workforce. They did not want us in there, and that's why they flooded the hood with it. It will improve soon, but not because of anything he is doing. Police involvement and brutality ain't nothing new. The city went to shit when the economy tanked, that is the main reason. I know because I was here when it was happening. It will get better, but he's going to try and take all of the credit for it. He is a master of social engineering. He's going to forever promote himself as a hero. Mark my words," John said.

The two of them sat quietly and watched the remainder of the afternoon broadcast while they waited for word on Bunny's condition.

John had enough of Pasquale's face and turned off the television. "I don't want to talk about him right now. He means nothing to me," he added.

***

After a few hours, the head of surgery emerged and approached John to explain the situation. He explained to John that if it weren't for the good Samaritans who had helped her compress her wounds and the quick response of emergency personnel, she would be in much worse shape. He informed John that she had three gunshot wounds to the right side of her body.

"Two of the wounds were superficial. One to the hand and the other to the thigh. The thigh was a graze wound. The big one was to the lower shoulder. When the bullet entered her body, parts of it separated, some exiting the back and others staying lodged in her. It is the shrapnel that is implanted, and it's corking up a blood vessel. Our best strategy is to take steps to prevent infection. Her body will eventually adapt to the metal in her, and she will heal."

"It's still in her?" John asked.

"Yes, it is. At this time, we decided it was best to not remove it," the doctor answered.

"So Bunny will be living with a bullet in her forever?"

"We will release her and keep her under observation. We will decide what further action to take during her post-operative care; that's if we even take action once she heals. I would say about ninety days she should be fully back to daily activities."

"That's unacceptable. Get that out of her now!"

"Mr. LeBlanc, thousands of military members live every day with shrapnel in their bodies. The bullet wound she has isn't a catastrophe. It will heal over and at the most cause a very minor lump in the spot. The downside is that she may be setting off metal detectors for years to come. When the vessel repairs itself, the bullet part will most likely work its way to the surface and try to expel itself from her body. When that happens, we will remove it.

"I want you to trust us. We only want what's best for her. This way she will be able to heal with minimal disturbance to her life. She will be here probably no longer than two weeks if everything proceeds as normal. She has about a dozen stitches in all three places, and those should heal nicely. The plastic surgeon made sure to take care of those wounds. Think of it like this; had she been one step forward or even backward, the likelihood of a bullet from a pistol hitting her in the head instead of her shoulder from a range of eight to ten feet instead would be high. We would be having a different conversation right now," the doctor told him.

John stood silent for a few moments. The reality of the situation became apparent.

"When can I see her?" he asked.

"She's in her room right now and still out from the anesthesia. Give her time to sleep it off and you can see her when she wakes up." The doctor put his hand on John's shoulder, then walked off.

***

John entered her room. He knew she was okay but did not have a clear idea of what she looked like. He wasn't sure that he was prepared to see her in peril. Her right side was bandaged, with her arm completely cast and elevated. Bunny was tired and groggy, but was able to recognize John immediately once he walked into the room. She did not look too bad, but he could tell she was in pain.

"Hi," Bunny said and smiled

"Hey," John replied. He wanted to hold her but was too scared to hold her too tight. He did not want to hurt her. He kissed her instead.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked.

"No, but I will get over it. Where are my babies?" she asked.

"They are home and safe. The know what is happening, but I told them not to worry. They will see you when you are ready. I will be here with you until you get out," John responded.

"What happened to me?" she asked.

"I don't know yet. When I find out who did this, I will kill 'em," he responded.

"Someone did this to me on purpose?" she asked.

"I don't know, Bun."

Bunny began to tear up. "I don't know what I did wrong. Why would someone shoot me? What if this is payback for what I did?" Bunny said.

"It's not," John said and shook his head.

She had no explanation for her situation except that maybe this was Karma for what she had done to Ben. The nightmares were still coming. She knew it was guilt.

"I'm not a monster. I did it for us, our family. I didn't want you to grow old in prison." Bunny shook her head. The tears poured over her face. John wanted to stop Bunny from breaking down in the hospital room. He wiped away her tears.

"You are not a monster. You are a hero. You took out Judas. Ben was Judas, and I'm fucking proud of you," he said. "You are the strong and beautiful woman I am in love with. You will make it out of this and come out better than ever. I promise. I want you to stop crying. Your daughters can't see you this way. You need to be strong when they come and see you. I'm here and like I said, I will be here until you get back on your feet. You have saved me so many times, now it's my turn. It's my turn to take care of you. You've been my hero; now I will be your hero," he added.

Bunny looked at him. She knew he was right.

"What about the race? You are not going to stop, are you?" she asked.

"I have to for the moment. I gotta make sure you are okay; I need to reevaluate our security."

"Don't," she said.

"Don't what?" he replied.

"Don't quit. You went through too much for all these years to get here. You are winning. I want you to keep winning. Please keep going, do it for me," she said.

John sat for a moment. Then he looked at her. "I will," he answered. He went over to her left side and lay beside her. "I'm going to lay on your good side," he said jokingly.

Both of them laughed.

***

The visiting hours were ending. John decided to go home for the evening. The plan was to return to see Bunny the next day once he finished at the office. He called an emergency meeting.

As John left the hospital for the evening to tend to the kids back home, a woman called out his name. "John!" she yelled.

John looked over at the woman. Her face was very familiar to him. The woman had a swollen face and skin that had a hint of jaundice.

"It's me, Rose."

"Rose? It's been years," John said. He walked over and gave her a hug. Rose looked worse than the photo he had seen in Lifetime. She had a hint of cigarette smell in her clothes, which she tried to cover with Chanel No. 5.

"How is she? I heard what happened. The news said she was here, and I rushed right over. They would not let me see her because I wasn't family. I know it's been a long time."

"They told me she's going to recover."

"That's a relief," Rose responded.

"It is. How have you been?" he asked her. He noticed that her voice had changed. It used to be mousey, but now it was scratchy.

"I'm okay. I got married," she said.

"Congratulations. Sorry we missed that. Bunny never told me," John said.

Rose looked at him. She felt terrible. "While you are here, I want to say that I am sorry about that, the things I stated in the article."

"I'm not worried about it. I was probably an ass at one time, but I think I got a little better. As far as Bunny is concerned, she grew up, and a lot of it had nothing to do with me. I never forced her to be something she didn't want to be. You are right about one thing; she could have gotten someone better than me, quickly. I'm actually lucky she chose me," John said.

Rose felt terrible. Right then she regretted doing the article. "I'm so sorry about that and the other thing."

"What other thing? Did something else happen?" he asked.

Rose suddenly knew that Bunny had never told John about their argument. "I'm sorry about drifting away from you two. It was selfish of me, all of it was. It was on me. Bunny was always there for me in the beginning. I should have been a better friend to her for the past few years. I should have never lost touch," Rose told him.

John felt the sincerity in her voice. Rose looked frail, and he felt sorry for her. "Do you want to see her? I can make that happen," he said.

"I would really love that, oh thank you," Rose said and gave John another hug.

***

Harold received an advance copy of Lifetime Magazine as a thank-you for his contribution and read the entire article. He went over to show his wife and made sure she read the contents of his part of the story out loud. She was proud of him, although she expressed to him that she did not realize how bad the war had been for the soldiers who had to go there. She gave him a hug and a kiss and said that she was sorry. He seemed happy and at ease with her support. Harold told her to make sure the kids got a copy of the magazine because their father was famous for a few minutes. They would want it for the future. Harold seemed to be at peace with the end result. Paul had held up his end of the bargain and kept the article accurate and respectful.

Harold told his wife he had to do something downstairs and left her in the living room with the magazine. She proceeded to call other family members and friends to tell them about the article. Harold walked into the downstairs half of his home for the first time since the cleanup of Ben's remains. He wore his army green vest and hat with the title "Vietnam Veteran" embroidered on it. His vest had decorations still sewn and pinned on, and his tattoos were visible.

He opened all of the windows to let in fresh air and looked around the nearly empty area with dread. He saw the blood stain and bullet hole that Bunny's gun had left on the floor. Memories of seeing Ben's lifeless body came back to him in an instant. For a moment he thought Ben was still there. He kneeled to touch the spot, just to make sure. It was a hallucination. The shock of the moment reentered his body and Harold felt a bit of sadness. Ben had been his best friend, the one who understood the pain that was left over from the war. His kids were now out of the house and off to college. He no longer had other things to distract him, and he felt that his job was done. He was ready to go, and he was tired. Harold sat next to the spot of the floor.

He pulled a note and pistol from his pocket. He sat the letter to the right of him, then held the gun to the side of his head and pulled the trigger. A loud pop and just like Ben, blood left his skull in a splatter. His wife heard the noise upstairs, but dismissed it. She thought that Harold was doing work and dropped something. His body, lifeless in an instant, fell in almost the same spot where Ben's body had come to rest, and his blood began to cover the floor.

Just like that, it was over. The trauma of constant mental agony was over. Harold was able to join his friend in the afterlife.

After a couple of hours, Harold's wife went downstairs to check on him. It was almost time for dinner, and she wanted to call him back to wash up. When she walked in and saw what had happened, she let out a blood-curdling scream. She ran upstairs to call the police. She could barely form sentences. "He shot himself! Why?" she told the dispatcher.

By the time the ambulance arrived, it was too late. He was declared DOA.

***

Paul's phones were ringing off the hook. Everyone who received an advance copy was contacting him and congratulating him on the success of the story. The responses were that the article was riveting, fair, and balanced. The layout was spectacular. The article focused on the rise of the LeBlancs through the eyes of the people who knew them best. The article was not too damaging to Chimera, as it was tailored to the fascination of the public and meant to dispel some rumors that had been around the LeBlancs for decades. The last-minute change in focus was to be a slight against Mario Pasquale. Paul knew he had been baited and used just so Pasquale could have an advantage in the elections.

His family and even representatives from book publishing houses were calling him. Everything that Paul thought would happen once this story hit was starting. He went out and treated himself to lunch. Paul sat alone in the restaurant and nobody cared. No one knew who he was at the moment. The issue would not hit newsstands for another forty-eight hours.

Paul made it back to his apartment to see that his voicemail was full. He went to check the messages. It was then that the joy from the article quickly turned to sorrow. His phone rang, and he picked it up. It was Frank Kelly, the magazine's editor. He called to inform Paul that Harold had committed suicide. The shock made Paul sit down in an instant. His head felt faint, his words were choppy in response, and he could not believe what he was hearing.

"I don't, I don't know what to say," Paul responded.

"Apparently, they found him in the same area where they found Ben Berardi. He shot himself. He was wearing his veteran's clothing and left a note. It said something about the stress of living with what he had done in the past was too much for him to bear. His wife called me this morning and cursed me out, saying this was all our fault. He was supposedly fine before you showed up, according to her. By the way, she said some pretty vile things about you."

"I didn't do anything but ask him questions about the war, about his friendship with Ben. She had to see that if she read the article. I'm sure she feels that way because she is hurt. From what I could tell by interviewing him, Ben Berardi was Harold's best friend. When Ben was murdered in Harold's home, it did something to Harold. It may have exaggerated what was already going on inside his head. I think he never mentally recovered from discovering Ben's body and took his life to get away from it all. I believe he agreed to talk to me because he wanted to get some things off of his chest before he went. I sensed it at the time. I just didn't know what to do," Paul said.

"You can't blame yourself for this. There are a lot of guys out there in the same predicament. You should be proud of yourself. You did a great job on this article. Every news show in the country is talking about it as we speak. You are big time now. Congratulations."

"Thanks," he said dryly and hung up the phone.

Paul took the copy of the magazine he had on his coffee table, went over to the window, opened it, and tossed the magazine out of it. He leaned on the window and began to cry.

Paul's buzzer rang. He got up and answered it. Lawrence was at the door.

"How may I help you?"

"Are you Paul Aaron?"

"Yes, I am."

"I'm Lawrence Bellinger. I work for John LeBlanc's campaign. We saw the article you wrote. He wants to meet and sit down with you to discuss the article," Lawrence said.

"Isn't it kind of late for that? It's already out."

"Yes, but he still would like to make an appointment with you."

"I'm going to decline. I tried to contact them for comment on the article, but I was shut down by Mrs. LeBlanc. They didn't want to interview with me. If I have something in the future, I will try and contact them again," Paul said. He tried to close the door on Lawrence.

"Mr. Aaron. I know you are working with Mario Pasquale," Lawrence said. He actually didn't know for sure; it was a Hail Mary statement to see what Paul would do.

Paul reopened the door slowly. "Okay, you have my attention."

***

John met up with Mariana and Lawrence at the office. He needed their support. John was strong on the outside, but internally he was a mess. He hated to see Bunny helpless in a hospital bed. Part of the reason he loved her so much was that she was strong. He watched her go from an innocent twenty-something to a strong, mature mother and wife. Bunny was not like his first wife, Edina, who wanted to control his every move and to knock him down a few pegs when he exerted a few moments of confidence. Bunny and John's relationship was a true partnership built on love and respect. Both of them were equally important in the relationship.

"Are we suspending the campaign?" Lawrence asked.

"We are not suspending shit. She doesn't want that. Bun wants me to keep going. I'm going to do it for her and our kids. I'm not going to let some asshole knock us back. That's not how we operate. We've gone through too much to get to this point," John snapped.

