The Heart is a Lonely Hunter (31 page)
The rest of the day went off without a hitch. William confirmed the upcoming trip with the Ol’ Man that afternoon, helped Melinda shape his itinerary, which he purposely left loosely scheduled so as to afford him some time with Alex and his family and to give himself some much needed rest and, other than that, it was a typical lackluster Monday.
At seven thirty that evening William found a parking spot on the corner of West 4
th
and Mulberry and waited patiently until he saw the rather stout, stoop shouldered DEA agent cross the street in front of the little Italian restaurant. Locking the car and activating the alarm, he rushed to meet Terry Shannon before he could enter the restaurant. He’d heard of Paisano’s but had never ventured to frequent the well-renowned restaurant.
William had always felt somewhat uncomfortable entering an all—White or all—anything establishment without knowing what awaited him on the other side. He hated being in the spotlight and hated it even more when he was alone and the only Black. On several occasions, he’d been forced into this predicament and the results were always, but always, the same.
As soon as he entered, all eyes would turn in his direction and, then, there would be the muffled sounds of muttering. And he assumed they were saying something to the effect of, ‘what’s this nigga doin’ in here or isn’t there anywhere left that we can go that’s off limits to
them.
Sill used to tell him he was paranoid and even though he was usually the only Black at business luncheons and seminars, he’d never grown accustomed to the feeling.
Sill, on the other hand, had been pretty adamant about his moving in mixed circles and was always trying to encourage him to be more outgoing. She forced him to attend a good deal of Hill and Morris’ little social gatherings no matter how boring. When they did attend, despite his objections, she was not only the focal point but seemed to relish the spotlight, mingling and laughing and always surrounded by a crowd, who seemed to savor her every word. But not him. He would find a corner and, with a drink in his hand, simply pine away, checking his watch at regular intervals and, waiting for the crowd of ogling fans to dissipate, so he could snatch her up and head home but they seldom did.
When he could stand it no more and he’d gained some courage from the drink in hand, he would somehow find the inner strength to make his way through the crowds and suggest, almost apologetically, that it was getting late and they needed to be getting home. Sill would almost always be vehemently opposed but after a fair amount of prodding he’d finally drag her away. He wondered if he was the only Black that felt this sort of discomfort, being the only Black and all, but there really wasn’t anyone to ask.
Moments later, he caught up with Terry Shannon. They entered the restaurant together and just as he suspected all eyes fell upon him, or so he thought. He imagined how he would have felt if he hadn’t waited for Terry, and glancing quickly around the restaurant and not seeing another Black he immediately regretted accepting the invitation. Terry, on the other hand, did not so much as notice the other patrons or the attention they received so elated was he in meeting William.
“Thought you weren’t going to make it when I didn’t see your car,” he said trying to curb his enthusiasm.
“I parked down on the corner,” William said nervously, as they waited to be seated.
There was no hostess, but a burly gentleman, who substituted between waiter and cook, soon greeted them. The hospitality and the gracious smile William was so used to when he dined out was nowhere to be found and William wondered if it ever had been. The man was obviously not happy in his work and the long hours and shuttling back and forth between the kitchen and dining room had clearly taken its toll over the years, William assumed. The fact that the restaurant was packed seemed to do little to improve the man’s temperament and William could hardly understand why anyone would encourage such rude behavior by frequenting the place. The look of disapproval must have been apparent. Terry dropped his head, a smiled etched on his tired face.
“You need a table for two?” the waiter asked as he wiped his greasy hands on a dirty towel that hung from his apron, which was equally as dirty.
“Yes, sir,” Terry answered, trying to be as cordial as possible.
“This way,” he grunted.
The two men followed and William prayed that he wasn’t being led to some table by the service entrance or near the bathrooms. But, instead, the waiter found an empty table in the center of the restaurant and in the same gruff manner that he had greeted Terry and him with, asked the young White couple seated next to them to move over so there would be more room. He then turned to William and informed him that he’d send the bartender over to take their drink orders but if they knew what they wanted then they could order now and save him a trip.
