The Punu mask on Octavia’s hope chest was turned facedown and filled with candy corn. She was on her phone finalizing plans for some deal that I wasn’t involved in. I waited on the orange couch, my knees together. The lump on the back of my head throbbed. I watched the City through her high window. The river was low that day, exposing muddy banks and detritus for miles upstream.
My Nigel was somewhere down there, he and Araminta. Perhaps holed up in a safe house. Perhaps wandering the streets and begging for change to buy clean drinking water. I had dedicated my life to protecting him from the myriad dangers of black boyhood, only to watch him succumb to the worst dangers of black boyhood. Now my son was a suspect, a label that would haunt him as long as he breathed. It was perfectly kosher to charge a thirteen-year-old as an adult, and any adult who was accused of doing what Nigel would be accused of would face death.
Octavia said a frustrated goodbye to the person on the phone and flopped down into her chair. She pointed to the door, which I got up and closed before returning to my seat.
“Sometimes I feel I’m talking to a rock with that one.” Octavia went to the mini wet bar, poured two fingers’ worth of whiskey, and gave me a glass. I could tell from the color and smell of the stuff that a bottle of it could purchase a wedding dress or cover a semester of tuition at one of the better City universities. She toasted, but I didn’t drink. “Listen, I’m sorry your boy is missing. I’m sorry he was mixed up in all that crazy, too. But know two things. One, he’s a smart kid and he’ll turn up. It’s just a matter of time. He’ll realize he can’t survive underground, and he’ll give you a call because he wants the new Crown album or a good slice of pizza.
“Two, you have my word that the firm will support your family with any legal issues that may arise. We have an arrangement with the Bienville Firm, who’ll do any criminal defense gratis. At that age, who knows what’s right or wrong anyway?” She eyed my glass. “Not thirsty?” She tossed back the rest of her drink. “Suit yourself,” she said. “Let’s make this official.”
She placed my glass on the edge of her desk and gestured to the abacus.
“This is a difficult time. I get it. But I can’t let the moment pass without acknowledging the good work you’ve done for me, for this firm, and for the whole town, really.” Reaching across, with thumb and forefinger, she slid the final bead into position. “Everyone came through. Dinah, Pavor, even you. The best team won!”
Octavia crossed to me and handed over a stack of stapled papers.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“PHH is delighted.”
I knew they were. Despite the debacle, PHH had gotten great press for volunteering to treat the casualties at no cost, including the victims’ busted noses and lips, which they would slim down if asked.
“This is the representation agreement between Seasons and PHH.” She flipped a couple of pages into it. “Look at these rates! This is hands down the biggest deal I’ve ever been lead on. Armbruster’s contingent—what’s left of them—is eating crow.”
Armbruster’s right-hand man had been arrested by the feds for embezzlement. I had the vague notion that somehow he had been set up, but greedy lawyers weren’t unheard of. Either way, Armbruster’s entire team was under federal investigation and an internal administrative review.
“The committee is going to bump me up to shareholder in charge next quarter. But I’m interim SIC effective immediately. And you know this means you’re with me. Everyone on my team gets a bump. Bumps for all of us. An outbreak of bumps. But—” Octavia stared at the door and laughed. “Jack, what are you doing here?”
Armbruster stepped into the room. His suit was wrinkled, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days.
“No games, Whitmore,” Armbruster said. “You called me.”
“Sugar, what possible use could I have for you?”
Armbruster tried to close the space between them, but I blocked him. He was lighter—frailer—than he looked.
“My, my, Jack. Do calm down. A man your age has to be careful of his blood pressure.” Octavia strolled back to her desk. “I remember why I had them send you up.” She pulled her purse from one of the big lower drawers and produced one of her sun pendants, which she placed on the desk. “Since your group was dissolved, that means you’re one of mine now.”
Armbruster huffed and stomped out.
“I’ll have Strummer send it down to you!” Octavia called out.
She opened a checkbook and wrote. “As for you, I don’t want you to have to wait another second for what you earned.” She pinched the check out of the book and pressed it into my hand. “That’s your full bonus and then some, right out of my personal business account. When the official firm money comes down, you can just write that one over to me.”
My palm was numb. I glanced at the check, more to make sure I hadn’t dropped it than to read it. But I did read it, and it was more than I could have dreamed. Was this the value of my soul? I wouldn’t even have to use the meager savings I’d set aside. I recognized that Octavia could have always done this. She could have done it months ago, even on Elevation Night. I’d fought so hard—for what? Nigel was gone. I would never see him again. There would be no procedure. No conciliation to a better future. I didn’t deserve the money. I never deserved it.
“Why are you doing this now?”
“You’re a good man,” she said. “Don’t ever think otherwise.”
“I quit,” I said.
Without missing a beat, she laughed. “You can check out, but you can’t leave.”
I repeated myself. “I need to do something—anything. I can’t do this anymore.”
She said my name and chuckled. “Sugar, I understand you’ve had a tough time. But if you think I’m letting you do something stupid, you’re stupid. And you and me both know you’re not stupid, genius.” She pointed at me. “Go find your boy. Take some time off, as much as you can stand. Recharge. You’re benched.”