LaToya: Episode XVIII – Mission to Alexandra

I hit the approach road to Alexandra at around four o’clock in the afternoon. It is a three-track  highway that meander in some areas, while in others it ran as straight as a foot rule alongside a thick forest filled with trees, shrubs, and grasses. I was lucky that the road was fairly clear of traffic, and I maintained

 a steady speed of sixty-five miles an hour until I saw ahead of me a big signboard whose black letters on a glittering white background made me snatch my foot off the gas pedal.

 

THIS IS ALEXANDRA

GO SLOW

OR

SPEND A NIGHT IN OUR JAIL!

 

I definitely don’t want to spend a night in their jail, and I reduced my speed significantly.  After driving for about a mile further on, I spotted two speed cops leaning at the doors of their police cars. They were two huge white officers with eyes like sun baked pebbles, and they looked as if they were itching to go into action any time. They both stared at me as I passed them while maintaining a speed of forty miles an hour.

The road dipped sharply and began to run down hill after another mile further on, and I had my first sight of Alexandra. It is indeed a beautiful city,  with high rise buildings, apartments, town houses, plushy looking hotels, glittering restaurants and bars, beach huts, and tropical shrubs and trees.  

As I reached the long, busy main street, a closer inspection told me this town is for rich people. Mercedes Benz, Volvo, BMWs, Cadillacs, Bentleys, and Rolls Royce cluttered up the parking lots. I saw richly dressed men – all of them white – sitting in their cars, drumming impatiently on the steering wheel, probably waiting for their wives or girlfriends to finish their shopping and join them back  in their cars. I also saw more men sitting a cafes, staring hungrily at some half-naked ladies who displayed their charms flamboyantly.  I told myself that  Medgar would like Alexandra. I didn’t dislike my first look at  the town myself.

I spotted an empty space in one of the parking lots and swung the Chevrolet Impala into it, cut the engine, and got out. I could feel the heat from the sun as I walked across to a nearby pharmacy store to ask the way to Bashford Lane where Nicholas Wilkens lived. The unfriendly clerk made sure I understood he was doing me a favor as he explained how I would get to Rosemont Drive. Perhaps because my dressing was simple, his sharp eyes seems to have figured that there won’t be  much money in my wallet. From his expression, I could see that he didn’t think much of me, and it was obvious he doesn’t wish to be bothered by a broke black man like me. 

A tall white lady in a green swim-suit, sunglasses, and a straw hat the size of a cart-wheel  came into the pharmacy store as I was leaving. She had a bracelet of diamonds around her right ankle – a bracelet that I believe must have cost some guy a fortune.

The clerk went over to her with a deference that is usually reserved for celebrities, royalty, or important politicians. Obviously, money talks in Alexandra.

I went back to the car.

A fat, white police officer leaned against the car and stared  at me as I approach with cold, unfriendly eyes.

“This is your car, I believe?” he asked, nodding at the car as if it was something he scraped off his booth.

“That’s right,” I said.

He seemed to be mad at me, for reasons best known to him.

“You are in Alexandra now,” he said, biting off each word. “We like cars parked the proper way in Alexandra. Your rear wheels are over the white line.”

I looked over at the glittering Mercedes Benz parked next to my car. Its off-side wheels were over the white line by more than three feet, but after all it was a  1977 Mercedes Benz and not a 1962 Chevrolet Impala Sedan.

“I apologize,” I said. “I just arrived here from Baltimore.”

He held  out his hand which revealed fingers so thick they could have been mistaken for a bunch of hot dogs in a poor light.

“I need to see your license and registration!,” he barked.

I gave him my license and registration document. He looked over them as if he wasn’t too sure they were mine,  then took out a form from a leather case and began to write laboriously.

“Staying long in Alexandra?” he asked without looking at me.

“Not really,” I said. “I don’t think I can afford to stay for a long time here, even if I want to.”

He let that one slide, and just handed me the sheet he had written on.

“Ten bucks.”

“What?” I said. “I don’t get it.”

“That’s your fine for parking your car the wrong way.”

I gave him the ten dollars without protesting further and accepted the receipt. I had been warned by Captain Donald, and Mr. Sessoms was paying, so why should I care? The officer seemed surprised there was no argument from me.

“We have to show visitors like you that we are serious about punishing violators,” he said. “Be careful next time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I replied.

His eyes were as cold as an iceberg. He wrote down my plate number, so I figured he would look out for me in the future.

I got into the car.

“Am I good to go?” I asked.