"Are you going to continue your campaign stops in the city and run the ads? We need to know so we can have time to reschedule. I know you want to spend time by her bedside," Lawrence asked.

"I have to reschedule some of them. Put it off for two weeks. I want to make sure when she is released that she is comfortable so she can heal. She wants to get back to work, but I don't want her doing that right now. She needs to be at home with the kids and her mother. You can postpone the fundraiser at Bentley's too," he added.

"I think the fundraiser should go on," Mariana said.

Both men looked at her.

"The consensus of the public is that she was attacked. We have their sympathy. All of the papers are covering it that way. If you reassure the public that you will fight to keep them safe, considering what happened to her, they will try and help you. The residents are scared right now. The murder rate in the city is in the four digits," she said.

"Mariana, that's kind of, I don't know. How you going to expect the man to go to a party with her at home suffering?" Lawrence asked.

Mariana was bothered by Lawrence's objection. She expected John to respond that way, but not him.

"It's a suggestion. He doesn't have to be there. He already said he wants to continue the campaign, so that is what I am doing. That is what we and the volunteers are for. That's why he pays us, to do the work. That is for him to answer, not you," Mariana snapped.

"The hell?" Lawrence responded and looked at her in a confused way.

"Okay, I really don't feel like listening to the two of you argue," John interrupted.

"I agree, brother. I'm hungry. Do you want me to pick you up something? I need a few minutes of air," Lawrence said.

"Yeah," John responded.

"Do you?" John asked Mariana.

"Yes. The usual."

"I guess I'll get the same," John added.

Lawrence called the Chinese restaurant down the street. It was Bunny's favorite local spot to eat. Despite her healthy diet of fruit, berries, and vegetables, her love for Chinese food had never waned.

"I'll be right back. I think some of us need a five-minute break to fix our attitude," Lawrence said and left.

"I need to go to my office for a few minutes. I'll be back," John said to Mariana and left her in the room by herself.

Lawrence went to pick up their lunch. He had left his Motorola cell phone on the conference table. He never left his phone unattended, but the stress of the moment, dealing with Mariana, had him distracted. He wanted to hurry and get away from her.

Mariana picked up Lawrence's phone and began scrolling through his call log. She did that every once in a while. He had no idea. Everything looked typical: family, friends, the office. Mariana was good at memorizing telephone numbers. She stopped scrolling when she came across Brenda's digits. Her number was listed back to back. Mariana kept pressing down, and Brenda's home and beeper number were repeated over and over again. He must have called her dozens of times. She could not believe it. What would they have to speak about outside the office? She began to flash back to Brenda's last visit. They were too friendly. He was too willing to defend her before, even when he was not supposed to know her that well.

"I just knew something wasn't right because it ain't right," she said to herself. Mariana could feel the jealousy and anger building up inside her. She could not believe that Lawrence would run after Brenda. He called her about thirty times, according to the log. Who knew how often they had seen each other in between? What in the heck could he want with a rat like Brenda? She was not classy; she was not her. Mariana could not believe it. She did not imagine that her delaying his proposal would have ended up like this. She was embarrassed and hurt.

Mariana heard him coming up the stairs and put his phone back where it was. When he made it back to the room with the food, she eyed him hard. She could not fix her face to look pleasant. She was angry and wanted to curse him out, but didn't. This wasn't the right time. They ate their lunch and continued the meeting. It was decided that John would stay in the race but take time off to tend to Bunny. He was going to step up their security. The meeting was done for the day and John told them he would be back in the office the next day to make some calls.

Mariana left when it was over and didn't say anything to Lawrence. You could cut the tension between them with a knife by the time the meeting was over. Mariana was in a bad mood.

Before she left, Lawrence tried to reason with her. "Hey, I wasn't trying to make you look bad before. I just didn't understand where you were coming from with that. I didn't know you were going to snap at me like that. We are all stressed right now, but..."

Mariana cut off Lawrence. "But, I need you to not speak to me right now."

She walked off.

***

When Mariana got home, she greeted Jerome Jr. with a hug.

"How was your day, Mom? How are Auntie Bunny and Uncle John?" Jerome Jr. asked.

"She will be okay. She just needs time to heal. Uncle John is holding up as best he can," she answered him.

"Are they quitting?" he asked.

"No, absolutely not, and if anyone asks, you make sure you tell them that. John is in this for the long run. He has her blessing to continue," she said.

Mariana looked at her son. He was ready to graduate high school at the end of the year. He had grown up to be a nice young man. He was a lighter version of his father, Jerome Sr. Same face, height, walk, talk. They were almost clones. He was the only male who hadn't let her down since the death of her husband. She was hoping to have a full relationship with Lawrence by the time Jerome Jr. left for college, but now it didn't look like that would happen. She was starting to feel it.

"I'm tired. I'm heading to bed early."

"You don't want me to fix you anything to eat?"

"No, papi. I ate at work already. Thank you," she responded.

She kissed her son on the cheek, went to her room, and closed the door. She leaned on the other side and a tear left her eye.

Mariana went to her bed and sat down. She put the frame that had her and Lawrence's photo face down on the nightstand. She did not want to look at it. Mariana was worried. She did not want Brenda putting a wrench in her plans with Lawrence. She knew she would be ready to be with him on a long-term basis one day, but she didn't realize her time was running out. The pettiness inside her was taking over. She started brainstorming about how she could get Brenda away from Lawrence and out of Dixon-Rhodos altogether.

Have other guys talk to her.

Shame her into not crushing on Lawrence.

Make him wear a ring so that it is visible, even though they were not legally together.

Threaten her.

Threaten him.

She was willing to try everything to get Brenda away from him, even to the point of having Brenda fired from her job, but she could not do that. Bunny would not allow it due to the bad publicity it would bring. Mariana had to calm herself for a moment. For a brief second, she felt like killing Brenda. She did not want her going too far with Lawrence. The calls were enough. She had no confirmation still on whether or not it had gone past that. She decided to wait until then to actually panic. "Oh God, please give me some sign of what's going on. I need to know," she said to herself.

Mariana sighed and decided to get her outfit together for the next day. First she had to change pocketbooks. Mariana went to her purse to retrieve her wallet when she realized that she had left it locked in her drawer in her office. She was so distracted by Lawrence's phone that she had left the room without it. She knew she could not travel without her ID, so she decided to run back to the office to get it. All of her cards were in there too, and she did not feel right being separated from it. She called a taxi and got a few dollars from her drawer to run back to the office. It was almost six-thirty, and it wasn't completely dark. The taxi ride would take only a few minutes there and back since it was past rush hour.

When Mariana made it there, she went up the stairs and straight to her office to retrieve her wallet. She wanted to hurry and get back downstairs because she had told the cab to wait for her. The wallet was there, just like she thought.

She heard noises in the next room, which was Lawrence's smaller office. She had no idea that he had stayed over after she had left. She went to his door and peeked in. She saw Brenda laying across his desk on top of all the paperwork, naked with him on top of her. The noises Mariana had heard were her moans. Mariana's prayers had been served quickly. She got her answer. She was so shocked at what she saw that she could do nothing but just look at them. She watched them for ten minutes without making a sound. Lawrence flipped Brenda over and took her from the back. Mariana was in a heartbroken daze until she heard the cab downstairs blow his horn. The two of them were so into the act, they had no idea she or anyone else was even there. Mariana left quietly and returned to the cab with her wallet. She headed back home stiff as a mannequin.

"Are you okay, ma'am?" the cab driver asked.

"No, I'm not okay," she answered.

***

The next day, John and Lawrence returned to the office as planned. The homeless man who sat around the corner spotted John and Lawrence walking into the Chimera offices with extra security. John had to do a few things before he went back to the hospital to visit Bunny. There were eight additional men around them. The man tried to get John's attention but John ignored him and walked upstairs. The homeless man then tried to get Lawrence's attention. Lawrence was about to walk past him until the homeless man yelled at him.

"I saw who left that note on the door."

Lawrence stopped in his tracks. "What did you say?"

"I saw who put that note on your door. I heard about the young lady who works there. I hope she is okay. She used to give me money so I could get food. She didn't die, did she?"

"No. What is your name?" Lawrence asked.

"I'm Pooch. My name is Pooch."

"Pooch. What a name," Lawrence said. He walked closer to the homeless man. Lawrence could smell him way before. "What note are you talking about? What did the person look like, the one who left the note?" Lawrence asked.

"They were a bunch of white guys. They got out of a car and started ringing the doorbell, but I guess no one was there. Another one of them taped a note on the door. They looked around and got back into their car and drove off. That car they were in looked official. The guy had on a real nice suit. I remember when the young lady came to the building, she gave me a ten and we talked for a minute. She saw that note and just snatched it off. She looked real mad about it, too."

"Did you get a license plate? What color was the car?" Lawrence asked.

"The car was black. I saw the plate briefly. It had some letters and numbers and said 'official' on it. The car had those government stickers."

Lawrence was cautious about Pooch's account. He was a drunk on the corner. How credible could his story be?

"I need you to stick around. If you are interested in helping us, you will have to clean yourself up. This is what I am going to do. I will have one of these guys take you to a local motel to get you off of the street. I will give them money to get you some clean clothes, some toothpaste and soap. We will put you up. A guy will stay with you and watch you. If what you say was true, you will help us out greatly. Can we agree on that?" Lawrence said.

"Yes, sir!" Pooch responded. He was reluctant to take help before, but he was upset like many others about Bunny being shot.

"No drinks. I need you sober," Lawrence added.

"Aw, man," Pooch said.

"I mean it. They are going to watch you."

Lawrence gave the guard a few hundred dollars and instructed him to take Pooch to a motel. He walked up the stairs with the remaining guys to look for John.

"We need to look in the trash," Lawrence said.

"What the hell you are talking about?" John responded.

"There is a guy outside who just told me that some men got out of a car days ago and taped a note on the door. He saw Bunny snatch it off when she arrived, and he said she looked upset. If the note is here, it will be in the garbage or in the dumpster in the back. They haven't picked it up yet, have they?"

"I don't think so. Who is this guy?" John asked.

"His name is Pooch; he is the guy who sits at the corner."

"The homeless man? We are talking to drunks now?" John asked.

"He may have seen something. Right now we have nothing. It won't hurt to check. We don't know what went on while she was here," Lawrence said.

"Alright, fine. Let's look," John responded.

John, Lawrence, and the guards feverishly went through the garbage pails in the office. John went through his, and Lawrence checked Mariana's pail. A couple of the guards were instructed to go downstairs and check the dumpster. John didn't find anything in his office, so he went to Bunny's office. He went through the papers on her desk and found nothing. He went through her garbage can and saw a ripped piece of paper with some words on it that were scribbled from a marker. He went through the rest of the bin and found the other half. He put the papers together and read the message.

"I'm gonna fuck him up!" John yelled. Everyone in the office heard him.

The guards and Lawrence ran to Bunny's room.

"What happened?" Lawrence asked.

"Pasquale is a dead man, you hear me?" John said. He held up both sides of the paper he had found in Bunny's wastebasket. Lawrence read the message. Pooch was right.

"Whoa, hold up. You can't kill anybody," Lawrence interjected.

"The fuck you mean? Bunny is my wife. You hurt her, you hurt me. That's how this shit works!" John yelled.

"You are running for Mayor of New York City. The last thing you need is to go to jail. If Bunny had died, I would totally understand, but she will recover. Brother, there is a smart way to handle this and a dumb way. You are at the highest position you have been in your entire career. You are the new Bernie Rhodos, but on a bigger scale. Do what he taught you to do in a situation like this. No need to get your hands dirty. That's why I am here, remember?" Lawrence pleaded. John calmed down and the two of them began to brainstorm, just like when John and Jerome used to.

At that moment, the office of Chimera was returning to the old days. The rules that Bernie had taught him were to do only what was necessary. If one of the members was hurt, you would avenge them. This counted as one of those moments. John and Lawrence began to brainstorm about how they would proceed.
CHAPTER 7

##

Lawrence sent two of the guards who had no profile to Mario Pasquale's office building. They were the first new hires for Chimera. Both men were Hispanic, but Caucasian adjacent. They were reminiscent of the kind of people they used to recruit. Young, neatly dressed, nice looking, and appealing to the public. Suits were the uniform. That was important to gain trust.

John had two teams, just like Pasquale. One was Team LeBlanc for Mayor. The other was Team Chimera. Team Chimera was the one that did the work no one else could do. They did the secret work and took care of business if things got out of hand. Lawrence was the underboss and handled most of the groundwork. Like Bernie, John made the appearances and campaign stops, and handled the big business such as managing their properties with his lawyer Yannay. Lawrence did everything else. John taught him his old job.

On the instruction of Lawrence, the two men's assignments were to sit, stake out Pasquale's building, and take pictures. They men were given information about some of the employees and were instructed to take photographs of whoever came in and out of the building. The goal was to show those photos to Pooch. Lawrence wanted to see if he could get a positive identification on any of them and make sure they were the same people he had spotted at the Chimera offices. The men did this for two days. After the first day, whatever photos were taken were immediately processed. John had to do it himself because he was the most experienced when it came to processing photographs. He did not want to take them to a public developer. The guards were given one photograph, and it was Audrey. Lawrence knew she worked directly with Mario Pasquale. One day he had visited the floor on which the office was located and observed that she sat outside his room. The two men were instructed to talk to her specifically if they reached her. It was the same tactic Mario's campaign workers used on the people they saw in the street. Both men were armed with phony FBI badges, other official-looking insignia, and a briefcase full of the photos taken so far.

