Black Lace Page 13

  As much as Drake would have loved to see Parker snatched up by NIA and dumped in a rain forest somewhere, Parker was a duly elected representative of the city, and as such, Drake had no choice but to deal with him.

  Turning from the windows, he leaned over his desk and hit a button on the intercom. “Ms. Curry, you can bring the councilman in now.”

  Drake took a deep breath and waited for Parker to arrive.

  When he walked in, Drake noted that Parker could’ve been Mike Tyson’s daddy. Parker was taller than the former champion and lacked the bizarre facial tattoo, but both men shared the squat powerful body type. “Have a seat, councilman. Can I get you coffee? Water?”

  Brusque as always, Parker said, “No,” then sat down in one of the plush leather chairs ringing the front of Drake’s desk.

  “How’ve you been?” Drake asked, making small talk.

  “Fine. You?”

  “I’m okay. Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, let’s talk about your concerns with the Blight Court proposal.”

  “We can get to that in a minute.”

  Drake shrugged nonchalantly. “Take the conversation wherever you want it to go.”

  “According to yesterday’s paper, one of those vans showed up over the weekend.”

  “What vans?”

  “Those Dope Buster vans.”

  Drake had received a coded text message on Sunday from Myk about the story. “Ah, yes. Ms. Curry mentioned it to me this morning when I came in.” Drake didn’t say more. He waited for Parker to further the conversation, or not.

  “What do the police know about these people?”

  “Not much. Usually before the police can be dispatched to the scene, the vans are gone. The detectives say it’s like trying to catch smoke.”

  “Are you sure this isn’t some kind of federal group?”

  “They say they’re not involved.”

  “Do you believe them?”

  “Doesn’t matter what I believe, the feds are going to do their thing.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  Drake studied him, then asked, “Are you trying to put me on the spot for any particular reason?”

  “No. Just curious, that’s all. I’d think the mayor would be more concerned about a lawless gang of vigilantes terrorizing citizens.”

  “Who says I’m not concerned? Law enforcement is doing all it can. I have every confidence in them. What else?”

  Parker studied the doctor mayor. It was Randolph’s arrogance that he hated most, he decided. That and the fact that Randolph was pretty, rich, and acted as if his shit didn’t stink. Parker couldn’t wait to bring him down. “About this new Blight Court.”

  “Yes?”

  “Why are we wasting money on it?”

  “If you read the report you’ll see that it isn’t a waste. I’ve talked to some of the magistrates in Chicago—”

  “I don’t care about that. We need improved streets, schools, and city services like improved buses, and you want to nickel and dime the last few viable businesses in the city with these new fines? It stinks.”

  “We’ll only nickel and dime them if they violate the codes. Have you seen the stats on asthma and other respiratory diseases for kids in our communities? The numbers are off the charts, and it’s from what they’re breathing. You don’t want to oppose this, councilman. You’ll lose. I can get the churches, the hospitals, and the schools to jump on the bandwagon. Won’t look good at election time.”

  Drake paused a moment to gauge Parker’s reaction, but in reality he didn’t care. “Now, I certainly understand if you have friends worried about getting caught doing whatever they are doing, but that’s not my concern. My concern is cleaning up this city. Period.”

  “You really think you got the world by the balls, don’t you?”

  “No, but I am the mayor, and I don’t like being challenged just because you don’t like my suits. Now, you got anything else? If not, I have work to do.”

  Parker stood. “This isn’t the end.”

  “If you have any sense, it will be.”

  “You threatening me?”

  “No. I’m trying to school you.”

  Then Drake said to him, “Whatever schemes or machinations you believe you have up your sleeve—you’d better think twice about exposing them, because you really don’t want to mess with me. The suit is only a facade.”

  “Oh really?” Parker said with a challenge in his eyes. “Well, we’ll see. Won’t we?” He walked to the door and said over his shoulder, “Have a good day, Your Honor.”

  “You too, councilman,” Drake tossed back. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know Parker was up to something. He could smell it.

  “Hey you.”

  Lacy was startled to see the angry Lenny Durant in her office doorway. Since she didn’t like being addressed as “Hey you,” she put down her sandwich and said, coolly, “Can I help you, Mr. Durant?”

  “Yeah. Somebody’s dumping medical waste and other stuff all over the southwest side. Barrels started showing up Friday night. Here’s a list of the sites.” He came in, handed her a sheet of notebook paper covered with writing and diagrams, then he walked out.

  “Hey, wait a minute.”

  He turned back and those eyes glowed like brimstone.

  Whatever Lacy had planned to say vanished under the force of his direct stare. “Thanks for the tip.”

  He nodded and left.

  Lacy’s first call was to the mayor’s office. Rhonda said he was in a meeting but would alert him ASAP. Lacy’s next call went to the Michigan State Police. She explained the situation then faxed them a copy of Lenny’s list. A few minutes later a trooper called back and told her squad cars and the Hazardous Materials Unit, known as HazMat, were on their way. He asked that she meet them there. Lacy hung up and went to find Ida.