He gave me a cold stare and walked away. He looked from the back like a prizefighter.   I told myself that a  nudge from this guy  would have shoved in  my ribs.

As I drove away, I suddenly noticed that I was sweating slightly and the reason for that wasn’t because of the heat. If my experience with the clerk at the pharmacy store and with this police officer was going to happen often, I thought, then my temper and nerves would almost certainly become tested in this town.

Bashford Lane was in the poorer quarter of Alexandra. The houses there were smaller, and didn’t stand in a couple of acres of screened estates as almost ninety percent of the rest of the houses in Alexandra did. It was a tree-lined street tucked away as if ashamed of itself, but a street I immediately fell in love with and wished I could live in.

In the garden of No. 25, I saw a big, fat, solid-looking man fussing over  a row of tomatoes a professional would have been proud to have grown. I guessed he must be Nicholas Wilkens. He glanced up as I swung the Chevrolet Impala to the curb.

Although he is fat, his weather-beaten face, his alert blue eyes, his sun-burned, balding head and his aggressive  chin gave him character plus toughness and made him look every in a cop. I got out of the Chevrolet Impala as he wandered down the garden path to meet me.

“Captain Wilkens?” I asked.

“Who wants to know?” he said.

“Me, of course,” I said, smiling.

“Good enough,” he said. “Come on in.”

“I hope I packed at the right place?” I asked. “I’ve already gotten a ticket for parking out of line.”

He laughed.

“Your car will be fine,” he said. “They don’t give tickets to cars parked outside my house. Come on in.”

I followed him up the path.

“You must be a proud gardener, Captain Wilkens,” I said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen tomatoes as big as those before.”

“They are pretty good,” he said. “And they taste good on sandwich too. You a gardener?”

“No, but I plan to become one in the future,” I replied.

“Oh yeah?” He nodded. “Can’t say I blame you. Gardening these days are for the middle aged and the old like me. I can’t do without gardening at my age. I will be completely lost.”

He led me into a neat, comfortably furnished sitting room. The way the room’s casement windows opened out on to the lawn made it a good place to sit and relax while sipping on a glass of wine.

“What’s your name again?” he asked.

“Emeka Okeke,” I replied.

He lifted a bushy eyebrow.

“You the guy who writes in Baltimore Star?”

“That’s right,” I said.

He beamed.

“I’m glad I finally met you,” he said. “I read all your articles. They are good investigative  work. Please have a sit.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“How about a drink?” He asked.

“That’ll be good,” I said.

“This is your first visit to Alexandra?” He asked while he was getting the drinks.

“Yes,” I replied.  “It’s a pretty looking city, and it looks as if it is made of money.”

“It is,” he said. “Some say there’s more loose money here than in Las Vegas. We have ten billionaires living here right at this minute. As a matter of fact, anyone with less than six-figure income is trash in Alexandra.” He came over with the drinks and lowered his bulk in a couch facing me. “Well, here’s to you.”

We drank, then I handed him Captain Donald’s letter.

“Here’s an introduction from Captain Donald,” I said.

Wilkens’s face lit up.

“Captain Donald is a very good friend of mine,” he said. “I haven’t heard from him in a long time. How is he doing?”

“He’s doing okay,” I said. “He and I are working on a case. It was almost a forgotten case until Baltimore Star decided re-open the investigation. For some reason, a lead has turned up here, and he thought it might be a good idea if I investigated it.”

Wilkens looked sharply at me, opened the letter and read it. As he returned the letter to the envelope, he said, “Very interesting. So you are here to investigate a lead, correct?”

“That’s the idea,” I said. “I understand Commissioner Lawson doesn’t encourage that kind of thing.”

“I will call that an understatement, Emeka,” Wilkens said. “Take my advice: get in your car and go back to Baltimore.   The atmosphere in Baltimore, as far as I know, is a lot healthier than here.”

“I know that, Captain Wilkens,” I said. “But I have a job to do. I was hoping you’ll give me some tips on how to get this job done, you know.”

“There’s not much I can do because I am no longer with this establishment now,” he said. “I have been basically decommissioned and haven’t been inside headquarters for over a year. In any case, will you mind telling me what it’s all about?”

Making myself as comfortable as I can, I gave him the whole story. He sat still and listened attentively. I had no doubt in my mind that he hadn’t missed a single word I said.

“A very interesting case you have, Emeka,” he said after I finished. “I think you are on to something coming here. Now, this might be a coincidence, but you might be interested to know there’s an exclusive night club in Alexandra that’s called the Golden Triangle.”

I sat up.

