Saint nursed his coffee at a seat in the back of the food court so he could keep one eye on the bookstore and the other on the lookout for the folks in the black sedan. He knew they were in the mall somewhere; he could smell them. Sure enough, a minute or so later they strolled into view. Wearing dark suits and shades, they looked like refugees from a Blues Brothers convention. Saint wondered if they were too dumb to realize they stood out like Klansmen at an NAACP fundraiser, or if they just didn’t care.
To draw attention to himself, he made a show of knocking over his cup, then jumped up from his seat to keep the coffee from flowing down onto his coat. Pretending not to see the agents, he quickly snatched a handful of napkins out of the table dispenser to sop up the mess. When he was done, he tossed the napkins in the trash, paused a moment to assess his coffee-damp hands, and strolled to the restroom situated a few steps away. A discreet look back showed them following him like rats behind the pied piper. Saint simply shook his head. He enjoyed tangling with arrogant government types because their egos made his job easier.
Once inside the restroom, Saint quickly positioned himself behind the door, then reached into his coat and took out his hinged nightstick reinforced with lead inserts to give it an extra kick. He snapped it out to its full length then held it high like Sammy Sosa waiting on a pitch.
The first cockroach to enter was just drawing his gun when Saint hit a home run across the bridge of the Black man’s nose. Blood gushed, the man screamed and fell to his knees. A blow to the back of the head rendered him instantly unconscious. Contestant number two’s blue eyes went wide seeing his companion go down, but before he could react, Saint whirled and cracked him across the knees. Number Two groaned then buckled. A lightning fast crack on his back made the man cry out. A second rap across the jaw dropped him like a sack of potatoes and he joined his partner in dreamland on the brown tiled restroom floor.
It had taken the adrenaline-charged Saint less than ten seconds to put both men out. Breathing harshly, Saint exhaled slowly and willed his heartbeat to slow. He picked up their guns, pocketed them, then quickly rifled through their suit coats for ID. He stuffed those into his coat as well. He’d check them out later. Still breathing harshly, he folded the baton, put it back into its hiding place in his coat, and then washed his hands at the sink. Moments later, he stepped over the unconscious cockroaches and left the restroom to go check on Narice.
Saint hurried into the bookstore just in time to hear Narice shouting. The kid behind the counter looked up in response to the sounds of what was obviously a Black woman going off, and met Saint’s eyes with a questioning look. Saint told him, “That’s my wife, I’ll handle whatever it is.”
Saint kept walking, but reached into the deep outside pocket of his coat and placed his hand on his gun.
He found her at the back of the store in the kids’ section. Saint was so surprised to see Green lying on the floor, he stopped confused. Narice for her part was standing off to the side. Her tear filled eyes were furious.
Saint asked quickly, “Are you okay?”
“Now I am.”
She handed him the syringe. “Here.”
Saint’s eyebrow rose. “Where’d you get this?”
“It’s his. He was going to use it on me.”
Saint turned startled eyes on Green who was obviously in great distress, “So what happened to him?”
“I kneed him in the nuts.”
Saint’s surprise etched his face, then he began to chuckle.
Green, who had managed to drag himself to his knees, but was still bent over from Narice’s attack, glowered at Saint and growled, “I thought she was a lady,” and he cast a malevolent glare at Narice.
Narice shot him a go-to-hell look, then asked Saint, “Where were you?”
“In the bathroom stepping on some cockroaches.”
That pleased her. “Good. Can we leave now?”
He grinned. “Sure. Give me a minute, though. I want to talk to my man here.”
Saint pulled out his gun and walked over to where Gus was still struggling to breathe. Green appeared pale and ashen, but Saint knew that a knee in the nuts will do that to you. He reached into the man’s coat and pulled out his gun. “The next time you put your hands on her, a knee is going to be heaven compared to what I’m going to do to you.”
“How was that Thailand prison, Ridley sent you to?” Green threw back. “When did you get out?”