When Audrey was spotted leaving the building at the end of day two, the men saw her get into a cab. They proceeded to follow the cab until she was dropped off in Queens. The guard figured that she lived there. After a few minutes, one of them got out of the car and rang Audrey's doorbell. She answered the door through the screen.

"Hello, is this Audrey Harris?" the man asked her.

"Yes, it is," she answered.

"Great, my name is Greg Ross," one of them said.

"I'm Jack Simmons." the other one added. They were obvious fake names. They had taken the names of existing FBI agents and used them.

"We work for the FBI," Greg told her and both men showed her their badges. "We would like to speak to you about a couple of things."

"What is this about?" Audrey asked.

"It's about Mario Pasquale. You are his secretary, correct?"

"Yes, but for only a couple more days," she answered.

"Can we come in and talk with you?"

"Sure," she answered. There was nothing about the two men that set off alarms. She could always look up their names.

Audrey let them in her home. It was a modest two-bedroom place. She appeared to live alone. Both men were surprised at how cooperative she was with them. Internally they were concerned for her safety, but they knew they had a job to do.

"First, I will have to inform you that this conversation is confidential," Greg told her.

Audrey looked nervous. "Okay, I'm glad to help."

"First, we have photographs of men and women who have frequented the building where you work. We suspect these people work for Mario Pasquale and may be involved in illegal activity. Can you identify any of them?" Greg pulled a stack of photographs from the briefcase. Audrey went through them one by one. She could not recognize most of them. A few of them worked at her office, and she gave Greg and Jack their names. As she identified the ones she could, they wrote it in black marker on their photos. There were a couple of photos she did recognize, but she knew they were not regular employees. They were Mario's campaign workers and had been at the secret meeting he held.

"I saw these two men. They were meeting with Pasquale not too long ago. They had this big campaign meeting, but I wasn't invited. I regularly take the minutes for all of his meetings. He shut me out this time. I am not sure if it's because I'm leaving in two days and he's mad at me," she said.

"You are not working for him anymore?" Jack asked.

"I'm leaving at the end of the week. I resigned, I wasn't fired," she said.

"Better opportunities?" Greg asked.

"Not necessarily. I found another job, but the pay is a little less. I just couldn't work there anymore. I don't care if he hears about this, but Mario Pasquale is a pig," Audrey said.

"What did he do?"

"The last thing he did, the day his opponent John LeBlanc announced his candidacy, Mario destroyed the office. He tore up everything. Everyone in the office was frightened. He took an ax to my desk and broke my computer. His office looked like a hurricane had hit it. He was kicking and beating things. It was awful," she said.

Greg and Jack were intrigued. Jack was jotting down everything she said. "Was there anything else?"

"The women. I made the mistake of working late a couple of times, and he had his mistress in his office. It was Rebecca Paulin. We all knew they were having an affair. I was on his wife's side. We all hated seeing her around. She would bring her kid in there to see him sometimes. The two of them were in compromising positions. One night she was screaming so loud it was embarrassing. I'm sure some of the people in the hallway heard it. I knew what they were doing, but he doesn't look like the kind of guy who can make a girl do that. He's old and skeevy looking. His hair is fake, fake, fake, by the way. He has a doctor take hair from other places and plug it on the top of his head. I know because I made the appointments. The other time it was quiet, and I went to his office to hand him some paperwork. I walked in and Rebecca Paulin was on her knees, with his penis in her mouth! Neither one of them said anything when I walked in there. They just looked at me! She didn't take it out. Maybe she couldn't, but at least he could have acted embarrassed. He didn't! He smiled at me as if he were the man. I felt disgusted. I couldn't finish my work and left for the evening," she said.

Jack was scribbling feverishly and Greg's mouth was open.

"Now you see why I can't work there anymore? I have nightmares now. Mario swinging an ax at me was the last straw!"

"He did what?"

"He took an ax and rammed it into my desk. He had to order another one. This was the day he tore up the office," she said.

"I'm sorry to hear this. The two men you identified in these photographs, the ones who are not regular employees, you did say they were his campaign workers, just to confirm," Greg said.

"Yes. They all went into his office and shut the door. I think it was a strategy meeting." Those men looked like they were up to no good. They were dressed nicely, but they looked mean," she said.

"We are so sorry about your troubles there. Here is my card. I would like you to give me a call if you have any questions. The confidentiality of this meeting is important. We suspect that those men with whom Mr. Pasquale has worked have committed a crime on his behalf. That directly violates campaign laws," Greg told her.

A fed-up Audrey replied, "You have my word. I never liked him, and I wish the public really knew what kind of a jerk he really is. He has a lot of people fooled. I like LeBlanc. He is not perfect either, but at least it appears he has tried to change his ways. He also has a lovely family. The city needs that, not another crummy politician," she said.

***

The two men left Audrey's house. The material she had given them was a goldmine. The two men could not wait until they returned to Lawrence with the information.

When they arrived at the back door of the Chimera building, Lawrence let them in. Greg and Jack told Lawrence which people she had identified and suggested that he take those to his source. Lawrence was satisfied with their work and handed each man a stack of money. Lawrence wanted them to do one more day of surveillance to see if they could pick up any more people they had missed.

Lawrence went to the motel where Pooch was staying. He had the photos in tow.

"Pooch, you look different," Lawrence said.

Pooch had washed up and changed his clothes. He had shaved for the first time in years and had a haircut. He had been eating the food provided, so he had picked up a couple of pounds. Lawrence was surprised at the transformation.

"Soap and water can fix anything, I see," he said.

"Yeah. It's been hard, though. A drink would be nice. The medicine helps with the headaches, but I miss my juice, man," Pooch replied.

"No liquor. I need your head clear. When we are done, you can drink all you want, although I don't know why you would choose to go back on the street. Anyway, until then you concentrate. I have some stuff for you to look at. They are pictures. I want you to look through them and tell me if any of these people were the ones you saw at Chimera. Take your time and be precise," Lawrence said.

"What does 'precise' mean?" Pooch asked.

"Be accurate, be truthful, honest. You know what the word 'honest' is, right?"

"Yeah, man."

Pooch looked through the photographs. He pulled one aside and kept looking. He saw another and pulled out that photo. He finished the stack.

"There you go," Pooch said.

"There I go what?"

"Those were the two guys who went to the door and put up that sign. Those two right there," Pooch said.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm precise," Pooch answered, although he pronounced it incorrectly.

"I get it, thanks," Lawrence replied.

Lawrence got up to leave with the photos.

"So when am I done with this?" Pooch asked.

"When we tell you you're done," he answered.

Lawrence left the motel room. When he got in the car to head to his apartment, he phoned John, who was by Bunny's side.

"My man. We got a hit," Lawrence told him.

"The drunk guy identified someone? You're kidding."

"He's been clean since we grabbed him. Pooch picked out two of the photos and said he was sure those were the two men who did it. They work out of Pasquale's office. His secretary Audrey gave our guys all kinds of information. You need to see this. The two guys were the same ones she said work on his campaign. There is no way it was someone else who hit Bunny. It was too precise," Lawrence answered.

John stayed silent. He looked at Bunny from his side.

"Activate Plan A," John told him.

"Will do. See you tomorrow."

***

Witnesses who were around Bunny when she had been gunned down were all over the newspapers and evening news. Everyone had seen the coverage, including Junior. He was not proud of being in the area at the time, despite how he first felt about the situation. After he had calmed down, he realized that the grilling Brenda had given him was necessary. Junior could not sleep and was agitated. He would have to take his medication to rest. He wanted to tell his mother what happened because he was scared that someone would tell the police that he had done it. Junior knew that his mother was resourceful and could give him good advice. It was her wrath he was not prepared for.

When Brenda returned from work, she saw him there, sitting on the couch watching the news. He was looking to see if one of those witnesses would describe seeing a face. All the authorities knew was that a group of teens had been in the area at the time. Junior being home and visible before she arrived was a sight that had become increasingly rare. He would usually arrive home at the time the streetlights came on.

"You are home. I'm shocked. You are not hanging with your so-called boys today?" Brenda asked.

"Ma, I need to talk to you about something," he said.

Brenda sat down by him. "What's up, baby?" she asked.

"That lady you work with at the foundation, the one who was shot."

"Bunny LeBlanc."

"Yeah, her. Did she die?" he asked.

"No, she didn't," Brenda answered.

"I'm glad to hear. I remember you told that guy that she was nice to you," Junior said and hesitated. "I saw what happened to her when she was shot," he replied.

"Boy, stop lying!"

Junior was irritated and scared. Everyone was always accusing him of lying. "I did," he said.

Junior looked her in the eyes. She stared back at him and knew he was telling the truth. "How?" she asked.

"I was over there with some friends and..."

"Dammit, Junior!" Brenda yelled. She started hitting him on the arm. "You were supposed to be in school! How many times have I told you to leave your ass at school? Stop cutting classes. You were already left behind twice. How are you going to catch up? In a few years, you are going to be twenty-one years old in the tenth grade looking like a dummy. I can't watch you twenty-four hours a day. I have to work; I have my life too. What were you doing in Manhattan?"

"Please stop yelling and let me explain."

"Don't tell me to stop yelling! Go on," Brenda said in an irritated tone.

"I was in the area with some friends. We were going to do something wrong," he said.

"Like what?"

"I can't get into details, but it involved a shotgun and I was holding it."

Brenda gasped. "A fucking gun? Boy, you better not say what I think you are going to say," she said.

"We were there, and we heard gunshots across the street. They were coming from over there, where she was, not from where we were. A few gunshots. I saw her fall. I had the gun, but I didn't pull the trigger. I swear I didn't. My friends think I did, but I didn't," Junior said.

"Why were you there with a shotgun? What were you going to do, shoot somebody with it?" she asked.

Junior looked at her.

"I don't believe this shit," Brenda said and got up.

Junior began to break down. "Ma, I don't want to go to jail. I didn't shoot her. I wanted to, but I didn't, I swear. They gonna say that I did it," he pleaded.

Brenda put both hands over her mouth. The words sent shockwaves through her body. She did not know what to believe. Everything that she had been working for was now in jeopardy.

"Junior, if you get in trouble, it's over for both of us. Not just you. When you decide to do shit like this, it affects both of us. I'm going to lose my job." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "I'm gonna lose my man."

She looked at Junior. "You know what's worse than a gangbanger? A wannabe gangbanger. That's what you are. You are as soft as your ass. I ought to knock you out for being over there in the first place... but I believe you." Brenda sighed. "Okay, let's see. First, who is 'they?'"

"The other boys I was with. They think I was the one who shot her. They are going to tell on me. I don't wanna go to prison," he said.

Brenda was worried. If the authorities ever found out he was in the area with known gang members, she knew he was going to get the blame because he had been holding the gun at the time. Junior didn't stand a chance. They would not hesitate to throw him in prison. Another generation locked up behind bars. Even worse, what would happen if John and Bunny found out about it? Everything would be over.

"The best thing we can hope for is that no one was able to see your face. Then we have to worry about how faithful your so-called friends are. Those gangbangers aren't loyal."

"They are not supposed to snitch..."

"Boy, shut up. Let the authorities or even John throw a few thousand dollars out there for a reward. Your boys are going to sing, and guess who they are going to throw under the bus?" Brenda took her index finger and put it between his eyes. "I want you to listen to me and listen to me really good. I want you to take your ass to school tomorrow. I will walk you up there myself. I don't give a shit if you are embarrassed. You are to act like nothing happened. You go to every class, and you go see your counselor. I have to make a few phone calls. Leave those stupid-ass boys alone. They are not your friends! I mean it! Do as I say or I will take you out myself."

***

Brenda had a hard time processing what her son had told her the night before. She walked him to school for the first time since he was small, much to his embarrassment. Many of the kids were looking at him and whispering. She wanted to make sure Junior held up his end of the bargain.

Brenda talked to the counselors at his school to see if they could enroll him in afterschool clubs, anything to get him off the street. She had to take the day off work, which meant she lost pay. Brenda was upset about that, but felt that the safety of her boy was more important. There were many thoughts of regret in her head. Maybe if she were a better mother, or were richer, or had picked a better father, Junior would be in better shape. She wondered if the reefer she smoked when she was pregnant had anything to do with his condition. So many things went through her head.

She left the school early and had a few hours to spare. One of her co-workers asked Brenda about the Dixon-Rhodos Foundation. The lady also needed help. Brenda offered to pick up some paperwork for her. Since she had time, she took the bus to midtown and walked a few blocks to Chimera.

While she was walking, a car pulled up alongside her. A man was driving. He rolled down his windows and asked, "Do you need a ride, beautiful? Where are you going?"

Brenda looked over and saw that it was Lawrence. He was driving a red 1990 Audi. Brenda smiled at him and hopped into the passenger side. "I'm going where you are going," she responded dryly.

When she got in, he kissed her and asked how her day was. He sensed that she had something on her mind. Brenda was not her usual spirited self.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said dismissively.

"I don't believe you," Lawrence said.

