“I can imagine...”
“Still, that’s why we get paid the big bucks, exactly this.”
Donovan nodded, still unsure what to say. Naomh knew she had to say something.
“Look, Donovan...” she began. “If it were different, if Max weren't in the picture...” Her voice trailed off.
It took Donovan a moment to realize Max was her husband, but he knew what she was trying to say. “You don't need to say anything. I had a great time getting to know you. And that's worth more than anything.”
She smiled, finished her coffee and got up. She ran a hand along his cheek and kissed him tenderly. “Goodbye, Donovan. It was fun. And if you ever need some help with public relations....”
“I'll know where to find you.”
There was an issue resolved, he reckoned as he drove the racing-car-green Jaguar home, but it hardly served to make him feel any better. Back home, he sat down in his smoking room, again, with a whiskey and a Cohiba Cuban cigar and picked up his guitar. It was the usual routine. Next he would go to the dining room for his dinner. He found some things were different around the house. His new housekeeper was still learning the ropes. The new janitor, too, was making some mistakes; there were 40 watt bulbs in his office now and a light scratch on the wooden floor in the humidor. But he was young and Johnson, thank goodness for him, had high standards and was keeping his eye on both of them.
That evening, his musings and his musical meditation were interrupted by a call. A cheerful, chirpy voice sounded through his phone and he had Johnson let the person in. Frankie Saunders sat down in the chair opposite his moments later. She crossed her legs and her arms as she waited for Donovan to put his guitar down. “You need to take a chill pill,” she said as he just sat there strumming his guitar in a depressed manner. “None of this was your fault and you need to let it go.”
Donovan frowned and stopped picking the strings. “I know all of that,” He sighed. “I don't know why I can't shake it off.” He was silent for a moment and played a single chord. “Why are you here, Frankie?”
Frankie sighed and leaned forward. “I don't like the guy I'm engaged to, but you know that already. Good guy, but I don't want him.”
“Ah,” was Donovan's only answer. He had a feeling about what was about to come.
“There's only one guy I want, and anyone else is second best. I'll settle for second best if I have to, but I don't want to.”
“Still doesn't explain why you're here, Frankie.”
Frankie Saunders sighed. “This thing with the mayor... he cares too much. I couldn't let him and Michael meet, so I had to avoid both of them. I can't keep doing that. Given the way this world here works, I'll have to settle down, get married and all. And soon...”
“But you don't want to settle for second best?” Donovan guessed.
“I only want my first choice, but I need to know soon.”
“How soon is soon?” Donovan frowned.
“We moved the wedding up. It'll be next week in California. I'm flying over tomorrow morning.” For the first time Frankie fidgeted. “I'd hoped to get an answer from the guy tonight.”
Donovan sighed and put the guitar down. “I don't know Frankie. I really don't know.”
Frankie Saunders nodded and got up. Donovan thought he saw a glint of a tear in her eye. “I'll see you around then, Donovan. Sometime after the wedding maybe?” She hurried from the room and Donovan buried his face in his hands.
Slowly he got up and walked up the stairs. He went to the top bedroom suite and got undressed. He took a quick shower and sat down on the bed. Here was another problem to add to the big list of things that had gone wrong in the last weeks. In frustration, he threw a pillow across the room and then picked up the television remote control. He turned on the big flat screen and tried to find something he wanted to watch. Eventually he just left one of the news channels on and leaned back against the head of the bed.
“FBI agents in the Caribbean have arrested a Jamaican national by the name of Marcel Brown, nicknamed Moses, on suspicion of drug trafficking, weapons trafficking and forgery. As we speak, we have learned the man is being transported to Washington where he will face charges.”
Donovan turned the television off. He did not want to think about international affairs right now. He closed the curtains and tried to go to sleep, but the image of Justine Lavoie's body on the road below him haunted him.
In the morning he woke up early. He had slept badly again and he was short tempered. He snapped at Johnson for bringing him orange juice with pulp with his breakfast. He cheered up a bit as he drove his E-type Jag as fast as he could down Sunset Boulevard, but he knew he had to find another way to deal with everything than driving fast.
He ran up the stairs and sat down behind his desk again. He checked his emails and answered them. There was a reminder from Frankie Saunders that she was flying to California for her wedding and another dinner invitation from Gregoris Sedakis and Maria, his 19 year old wife.
He knew he was stuck in a rut. He needed to get out of there. He needed to find a challenge.
He walked over to the window seat in the alcove and turned on the television again. CNN flashed on. He saw Wolf Blitzer was filling in for someone and he heard his voice ask the reporter from Washington what he was learning.
“Well, Wolf, Marcel Brown arrived at Washington Dulles International earlier today and he was transported to a holding cell in the city to be read the charges against him.”
“How is he going to plead?”
“So far, we’ve learned nothing on that count, as he does not have an attorney. It seems the case is so sensitive no attorney here will touch it. But we have received a letter from the Brown’s attorney in Kingston, Jamaica and he has informed us that his offices have submitted a formal letter to the Privy Council in England requesting that Mr. Brown be immediately released and returned to Jamaica. He claims the FBI has no right to enter a foreign country and arrested a local person on foreign charges.”
“Is he correct about that? Did the FBI have no right? And why would he write to England to fight his extradition?”
“Well, Wolf, Jamaica is a part of the Commonwealth and the Queen of England is the head of state. The Privy Council is the highest court of appeal and the attorney probably thought they might be more helpful to him than the local government. As for the FBI having the right, maybe what Marcel Brown’s lawyer isn’t aware of is the fact that extradition orders were issued to and have sat with the Jamaican Government for the alleged ‘Kingpin’ since 2009.
“Marcel’s gang has been a thorn in the side of law enforcement on the East Coast for the better part of two decades; one of the most notorious gangs in United States history. They’re aggressive and resilient in their bid for territory in which to distribute the massive amounts of marijuana and cocaine they have coming in from the Caribbean and as they’ve gained footing in New York and New Jersey, they’ve also become known for their crude and vicious techniques of eradicating their competition.
“Until now, Marcel has remained virtually untouchable, keeping a low profile and high security around him as he remained entrenched in his home community in Inner City, Kingston. He preferred to send out others to do his dirty work and he did so very effectively through enforcers and soldiers who ran his operations in every major city up and down the Eastern seaboard.
“Drugs, guns, extortion, you name it; Marcel Brown is accused of having a finger in it, without ever entering the U.S. for any extended period of time. That was why it had been so hard for the authorities to get their hands on him. How could they? He was safely tucked away in one of the most volatile neighborhoods in the world.”