Saint snatched Green up so quickly and with such force Green didn’t see the large, exotically sculpted knife in Saint’s hand until the glittering point was pressed against his shuddering throat. “I should cut your traitor’s throat right here,” Saint gritted out.
Though Green was sweating profusely, he tossed back boldy, “But you won’t.”
Saint’s responding smile was filled such hate it seemed to shine as bright as the knife. “Won’t I?”
Even though Narice wanted these cockroaches out of her life, she didn’t think this was the place to be gutting anyone. They were in the children’s section at the back of the store and it was pretty shielded but, they were in the mall for heaven’s sake. “Saint—”
He didn’t seem to hear her. Instead he told Green, “While I was in that prison I used to dream about all the many ways I was going to kill Ridley when I got out, and you’re this close to helping me practice making my dreams come true.”
Green smiled dismissively, but when the blade pricked him just enough to make him bleed, his features registered horror.
“Saint!” Narice whispered harshly. His anger was so real he was scaring her. What had Ridley done to him?
“Stay out of this,” he snapped coldly.
Narice’s hand went to her hip in offense.
Green was now visibly shaking.
Saint said softly and firmly, “The only reason you’re not dead right now is Narice.” He then showed Green the syringe. “You were going to use this on her. What’s in it?”
Gus seemed real scared now. “Just something to put her to sleep.”
“For how long?”
“Three, four hours. That’s all. I swear.”
Saint said to Narice. “Angel, go pay for your book. I’ll meet you up front. Tell Ms. Jordan, ‘night night’, Gus.”
Gus could see the syringe in Saint’s left hand and he began to shake even more.
“Say it!” Saint demanded in a cold emotionless voice.
Gus shot a terror filled eye to Narice. “Night-night,” he said in a high-pitched voice.
Narice left.
At the counter the young male employee said, “I see you found the book.”
She nodded and gave him a twenty and a ten to pay for the book. While she waited for him to make change and place the book in a bag, she noticed the crowd of people standing near the food court. “What’s going on over there?”
“Security found two guys beat up in the bathroom.”
Saint walked up then, and Narice searched his face to see if it held a clue as to what transpired between him and Green after she left them alone, but the shades made his true expression unreadable. A few seconds later, Narice left the book store escorted by a silent, jaws tight Saint.
Once they got back to the Caddy, Narice assessed him silently as he took out his keys and clicked off the alarm. He then used the small sensor from his pocket to check the vehicle for explosives. While he slowly walked the device around the perimeter, she realized she still knew very little about him. Yes, they’d been together for a couple of days now and had been through some stuff, but who was he really? Who was this man who’d talked about gathering info for the UN, walked around with hi-tech prototypes in his pockets, and carried a knife large enough to carve a Thanksgiving turkey? She felt a shiver go through her bones and hoped it wasn’t someone walking over her grave.
Inside the SUV now, Saint sat a moment before turning on the engine. He needed to calm down. He’d almost lost it back there when Green taunted him about the prison. Saint had issues when it came to Ridley and the issues ran deep. Were it not for Ridley, Saint would never have been thrown into a Thailand prison to be beaten and degraded; would never have been snake bit or had to fight rats for food. Just thinking about that hell hole enraged him all over again.
He then heard Narice say coolly, “Thanks for riding to the rescue, sheriff, but the schoolmarm doesn’t like having her head snapped off when she’s just trying to help.”
Saint met her eyes. She was mad. He could tell. Tight-lipped, he dropped his head onto the steering wheel for a moment, then looked her way. “You’re right. You didn’t deserve that. I was just so mad—”
“I thought you were going to geld the man right there. Clifford the Big Red Dog and Dora the Explorer would not have been happy.”
“Who?”
She waved him off. “Never mind. What happened between you and Ridley?”
“It was a long time ago.” And that’s all he said.