He pulled over to a Gaseteria station. He did not need to fill up, but he wanted to make sure Brenda was feeling okay.

"Aren't you gonna get out?" she asked.

"No. I pulled over to talk to you for a moment. You're guarded, and I want to know what's up. I can tell when you are not feeling right," he said.

Brenda looked at him and briefly debated in her mind whether to confide in him about Junior's situation. She didn't have many places to turn to for advice. She took a deep breath and at that moment decided to start talking. This was the hardest thing Brenda had had to do in a long time. She knew that this conversation could end in one of many ways.

"There is something wrong and I don't know what to do," she said.

"Tell me so I can help," he responded.

Brenda took another deep breath and looked at Lawrence. "When Bunny was shot. My son was around when it happened," she told him.

Lawrence didn't say anything. He sat back in his seat. "And what happened?"

"He saw her go down from across the street. He is scared someone is going to blame it on him," she said.

"Why would he think that?"

"Because he was armed. He went to the city to do something with some kids. I think some of them run in a gang. He cut school. I told him many times not to do that. He said he and his friends had a semi-automatic weapon. You know one of those that shoots a lot of bullets. They wanted him to spray someone, a random on the street. He couldn't do it. He told me he wasn't the one to pull the trigger on her, and I believe him. I'm hard on him, so I know when he is bullshitting me. This time I don't think he is. I'm telling you this because you are the only one I trust right now," Brenda said.

Lawrence didn't know what to think. He knew she was raw and honest with him. He believed every word.

"What am I gonna do if someone said they saw him in the area, especially with a firearm? They are going to put him in jail without a fair trial. The prisons are full of boys like my son, who don't know any better. I know because I used to visit and see all of them. Nothing has changed since then, and it's getting worse. I would die for my son," Brenda said.

Lawrence put his arm around Brenda.

"All I want is for him to grow up and do something for himself. Do a little better than I did. I was a mess when I was his age, but I grew up. I want him to have the same chance to grow up and mature like I did. I don't know if he will even make it out of high school. He has no real living role models," she added.

"I am going to tell you a few things. First, I need you to calm down. I can sense your heart pumping fast. Two, I will talk to a few people and see if I can get your son into some anti-gang programs. You are right, he does need better male role models. Three, he's not going to jail any time soon. I need you to keep doing what you are doing. You are like a lot of mothers with teenagers out here. The streets are their babysitter," Lawrence said.

"Lawrence, I'm scared," Brenda told him.

"Don't be. I will take care of this, okay? Relax."

Lawrence started the car and drove to Chimera with Brenda. This was the first time the two of them had arrived together. Mariana was looking out the window when she saw him parking his car. Just when she was about to get up and buzz him in, she noticed Lawrence go to the passenger side and open the door. She saw Brenda step out of the car. Mariana sat back down. She could not believe that he was this brazen with Brenda.

'He can let himself in,' Mariana thought.

When Lawrence and Brenda walked into the office, both of them spotted Mariana. She did not say anything to them.

"I saw her walking, and I picked her up. She told me she was coming here. Since I was on my way here too, I gave her a ride," Lawrence said to Mariana.

"You don't have to explain anything to me," she responded with an attitude. "Why did you come here?" Mariana asked Brenda.

"I wanted to pick up some forms. One of my friends is interested in getting help," Brenda said.

Mariana looked at Brenda with a disgusted face. "She couldn't go to the city clerk's office?"

"Why would I tell her to go there when you have those forms here and I can bring them to her? This is closer, and I am referring people to you," Brenda said. She was taken aback by the extra vitriol that Mariana was giving her. Brenda was used to Mariana's natural attitude, but she did not expect to get all of it today. 'Maybe she's on her period,' Brenda thought.

Mariana walked past Brenda and bumped her, right in front of Lawrence. She kept walking.

"Excuse you," Brenda mumbled and stared at Mariana hard. If this had happened fifteen years earlier, Brenda would have been ready to fight, right on the spot, someone who had done such a thing to her. Brenda looked over at Lawrence. "Why did she do that? Did you see that? She bumped me on purpose," she said.

"Maybe it was an accident," Lawrence replied.

"An accident is a brush. Her shoulder leaned in and bumped me! I think she was trying to knock me out of the way. When she comes back around, I'm going to say something to her.

Lawrence's voice lowered to a whisper. "Calm down, baby. I will talk to her."

Mariana could hear everything the two of them were saying, even when she was out of their sight.

"I can't. She had been low-key disrespectful since I started here. I didn't do shit to her. I don't care what kind of beef she had with Ben, but he ain't here no more, and I ain't him," Brenda chimed.

Mariana barged back in. "Oh, you didn't do shit except fuck my boyfriend! And guess what? I did bump you on purpose. What are you going to do? Go ahead and hit me like the rat you are!"

Brenda charged at her.

The two women came to blows right there in the office. Lawrence got up and attempted to separate the two. He managed to get Brenda off Mariana. "Stop! Stay over there," he told Brenda as if he was trying to protect her.

Mariana angrily took note. "See! That shit right there is why I am mad. You are seeing her behind my back! Her of all people! I saw you fuck her!" Mariana got in Lawrence's face. "You didn't even have the decency to go outside the office to cheat. Why do you want her? I don't get it. Is it that she looks better on your arm? Am I too fat for you now? You didn't have a problem with this when you were fucking me," Mariana screamed as tears welled up in her eyes.

Lawrence finally decided to give it to her straight. "Mariana, the writing has been on the wall for a long time. I asked you a long time ago to get married, and you said no. In my mind, that was it, we were done. Anything after that was just a fuck. When you date, you do it for a purpose. When there is no point, you move on. That's how it works. I've moved on with her, even if you don't think she is worthy. That is my choice to make, not yours."

Brenda was in the background picking up her earrings that had been snatched off. She was straightening her braided ponytail, which Mariana had tried to pull off.

"Fine, go on with her. I am not going to stoop to your or her level. I can get someone else. I am a professional, and I won't let the two of you mess that up. Both of you get the hell out of my room. And don't you bring your ass back here, ever!" she said while pointing at Brenda. Brenda and Lawrence left the room, and Mariana slammed the door behind them.

They were in the walkway. "I'm sorry, I messed up everything. I got mad," Brenda said, clearly embarrassed.

"Don't worry about it. Look, this is the real story. She and I dated for a long time. I asked her to marry me before, and she said no. To me, that says she doesn't want anything long term. I was just ready to move on," Lawrence said.

"What am I going to do now for help? How do I know she won't call my job and have me fired?" Brenda said in a sad tone.

Lawrence lifted her head. "You won't be fired. This is Bunny's show. She owns this. Mariana just manages it because of the Dixon name." He paused. "If you are fired, don't worry. It's us now. I am here for you."

***

Later that evening. Lawrence decided to have a sit-down talk with John to let him know about the new information he had received. He had come to the conclusion that this was no random shooting, but a hit, and he had just figured out who was responsible. The narrative that had been leaked to the news media from Pasquale's campaign that Bunny had been hit as a result of gang violence was simply not true.

To protect Brenda, Lawrence did not name Junior as the witness, but gave John the other information. John informed Lawrence about what the doctor had told him about her wounds.

"I remember the doctor saying the wounds were close range from a pistol. The doctor would know what those kinds of wounds looked like. A gang did not spray my wife with a semi-automatic," he said.

After hours of talking, both of them came to the conclusion that this had been a job from his political rival. The theory fit because John already knew what caliber of bullets had hit her.

***

Bunny was released from the hospital and sent home with an army of nurses to help her, paid for by John. He wanted his love to recover comfortably. He gave specific orders to them to make sure she wanted for nothing.

He also gathered his four children and laid down the law.

"The woman in that room in there is your mother and my wife. If you stress her out, you stress me out, and when I am stressed out, we are going to have a problem. I better not hear one bad report about any of you while your mother is recovering. You are to do what your grandmother says. I know she has issues of her own, but that doesn't mean you take advantage of her. Only your best behavior is allowed in here. We take care of the women in our house, capeesh?" John said.

"What does 'capeesh' mean, Daddy?" his youngest boy, Jaden, asked.

"It means 'do you understand me?'" John responded.

"We understand," the group of kids answered.

Bunny was comfortable in her bed. She had attempted to walk around for a bit on doctor's orders, but became tired. John hired a stay-in nurse to help her. If everything went okay, Bunny would be back on her feet in a couple of months. She wanted to join John on the campaign trail, but John was still apprehensive about that. His primary focus was to keep her safe.

Before John left for the day, he gave her a kiss. "Bun, you have a visitor, and I think she is here now," he said.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"I'll just tell her to come in," he said.

John left the room. When he returned, he presented the woman to Bunny. Bunny did not recognize her at all. She squinted hard and did not know how to respond.

"Hello," Bunny said. She thought the woman was another nurse.

"Celia, it's me, Rose."

Bunny didn't respond immediately. She sat and observed the lady's appearance. She looked at least twenty years older than the age Rose should be.

"Rose, is that really you?" Bunny said. Rose looked nothing like she had looked in her prime at the Playboy Club. She looked sickly and even skinnier than she used to be.

"Yes, it's me," Rose confirmed.

"Oh my God, it is." The voice hit her. Bunny put her good hand over her mouth and she began to cry.

Rose walked up to Bunny to give her a hug, making sure she did not squeeze her too tightly. Bunny was still very sore from the surgery and did not have much use of her right hand. They leaned on each other. It was like the old days. The love was still there. Although they had fought, they dearly missed each other and had so much to catch up on.

"How are you feeling?" Rose asked.

"I'm getting better. I can't do too much because of this hand. I can't write because I'm right handed. It's gonna be wrapped up for some time. The kids have been so great. I can't wait until you meet them. My oldest is a freshman in high school, and my other daughter is in the sixth grade. The boys are still little. John has them under him all the time. I don't know what I would do if I didn't have John. He's been my rock."

"You are indeed blessed. I'm so, so sorry for not sticking up for you two. I should have done more. You were right. The whole thing was silly. I realize that my bias was ignorant, Bunny."

Bunny had never heard Rose refer to her as Bunny.

"I know you go by this 'Bunny' name. Although I still prefer Celia, I'll call you Bunny," Rose said.

"You can call me whatever you want. I get it," Bunny said and smiled. "What about you? Do you have kids?"

"No. My husband and I decided to pass on the kids. You are much better with that. I wanted to travel the world, and I got to do that. I had all the freedom I wanted. I am comfortable. He works all the time."

The two women were comfortable in each other's presence. Rose felt that this was the right time to tell Bunny about her dire situation.

"I have something to share with you," Rose said.

"Okay," Bunny said sheepishly.

"Bunny, I have cancer," Rose said.

Bunny looked confused. "What do you mean you have cancer?

"Bunny, I'm dying," she said.

Bunny's mouth opened and her eyes began to well. "What do you mean you are dying? You can't die! I know doctors, I know people who can help you. They have treatments for that."

Rose put her hand on Bunny's bandaged hand. "There is nothing they can do. It's lung cancer that has spread to my lymph nodes. I am at peace and happy for every minute I have left. One of the biggest things I wanted to do is find you. You are still the best friend I ever had. Please don't cry, I'm okay. We have now, and that's what's important," she said. She looked over and got tissue from a box so that Bunny could wipe her tears.

Bunny was devastated. All she could think of were the years wasted not speaking to each other. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. Just pretend like we missed no time. Girl, you look a mess. The first thing we gotta do is get you out of this wretched bed," Rose said and laughed.

***

John, Lawrence, and their campaign staff headed out to their first news conference since Bunny's incident. He was ready to answer journalists' questions. The press and Sunday morning political roundtables were relentless about the theories behind the shooting. Some suggested that John was accountable and had caused it to gain sympathy from the voters. Other outlets proposed that gang involvement was responsible and that John's past glorified this kind of behavior, which disqualified him from running for office. The campaign was taking a hit in an already tense situation. John wanted to address them to dispel the rumors.

"Mr. LeBlanc, do you think the article that was recently released about you and your family in Lifetime Magazine had anything to do with your wife's shooting?" one reporter asked.

"No. I don't see how that article is any different from anything that is printed in the National Enquirer. No one interviewed me to get accurate answers about what we used to do. I can't control what the press prints because I am a public figure. I think when you choose this path in life, those are some of the risks you take. What I can do is to set the record straight on my own."

Another reporter chimed in. "New York Times. Reports are coming from unconfirmed sources that you and your family were once under investigation about the disappearance of Ben Berardi, one of your old partners. Is that correct, Mr. LeBlanc?"

John was visibly bothered by the question. Who would ask this information unless someone was actively trying to leak information?

"I had nothing to do with his disappearance. You and everyone else who is here should know that I was in prison when whatever happened to him occurred. I think it is appalling that anyone would accuse me, my wife, or anyone else in my family of a crime. My wife Bunny is a loving and caring wife. She is the real protector and hero of the household. I think the notion is absurd, as are as the rest of the rumors out there," John answered.

John continued to talk to the press for another thirty minutes. He assured them that Bunny would be back on her feet soon, and the campaign would continue on as planned. He announced plans for a fundraiser and the status of his projects with the buildings he acquired throughout the city. Yannay, who had kept a low profile, was also there to answer and deflect any questions that may have been harmful to John and his campaign. The meeting with the press went relatively well.

