Nothing Will Come Between Us

Chapter One This was not one of those overpriced hotel rooms in downtown New Orleans. In a place like this, there would be no cheap pillowcases, shaggy bath towels or vomit stained carpets. This wasn’t exactly the room that drunken tourists would use to recover from a long night of binge drinking out on Bourbon Street. This was an exclusive Presidential Suite. The very top floor of a five-star luxury hotel. With its cool marble floors and breathtaking paintings, poor black men like me, are not supposed to be able to afford such luxury or even be allowed to come up here. Attempting to fight away the nervous butterflies in my stomach, I once again adjusted my cheap powder blue tie before popping several peppermints into my mouth to cool my hot breath. This was indeed a foreign environment for me, and I could literally feel the heavy weight of the ambience of eloquence that surrounded me. The room’s plush furniture, rare artwork and exclusive décor overwhelmed my limited existence. Unable to quail my silent discomfort, I rose from my seat and aimlessly paced the room before it’s panoramic view of New Orleans caused me to stop and ponder. Looking down from behind the large panel windows, I took in the magnificent view of the Mississippi River as it stretched out towards the light blue horizon. The river seemed to churn like an angry brown mass of life from my high perch in the heavens. I noticed that several small tugboats struggled to transit the river’s mighty current as I watched the swirling brown water toss them around like plastic toys. Being a black man, I could relate to the unique plight and challenges opposing the besieged tugboats. In a world where I was surrounded by such godly beauty and elegance, my every effort to fight my way forward in this world had been filled with the ugly realities of progress. Even as a young child, I always knew that I would grow up to become a pastor, and after years of prayer and dedication, that is exactly what I had become. Yet, despite my own selfish plans for my life, God saw fit to alter my path and guided me to work for Robert Charles. At Robert Charles, I found myself fighting a war that many black men had chosen to ignore or fearfully neglect. Living this new life as a Counter-Racist hitman, I spied out White Supremacists and waited for the perfect moment to visit the vengeance of the Lord upon them. In this business, perfection and precision are paramount. I patiently counted the days until Robert Charles would order me to reap the cold law of justice from the soil of this hate-filled earth. Unlike packed Sunday services, combatting White Supremacy is an unpopular task that is too often shunned and ridiculed within black society. Due to this, I often find myself alone and detached from the very people I’m fighting to save. Yet, from the embarrassment of luxury within this Presidential Suite, it felt like the world of chaos that I had come from was somehow fake or intangible. In this hotel room, I found myself detached from my own black reality. Inside of this privileged little bubble, I was immune from it all. While I watched the world beneath where I was at that moment, one thought dominated my mind. There is no way I could afford to stay alone in a room like this, not even for one selfish night of pure self-indulgence. Even if this unrealistic peace was all just a momentary gift. Even if this room was just a short reprieve from my dangerous reality, I decided it was best to soak it in as much as possible, while never forgetting what was truly important to me. The only thing I was missing in this moment was her. Her presence would have made this throne a perfect one as we would both stare down at this kingdom from our perch in the heavens. I would do anything to share this moment with that beautiful black woman. To see the look in her eyes as she viewed the world I had set before her feet. Besides, it’s little things like love that motivate men to greatness or in some unfortunate cases, infamy. Before I walked through the hotel’s ice-cold lobby, I had called her, but there was no response from her end. My heart hoped that she might be eager to hear from me, but instead, I felt that same ole disappointment as her phone continued to ring without her answering. Instead of hearing the sweet sound of her voice, all I heard was the robotic tone of her depressing voice mail. Once again, I was left to debate if chasing after this beautiful black woman was truly worth my efforts. The sudden sound of a door opening and footsteps tapping on the cold marble floor broke my inner quandary. On instinct, I jerked my eyes away from the window and looked over my shoulder. It was my boss, Mr. Darryl. As our eyes met, I noticed the faint look of exhaustion on my mentor’s face. His pace was slow and delicate as he walked towards me. Mr. Darryl was a short black man with a noticeable limp in his stride. His gold-plated walking cane glistened as he leaned against it with each deliberate step. He appeared stylish as his three-piece suit was perfectly tailored. The sweet fragrance of his cheap cologne reminded me of the dutiful church elders I would see at worship services as a young child. The wrinkles on his brown skin conveyed the wisdom gained from experiencing decades of life’s unique plight. I could see small beads of sweat forming on his forehead, just below his fading grey hairline. This was the old wise man that had taught me everything that I knew about this business. Mr. Darryl cultivated me from my old life as a pastor, and into my new calling as a hitman. For me, he was the earthly father of this reborn life I had chosen. “Let’s have one last look at the damn evidence before I make the final call son,” Mr. Darryl explained as he pointed his cane towards the dining room set. I grabbed my briefcase and rushed over towards the thick glass table. Out of respect, I pulled out his chair and helped ease him into his seat. After seating myself, I opened my briefcase and removed its contents. It took several minutes to arrange