As he started the engine and backed the SUV out of the parking space, Narice stared unfocused out of the window. She had no idea where they were going next, and for now, she didn’t care. All she really wanted was off this merry-go-round. She thought back to the first night she met him and how frightened she’d been. For the last two days, she’d been able to set that fear aside because she and Saint seemed to be an okay dynamic duo. Now came the reminder that this was the most serious mess she’d ever had the misfortune of being involved in. She truly was Alice, only the characters in this Wonderland were car bombs, dead men, sinister helicopters, and cockroaches. It was way more drama than she needed. She just wanted to find the people responsible for killing her father and let the authorities take it from there.
He merged onto the Ford Freeway and headed west towards the heart of the city. Narice didn’t bother looking in her mirror for black sedans; that was his job. Hers was to figure out the markings on her daddy’s quilt, so, while he drove she took the book out of the bag and opened it.
The table of contents listed various topics, but one in particular focused on the secret signs in slave quilts. She flipped through the pages to that chapter and began to read.
When Narice came up for air, the SUV was parked and the engine was off. She looked up and saw water. Startled, she realized with pleasure that they were on Belle Isle. She looked his way and saw him sitting behind the wheel, his emotions hidden behind his shades. “I haven’t been here in years.”
Belle Isle was a 704-acre island in the Detroit River. In the 1700s the French called it Hog Island because of all the wild pigs. In the early 1880s, Frederick Law Olmstead, the man who designed New York’s Central Park, was commissioned by the city fathers to design a plan for the undeveloped island. Under his vision it became a park.
When Narice was young, her father would bring her here on summer Saturday mornings and they would swim at the beach, fish, ride their bikes, and rent canoes. Back then there had been the beautiful Scott fountain to marvel over, scores of flowers, an outdoor casino, and an aquarium that had the biggest catfish she’d ever seen. It was an oasis amidst the concrete and asphalt where residents threw barbecues, family reunions, church picnics, and graduation parties.
Now, she was here and older but the awe of the river and its slow-moving freighters still touched her like it had when she was young. She opened her door and stepped out. Paying Saint no mind she walked down to the water’s edge. Once there she looked out over the river and fed herself on the memories of the past, the silence, and the peacefulness of the surroundings. Spying an old weather-beaten tree stump a few steps away, she thought it looked like a perfect place to sit, so she did.
Saint was still simmering over the encounter with Gus. With him in the picture, The Majesty and her supporters were facing another formidable enemy. Green had no scruples. None. A few years ago, there were rumors that he’d had been hired by various U.S. government agencies to conduct covert operations the U.S. couldn’t afford to conduct overtly because of political reasons, but like most such jobs, there’d been no paper trail to confirm or deny the allegations. Was this one of those operations? When the President asked Saint to take on this job, he’d made it clear that no one was to know Saint was acting at his request. Nagal was a touchy subject within the administration not only because of its port but because The Majesty would not be controlled should she and her candidates carry the election.
Who is Green working for? He needed to find that answer ASAP. It was bad enough having to deal with Ridley who was probably representing his own interests in the search for the Eye, in spite of what the generals were told or led to believe. The Ridley Saint knew trafficked in drugs, illegal weapons, and young boys. In the past, political connections kept him from being thrown in jail. Saint had a sneaking suspicion those same connections floated the story of Ridley’s death in a boating accident to keep him from being exposed.
Saint looked out at Narice standing beside the water. God what a woman. Green had probably scared her to death, but the lady refused to be a victim. Whether she was running away from Ridley or bringing Green to his knees, she was a woman a man didn’t mind having his back. Being a loner, Saint had never worried much about interpersonal relationships, but having her upset with him didn’t sit right, so he went to make peace.
Narice didn’t say anything when he walked up and stood beside her. For a moment the chirps of the birds and the gentle lapping of the water against the shore were the only sounds.
Then he asked, “Did you ever come here for the Fishing Derby?”
In spite of her mood she smiled. “Every year until I got too old. Never caught a thing, though.”