In the back of the room, John noticed a man who had a familiar face. He knew he had seen him before but could not immediately put a name to him. John was excellent at remembering faces, a skill that had made him dominant when it came to dealing with people when he worked under Bernie.

The man in the back seemed attentive to what John was saying at the podium. He stood and smoked a cigarette; he did not have a camera or recording equipment, just a press badge. By the end of the conference, John realized exactly who it was in the back of the room. It was a familiar face from decades past: the nephew of Enzo Ambrosino. Agosto Ambrosino was ten years old the last time John had seen him. The Ambrosino family and Chimera were fierce rivals, to the point where John and Jerome Sr. had to kill his father, Dante, through fire because they felt they were getting death threats from him. No one ever figured out that John and Jerome were responsible for Dante's death, not even the Ambrosino family members. Chimera was good at making things look like an accident. Agosto had heard stories about Bernie and John through family members, and although the hate between the two groups once ran deep, the tension had subsided over the years due to the first collapse of Chimera and the Mafia hearings years later. When Mario Pasquale held his trials against the system of the Cosa Nostra, not only did John and Chimera take a hit, everyone involved in the Mafia had members put away in prison. The effects were devastating for families throughout the country. The focus of hate shifted from rival families to Mario Pasquale and those who were involved in tearing down the system.

Agosto made a beeline for John and his entourage when he was stopped by Lawrence and the security guards. John told them it was okay, and the two men started talking.

"John LeBlanc. I've heard about you," Agosto said.

"I haven't seen you in years. I remember when you were this tall."

"So, you are running for office. That's kind of audacious to do this considering everything that has happened. The cops are amazed at how bold you are. Some of them are really bothered, I hear," Agosto said.

"I'm not worried about the cops. If you take care of them, they will return the favor. Nothing a few dollars can't fix. The cops aren't my real problem right now."

"Is it Pasquale?"

John nodded in agreement.

"I've been hearing things about your rivalry with him. I must say, many of us are indeed impressed with how you are giving him a hard time. The asshole deserves it," Agosto said.

"I'm a fighter, it's in my blood," John responded.

"I can respect that. We all do. Now, you are considered one of the old timers, the last of an era. We want to work with you against Pasquale."

"I'm listening," John said.

"He's a parasite that needs to be eliminated. My family is in shambles because of him. The legit businesses we owned were shut down. It's now affecting the kids. He's a disgusting piece of rotted shit," Agosto said.

"I agree."

"I admit that I was impressed with how you beat them at their game, doing it the old-fashioned way," Agosto said.

John looked at him and tried not to confirm it, but both men knew better.

"Listen. I do realize that our families were at odds long ago, but that's water under the bridge and long before my time. I think it would be great if we stuck together. We have to look forward to the future, and there is a lot at stake here. I have no ill will toward you or your family. I think we all have something to benefit from getting rid the vermin that is in the prosecutor's office, don't you think? It will be for the interest of all of us, and having someone like you in City Hall will help all of us. We will throw our support behind your campaign, and you will help us solve our dilemma."

The-enemy-of-my-enemy-is-my-friend theory was beginning to take shape. A once-unimaginable alliance was forming between Chimera and the Ambrosino family. John nodded in agreement to the alliance and planned to have a sit-down meeting with Agosto to discuss further plans.

Lawrence was not far behind them and listening. He walked over to John once Agosto left. "Are you sure about working with him?" Lawrence asked.

"We are friendly; it's not like we are dating. It's peacetime and there is a bigger fish we all want to fry. They don't have any real power anymore. You've seen them. The Ambrosinos are a shell of their former selves. Pasquale nearly sent them all away to die in prison. They are coming to me because I have a bigger platform than they do, and they have no other options. We used to be number six on the totem pole. Not anymore. I know at the end of the day there is no loyalty, and we will handle them later, but first we have a few things we need to accomplish. They need me in so they can get work," John told him.
CHAPTER 8

##

Brenda spent the night at Lawrence's apartment. She sent Junior to his grandmother's apartment for the weekend. She desperately needed a break from everything and Junior was cooperative with her. The past few months had been overwhelming for everybody, and this was considered a vacation for her.

After spending Friday night with Lawrence, Brenda got up Saturday morning to take a shower. She didn't have clothes at his apartment, so she went in his drawer and reached for one of his white t-shirts. They were so big they fit like a dress on her. She did have her own toothbrush there. She grabbed a towel, a bar of soap, and a washcloth. When she went to retrieve her purse to get a couple of items, she spotted a note on it that hadn't been there the night before. She opened the note, which read, Go to the living room table. She looked over at Lawrence, who appeared to be in a deep sleep. She didn't have an idea what it was about, but she followed the instructions on the note.

When she went to the living room and approached the table, she found another note there. She opened it. It read, Go to the refrigerator. Brenda took both notes, headed to the kitchen, and opened his fridge. There was another note there. She opened it, and it said, Look in the kitchen window. There was another card sitting on the window seal. She read that one; it said, Go to the bathroom and open the cabinet. Brenda went to the bathroom and opened the cabinet. She saw another note in there. It said, Go to living room couch and look under the cushion.

Brenda was confused. She was tired of going from place to place in his apartment, but she had no idea what this was about. Brenda wanted to wake up Lawrence, but she did not want him to think that she was snooping all over his apartment. She continued to follow the instructions on the notes. When she looked under the middle cushion of the couch, she saw another note. It instructed her to Go to the dining room table. She went to the table, and there was another note. 'This is ridiculous,' she thought. Then she saw another note. Go to the bedroom.

Brenda went back to the bedroom, where she spotted Lawrence. He did not look like he had just come out of a deep sleep. He had put on a t-shirt and shorts. He stood right in front of her.

"I saw you tiptoeing around the apartment." He smiled at her.

Brenda wanted to explain herself. "I'm sorry. I saw this note in my purse, and I decided to follow the directions. It kept telling me to find other notes..."

"You don't have to apologize." He laughed.

Brenda looked around the room and saw roses on the nightstand. "Where did those come from? I swear they were not there a few moments ago," Brenda said.

"They are yours," Lawrence said.

"Thank you," she responded. Brenda walked over to the roses. Two dozen long-stemmed roses were sticking out of two vases. Lawrence had hidden them in a closet.

"No one has ever bought me flowers before. They are so beautiful, like the ones you see in the magazines or on TV," she said. She turned back around to say something to Lawrence, but he started talking.

"I'm inspired by your strength. You come from the hardest situation and still remain strong. There is going to be a lot of things happening in the next few months. The hope is that it will be good. I have lots of plans for the future, and it would be nice to have someone who is down for me by my side. No matter what happens with me in the future, all I know is that I want you there, cheering me on," he said.

Lawrence got down on one knee, removed a small velvet box from his pocket, and opened it. It revealed a tasteful three-carat engagement ring. "Brenda Marie Wilson, will you marry me?"

Brenda gasped. The ring was beautiful. The words sent shockwaves through her body. She shook a little. Brenda could not believe it. She had never thought that a day like this would ever come. No one had loved her like Lawrence.

"Uh-huh," she responded while nodding her head.

"I'm gonna assume that is a yes," Lawrence said and laughed.

"Yeah!" she said.

He took the ring and placed it on her finger. She began to cry. This time they were not tears of disappointment or hurt; they were tears of joy for the first time since she had given birth to her son.

***

Junior and the rest of his class each received a cap, gown, and fifteen tickets to the graduation ceremony. Thousands were expected to attend. He was graduating second in his class, and he wanted all of his family to see him speak. It was just the right number of tickets to invite everyone he cared about. He met up with Lawrence to offer him a ticket.

"It's almost time!" Lawrence told him.

"Yep. I got your ticket right here," Jerome Jr. said to him.

Lawrence was reluctant to take it.

"What's wrong?"

"Before I take that, we have to talk," Lawrence said. Jerome and Lawrence sat down. Lawrence took a deep breath. "Your mother and I have broken up. We broke up some time ago," Lawrence told him.

"What happened?" Jerome Jr. asked.

"I requested her hand in marriage a while ago and she declined. She liked our existing arrangement. I started dating someone else, and now I am engaged to her," Lawrence said.

"Rebound?" Jerome asked.

"No way. We are pretty much equally yoked. I love my fiancée, and I do love your mother. I'm telling you this because I don't want you to think I am disrespecting you or your mom in any way. I care for her very much, and I want to see her happy. She is not too pleased with my new engagement or with me right now, but I get it," he said.

"Thank you for being honest with me. I had no idea all of this was going on. When I see you two together, you look like a couple," Jerome said.

"We do that for you. It wouldn't have been fair for you to see any discord between your mother and me. I'm telling you this because I want you to comfort your mom. You are a man now and on your way to making your own life. She has had a hard time adjusting to losing you. You are her whole life. She knocked everyone aside to make sure you were the priority. I respect that. I just want you to know that I am not abandoning you. I feel it is also time for me to make some moves in my life. I think I can take the experience I have from helping you and put that energy into helping someone else's son who really needs it right now. The young lady I am engaged to has a son who could use some help so he doesn't die, doesn't hurt other kids, and doesn't suffer in prison. He's tangled up in a gang, and when gangs run out of people to kill, they start killing each other. They will rat on each other if it saves their own behinds. I have to teach him that being a man doesn't mean fighting for no reason. That is what he sees every day in school. Now this doesn't mean that I won't see you anymore; you still have access to me any time you want," Lawrence said.

"Good because you and Uncle John gotta come and visit me at the school sometime and watch me play. Are you still coming to my graduation?" Jerome asked.

"If your mother allows me in the building." Lawrence laughed.

"I'll talk to her. I will let you know what she says," Jerome said.

Lawrence and Jerome Jr. hugged. "Proud of you, little man. Wait, I can't even call you that anymore. You are big time now. When you get drafted into the NBA, I will tell everyone I knew you since you were a little kid," Lawrence said.

"When I get drafted, you and Uncle John will have a seat there to watch me."

***

Jerome returned to the apartment to find his mother cooking dinner.

"Hey, papi. How was your day?" Mariana asked. Junior went right to her and kissed her on the cheek like he always did.

"Today was good. I hung out with Lawrence," he said.

"Lawrence? What did he want?" Mariana asked with an attitude. She started mumbling things under her breath. Jerome saw it and decided to calm her. He tried to get her attention, but she didn't hear him.

"Mami? Ay, ma!"

Mariana looked at him.

"Mama, I know that you and Lawrence broke up. Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm all right, and I don't care."

"You don't sound fine. I've been around you long enough." Jerome Jr. said. He saw her eyes well with tears and walked over to her. He put her arms around her.

"I messed up. It's too late," she said.

"I've already spoken to him. He was honest and upfront with me. He still cares about you, and I believe him. You are not over Dad, and we all know this. I don't think anyone is over Dad. I've watched you hurt for eighteen years." Jerome Jr. said.

Mariana began to cry harder. "It still feels like yesterday. I never got to tell him goodbye."

Jerome felt his mother's pain even though he didn't have memories of his dad.

"You're leaving me too, and you are going so far away. What am I going to do?" she asked.

"Come to California with me," he said.

"I can't do that. You need your freedom."

"Fine. If you stay here, I want you to heal. You can't date anyone until you start treating yourself well. Promise me, Mama," he said.

Mariana looked at him and stopped crying. Treating herself well was the problem. She had stopped caring to a point where she would not let anyone else into her heart.

"I'll work on that, for you. I promise. Your dad would be so proud of you right now. Just as proud as the day you were born, when he held you for the first time," she replied.

"I'll continue to work on that," he said.

Mariana left the grip of her son to check on the food.

"I don't know how you are going to feel about this, but I still want Lawrence to see me graduate. He is a big part of the reason why I am where I am. He, Uncle John, Grandad, everybody helped raise me. I never felt that I lacked, thanks to them. I think that was Lawrence's real purpose. He was awesome but, to be honest, I didn't see it for the two of you anyway, and I believe you knew that. If you really don't want him there, I understand and I will tell him," he said.

Mariana did not want him there. She was angry at him because she was jealous, but the day was not about her. It was about Jerome. She decided to take the high road and honor Jerome Jr.'s wishes.

"Give him one ticket," she said.

"Thanks, Ma. I'm going to my room," he said.

"Okay, papi. I'll let you know when dinner is ready," she said.

"The offer to come with me is still on the table. You will be closer to me, and I can check up on you," he said while laughing.

"I'll sleep on it," Mariana told him.

The next day at the Chimera offices, Mariana approached Lawrence. They had been avoiding contact with each other as much as possible. Bunny gave up her room to Lawrence to separate the two of them and ease the tension.

Mariana wanted to give him something. "Jerome wants you there, so here is your ticket. It's what he wants, so you can come but don't sit near me."

Mariana saw a flash from the corner of her eye. She looked over and saw Brenda in the corner. She did not realize that Brenda was in the office. Her eyes peered down and stopped at her hand. She saw a ring. Mariana stared at it for a few seconds before she realized it was the same ring with which Lawrence had proposed to her. Brenda had it on her ring finger and was displaying it proudly. They were engaged. She could not believe it.

Mariana could not help herself. She looked up at Lawrence and smacked him so loud, a bunch of people in the room turned around. She walked away. Mariana was tempted to tell Brenda that he had offered the same ring to her, but decided to take her son's advice and take care of herself first.

