The backwoods were quiet, as if bird and beast alike held their breath, waiting witnesses to what we were about to do. The slight rush of water hit the riverbank. I pulled back the tarp. I wedged my foot underneath Willie Jay’s body and gave it a rough push toward the river embankment. I watched him slowly slink into the water as I stepped away from the river’s edge. A minute later, I heard a hard snap and then a flurry of water splashing and moving about. Then it stopped. Dead silence, again.
Back inside the kitchen, we wrapped Willie Jay’s belongings in the gray tarp, along with the plate, fork, serving spoon, and casserole dish with the remaining chicken and dumplings—laced with strychnine. Vera tucked it under her arm.
“I’ll take care of his car now. If anybody comes looking for me, tell ’em I went around the corner. Don’t let nobody in the house before I get back, you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Now, what happened here tonight is what we call a grave secret. You take it on to glory with you. Nobody ever has to know. You understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I hugged Vera tightly, the two of us locked in a grip of love and vengeance. She finally released the hug, patted my back, and left the house.
And none of us—me, Sam, or Vera—ever uttered the name Willie Jay Groover again.
Chapter 38
Love with your heart. Fight with your head. It was as if Vera had declared a rallying cry directly into my ear. I tried to imagine Vera cowering to Sheriff Coogler or Willie Jay or her rapist. She never did. She was a woman who had traveled a jagged road of poverty and racism and sexism. And she maneuvered it all while helping other women. She’d be ashamed if she knew I was sitting in my house crying about a threat from men like Jonathan and Max. She wouldn’t have it.
I changed clothes. A black turtleneck sweater, jeans, and a pair of Sperry boots. I called Detective Bradford. She didn’t answer so I left a message. I retrieved Max’s thumb drive and the flyer from my kitchen table. I stuffed them into the pocket of my parka. I grabbed my cell phone, wallet, and keys.
Jonathan and Max were trying to box me in. They had me down, but I wasn’t out. I’d been na?ve to think they wouldn’t kill me because I was the lone Black person in the executive suite. True, they wouldn’t kill me, but they’d decided to do something much worse. They were out to destroy me. They’d decided to hurt the people who meant something to me. Sam. Vera. Rudy.
Rudy.
Before I left the house, I dialed Rudy’s cell number. “Hey, it’s me. Are you still in the office?”
“Yeah. Why are you calling me on my cell phone? Aren’t you upstairs on Twenty?”
“No. Listen to me. It’s really important. I need you to do exactly as I tell you. Get the shipping documents we discussed this morning from my desk. Take them to Detective Bradford at the Atlanta Police Department as fast as you can. Tell her I have more evidence. After you do, go straight home. Whatever you do, do not go back into the office.”
“Evidence? What?”
“Just do as I say. Get out of that office.”
“Ellice—”
“It’s too much to explain right now, but you’re in danger. It has to do with the Libertad deal. Just trust me. Go get the documents right now. Get them to Bradford and go home to your wife and kids. I’ll call you later.”
Next, I called Beachwood and had them patch me through to the third-floor nurses’ station. I confirmed that Vera was okay and that she was to have no visitors whatsoever.
I placed one more call. “Juice, it’s Ellice. I need your help. Can you meet me somewhere?”
“Absolutely.” He didn’t even hesitate. We agreed on a meeting place.
I hung up and hustled to my car in the garage. As I pulled out onto the street, I noticed a black Escalade parked across the street from my building. My stomach did a flip. I convinced myself that I was just freaking out, again.
*
Thirty minutes later, I sat across a table from Juice at the Varsity on North Avenue, an iconic fast-food fixture in Atlanta since the 1920s. Juice had picked this place, and for this, he reminded me of Sam. He was dressed in a leather bomber jacket and jeans. His locs bounced every time he moved his head. His easy smile was front and center.
“You sure you don’t want something to eat? My treat,” Juice said. “I feel bad eating in front of you when you’re not eating.”
“Thanks. I’m good.”
Juice took a big bite out of his chili cheese dog and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I guess you finally figured out I wouldn’t stop calling until you talked to me, huh?”