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The Final Curve (excerpt)

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Atlanta, Georgia
January 1990 

Henry Perkins was desperate to clear his name.  As he drove down the highway, blinding sheets of rain sliced down so hard he could barely see one foot in front of him. His quick breaths formed a steamy fog across his windshield.  The bourbon he’d consumed didn’t help matters, and he struggled to hold on to what was left of his concentration and his sanity.

How had it come to this?  And only a few years away from retirement.  He had worked hard for the state of Georgia, taken all kinds of humiliation and abuse.  And for what – to be framed by some upstart kid who wanted his job?  His wife, Martha, was devastated.  He thought she might have a stroke.  She had battled hypertension for years, and this kind of stress wasn’t good for her health. What would they do now?  His job and his pension were gone.  Not that he had much, but he treasured what little he did have.  It was everything to him and his family.  Besides disgracing Martha and his granddaughter, he had only one other real regret.

Hot tears of anger blurred his vision.  He was almost blinded by the glare of oncoming headlights and struggled to keep the car from veering into another lane.

Everything started when Marcus was hired as his assistant.  He had groomed Marcus like a son – taught him everything he knew.  And in the end, it was Marcus who betrayed him for a low-level position as mail services director.  If it hadn’t been so sad, he would have laughed out loud.

Not one of his co-workers believed his side of the story!  That’s what hurt the most.  After all his years of dedication, the people he had gone out of his way to serve chose to believe Marcus.  The one person who did believe him was powerless to help because he had no real proof that Henry was framed. And the one person who knew the truth was a coward who chose to remain silent.  Some pal Jesse Higgins turned out to be.

Henry was not a man who would intentionally wish bad luck on anyone, not even Marcus.  But still he knew that Marcus would eventually be forced to pay for his deceit.  Henry would not be around to see it, but he knew in his heart it would happen.  And although Marcus had maliciously twisted the knife in his back, the thought still made Henry sad.  No one escaped justice, and Marcus’ day would surely come.

Henry tried his best to remember a poem by one of his favorite writers, Langston Hughes.  The poem was entitled  “Final Curve.”  It was a short poem: something about turning a corner and running into yourself and not having any corners left to turn.   Yes, one day Marcus would hit that final curve.  He would turn that final corner and face himself and all that he had done.

That was Henry’s last thought as he hydroplaned and lost control of the car, plunging over the guard rail and into the dark, unforgiving ditch below. 

 

January 2000 

Marcus Norwood had come a long way from the dilapidated dump in Vine City where he grew up in one of Atlanta’s toughest and poorest neighborhoods.   He leaned back in his comfortable leather chair in his office, only a few doors from Governor Robert Baker  on the main floor of the State Capitol.

At thirty-three, Marcus was the first African-American, and probably the youngest, chief of staff in the state’s history.  He was happy to be among several unprecedented firsts in current Georgia government, which included the first black Chief Justice of the State Supreme Court, first black state Attorney General and first black Labor Commissioner, each of whom were elected statewide.  Marcus was appointed by the Governor.

The taut muscles in his arm flexed as he squeezed his favorite red “power stress ball.”

Marcus had worked hard to get to this rung on the political ladder and still sometimes found it hard to believe that he was on a first-name basis with the Governor of the state.  He had aspired to a position in state government, not necessarily in order to serve people but to have power over them.  Marcus learned early that as long as you knew the right people and stayed on their good side, you could get anything you wanted in state government.

Marcus was a diligent chief of staff who made everything in Robert’s administration his concern.   He knew, first-hand, everything that affected Robert.  His main duties included overseeing the Governor’s discretionary fund, scheduling important meetings and events, serving as the Governor’s liaison to several state agencies and closely conferring with the Governor on all major policy and legislative decisions.   All senior staff members reported directly to him.

On the Hill, Marcus was envied for his power, as well as his looks.  Handsome by anyone’s definition, Marcus was tall and tempting – six-two, with solidly built muscular legs, well-toned biceps, and rippling six-pack abs.  He had a smooth bronze complexion, hypnotic light brown eyes, and full sensuous lips.  His curly hair was cut in a conservative fade, edged to perfection.  It complimented the long, sweeping eyelashes that made his deep, wide-set eyes even more alluring.