'How much are condos in Los Angeles?' she thought.

***

"This is it papi. I'm so proud of you, my baby boy. I still can't believe you are leaving me," Mariana said. She straightened his sash and the tassel on his cap. She began to cry.

"Mami, don't cry. I'm still here for now. You got me for most of the summer. I'm helping out Uncle John and Aunt Bunny on their campaign for extra money, making phone calls and stuff. They pay well," Jerome Jr. said.

"Good because I can't have you out here on the street. It's too dangerous out there. You look so handsome in your cap and gown. Stand back. I need to take pictures of you," she said.

Mariana stood five feet away to get a few shots of Jerome with her disposable camera. "You look just like your father. I wish he could see this. He would be so proud of you. You know, when you were born, he was super excited to be a dad. He wanted to buy you brand-new everything, but Mom wanted to pass along the onesies and clothes your uncles and cousins had worn when they were small. She never threw away anything because someone somewhere was always having a baby. She said that keeping the clothes and the new kids wearing them was for good luck. I was conservative about money, and I thought, 'She's right. Why spend extra money when we have those things already?' You would just grow right out of those clothes in no time. Your father, John, and I were bunking together at the time due to a complicated situation, and your dad was keeping a low profile. I made him go to your grandmother's place to pick up the box so we could see what was in there. That was the last time I saw him alive. Sometimes I wonder, 'What if I wasn't so uptight and just bought the new things he wanted for you?' He would still be here right now to see this. I'm so sorry. It's my fault."

"Mami, don't beat yourself up for that. I'm sure both of you wanted only what was best for me, and I am grateful you loved me so much. You did your job, plus I had Uncle John and Lawrence. I wouldn't have been able to do it without you guys helping and believing in me, making sure I stayed focus and was on top of everything I needed to get done. Now it's time for you to do things for yourself. The offer for you to move out west is still on the table," Jerome said.

John and Bunny walked in with Jerome's grandmother and aunt.

"Hey, how are you guys doing?" Bunny asked. She was on her feet and would not have missed Jerome Jr.'s high school graduation for anything.

"I'm doing just fine now that you are here, Aunt Bunny. You look good," he said and gave her a hug.

Jerome and John shook hands and hugged each other. "Proud of you. I watched you grow into a carbon copy of your dad. That's a compliment," he said.

"Thanks. Thanks to all of you. I have the best support system, and I love my family," Jerome said. He walked over to give his aunt and grandmother a hug.

"Your daughters will be graduating soon, no?" Jerome's grandmother asked John.

"We got a few more years. We ain't there yet. My babies are still my babies," he answered.

It was time for Jerome to separate from the family and take his place with the other graduates. The family sat down in the spectator's section of the hall. As Jerome walked out, he looked around to see if he could spot Lawrence. He was seated one row behind the rest of the family. Jerome pointed at him and smiled, and Lawrence returned the gesture.

***

Lawrence escorted Paul into John's office. Paul was nervous and intrigued. He sat down in a chair in front of John's desk. He looked up and saw Bunny's provocative photo.

"That's quite a picture of your wife."

John was sitting there and staring a hole into Paul's head. "You're Paul Aaron," he said.

Paul stood in front of John's desk and extended his hand.

John did not move.

"Yes, I am. Pleased to meet you finally. I tried to interview you before, but your wife told me..."

John cut him off. "Sit down. You had to scrape the bottom of the barrel to get that shit you printed," John said.

Paul sat down and immediately started explaining himself. "The point was to get what it was like to be surrounded by you guys, get some insight into your history. If I interviewed only you, I would get filtered responses."

"So why ask my wife to talk to you? I know you are full of shit, and this article is complete shit. Tell me why I shouldn't come over this desk and beat your ass in this office right now," John said.

John had a way of getting information out of someone without doing much. He used violence only after all other options had been exhausted. "Hit first and ask questions later" used to be Jerome's specialty.

Paul was scared. He came in expecting to speak to candidate LeBlanc but instead got classic John LeBlanc from Chimera. His heart began racing. He started looking around for an exit. There was no way out but the window, and they were two floors up.

"I don't think my article was irresponsible. The magazine has an excellent reputation, so they care only about reporting the relevant and important information," Paul said.

"I don't give a fuck about that magazine. What I do give a shit about is your partnership with Dickhead," John snapped.

"Dickhead?"

"His government name is Mario Pasquale. The stories going to the rags, they come from him, and where did he get his information from? You." John pointed at him.

"I gave what I had to Mario Pasquale. I didn't pass along anything to the tabloids. I just shared the same information with him that I gave to Lifetime. Lifetime printed the edited version," Paul said and paused for a second. "Even if I did, what are you going to do to me? Kill me?"

"I won't kill you. Beat you up, sure. Kill? No. Now, why would I do that?" John said, emphasizing the I.

Paul's immediate thoughts after John's statement went to Bunny. Paul had to think of something to shift the subject.

"Your wife, I feel sorry for what happened to her. I really do. I am just as shocked as everyone else in the city," he said.

John got up and reached for two vodka glasses. He put one in front of Paul; the other one was for him. He got a bottle of BunnyWine and took it back to the desk. He sat and poured a little into both glasses.

"This right here is BunnyWine. It's named after my wife. I think you figured that out already. Take a sip," John said and watched him drink it.

Paul took a sip. He had never tasted it before. "This is not bad."

"I know. This drink lives and so will she. I will get right to it. I bought you here to tell you that this partnership or whatever the fuck you and Dickhead have going will come to an end right now. That means there will be no more leaks of information about us or whatever was told to you from anyone we know. As a matter of fact, you were never in this office. Just to show you that I am not unreasonable, I will compensate you for your troubles. I'm sure he has already paid you, so I am evening the playing field," John said.

Paul looked nervous. "He didn't pay me anything. I take pride in the integrity of my reporting."

"You fucking liar! I don't like liars," John said.

Paul knew he was not capable of working both sides. He would eventually get crossed up.

"I'm going to decline your offer," Paul responded.

"I don't think you get it. You do not have the option to decline. We own you now, the end. Fifty grand should suffice," John said sternly.

Paul was ready to pay hardball with him. "Fifty grand is kind of low ball, don't you think?"

"That's what I'm giving you," John said.

"Pasquale offered things that would add up to ten times more than that. I know you are loaded. I want five hundred thousand. I think my silence is worth it."

John sat back in his chair, offended at the gall of Paul to ask for that much. "Fuck no!" John yelled.

"How about you pay me and I won't tell anyone your wife had Ben Berardi killed or mention the real body count of your organization? See, Mr. LeBlanc, that article is the least of your worries. That and a few other things were left out of it. I did you a favor. I don't think I am asking for too much."

John sat there. His first instinct was to go to Paul's chair and knock him out, but he couldn't. He was in candidate mode. John was floored that this skinny punk was trying to extort him. John wanted to dispose of Paul, but he knew the rules. Never hurt anyone in the media because the press talks. Threats were okay because threats came with the territory for a reporter.

"I want you to listen to me and listen to me good. My wife had nothing to do with whatever happened to him. Leave her name out of your fuckin mouth. You hear me? Two fifty and that's it. It is strongly advised that you take the offer," John said.

Paul sat in his seat for a second. He had never seen two hundred and fifty thousand dollars at one time before. That would be more enough for him to upgrade his living situation. He knew he did not have other choices and still be able to stay in the city. He decided to take the money. He just needed a way to ditch Pasquale.

"It's a deal, Mr. LeBlanc," Paul said. He stood up to shake John's hand as if this were an official business deal. John looked at him with disgust. He did not return the gesture.

"You will have it by the morning. Get the fuck out of my office. Lawrence will escort you out," John said.

As Paul walked out of the office, he made one more statement. "I'm still a fan of yours," he said.

John and Lawrence looked at each other and then shook heads. It worked out the way it was supposed to.

***

Mario sat in his office looking over paperwork for another case. This one involved insider trading. Even though he had decided to run for office, he spent time when he was not campaigning consulting on other cases over the summer. The lawyers in his law offices were still hard at work on other trials. Mario's work never stopped, and it took precedence over everything, including his girlfriend and children.

His telephone rang. The caller identified himself as one of his campaign workers. It was the triggerman in Bunny's shooting.

"Hey Mr. Pasquale, it's me, Robert."

"Hello, Rob! What's going on? How are the plans going?" Mario asked.

"They are great so far."

"You sound different," Mario said.

"I'm battling a cold. I've had it for the past week."

"Hope you get better soon. What's going on, Champ?"

"We've found a location in the city where you can hold a rally. The old Bronx Borough Courthouse is still empty, and the owner has agreed to let us use it for the gathering. I think the backdrop of a courthouse is a great look. That is a district where you are lagging a bit behind John LeBlanc, so I believe that having a significant number of people there would look good. Just in case enough people don't show up, I have made a call to Central Casting to send us some people to fill in the gaps. It will be much more elegant and civilized than the one LeBlanc held a few months ago. The ones you've had so far have been small, but this will be the big push before the election. We have already notified the press with the date, which is Sunday. That's a good news day, not much is happening on a Sunday, so you should have no problem grabbing the top news spot. We even secured CNN to cover it. I think this will be big for your national profile. All we need is your approval and for you to take a look at the site first to make sure you are comfortable with the surroundings."

"Sounds good to me. When would you like me to pay a visit?" Mario asked.

"The rally is on Sunday so we need three days to set up. Thursday would be great. We can arrange transportation for you from your office and back, let's say around 7:30 am to beat the traffic. The earlier we get your approval, the quicker we can get you back to your office, set up, and lock in security."

"That sounds like a plan. I will be ready. Thank you for your excellent work so far," Mario told him.

"No problem, Mr. Pasquale. We will pick you up from the office. I have a driver who will call you when he arrives. You can meet him downstairs. We are here to serve you, sir," the caller said.

"I like how that sounds," Mario said.

The caller on the line hung up the phone. It wasn't Robert. He was duct taped from his ankles to his nose in a chair. It was Lawrence who had disguised his voice to sound like Robert.

"I'm going to tell you, talking like a white boy put a strain on my voice. I really don't like suburban dialect," Lawrence said.

Robert sat with fear in his eyes. He knew what was imminent.

"Now, what am I going to do with you?" Lawrence said to Robert.

***

Thursday morning came around. It was like any other morning for Mario Pasquale except he had to report to work early for his pickup. He had to check out the site for Sunday's rally. He got a call; it was the driver waiting downstairs for him.

When Mario got to the car, the driver opened the door for him.

"Thank you, boy," Mario said.

'Boy?' the driver thought. He was taken aback by the statement. He did not like being called a boy despite being a good foot taller than Pasquale and clearly over the age of eighteen. He had to swallow his pride because he had a job to do. "You are welcome, sir."

Lawrence was the driver, and he did not take well to disrespect. He was not sure if Mario meant to demean him or if Mario had been raised that way. He spent the entire drive debating whether or not to hit Mario Pasquale in the mouth. No wonder the urban community didn't like him.

When they arrived at the site, the building had a fence around it. Lawrence let him in.

"This is a beautiful building. I remember coming here when it was still open. Too bad it is languishing in an area like this. What a shame," Mario said. He entered the courthouse and looked around. "This place doesn't look like anything has started yet. I hope you guys will be ready by Sunday. A lot of work needs to be done in here. Why didn't you guys choose a facility that at least had working lighting?" he asked. Mario got out his cell phone to make a call. When he looked up, he saw someone walk through the door.

"No need to make any calls," a voice said.

Lawrence pulled out a gun.

The voice was John and Mario saw him.

"What is this? What the hell is going on? Why is he here?" Mario asked as he looked at Lawrence.

Lawrence shrugged.

John pulled a gun from his pocket and held it up to show it to Mario.

"Oh, so you are a wise guy again. This is a fucking ambush? I knew you and your entire operation were a sham. I thought you were on the straight and narrow, redeemed. What a load of crap. That is what you are selling to those stupid kids who follow you. What are you going to do with that, shoot me?" Mario said while laughing. "What a joke you are."

"Just because one is on the straight and narrow doesn't mean that if someone comes for his family or for him that he won't handle it. When that happens, all bets are off. What's funny is that I have a fraud in front of me calling me a fraud. I am a joke, just like your father was," John said.

"You know nothing about my family!" Mario said.

"I know that you are the son of a hitman who has a body count that puts mine to shame. The difference between you and me is that the system supports guys who look like your father. I had to come up on my own. You get to lie and cover for yourself. Your entire persona is bullshit. As far as this gun is concerned, I'm going to tell you a story. Back in the day, we used to play this game called Chimera Roulette. It involved a revolver like this one. A .22 caliber was our standard weapon of choice for this game. We liked these beauties because they were easy to conceal. They slipped in and out of your pocket with ease, no accidental discharges. We ran such a tight operation that there was no need to do public ambushes like the Ambrosinos did, no big guns. So that's why you have never heard of us shooting up a restaurant or a barbershop. No, we were trained to do most of our work with our hands and our brains. The point is to operate smart, always have a Plan B, and work with other people if necessary. This right here is Plan B. If we needed to put you down with a gun, all we needed were six bullets. Every chamber was a guaranteed hit. The object of the game was that we asked you questions. We knew the answers already but wanted to see how much you valued your life. Every time we got a wrong answer, you got another shot. One shot for each limb, the fifth for your stomach, and if you were really a fuck up, we would just finish you off with the last bullet...if you hadn't bled out already. I know you are quite familiar with revolvers, so I wanted to show you first before I started." John pointed the gun and shoot Mario in the left hand.