“Me either. Sarita caught a big perch one time. Named it Lucky. When Gran threw Lucky in the cornmeal and put him in the skillet, Sarita cried for days.”
Narice chuckled.
In the silence that followed, Narice looked around at the fresh-cut grass and the towering healthy trees. “Did you ever rent the canoes?”
He grinned. “Yeah, we did.”
“The last time I was here, the canals were so full of garbage like hamburger bags and pop cups you couldn’t even see the water. Glad it’s being kept up again.”
“Yeah, the Isle was a mess. Trash. Crime. The aquarium closed, the casino was falling apart, but it looks like it’s on its way back.” Saint then said to her, “Because of Ridley I spent twenty months in a Thailand prison.”
The revelation caught Narice so off guard, she was speechless for a moment.
“He was an attaché with the Canadian embassy. When I found out he was using streetkids for sex parties, I reported him, but one of his party regulars was a high-ranking Thai government official.”
“What were you charged with?”
“Espionage. They planted some documents in my apartment and that was it.”
Narice ached for him.
He turned his eyes to the water. “Nobody could get me out. Not our government, not my friends…spent the time fighting the terrible conditions, scorpions, the guards, the other prisoners…” His voice trailed off, then became strong again. “Hating Ridley kept me alive. I knew if I held on, one day I’d get out. Then I’d pay him back.”
He looked at Narice. “But when I was released, I was told he was dead. Killed in a boating accident somewhere in the Pacific.”
“But he wasn’t.”
“No.”
He added, “You running away from that cab, and me having to chase you, probably saved Ridley’s life that night. Seeing him brought back all those old feelings and I wanted to kill him the moment I snatched him out of the cab.”
She didn’t say it, but she was glad he hadn’t. Although they hadn’t been together long, she couldn’t imagine being on this search with anyone else.
“Being brought up on murder charges would have made me miss all this, and you.” And Saint knew that missing out on the opportunity to meet and hang out with this challenging, headstrong beauty would have been a tremendous loss.
Narice’s butterflies returned under the scrutiny of his shaded eyes. He was affecting her whether she was ready to admit or not.
There was silence for a moment, and then he said, “So, now, you know.”
Narice could almost feel the pain and hardship he been forced to bear. She also knew that he’d given her a look inside himself that few others had been allowed to see. “Thank you.”
“If we’re going to be Batman and Robin you need to know who the Jokers and Riddlers are.”
She smiled softly.
“I like that.”
“What?”
“Making you smile.”
Narice had to take in a deep breath to make her heart slow. “Are you flirting with me?”
He gave her a grin. “Maybe. Is that allowed?”
Narice’s insides were fluttering big-time. “Maybe.”
“Well, while you decide, how about we do the Loop and you tell me what the book says about our quilt?”
Her eyes were shining. “Okay.”
The Loop was the road that circled the entire island. On the weekends, traffic on it crawled due to the hundreds upon hundreds of cruising young people. On a workday afternoon like today, the SUV had only a few joggers and a couple of cyclists to share the road with.
Through her window, Narice enjoyed the view of the sun sparkling on the river and the white gulls gliding above, then picked up her book. “Okay, it says in here that our Monkey Wrench pattern was a call to get ready, but not just with tools to dig with. They could be any implement needed for the journey.”
“Like what?”
“A compass. Weapons.”
That word made her look over at him, but he kept his shaded eyes on the road.
She continued. “The journey north could be dangerous to the fugitive slaves, so they also needed mental tools like, being sly, smart, wary, and smooth.”
“I got that covered.”
She shook her head in amusement.
Saint said, “So by putting that Wagon Wheel symbol on the quilt, your daddy might also be warning us to be careful.”
“Exactly.”
“What are some of the other symbols?”
“Let’s see. There’s the Bear Claw, the Cross Roads. Hey, this Log Cabin looks like that box thing that’s in the middle of the quilt.”
“Let’s see.”
She held up the page so he could check it out.
He took a quick look. “It does, doesn’t it? Do you think it has something to do with the Home he put in his note?”
