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My train ride into Northam takes an hour. I finish reading today’s paper. My copy is wrinkled after Delphine snatched it away earlier; each time I turn the page and catch a crease furrowed down the center, I can’t help chuckling.
My baby girl didn’t give a damn that she was interrupting me. She demanded my attention and demanded it right then and there. Only two-and-a-half-years-old and already so full of personality. So bright and intelligent, but also so gutsy.
I can sense it in her—she’s going to take after me. I’ll mold her that way, set her up for success to carry on my legacy.
My chest swells with pride so much that by the time the train pulls into the Northam station, I’m the Ernest Adams the day will require of me. I stride down the platform in my well-fitted suit with my briefcase in hand, and garner stares as I pass people by.
Now that’s a power walk.
The city is an urban wasteland. The downtown streets lack color and vibrancy. The buildings are drab with peeling paint and faded brick. Smog pollutes the air so everything is filtered in a smoky haze. Construction monopolies like Crotone Co. won’t stop building concrete monstrosities that only seem to get taller and more suffocating. I make it three blocks down the busiest streets in downtown Northam, walking among dozens of people, before I see a single person’s lips twitch into a smile.
A depressing reality.
Trashed. No good garbage.
The city’s in a serious state of decay. I’m going to be the man who saves it.
Northam’s Great Black Hope.
The title’s grown on me in an ironic sort of way. I’ll be their savior all while they hand me the keys to the city without even realizing it.
But, apparently, somehaverealized it—these days, they follow me almost everywhere I go. As I stop at the crosswalk along with a group of other pedestrians, an unmarked white van pulls up to the red light. I do what I always do.
Ignore them.
The second the crosswalk light blinks, I’m on the move. They coast with me, though it’s without a word. They’ve long ago given up on any verbal communication. I threatened them with an investigation into their club’s finances.
No looney tune, ultra secret, rich and powerful community will sink their hooks into me.
That’s how it begins—they indoctrinate you into membership, curry your favor, and then, the next thing you know, you’re trapped. You’re their puppet.
As far as I’m concerned, the Neptune Society is as big a threat as any organized crime family. Someday, I’ll take them down. Just like I’ll take them all down. Every last corrupt vermin in this city. Then we can have color again.
My lips spread into a warm smile thinking of Delphine.
“Morning, Mr. Adams. You have a visitor,” says my legal secretary, Agnes. She hands me my folder of pertinent documents to review and then briefs me on important phone messages she’s taken.
We part ways outside my office door where I thank her for the cup of coffee she mentions she left on my desk and then twist the knob.
“Joe,” I say, setting down my briefcase and coat. “Merry early Christmas. To what do I owe a visit this close to a holiday? Don’t you and Martha usually go out of town for the next two weeks?”
Deputy Mayor Bernstein is best described as a penguin. From his waddle of a walk to his beakish nose, the man is bald and round too. He hovers over the chair he’s sitting in at the sight of me until he realizes it’s too eager and sits back down.
The two of us attended Dupoint Law together many years ago. The difference being I was at the top of my class. Joseph, barely average. I went on to practice law while he pussyfooted around for a few years and then found his calling in local politics and governance.
“Martha and I aren’t going on Christmas vacation this year. It’s more important I speak with you, Ernest. If you have a free moment.”
“My morning is quite full. But I can spare about half an hour for you.”
“Excellent. You should have a seat. This is a serious one.” His fat fingers tug and pull at the wrong end of his necktie and he clears his throat, somehow failing to grasp that he’s choking himself.
I sit down at my desk and sip my coffee. Still hot, medium roast, with a single scoop of creamer. Agnes made it just right. “What’s it about?”
“I… well… I need your help,” Bernstein says nervously. He yanks again on his tie and then coughs. Patches of pink splotch his skin. “I’ve… well… I’ve gotten myself involved in a very, very serious mess. And I don’t know how to get myself out of it.”
“What kind of mess, Joseph?”