  By eight that evening the area around the barrels had been cordoned off with yellow tape, and the HazMat crews in their plastic suits, air regulators, and gloves were loading the barrels into their trucks. The barrels had been discovered behind a small grocery framed on both sides by vacant lots. Lacy looked up and down the street. Even in the dark it was easy to see that this was one of the city’s poorest neighborhoods. Most of Detroit’s Spanish families lived here next to poor Whites, Blacks, and Chaldeans.

  All the police activities had drawn a curious crowd of local residents. Lacy wondered if anyone had seen anything. She walked over to the tape and asked, “Did anybody see who dumped the barrels?”

  No one had. “Okay, my name’s Lacy Green. I work for the city in the Environmental Office. If anybody saw anything, please tell me so we can put these thugs away.”

  Nothing.

  Ida met Lacy’s eyes and shrugged.

  Lacy hid her frustration. “Then can I get some people to help me form a Neighborhood Watch here to look out for dumping? The city’s going to have some new laws soon, and if we can get pictures of the trucks or the people doing this, it’ll help with the prosecution.”

  An older Chaldean man stepped into the arc of the streetlight. “I’ll help you. That’s my store. The policeman said I may have to shut down until they find out whether the stuff in the barrels is poisonous. How am I supposed to take care of my family?”

  Lacy sympathized with his dilemma, and took his name and contact information. Five other people volunteered to add their names to her list, and she was encouraged. She spent a few more minutes asking if there was a place in the neighborhood where a communitywide meeting on the dumping problem could be held. A Mexican woman who’d been standing by the tape with a child in her arms suggested the local Catholic church. Lacy wrote down the name of the priest in charge and promised to give him a call.

  She could see the trooper in charge giving her the high sign, so she excused herself and she and Ida went to see what he wanted. She saw Drake standing a few feet away, talking to a group of reporters, but she was intent on the trooper. She’d get with Drake later.


  The blue-uniformed state policeman had bittersweet news. “Your tipster was pretty accurate. According to my dispatcher, six more sites have been found not far from here. It’s gonna be a long night.”

  And it was. In addition to the medical waste behind the Chaldean grocery, the troopers found barrels beneath an expressway overpass, others behind a school and in the parking lot of a rest home. The HazMat workers weren’t sure what was in the barrels, but preliminary tests showed the liquid waste to be toxic. Lacy was furious that the polluters would target the health of children and senior citizens.

  When she finally got a chance to talk with Drake, he was as upset. “I’m with Lenny Durant. Let’s just shoot them. What kind of sick person leaves toxic waste on a playground?”

  As the night got longer, Drake and the troopers suggested she and Ida head home, but they refused and followed the HazMat unit from site to site. By the time they finally did head home, it was 1:00 A.M.

  Once there, an exhausted Lacy fell across the bed. All she could think about were the heartless polluters and their toxic surprises. With so many barrels found within that one specific area, did it mean all the stuff was the work of one crew, or were there multiple polluters at work? She didn’t know. Everytime she thought about the barrels at the school and the old people’s home she got mad all over again.

  Myk handled NIA’s day-to-day operations from an upstairs room in his house the organization called the War Room. It was jammed with computer monitors, satellite equipment, and everything else needed electronically to oversee NIA and its missions. Drake, Myk, and Myk’s personal driver, Walter, were huddled in the room now. Walter was one of the organization’s top lieutenants.

  Drake handled all of the computer programming, graphics, and charts. At the moment, the three men were gathered around a monitor showing a map of the city. Drake was keying in markers on the streets and businesses where the illegal dumping had taken place. He was trying to determine if there was a pattern, but other than the fact that all the incidents were confined to the southwest side, no other similarities could be seen. He also wanted a copy of the map for his own files for future reference.

  He turned to Myk and Walter. “If we can pull some NIA crews from other projects and let them patrol the area, maybe we can catch somebody in the act.”

  Myk agreed.

  Walter said, “I’ll see who can be freed up.”

  Drake input a few more locations and told his brother, “I had a real ugly meeting with Parker yesterday.”

  “About what?”

  “A new magistrate’s office we’re setting up to prosecute blight code violators.” Drake then told him Parker’s reasons for opposing the new office.

  Myk asked, “So what does the councilman have his dirty fingers in that he’s concerned about?”

  Drake shrugged. “I wish I knew. Maybe then I could get him off my back permanently. He asked about the recent Dope Busters sighting. Wanted to know why I wasn’t more concerned about a gang of vigilantes terrorizing the citizens.”

  Walter asked, “Did you wash his mouth out with soap? He’s the biggest terrorist in the county.”

  “It was like he was looking to see how I’d react.”

  “Do you think he knows something?”

  “That’s how it felt, but?…” Drake shrugged, unable to make it any clearer.

  “Well,” Myk said, “if I were Parker, I’d be more worried seeing vans from the Federal Prosecutor’s Office.”

  “How’s it going?”

  “Nothing on Wheeler, still. We’re assuming he’s dead at this point.”

  Drake turned from the screen. “Since Parker is in the trash business, when are you going to start searching the landfills?”

  “Soon as we can convince a judge to issue the order. Right now, the courts keep telling us we don’t have enough evidence.”