“Golden Triangle?” I said. “Please tell me all you know about this club. What type of club is it?”

“A very exclusive one, Emeka,” he replied.  “It is run by Saul Bolton, who is a very smart businessman, that is, if you can use that word for a crook. Anyway, when I was with the force, I made it my business to check on him. He started life as a gambler, his preference being poker at Century Casino which then was the most notorious casino in Alexandra. From gambling he graduated to other clandestine illegal dealings, and he is always one step ahead of the law. That’s why I said he is smart. He made good money and opened the Golden Triangle. The night club has two big gambling rooms and a strip club, and I am very sure that at least two of the roulette wheels are rigged. The problem is that only those with membership cards can get near the place. Commissioner Lawson, by the way, was one of the first life members. I also learned that his entrance and subscription fees were on the house. The club has six hundred members, and they are all top government officials. All of them has six-figure incomes. It’s really an exciting place.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I said. “Do you think I can register as a member?” Wilkens laughed.

“It would be easier to get you made the Mayor of Alexandra, Emeka,” he said. “Yes, a lot easier.”

“Well, then I guess I’ll have to try shelf the idea for now,” I said. “Do you know Quentin Powell? Does the name mean anything to you?”

“Not really,” Wilkens said. “He’s the guy who claims to recognize LaToya Young, correct?”

“That’s right,” I said. “And he will be my first port of call.”

“Well, Emeka,” Wilkens said seriously. “If you take my advice and go slow, you will live long. You don’t have to worry much about the uniformed police officers in Alexandra. I mean, the officers who are pounding the beat won’t bother you much. Now, don’t get me wrong: they are equally on the look-out for an easy money here and there. As a matter of fact, almost all of them get a cut on all fines made on the spot, and believe me their eyes are red when it comes to money. I recommend that you pay up when they asks for it and don’t talk back at them. If you can do that, then you’ll be okay. The plain clothes officers are the ones you should be worried about. They are really tough, for real. Police Captain Fitzgerald was my lieutenant when I was in charge. I had trouble with him when I was in office and my greatest mistake then was not getting rid of him. He is a bad cop, and is very, very brutal. His lieutenant’s name is Sergeant Luke Montgomery. Run up against Sergeant Montgomery and your best bet is to get out of Alexandra fast. I’m not joking, Emeka. There’s a private eye from West Baltimore…”

“I heard that story from Police Captain Donald.”

“It was Sergeant Montgomery who fixed him,” Wilkens said. “So, you’d better watch out.”

I was beginning to feel concerned, and I wished I had Medgar with me. He would have been very scared to hear all these, and that will make me to feel brave and less lonely.

“I will be careful, I promise,” I said. “Thanks for the tip. I am looking for a cheap but good motel. Do you know any one?”

“Try Panache Motel on Seventh Avenue,” he said. “They will take good care of you. One more thing: never tell anyone you’ve been to see me. I’m not popular in Alexandra. So naturally, strangers or friends calling on me won’t be popular either.”

I got up.

“Thanks a lot for your help,” I said. “Can I come and see you if I need more tips?”

“Sure,” he replied. “But I do prefer that you call me first. Also, it would be safer if you come here when it was dark, and better if you didn’t leave your car outside.”

I stared at him, surprised.

“Really?” I said. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious,” he said.

“So they really don’t want you to have visitors?”

“That’s the way they want it,” he said. “I retired last year, and you are the only visitor I’ve had since then. People don’t want to visit a cop who had to retire anyway. But, it doesn’t really bother me – nothing bothers me these days anyway. I have a good and beautiful wife and a garden. That’s all men my age needs.”

“You had to retire?” I said. “As the…”

“I was kicked out of the force,” he said. “I will give you the whole story whenever both of us got more time to waste. For now, I’ve go a lot of work to do, and I believe you have plenty on your plate too.”

“That’s right.” I was startled. “In any case, thanks for seeing me. I will be in touch.”

I left him and walked down the path to the Chevrolet.

I saw a huge, white policeman wandering along the opposite side of the road. He paused when he saw me and his brow furrowed in guarded curiosity as he continued to stare at me. I ignored him, even though my heart started racing. I got into the Chevrolet and drove away.

As I was driving away, I could see the policeman in my rearview mirror. He had his notebook out, and I had no doubt in my mind that he was writing down my number. I told myself that Alexandra is indeed a police city. That knowledge increased my anxiety.

 

 

 

END OF EPISODE 18

P.S. Stay tuned for Episode 19, which  will be published here next Sunday.