“The veal parmegiana is the best this side of Sicily,” Terry said in an obvious effort to take William’s mind off the waiter whom William was staring at with the most guarded of looks.
“Give me two veal parmegiana dinners, a bottle of your best red wine, a couple of salads and lots of bread.”
“Dressing for your salads?”
“Uh, yeah. I’ll have the Blue Cheese and you, William?”
William snapped back from his thoughts. “I’ll have the wine and vinegar.”
And without another word, the waiter turned and walked away. Terry Shannon looked at William and smiled. “Don’t even think about it. The first time my wife brought me here, I wondered if it was me. But he’s been the same ever since I’ve known him. Gruff. I guess that’s just his disposition. But the food’s hard to beat. I’ve traveled a little, thanks to my wife, and she’s always been the one to want to try something new and I’ll tell you, honestly, that in all our ventures, I’ve yet to find a better Italian restaurant. That man right there has a gift. He can really cook. So, I guess we have to put up with his shortcomings. In any case, let’s talk about Morris. So, he finally gave you the green light? I’ll tell you the truth, William, I was starting to have my druthers. You know, I don’t know if I told you but I’ve been on Morris and Davenport’s case for close to twelve years and this is the closest we’ve ever been to getting to him. Actually, we’ve been close a few times but that Morris is a shrewd one. Anytime, we started to make any headway, he’d shut down for a while until we were forced to abandon our surveillance. You know the bureau’s not going to continually fund an operation with no results and Morris is well aware of this, so he’d stop trafficking for just long enough that we’d have to disband and then he’d pick up right where he’d left off and never miss a beat. It was almost as if he had someone on the inside. And to tell you the truth, I don’t know that he didn’t. What I do know is that with you, we have the best chance we’ve had in some time to finally nail this cat and, William, you don’t know how badly I want him,” Shannon said.
“Can I ask you something, Terry?” William asked.
“No doubt, William. Ask away.”
The bartender brought a basket of Italian bread and both men jumped on it like it was the last supper,
“Tell me something. With all the traffickers, and I’m sure with one of the major airports in the country and easy access to 95, why such a hard on for the Ol’ Man,” he asked between mouthfuls of the crusty bread.
“I want them all, William, and believe you me you’re right about Atlanta being a major city for the drug trade but I guess after you’ve stalked someone for as long as I have you kind of take it personal.
I don’t know if you recall asking me some time ago about why I became a DEA agent to begin with. Anyway, I was running short on time then and I couldn’t really explain but if you can bear with me, I’ll do my best so that maybe you can get a better understanding and see the whole picture.”
As he began to explain, the cook returned pushing a little tray, with their dinners that resembled a snack tray on wheels. He was having hard time getting through with the young couple’s chairs in his way. After he left they had moved their chairs back together the way young lovers do when in love and sat holding hands and nibbling at each other’s earlobes.
So occupied were they with each other that neither saw the cook as he tried to maneuver past their chairs, which were directly in the aisle and in his path. He may have been an outstanding cook but he was certainly no navigator and before either of them could make a move to save the couple the humiliation and embarrassment that was to follow the carafe of red wine was on the floor and the cook in an unmitigated rage.
“I told you before to move your fuckin’ chairs to make room. Now look what you have done with your stupidity. Take you kissin’ and touchin’ some-where’s else. This is a restaurant! This is not the place for that! Now get out!
Leave my restaurant and don’t come back until you can behave betta’!” He shouted, arms flailing in anger. “Tonight, your dinner is on me. And may you make a thousand babies.” He then waved, summoning the bartender who was there within seconds.
“Yes poppa?”
“Clean this mess up for me, Guido, and bring these men a bottle of our best wine,” he commanded.
“Yes, poppa.”
The waiter and cook, who William now gathered was the owner, too, then turned to William. “I am sorry about your wine. I hope I did not get any on you. Please forgive my rudeness. It has been a long day.”
Placing the food in front of the two men, he took the bottle of wine form his son and poured each of them half a glass before leaving the table.
“You were saying,” William said, ignoring the fiasco that had occurred only moments earlier.