Narice didn’t know, but she thought she recognized another symbol from the quilt. “This Wagon Wheel looks familiar, too.”
“What’s it mean?”
“A couple of things. It represents a wagon, of course, but it says here it represents the runaway slaves sometimes.” Narice met his eyes.
Saint said, “Maybe we’re supposed to drive somewhere?”
“Who knows?”
By now their slow drive had taken them to the eastern side of the island where there were more woods. She looked into the dense trees and asked, “Do you think the deer are still here?”
“Maybe. Used to be quite a herd of them in there.”
“I know.” Narice kept her eyes pealed, but no deer. She straightened herself in her seat and heard her stomach rumble.
Saint heard it, too. “Was that your stomach?”
She chuckled. “Yes.”
Saint glanced at the clock on the console. It was almost two o’clock. “We can stop someplace if you want?”
“Coney Island?”
He grinned. “You’re a woman after my heart.”
So, they left the Isle and headed downtown.
After a lunch of coneys and root beers, Saint headed up Jefferson to Sarita and Myk’s place. Now that Narice had her book, they could take a good long look at the quilt and maybe get a better understanding of the markings and symbols. Then they had to hit the road. He wondered if the sleeping Green had been found by now? The next time their paths crossed, Green owed Narice a thank-you because had she not been with Saint, Saint would have put Green to sleep permanently.
Myk and Sarita weren’t home yet, so Saint used his key to enter through the front door. The interior of the house was so quiet; Narice felt like they should be tiptoeing so as not to disturb the silence. “Do you have any other brothers beside Myk?”
He tossed his keys on the kitchen table. “One.” He then walked across the room, opened a couple of cupboard doors until he found some boxed coffee and a grinder.
“Does he live in Detroit, too?”
“Yep. In the Manoogian Mansion.”
Narice cocked her head quizzically. “That’s the mayor’s residence.”
“Yep.” He moved to the sink and filled the carafe with cold water. “Drake Randolph, Myk, and I are all half-brothers. Papa was a rolling stone.”
“Where’s your father now?”
He shrugged. “Dead I think. Not sure. Never met him.”
Narice thought about the wonderful memories she and her daddy had made together and was saddened that Saint never had that opportunity with his own father. “Have your brothers ever met him?”
“Not that I know of.”
“What about your mother?”
He shrugged. “Never met her either. She had me in prison. The state put me in foster care an hour after I was born. Records said she was declared unfit. They must have been right because she OD’d a few months after she got out.”
Narice wondered about the little boy that he’d been. The terrible circumstances surrounding his parentage and birth had to have affected him deeply. Were his brothers aware of his unorthodox life? She supposed they were since she now knew that the voice of Big Brother belonged to Myk. “Does your family know what you do?”
He looked her way for a moment, then refocused his attention on filling the coffee filter with the now ground beans. “Sometimes. Most times not. Sarita has enough to worry about running her center.” Saint didn’t tell Narice about Myk and Nia, or that the squeegee guys had been Nia operatives.
Saint was pouring himself a cup of coffee when Myk walked in. His grim face grabbed their attention. “Did you leave a couple agents on the bathroom floor at the mall?”
Saint took a draw from his coffee cup and said coolly, “Was that who they were? Yeah, why?”
Myk sighed.
Saint had seen that look on his brother’s face before and so said, “Look don’t start. They came in with their guns drawn. What was I supposed to do, let them shoot me?”
Myk met his eyes and conceded. “No, you weren’t, but they’re both in the hospital. There’s an APB out on you.”
Saint shrugged. “Okay.”
“And Ridley wasn’t deported. Our friends at INS say it had something to do with his diplomatic status. Because of all the outstanding terrorism cases they’re dealing with, it’ll be at least sixty days before they can have a hearing.”
Saint then told Myk about Narice’s close encounter with Green at the bookstore.
Myk glanced over at Narice. “You and my wife would get along well. She doesn’t let anyone manhandle her either.”