the evidence on the table in front of my boss as he quietly watched like a curious father, inspecting what I was doing. “Thank you for being so patient with this old man,” Mr. Darryl offered with a bright smile. “When you get my age, son, bathroom breaks tend to get a little more exciting.” “No problem Mr. Darryl,” I replied with a chuckle. He picked up a stack of photos and began thumbing through them, pausing only briefly to peer down at each one with a focused squint through his thick set of bifocals. I steadied myself for the inevitable follow-up questions I knew were surely coming. I was certain he had questions about what I had been able to find out. If he didn’t have questions, our big bosses at Robert Charles would certainly have a few questions to ask me themselves. “Young man, can you do me a favor?” Mr. Darryl asked without even bothering to look up at me. “In the refrigerator, on the bottom drawer to the left, there is a bottle of natural apple juice sitting next to a small fifth of Jack. Make me a drink please.” “Yes sir!” I murmured on my way to the kitchen. “Just a splash of that Jack now. I just need a little taste, so don’t go crazy,” he explained as he picked up another stack of photos to examine. I made it to the kitchen and carefully mixed Mr. Darryl’s drink before bringing it to the dining room. “Here you go sir,” I said while placing the drink in front of him. Without hesitation, he grabbed the drink and took a big sip while glaring at me with an intense stare. “Tastes about right”, he said with a surprised expression. Mr. Darryl took several more sips while scanning a photo with a curious grin. I could feel the questions coming, and I braced myself to provide him the right answers. “You like my hotel suite, son?” He asked with a wide smile. “Yes sir,” I eagerly replied. “Do you…want this suite for yourself one day, son?” he asked. “Well…yes sir. I guess I would like to be up here one day.” Mr. Darryl laughed at me and turned his eyes back to the photo. “Yeah, this is really nice isn’t it? For over forty years, Robert Charles has been good to me,” he explained. “Robert Charles saw it fit to hire me in the late 70’s back when I was kneecapping these damn bastards up in Memphis. They moved me down to Baton Rouge to put in a little work and I’ve just stayed down here ever since.” “When I first moved to New Orleans, I lived with a beautiful black woman named Gwendolyn. I met her at a Church over in New Orleans East. She was a fine little thang with brown skin and beautiful brown eyes. She was everything a black man want in a Black woman. She always kept the house clean and made sure that there was good food to eat at all times.” “She adored me, and I was in love with her, but it didn’t work out though,” Mr. Darryl declared with regret in his eyes. “Young man, our occupation will absolutely kill your love life. No black woman will support what we must do here. Remember that and prepare yourself for it. You must be willing to deny yourself for all of this to work out.” “Since you’re about to retire,” I jokingly interjected. “You should think about giving Gwendolyn a call and see if ya’ll could give it one last go. Maybe the Lord will bless both of you this time around. You never can tell what God’s plan is until you exercise some faith.” “I wish I could Achim,” he dismissively responded with dejection in his spirit. “If I had it to do all over again, I would choose a life with Gwendolyn over this damned Presidential Suite any day of the week. A big part of me still loves that woman a whole lot. I guess it’s the notion of it all that still has me captured these days.” “Thank God this black man only has one life to give because if I had another crack at it, I wouldn’t have the strength to give my life away so easily. Especially, if I knew what I know now. I’d choose me instead of this lonely life working with Robert Charles. I’d choose to be selfish son.” He explained, now having blood-shot eyes. Mr. Darryl’s words touched me as I saw him wipe away a tear with his balled fist. I never knew how he truly felt about this job. The magnitude of the concern in his voice made me think about my own plight. It was then that I began to realize how much he must have sacrificed to be here. Here he was a man well into retirement age; an old man reviewing mind-numbing evidence about a band of thugs instead of reviewing the cocktail menu onboard an exclusive cruise ship. Mr. Darryl reached down towards the table and pulled two photos out of a stack. After taking the final gulp of his drink, he laid out the first photo on the table in front of me so I could see it. “Achim, is she OK?” he cautiously asked as he pointed at the black woman in the photo? I wanted to lie to him. I wanted to be the black man that seemed to have all the easy answers, but I could not bring myself to mislead him. He was a good man and a father figure to me. When White Supremacy and the randomness of life had combined to turn my picture-perfect black life upside down, Mr. Darryl and Robert Charles gave me a new direction and renewed purpose. Neither Mr. Darryl nor Robert Charles deserved to be lied to, so I had no choice but to tell him the truth. An extremely complicated truth. A truth that made our future decisions murky and much less definitive. “Mr. Darryl,” I began. “I don’t know sir…I’m not sure about Jessica Baker,” I replied while looking him directly in his eyes. He remained still as we stared at each other. The hotel room grew eerily quiet as we examined one another, looking for any signs of mistrust or manipulation between us. Mr. Darryl may be old, but I could tell his mind was sharp. He still had his street senses about him, those deep internal gut feelings that readily tell you when something was off or not quite right. I began to wonder if he knew that I cared about Jessica. Could Mr. Darryl have somehow found out that my business with her was more than just professional? My heart had crossed the line regarding my dealings with this woman. Even worse, my love for her was making this whole case harder.