"You shot me! You fucking...you're finished, LeBlanc! You think you can get away with shooting me? Really? Do you know who I am and what I can do to you?" Mario yelled while clutching his left hand.

John began walking around. "By the way, you don't get to ask the questions in this game. I do all the asking. First question, you or your goons shot my wife, yes or no?"

"Fuck you, LeBlanc!" Mario answered.

"Wrong answer." John shot him in his left thigh.

Mario rolled over to his side to try and stop the bleeding. He was in a lot of pain.

"Pasquale, I think you are missing the point of this game. You are supposed to be truthful. I'm going to give you another chance to get this right," John said as he walked over and stood next to Mario. "Did your goons shoot my wife?"

"I wasn't the one who shot her," Mario answered.

"So you told someone else to do it," John asked.

"It was only supposed to scare her. He wasn't supposed to actually hit her with the bullets, just shoot around her. We weren't going to kill her. Aah!" Mario screamed in pain.

"But he did hit her, three times," John said and shot Mario in the right thigh. "Half-assed answers don't count," John said.

"You're fucking cheating!" Mario said.

"Cheating. You want to talk about fraud? Okay, let's do that. Cheating is purposely disenfranchising minority groups of residents, denying them their right to vote fairly in an election. Cheating is questioning their intelligence and treating them automatically as degenerates and criminals. Cheating is putting policies in place to keep them from succeeding. Cheating is compartmentalizing them as second-class citizens and using law enforcement to strong-arm them into submission." John's voice began to rise.

"Cheating is shooting my wife in the middle of a busy street with three bullets like she's an animal so you can use her to push your agenda! I think you are very familiar with what cheating is."

Mario's body started to shake. He was scared because he could no longer get up and move on his own. The pain was coming from too many places, and he was losing blood. "You are going to kill me, aren't you? I'm here so you can kill me. Don't you see, the people who matter don't want you there? Go ahead, shoot me and get it over with, you fucking coward. The powers that be won't have you beat me, dead or alive. Get it over with! That's what you wanted to do anyway, wasn't it?" Mario said.

The words brought back brief memories of Jerome Sr.'s wake. John could have taken Ben out back then but didn't. Bunny did not want John to kill Ben for the same reasons she would not want John to kill Pasquale now. Taking down Pasquale wasn't worth losing the race or his freedom. John knew this and had made other plans.

"Not only do you cheat, Mr. Pasquale, but you are forgetful. I'm not your only enemy," John said and whistled three times.

The door to the room opened, and Agosto Ambrosino walked in with an M16 rifle. He looked at John. "Hey, what's with the cracks about our big guns? These are pretty nice, you know; they shoot a lot of bullets fast. You ought to try it out for yourself. They are pretty light and sweet," he said.

"Nah, too much for me. That's for the young people. I won't kill him. I promised her. This was for my wife. Put three bullets in her, I put three bullets in him. I have a city to win. You can finish him off," John said.

"That's very honorable of you," Agosto replied.

John walked off and headed out the back door with Lawrence. On the way out, Lawrence let out a big glob of spit on Mario. "That's for calling me a boy. I'm not your boy," he said.

They went to a second car that had already been stationed there when Lawrence arrived with Mario. When Lawrence returned to the car, he removed his jacket and hat and changed his shoes so that he could dispose of them later. He handed John another pair of shoes so he could ditch his. As they were driving away, the sounds of a rapidly firing M16 could be heard in the background.
CHAPTER 9

##

On Saturday evening, several teenagers were roaming around the Bronx, looking for new walls to tag. Much of the city was already covered with graffiti, and they needed a fresh canvas to show off their work. The group consisted of writers and artists. The writers wanted to see their names everywhere. Some of their work was twenty feet tall. The artists wanted to paint colorful designs on the walls, trains, and automobiles in the city. Everyone in the group considered graffiti a sport and most abandoned buildings in the city were a target.

The walls on the outside of the Old Bronx Borough Courthouse had a few pieces of graffiti on them, but the inside was untouched. The kids saw an opening and thought that this would be a great place to hang out and show their skills. They walked in with their backpacks full of various colors of spray paint, ready to cover the walls. The stench of death was in the air.

"Yo, what the fuck is that smell?" one kid asked.

"It's got to be a dead dog or something," another one answered.

"Ugh. Why we gotta be in here? It's full of flies and shit."

The first kid walked farther into the area and saw Mario's body. It was unrecognizable, as so many holes had been put into him. He had been there for two days. Insects and flies were all over his body.

"That shit is gross. Who is it?"

"It's a suit. I don't know about y'all, but I ain't staying in here."

"Anything in his pockets?"

"You go and check. I'm not touching it."

The kid went over to the body with a stick. He used the stick to peek into the corpse's pocket and slide out his wallet. The kid used a piece of newspaper to pick it up and bring it over to his friends, swatting away the flies. They looked in the wallet to search for money and credit cards and saw the ID.

"Oh shit! That's that guy who is running for Mayor."

"No, it ain't! Why would he be in here?"

"Yes, it is. It's him, look at his license!"

"That's fucked up, man. Who lit his ass up like that?"

"Who cares? Do he got any money or cards in there? Grab those and let's get the fuck out of here."

"For real, who shot him up like that?"

"Who the fuck cares? He didn't care about us."

"Are we gonna call the police or something?"

"Hell no, they are going to think we did it. Let's get out of here now before people see us in here."

The kids ran far away with their cans of paint, leaving the wallet and what they didn't take out of it by his body.

One of the kids decided to put in an anonymous tip to the police at a payphone. When police arrived with their masks on, they found Mario with his wallet and the contents extracted from it.

The discovery was breaking news all over the country. It shocked many people and was celebrated by those whom Mario had crossed. Many of the latter had been incarcerated due to his trials. When word reached the county jails and Rikers, some prisoners threw impromptu celebrations.

The morning newspapers did not mince words. "Pasquale Whacked!" said the headlines. Paul received word about Mario's sudden death and was not sure what to think about the events. The most shocking part was that it had taken this long for someone to wipe him out, considering how much rival mob families fought each other over the decades. It was unclear whether or not Mario knew that his time was limited, but he wanted to seal his legacy by winning the election. His ego demanded it.

Despite the speculation, the events made Paul very nervous about his own safety, and he expedited plans to leave his old apartment building for a place that was more secure. He took the money that John had given him and put down a deposit on a luxury condominium in Manhattan. The place was safe, with a doorman and twenty-four-hour guards posted. He had to wait until the association approved his application. Once they learned he was a famous writer, they accepted his submission for residency.

John spoke to the press soon after the news of Mario Pasquale's death hit the airwaves. He did not want anyone to think he had any involvement. He cooperated with investigators when he was questioned and stayed true to the rule Bernie had taught him: Never give the authorities more information than they needed. John knew that Mario had made many enemies over the years, so the net for suspects was very broad, possibly in the hundreds, and spanned three decades. John had ditched the gun he had used to shoot Mario; he had submerged it in a concrete mixture, turned it into a block, and tossed it in the Gowanus Canal, never to be seen again.

John turned to the media to make a statement. Despite everything that was happening, he was still in campaign mode and had to make sure he appeared sympathetic to the press. He knew that the schematics of the race had changed. He was not guaranteed a win because he still had to run against the establishment.

"I'm very concerned. This could be the same group that targeted my wife. I will have my security increased and take appropriate measures to secure my safety as well as that of my family and staff. I send my condolences to his family. I'm sure this is a tough time for them. I understand the pain of having a loved one downed with bullets. Despite our differences over the years, I will say that gun violence in the city is an issue, and I will do my best to address it as well as tackle the cause of it, which is a lack of resources for the poorest neighborhoods in the city. People need jobs, and I will make sure the new projects in the city will employ those people. That will help the people who live there get back on their feet. The economy will take an upturn, and I want to make sure the city benefits from it. We won't be abandoned like we were in decades past. New York City is the future, and we are on pace to be the greatest city in the United States in another eight to ten years," John said.

 Bronx County Medical Examiner & Coroner Andy Pearson declined to comment Monday, and a spokesman for the Bronx County Sheriff's Department had no immediate comment, as the killing was under investigation. However, a person with direct knowledge of the investigation confirmed to the Associated Press that Pasquale had bullets in nearly every area of his body. The person wasn't authorized to publicly comment and spoke on condition of anonymity. An autopsy was performed on Pasquale, but toxicology tests were pending and authorities said it could take two weeks to get those results.

"We feel this was not a random act of violence based on the condition of the body when it was found," said a statement released by his campaign. "He was found approximately forty-eight hours after the incident. For many years, due to his role in the mob trials, Mario Pasquale has received death threats from various people who are involved in the Cosa Nostra. He found himself on a murder list and enlisted twenty-four-hour security detail for himself and his family. He recently switched security teams when he announced his run for New York City Mayor, many of those on the team performing double duty as campaign representatives. This was a cost-cutting measure that may have sealed Mr. Pasquale's fate. On behalf of his family, his children ask that the media please respect their privacy at this time of mourning. Any details about his memorial and funeral arrangements will be announced at a later date," his spokesperson said.

A representative for the Republican nominating committee was also present to answer questions about the election, which was slated to happen in another two weeks. "As far as the election is concerned, there are two options that the Republican nominating committee has. They can keep Mario Pasquale's name on the ballot, or fill the vacancy with a replacement candidate. This is unprecedented, as we have never had a candidate die right before the election. There isn't a lot of prep time for new ballots, so we will keep Mario Pasquale's name on the ballot in honor of him. If LeBlanc wins, he'll become Mayor. If Pasquale wins, the seat will be declared vacant, and a special session will be held to select a successor. On the top of this list is Lee Warren, a good friend of Mario Pasquale's. He is currently serving New York's 9th congressional district. He has won six terms, never receiving anything less than sixty percent of the vote. He has won and maintained his seat despite the district being heavily Democratic. He shares the same conservative policies as Mario Pasquale and wants to give the police more power to do their jobs in New York City. He will be a fitting replacement for the late Mario Pasquale, and I am positive he will take his great ideas and progress into the Mayor's office with much success."

***

On the morning of November 7, John, Bunny, and their daughters went to their local polling place after dropping off the boys at school. Local and national news media were present and following their every move. "This is an exciting morning for my family and me," John told them. "Many years of trials and tribulations got us here to this moment, and it is something all of us are proud of. I think we will do very well, but I am not taking one second of this for granted," he added. Both he and Bunny cast their votes and left the polling place. His daughters were sent to school. John and Bunny went directly to the newly built Crowne Plaza Hotel in Times Square. The construction had been completed last year, and John's campaign gathering was the first major political event to be held there.

John and Bunny nervously sat in front of the television and watched the returns in the hotel room. Despite it being the early 1990's, some people were not ready to see a person of color in a major office, especially in a major metropolitan city like New York. By now many people knew that Mario Pasquale had been corrupt, but they voted for him for the sole purpose of keeping out John. John decided to turn off the television and let his campaign staffers take over until it was time for the polls to close later in the evening. Lawrence left the area for a while to take care of business. John and Bunny spent the time in between to talk, then take a nap.

"I keep thinking about twenty-four hours from now. What will it be like for us?" she asked him.

"It will be just like any other day. Nothing will change for me. I just want to make sure you and the kids are comfortable. Tonight may be crazy," he answered.

"Are you nervous, even a little?" she asked.

"Just a little. I want to do a good job. I still have a lot to prove, but I have a good team behind me. My team is talented. They made me," John said.

They kissed each other.

***

Election day was the same date Paul was set to move into his new apartment. It was time to leave the crummy building in which he had been residing for years. This was the last day he had to go home to an aged, smelly building in a declining neighborhood. His new building contained a private pool, a gym, and a tennis court. It was the kind of setting in which Paul felt he deserved to live in. Paul felt optimistic about his future; playing both sides had proven to be beneficial to him financially. The shame of watering down his journalistic integrity had long since left him, and he was ready to start a new chapter in his life.

He did not have much in his apartment to move, outside of clothes and electronics. He was leaving all of the furniture for the next tenants. He wanted no trace of his previous living situation. In his new place, he could entertain guests and not be embarrassed.

He began moving boxes to the elevator so he could start loading the moving van he had rented, which was parked outside the building. Paul went to the elevator with his first box. It was full of items, so he had to drag it over. He pressed the button. The doors opened only about two inches and suddenly closed again. He pressed the button again, and nothing happened. Paul was furious. Once again the elevators were out of order. Paul began to curse as he put down his box.

"These fucking elevators. I can't wait to leave this shithole. I paid fifteen hundred dollars a month for this shit just to walk down nine floors of fucking stairs every other day."

He did not plan to make multiple trips up and down the stairs. Moving his items this way would take all day to complete and exhaust him before he even set foot into his new place. He would have to call for help, but he was not sure if someone would be able to make it that day. Paul began kicking the doors out of frustration. Without explanation, they unexpectedly re-opened.