“Oh, yeah, I was saying that of all the cases that I’ve worked on during my twenty or so years with the bureau, Ol’ Man Morris has been the most elusive.”
“No, Terry. What I’m curious to know about is the driving force, the motivation that makes this particular case so much more enticing, so much more alluring than the rest of these assholes selling poison out here in the streets.”
“I think you and I both know what motivates me, William, but if I understand your question correctly as to what drives me or as you so aptly put it why I have a hard on for Morris in particular, I guess it’s because Morris had no need for the money. Hill and Morris are one of the top firms in the country, no, the world. It’s listed in Forbes and Fortune 500, as one of the top grossing companies in the world, making Morris a millionaire many times over. So there’s no reason, not that there’s ever a legitimate reason, but there’s absolutely no reason Morris should be peddling that shit on the street. Maybe, if he had kids he’d have a better grasp of the pain and suffering he’s causing. But then again I don’t know. It’s obvious there’s something other than greed that’s driving him but I’ll be damned if I know what it is. I’m no closer to understanding his motivation than you are mine. Funny thing I’ve learned about people though, William. Just because they’ve mastered one aspect of life, doesn’t mean they have a grasp on other aspects. Take your cook here. Tell me that’s not the best veal you’ve ever tasted.”
William, his mouth full, nodded in agreement.
“I thought you’d like it. I think he’s one of the best chef’s, Italian that is, what I’ve ever had the occasion to sample. But he’s a complete asshole. Doesn’t know what people skills are. Doesn’t know that when you’re in business, your livelihood depends on your customers. And to be honest, I don’t think he cares. Anyway, my point is that we all have certain gifts or blessings and, because we have those, we’re sort of expected to have common sense and everything else that goes along with possessing those gifts. But that is a supposition that doesn’t carry much weight. You know I’ve seen
Ben Hur,
you know the movie, a dozen or so times. Loved it. All the critics deem it a classic and I was inclined to agree with them. And you know what made
Ben Hur?
Charlton Heston—. Charlton Heston was Ben Hur. He made the movie! Excellent actor—. Every year the movie would come on right before Easter and every year I found myself glued to the T.V., watching Charlton Heston playing Ben Hur and say,
‘Wow’
, now that man’s an actor. He’s mastered his craft.
Then, a couple of years ago I was working a stakeout on the Eastside. We ran up on a couple of teenagers trying to get into the game as they call it. I think it was their first buy. And we had this sting operation in effect. We were going to bust them with a little over three kilos of some low grade coke. It would have been the first bust for most of them. With the legal system set up the way it is, the most they would have done was a couple of years of probation but they panicked and started firing. Bullets were flying everywhere. It remained me of my second tour in ‘Nam. I kid you not. It reminded me of the time my unit was ambushed along the DMZ. Anyway, in all the chaos and mayhem, I ended up shooting a seventeen-year-old kid that day. I don’t know how long it took me to get over that. To be honest, I don’t know if I’m over it yet and that was thirteen years ago.
Sometimes, I wake up in a cold sweat and see that boy’s face as clear as day. Sometime after that, I picked up a newspaper and saw Charlton Heston in front of this huge poster, lauding the NRA and it’s opposition to tighter gun controls. I couldn’t believe that Ben Hur was the president of the NRA. I couldn’t believe that Charlton Heston, a man who had the opportunity to travel the world ten times over, could be oblivious to the pain and devastation that guns are causing right here at home. But he was and he is. I never watched Ben Hur again. My point is that it took some time before it dawned on me that because a man was good at one thing, didn’t necessarily make him cognizant of other facets of his life and those around him.
Still, that didn’t make me want Morris any less. But of course there was more than one or two motivating factors that caused me to join the bureau and if you’ve got a few more minutes we can order dessert. I’d like to tell you a story that I think will help you to understand even more.
At nineteen years of age, Mary Ann, a promising young medical student in her senior year at New York University, crossed the busy Manhattan Street and entered Washington Square Park. Once in the park, she hoped to purchase just enough, China White, to take the edge off and help her relax before she started studying for her midterm exams later that evening.