He then went back to his brother. “So who is Green working with?”
Saint tossed his brother the identification he’d taken off the men in the mall bathroom.
Myk studied them a moment. “Why would the Department of Agriculture be involved?”
“Who knows? We’ve got more players in this game now than a bid whist tournament.”
“Well, let’s leave that for now. I’ve got something to show you. Remember the surprise I was telling you about?”
Narice and Saint followed him back out to the garage. As he led them deeper into the structure, Narice realized just how big it was. He stopped, then used the clicker to close the door. Then a light came on from overhead to reveal a large something hidden under a tarp. Myk peeled it back. Another SUV. It was black and had tinted windows, but was the biggest one she’d ever seen.
“It’s made by Cadillac,” Myk explained.
Saint walked around it. “This is a big sucker.”
“It has to be to carry all the hardware.”
Saint paused. “Hardware?” He tested the metal over the doors by knocking on it a few times. “Armor plated?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes.”
Narice didn’t believe this. An armor-plated SUV?
Saint appeared excited. “What else she got?”
Myk smiled. “One-way glass. All the doors work manually or by remote. Remote start…”
As he continued regaling Saint with the bells and whistles, the two men reminded Narice of kids showing off their newest handheld video game.
Myk walked his brother around to the back of the vehicle. “Take a look at this.”
Saint did and then crowed softly, “All right!”
Narice looked too and wondered why he was so geeked over four oversized tailpipes. And why did it have four tailpipes in the first place? The brothers seemed to be having such a good time, she decided to save her questions for later.
The still smiling Saint circled the vehicle. “Who are they building this for?”
“A couple of Saudi princes worried about terrorists. GM asked me to field test it, so it’s all yours. I thought it might come in handy the next time those helicopters show up. Try to bring it back in one piece, if you can.”
Saint grinned. “We’ll take real good care of her won’t we, Narice?”
Amused she responded with, “I’m just along for the ride.”
Saint winked her way, then asked his brother, “This baby have a name?”
“Sarita named her Lily, after my old housekeeper.”
As if trying the name out on his tongue, Saint said, “Lily. I like that.”
Narice did, too. Beauty and strength.
Myk added, “You have reinforced glass on the windows, headlights, and taillights. The tires are guaranteed to roll another fifty miles if they go flat.”
Saint looked even more impressed. “Anything else I need to know right now?”
“Not that I can think of—other than try and keep the collateral damage to a minimum.”
“As long as you e-mail that message to the other side, I’ll try.”
Myk didn’t appear pleased by the answer, but he didn’t challenge his brother. He instead directed his next question to Narice. “Any luck translating the quilt?”
“Not really. We have a few of the symbols identified, we think, but we haven’t had time to look into the others.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You two should get going. Any idea where you’re going?”
“Nope, but someplace we can hole up and figure out the quilt. Once we do that, we’ll let you know where we’ll be heading. We’ll probably do most of our driving at night. Probably be safer.”
Myk nodded. “Good enough.” He handed Saint the keys. “I’ll take care of the other truck you were driving.” Then as if he suddenly remembered something, added, “Oh, and you’ve got plates from six or seven different states and a few government issue. Should buy you a little time.”
Saint left for a moment to go into the house. He returned with Narice’s packed suitcase and the quilt. He placed them inside, then walked around to the passenger side and opened the door for her. Were it not for the strategically placed running board, she would have needed a boost to climb in.
Once in, Narice hooked up her seat belt and looked around. The inside was plush gray leather. Bucket seats. DVD player up top. Two additional rows of seats behind her and enough buttons and toggles on the dash to put a jet to shame. Green dials, reds dials. Miniature screens. What they were all for, she hoped Saint knew.
Through her window, she saw the brothers talking, then embrace in a good-bye. Then, Saint was in his seat, Lily’s engine fired up, and he backed them out of the driveway. She looked back to see the garage door closing. They were now on their own.