When he looked in, it was dark. Suddenly he felt a hand on his back pushing him. The hand was covered in a black leather glove. He fell in and kept falling nine floors until, with a loud thump, he hit the top of the car that was resting at the bottom. His head struck the balustrade with such force that it split nearly in half. People who were loading in the car felt the force but didn't know what happened. Paul was thin, so the force shook the car but didn't disable it. Inside the car, the lights flickered off, then on again. All of the open elevator doors closed simultaneously and the idle car at the bottom started moving up to its designated floors as usual.

"Did you feel that?" a male passenger asked.

"It was probably a power surge," one of the female riders said.

"The buttons look normal," the male passenger replied.

"That was weird. I heard they were working on it finally. The elevators here are terrible and old," another man said, hitting the "door close" button on the panel.

"Maybe that thump fixed it. The ride is smoother already," the woman said.

Each rider got off on their designated floor. The elevator continued its normal operation for hours until an elderly resident walked into the car. It was after 4 pm, and there were no other residents around at that moment. As she was riding up to the eighth floor, the woman felt something wet hit the top of her nose. She thought it was water until she wiped it off. She looked at her fingers and realized that the wet droplet was red. She looked up and saw a big stain on the ceiling of the car, soaking the carpeted panel. Small drips of blood were coming from the corners of the emergency trap door. The covering was drooping to a point where it was just moments from collapse. The woman looked down and saw remnants of fresh droplets on the corner of the floor. They kept hitting her, spotting her green sweater. The woman grabbed the handrail in a panic and kept a tight grip until the car arrived at the eighth floor. She ran to her apartment to call the superintendent.

When the police arrived and had the elevator inspected, they discovered Paul's body tangled in the ceiling of the car. His remains were white as a ghost, as his body had bled out after being stuck there for hours. His blood had pooled at the top and escaped through the cracks of the emergency trap door. It also had been crushed numerous times throughout the day due to normal elevator operation.

It took investigators no time to identify Paul due to his identification in his pocket. The news of his death spread quickly after relatives were notified. By the time the six o'clock news cycles began to run, his passing was breaking news. The television stations began reporting it as soon as they got word from the police. The news was shocking to almost everyone who found out. It was the talk for the entire hour until the election coverage officially started.

"Yo, Lawrence. Did you hear about this?" John yelled.

Lawrence walked into the room. "What's up, man?"

"Paul Aaron, they found him dead in an elevator. They saying it looks like a freak accident," John said.

Both of them sat and watched the newscast. "That's fucked up. He got the biggest story of his life with all of the opportunities, and this happens." Lawrence shook his head.

"Should I make a statement?"

"Why? Unless they call you, then no. Just say some prayers for his family," Lawrence answered.

The evening news broke into official coverage of the election. Each channel had its own panel of guests and experts discussing the possible outcomes of the vote. Conservatives were furious about some of the exit polls that had John ahead and were taking jabs at him every time his name was mentioned. Liberals were returning the favor when the subject of corruption came up. They made it synonymous with Pasquale's name. Neither man escaped heavy scrutiny, but John was taking it in stride.

John and everyone else watched district maps that the news channels had erected to show the progress in the polls. For most of the night, the race was close. One district would go to Mario, and another would go to John. To no surprise, Mario won all of Staten Island and parts of Brooklyn, where he was native. John won nearly all of the Bronx and other sections of Brooklyn. They were practically tied in Queens. This went back and forth until they reached Manhattan. To his surprise, John won most of Manhattan.

When the final numbers were tallied, it was official. John LeBlanc was Mayor-Elect. Pasquale lost to LeBlanc by a margin of almost five hundred thousand votes out of the one and a half million votes cast. The margin of victory was substantial. Two-thirds of the city wanted John to lead them into the next decade. Bunny scooted next to John and gave him a big kiss. She didn't care if the kids or anyone else in the room were looking at her.

"Baby, you did it," she said.

"We did it," he replied.

She leaned in to whisper into his ear. "You know, I've never fucked a politician before." When it came to John, there was no such thing as having a dirty mouth.

He didn't know what to say, but he liked what he heard and grinned.

Lawrence was signaling him that it was almost time to head down to the hall. There were thousands of people already there, watching the results on television and celebrating. After twenty minutes, most of the individuals in the room headed to the elevators to go downstairs.

John, decked out in a navy blue suit with a bright blue tie, an American flag pin on one collar and a Chimera pin on the other, walked onto the stage and watched the crowd erupt in celebration. He stood in front of the crowds in disbelief. The roars were so loud, he could hardly hear himself think. The moment was finally here. Blue and white confetti fell down, and the music began to play. To his surprise, a hip-hop song started: "I'm the Magnificent" by Special Ed. Bunny and his daughters Sophie and Sandra were to his left. His sons John and Jaden were to his right. Lawrence was just a few feet to the side, but still visible. Mariana chose to stay backstage. He waved to her, then turned around and waved to the crowd. He grabbed Bunny's hand and walked to the podium.

An elderly black woman who was in the front row and had been nearly smashed into the barriers by the crowds didn't seem to care about the position she was in. She had lived in New York City her entire life. She had watched every change the town had gone through, every riot, every march, every power outage, every bit of racism since the early 1900's. She had lived to see this day and stood there so proud as if John were her own son. She had an American flag in one hand, a "LeBlanc for Mayor" poster in another, and watched John speak. The entire time she was in tears. She knew she may not be around long enough to see a black president, but this was close enough to her. This was history, black history.
CHAPTER 10

##

After the speech was done, John, Bunny, and the rest of the family retreated to the suite. The fireplace was lit, Cristal and BunnyWine were on ice, and the celebrations were on the way. Mariana walked over to John and Bunny to make an announcement to them.

"Mr. Mayor Elect LeBlanc," Mariana said and smiled at John and Bunny.

"We did it! I could not have done any of this, and I mean from all the way back, without you. We've been rolling for two decades now, girl. I have a spot for you in my administration if you want it," John said.

"Really? I'm honored. I'm really shocked right now. The foundation was my life," she responded.

"I can hire someone else to run it while we are in office. You can resume the position once we are done," John said.

"Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I can't believe it. I would love to take the position but I can't. We will have to roll from afar," Mariana said.

"What do you mean?" Bunny asked.

"I've already decided that I'm going to Los Angeles with my son. I think it's time for me to start a new life, focus on me," Mariana said.

"You are leaving us?" Bunny asked.

"No, I'm just moving farther away, that's all. My family is here, so of course I will be back often," Mariana answered.

"I'm gonna miss you," Bunny told her.

"So will I," John added.

"Oh girl, it's a six-hour flight. We can visit each other," Mariana said.

"I thought you hated flying."

"No, I meant six-hour flight for you," Mariana answered and laughed.

"Okay, girl," Bunny joked.

Both of them laughed and hugged each other.

"My boy will be back here for the holidays. I go with him when he returns for the semester in January. I'm excited, especially for the warm weather. I won't miss the snow," Mariana said.

"Does he know you are going with him?" John asked.

"Yes he does, smarty," Mariana answered, and they all laughed.

Lawrence yelled at John from across the room. "There he goes, first black Mayor of New York Mothafuckin City!" Lawrence joked. He walked up to John with Brenda in his hand. Mariana quickly moved out of the way to another part of the room to socialize with other guests.

"I couldn't have done any of this without you. I mean it. I could not have asked for a better partner," John said. Both men hugged each other. John looked at Lawrence. "Congratulations yourself, to the both of you," he said.

John and Bunny had been gossiping with each other about the happenings in the office. He knew that the situation between Lawrence, Mariana, and Brenda had already blown up and was grateful he had missed most of the action. John did not need to be there to see it because he had experienced it himself. He had no opinion of Brenda except that she was a bit loose, but if Lawrence loved it, he liked it.

"Just let me know when the wedding is," he said.

Brenda smiled at him. Bunny pulled Brenda aside to talk. "Excuse us, we girls need to speak to each other," Bunny said. The two women found a quiet corner in the room to talk. Bunny wanted to have a few words with Brenda.

"I'm glad to see that you are doing okay," Brenda said.

"Thank you," Bunny responded.

Both women knew of each other's situations. Bunny decided to be the first to address it.

"Girl, I thought I told you he was taken," Bunny said.

"I heard that, but apparently he didn't agree," Brenda answered.

"This puts me in a tough position. I'm happy to know you are finally at peace with your situation, truly I am, because that is what we are all about, getting our people in a better place in life. But Mariana is my family and she is hurt by the both of you. I listened to her cry on the phone for hours while I was in bed recovering in pain. The both of us, two hurt chicks. I'm in the middle, and I don't want to be in the middle," Bunny said.

"You don't have to be in the middle. I won't be in the way. I will be too busy. I got Junior to raise and maybe another one," Brenda said.

Bunny looked at her and then down at her stomach. "Oh, already? Does he know about it?"

"Yeah. We were not going to say anything until after three months and then you know...her," Brenda said and looked over at Mariana.

"Congrats. I really mean that. Babies are blessings."

"Look, about this whole situation. I know this puts you in a bad predicament, and I am sorry about that part. You may not believe this, but I didn't do it to go against her, even if she was a bitch to me. I swear I am not a bad person if you are thinking that way. I saw someone and I fell in love with him. I hadn't felt that way in a very long time. Do you know how it feels to be ignored by a person whose attention means the most to you? I'm sure you've never felt that way a day of your life," Brenda said.

Bunny had a quick flashback of her father.

"When you finally meet a person who says 'I love you,' and means it and treats you that way, you don't care what's happening with his situation. All you see is your future and your hopes and dreams in that person. No one has ever told me they loved me except my son, and I was not going to let that go. I don't care who was in the way. You should at least understand that part. I know you do," Brenda told her.

She was right. Bunny did know and understand. "Mariana wanted me to let you go, and I was going to do so because the situation would have been too difficult and volatile with both of you hanging around. Since John will be at Gracie Mansion now, he won't be in the office that much. That job, for now, is going to Lawrence. I could not leave the three of you by yourselves. The building would implode. But I'm not going to let you go. She's leaving with her son, so..."

"Thank you for understanding," Brenda told her. She paused for a few seconds because she had some things of her own to express to Bunny. "I'm not going to thank you for doing what you did to Junior's father. I know about that, and everything else, but I will say that I understand why you did it and you are forgiven. My son forgives you. I can't say I wouldn't have done the same. Lawrence is the best thing that has ever happened to Junior. He listens to Lawrence, and I met him because you invited me in," Brenda said.

Bunny was not going to confirm her involvement in Ben's death. She learned that from John. She wanted to get off the subject quickly. "Okay," Bunny said as she nodded her head in agreement. "Are we good?"

Brenda looked at Bunny with resolution. "We good."

"Congratulations," Bunny said and extended her good hand. Brenda shook it.

"You can come to the wedding," Brenda said.

"Oh, thanks," Bunny answered.

***

"I want to make a toast with my good hand," Bunny yelled to the guests in the room.

The crowd laughed with her. John went over to her and stood next to her, holding her bandaged right hand with care.

"I can't write anything, but I can hold this glass. I want to make a toast to my husband, my rock, the one who has held me up through this challenging and happy time. He taught me a lot of things about life. He taught me about sacrifice, how to grow, fall, and rise again. He made me learn how to lead and how to take charge and not feel bad about putting my family first. He taught me how to forgive myself. He made me feel beautiful and respected. He gave me the kids I always wanted, and he had never left my side even when I was stubborn. Since we took our vows, he remained genuine, and I appreciate that. I love him so much. He is now and forever my king."

Someone yelled from the back, "No, he's just Mayor!"

The crowd and John laughed. John wanted to say something to Bunny and the guests.

"That's my baybeh. I want to stay brief because I know we all want to go back to celebrating. She is the main reason I am here tonight. She planted the seed in me almost twenty years ago when we went to Jamaica to be more of an activist, be more of the solution instead of part of the problem, and to learn the system. I hope to be the Mayor you guys have hired me to be, and I promise to not disappoint you. The crime that is tearing up our great city will go away, I promise. The drugs that have destroyed our communities will decrease. There will be more opportunities for employment and our kids will no longer be shortchanged. It will be safer to walk the streets without fear of stray bullets." John looked at Bunny.

"That is a promise," he continued. "New York City will be one of the safest cities to live in by the time I leave in eight years, and yes I am calling it now, I will be here for two terms.

Thank you to my team, who has been with me since the beginning. Mariana, I want to wish you nothing but the best on your new journey with your son, my godson Jerome Dexter Jr. Lawrence, my right-hand man since the days at Kingston, will still be at the right hand holding down the fort at Chimera while I take care of you guys. I wish you and your fiancé nothing but the best in your future. My lawyer, business partner, and good friend Yannay, you are the best. I really mean it. My kids for helping me cope and being well behaved when I needed them to be. Last but really first, I want to thank God for keeping me alive and being the last man standing. To Bernie, Jerome, and even Ben, this was for you," John said and raised his glass.

The room broke out in a roar of applause for a good thirty seconds. John and Bunny kissed while everyone looked on and clapped.

When they were done, Lawrence walked back over to John. "That was the best speech I've heard in a long time. Good job man," Lawrence said.

"Thanks."

Lawrence pulled something out of his pocket. "Hey John, you don't mind if I toss these in the fireplace, do you? I need to get rid of them," Lawrence asked.

"No problem, man."

Lawrence reached into his pocket. He threw his black leather gloves into the fire and watched them burn.