  Walter said, “The judge thinks our mole may have disappeared on his own. Las Vegas. The Bahamas. Turns out Wheeler had a large offshore shell corporation set up. Had almost fifteen mil stashed away.”

  “Wow! Did his wife know about this?”

  “Nope, and she’s hopping mad. Apparently, she was working midnights as a waitress to help out with what her husband told her were their financial problems.”

  “Why’d he drop a dime to the feds on Parker if he was embezzling?” Drake asked.

  Myk shrugged. “Maybe Parker was threatening him. I don’t know. The feds said he showed up one day and wanted to talk.”

  Walter said, “Maybe he didn’t think they’d be interested in his embezzling if they were too busy trying to fry Parker.”

  Myk said, “Who knows? The only thing in stone right now is Wheeler has disappeared and one of Parker’s trucks was carrying marijuana.”

  “Knowing what we know about Parker,” Drake said, “Wheeler’s disappearance looks real suspicious to me.”

  “That’s what we tried to tell the judge.”

  Drake did a zoom on some of the intersections to get the street names. He wanted these people caught, if he had to catch them himself. He made a mental note to track down Lenny Durant to see if his people had come up with anything new.

  Myk, changing the subject, asked, “So, now that the woman you ran off the road is talking to you, have you had dinner with her yet?”

  Drake smiled.

  Walter laughed. “I’ve seen that look before. He must’ve gotten lucky.”

  “Luck, no. Charm and game, yes.”

  Myk rolled his eyes. “Bet you didn’t tell her you were still writing back all those crazy women from the magazine article.”

  “I did.”

  Walter said, “And what’d she say?”

  “That she thought the women were crazy too.”

  Myk howled.

  Drake took the teasing good-naturedly. “Laugh if you want, my dragon brother, but she’s coming to Gran’s party with me.”

  “Good for you. Can’t wait to meet her.” Then Myk added, “Bet you didn’t tell her you had a brother cloned from Inspector Gadget, coat and all.”

  Drake thought about their half-brother Saint with his coat full of tricks, and he admitted freely, “That, I didn’t tell her.”

  Walter said drolly, “I don’t blame you, man. Things like that have to be seen to be believed.”

  The War Room echoed with laughter.

  Ten

  Lacy and her officemates spent the rest of the week dealing with the dumping incident. Calls from residents sent her and the HazMat techs scrambling to check out new sites, and while the techs evaluated, tagged, and hauled the evidence away, Lacy added the information to her reports and fumed over the rising number of incidents.

  Drake was in Chicago for a three-day Great Lakes Regional Water Commission meeting, and although he’d called her, her late night forays with HazMat made her so tired, their conversations were short. By Friday evening she was so glad to leave work she wanted to yell “Hallelujah.” She was really looking forward to the dinner with Drake on Saturday night.

  Saturday afternoon, Drake drove slowly through the distressed southwest neighborhoods where the dumping had taken place. Although he’d gotten updates on the situation from Lacy and Rhonda while he was in Chicago, he wanted to make sure the tape cordoning off the areas was still intact. It wasn’t his job, but he was the mayor and he felt a certain responsibility. Guided by the map he’d printed out at Myk’s, he checked out the Chaldean store, the elementary school playground, and the parking lot of the tired-looking rest home. The tapes were all intact, and Drake’s jaw tightened at the thought of polluters using poor neighborhoods as their toilets, while keeping their own communities clean. According to Lacy’s Blight Court report, polluters had all kinds of excuses for justifying dumping their toxic loads in the city’s alleys. They blamed high taxes, tariffs, endless red tape, and the sometimes business-strangling laws governing transportation, packaging, and disposal. Some of the dumpers were convinced that the struggling neighborhoods of big ci
ties like Detroit, Chicago, and Philadelphia were sewers anyway, so a few more tons of toxins and polluted waste wouldn’t make a difference. That attitude, more than anything else, was why groups like BAD wanted to take these people out by any means necessary. The polluter’s disrespect and their assumption that it was okay to dump barrels of syringes and bloody toweling on school grounds and in the parking lots of nursing homes made Drake angry too. The last time he’d been this angry, he’d formed NIA, and the city’s drug dealers had been looking over their shoulders ever since. He wanted to give the polluters the same kind of hell, but he had to find them first.

  Frustrated by the fact that there was nothing more he could do about the dumping for now, he drove his cobalt blue Mustang out of the southwest side and headed east. He needed a haircut, and the only place in town where he could be himself was at Clyde’s on Baldwin and East Forest. He put in his new favorite CD, The House of Urban Groove, and let it soothe the savage beast. Over the sounds of the jamming horns and thumping bass, he cruised his city.

  Drake drove around whenever he had the chance; sometimes late at night, other times at dawn. Medical school and the vampire hours of residency and interning seemed to have permanently lessened his need for sleep, so while everybody else in the city not working midnights were home snug in their beds, he would be out driving. He rarely took his bodyguards, Lane and Cruise, with him, something his lady police chief didn’t like, but Drake never worried about his safety. Number one, who was going to mug the mayor? And two, anybody foolish or brave enough to try would learn that the mayor, like a good portion of the city’s residents, rolled armed.