A smile broke on his face as he stretched out his hands, welcoming both the press and little Keisha James as she walked toward him with the Claytons.
Turning back to the crowd, he felt a sudden terror flip-flop his belly, making him physically stagger, the smile faltering for the first time in his career. Standing to his right was a grinning Gil Mason.
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The camera lights flashed and popped and clicked as Senator Marsh nodded at me. I let the grin widen and nodded back. Just two old buds, meeting up in front of the world.
He snapped back fast, I have to give him that; a professional politician to the core. The smile returned and his hands continued to take all the crowd in.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, and it was the best Morgan Freeman of them all, full of rich bass tones, melodious and smooth and classical. “Thank you all for coming today. The real reason we are here is to pay our respects to justice.” He reached down and placed a fatherly hand on little Keisha’s shoulder, looking down on her with a mixture of pride and humility. “This little angel has been restored to us, the citizens of Chicago, safe and sound. Her mother was murdered and she was kidnapped three years ago by a gang member named Jerome Larkin. I became aware of her plight through my charity organization, The Marsh Foundation. Since then, we have worked tirelessly to restore her to her family.” He held his hand out to the man and woman standing by Keisha James, shaking their hands in turn. “The Claytons,” said Marsh. “Little Keisha’s aunt and uncle. Her only surviving relatives.”
He then turned to me.
“And this is Gil Mason of Sheepdog Detective Agency, working out of Colorado. His firm aided us in securing Keisha and bringing her back to us.” He shook my hand and I shook it back, smiling for the cameras like a good boy.
After that, Marsh finished his speech. Questions were asked and answered and then the press was led out of the room. Keisha gave me a dirty look as her pretend relatives took her to a side room. Marsh told his security detail to wait outside while he spoke with me and we were alone, just the two of us.
As soon as he turned to me, the kid gloves came off and the true Alvin Marsh appeared. Not the slick politician. This was the old-time Blood gang-banger. Seeing the real man, I knew his police record had to have been doctored. There was no way he’d only had a few minor violations. No, this man was a killer.
“You think you’re pretty slick, don’t you?” he said to me. “Prancing in here like this. Parading yourself in front of the press. You think that makes you safe? Is that what you think?”
He picked up his cell phone. “Clyde, get in here.”
“Surprised to see me?” I asked. “Alive I mean?”
His jaw flexed like he’d eaten a bug and his eyes drilled lasers through me. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
“You mean what you’ve gotten me into, right? It was you who came to me, not the other way around.”
I saw the change come into his eyes. He was thinking, plotting, reverting from the primal fight or flight brain of the street warrior to the long-term thinking of a strategist.
“Maybe I misjudged you,” he said, sitting at his desk and steepling his fingers. “What is it you want?”
“What is it you think I want?” I asked, letting a little smile play at the corners of my lips.
He nodded as the door behind him quietly opened and closed.
Without turning, Marsh said, “Maybe you were wrong about him, Clyde. Maybe Mr. Mason here is willing to play ball after all.” He pointed his two index fingers at me. “But you’re after something more than money. A position? You want to be part of my staff? Or is it something bigger? Ah, I see. You’re thinking ahead, aren’t you? After I take office.” He touched his fingers to his chin.
“What do you think, Clyde? Is he worth that? He has proven to be resourceful.”
“Resourceful?” I said. “I know everything.”
“Everything? What do you mean by that?”
“I know that you are the leader of the Bloods here in Chicago. That you’ve been having law enforcement go after the other gangs and clearing a path for the WSSBs to take over. I know that your charity foundation is a sham to funnel the money into your bank account. And best of all, I know that you are Keisha’s father and that’s why you want her dead. I had your DNA tested from the beer you drank at my house. I got Keisha’s when she was at the police station in Aurora. Perfect match. You are her father. That’s why you had Jerome and his pals go to her house and kill her mother. Only you didn’t count on someone else being there or that Jerome would balk at murdering a little girl in cold blood. That’s why you hired me. To find her and get her here so that you could hide the truth and the DNA evidence. That’s what I know.”
Marsh sat there, staring at his hands for maybe thirty seconds before taking a deep breath and nodding. “I’m afraid, Mr. Mason, that that is a little too much information for you to have and still be allowed to live.”
Behind him, the mountain of a man pulled out a gun with a silencer attached and pointed it toward me.
“What? You’re going to shoot me? Here in your office?
Marsh leaned back in his chair. “There are no security cameras in here, Mr. Mason. Whatever narrative I create is exactly how it will play out to the press.” He paused. “Tell me, how did