When Marcus finished college, he turned down several promising entry-level positions in the private sector to take a job as a mail clerk in the office of Secretary of State.  He would have much preferred starting as a legislative aide or special assistant in the Secretary of State’s office, but Marcus was realistic.  Although he had served in the Legislative Intern Program, established himself as a diligent worker, and gotten acquainted with a few movers and shakers, he knew qualifications and experience didn’t mean anything unless you had something to back them up with –  a rich influential daddy, ability to contribute heavily to political campaigns, a residential address in their hometown, or willingness to sleep with the right people.  Marcus’ major marketable asset was his exemplary brown nosing skills, which he used liberally.  That was enough to get his foot through the door.  His skills in information gathering moved him up the ladder.

Marcus saw another tremendous plus in working for the Secretary of State.   It gave him the opportunity to work side-by-side with Henry.  He had a score to settle with Henry, and he settled it in a big way.

Now after ten years, that mess with Henry was coming back to haunt him. He thought about his last conversation with Killian and closed his eyes tightly. It seemed that everyone was having a touch of conscience.  Marcus had come too far to let anything stop him now.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his door.

“Come in.”

“Hey.  I stopped by to say hello,” Lena said seductively.

“Hey,” he said, rising from the seat behind his desk and walking slowly toward her.  Reaching behind her, he closed and locked the office door, then pulled her close to him and kissed her hard.  Lena was a flavor of the moment.  She was also his best source of information about Renae Stewart.

———

 When Marcus returned to his office after his meeting with Robert, Lena was waiting for him.  Up to this point, his day had been going too good.  Robert’s speech was fantastic, and Lessye was lingering on his mind.

He knew from the expression on Lena’s face that she was ready for a repeat of Monday, but he wasn’t in the mood for mischief; besides he had something more important to discuss with her.

“Come in, Lena.  Sit down.”

Lena entered the office and sat on the sofa adjacent to his desk.  Marcus, refusing to take the hint, settled in the seat behind his desk.

“Why are you being so unsociable?”  she asked, tossing her hair and crossing her legs.  “I would think you would be in a good mood.”

“I am.  That’s why I’m still sitting at my desk.  Besides, there’s a time and place for everything.”

She leaned back and licked her lips seductively.  “Funny, you didn’t say that on Monday.”

“That was Monday, and this is Wednesday.  And it’s time for business.  What else can you tell me about Renae?”

“Why are you so interested in Renae?  I thought it was Lessye who struck your fancy?”

Marcus did not respond.   He stared at her with a cold and detached look in his eyes.

“Okay. I told you that Renae stays nervous all the time.  I thought it was because of what happened to her grandparents.  That has something to do with it, but there’s more. Renae told me she has narcolepsy.  It’s a sleeping disorder that– ”

“I know what it is.  And?”

“She had an episode at work.  We were alone in her suite, and I convinced her to confide in me about it.  She said it wasn’t the first time.”

Marcus leaned forward.  “When?”

“When, what?”

“When did she have the episode?”

Lena ducked her head and looked at him sheepishly.  “Last Tuesday or Wednesday.  I can’t remember what day.”

“And you waited until now to tell me?  I saw you Monday.   Why didn’t you mention it then?”

“So much was going on Monday.  We got sidetracked, and it slipped my mind,” she said, alluding to their intimate time together.  “Then you had to go to the Governor’s office and —”

“Stay focused!  This is important to me.   I want to know exactly what you know, as soon as you know it.  Got it?”

“Sure, baby.”

“Is there more?”

“She’s terrified it will happen again and people on the job will find out.  She doesn’t want anyone to know.   And she’s nervous about something else.  Yesterday she told me she had one of the attacks Sunday evening after the Wild Hog Dinner.  She was in the car with Killian at the time.  Renae said all she could remember was leaving the dinner after feeling ill, and Killian offered her a ride home.  That’s all she remembered until waking up in her apartment several hours later.”

“Why is she nervous about that?”

“She’s afraid because she thinks she may have been the last person to see Killian

alive.”

“So what if she was?”

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

“Is that all?”  Marcus asked, ignoring her, his facial expression not changing.

“Yes, for now.”

“Good.  I want you to stay close to her.  Be her best friend.  I want to know her every move. Oh, and one more thing.  Remember, this is strictly confidential, only between you and me.”

“Why?”

“That’s my business.”

“Whatever you say.  What are you doing this weekend?”

“I’m busy.  I’m attending some King Week activities with Robert.  I’ll be tied up all weekend.”

“You can’t squeeze in a little time to see me?  If you come to my apartment, I’ll have something good for you. Or, I can always come to you.”

“We’ll see.  Now run along.  I’ve got work to do.”

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