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  “You're planning to imply that he's done something illegal aren’t you?” Anthony put his fork down.

  “I didn't go into this to make your uncle look bad, Anthony. That's just the way it turned out,” Michelle blurted. “Listen, I'm sorry.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  Michelle's temper flared. Maybe a healthy dose of the truth was what he needed. “Ike is making big money on these contracts but he's not delivering the services.”

  “A few disgruntled tenants, some dilapidated apartments and presto, you get lots of air time. Revenge on my uncle and a career boost. A neat package.” Anthony pushed the plate from him.

  “Are you suggesting that I manufactured this story?” Michelle's mouth flew open.

  “I'm suggesting there probably wouldn't be an investigative series if you hadn't found out Uncle Ike was involved.”

  “Wrong, the district attorney is investigating, too.” Michelle lowered her voice.

  “At your instigation no doubt.”

  “With Ike's track record, they sure didn't need me to tell them anything.” Michelle threw her napkin on the table.

  “Uncle Ike is a shrewd business man. Has it ever occurred to you that the DA might be targeting him because he's a successful African-American man?”

  “Oh come on, Anthony. Whenever Ike gets into the hot water, it's usually well deserved.” Michelle forgot her best intentions not to insult Ike. It galled that Anthony assumed she had twisted the facts. His loyalty to Ike was automatic, unlike his trust in her.

  “Everything you've reported so far is speculation and innuendo. There is no proof to any of the accusations you've made.”Anthony pointed a finger at her.

  “Wrong! I've got invoices showing payment for work not done. There's drug dealing going on, intimidation. Your Uncle is in it up to his neck, Anthony. It's time you see him for who he really is.” Michelle fought to keep from shouting.

  “Why can't you give up this vendetta? Uncle Ike is no gangster. And I don't need you to tell me what kind of man he is. Uncle Ike is a good man.” Anthony's voice trembled with fury.

  “Ike doesn't care who he steps on. My father was just one in a long line of his victims. Eventually he's going to go down.”

  “And you plan to be the one to see he does, is that it? Whether it's right or not. So much for journalistic integrity.”

  “You have the nerve to question my character with Ike Batiste for uncle? You find excuses for every despicable stunt he pulls. Just like before.” Michelle grabbed her purse and coat.

  “There are at least five other contractors, but his name is the only one you've mentioned in your reports. Why is that, Michelle?”Anthony stood to face her.

  “Is that what you think?” Michelle said through clenched teeth. “That I'm want revenge bad enough to go to any lengths?”

  Anthony lowered his voice and leaned across the table.”Just what do you expect me to think, Michelle? You're acting on rumors.”

  Michelle scrambled to get out of the booth. “This is pointless. You can't handle the truth about him.”

  “Sit down and be reasonable.” Anthony grabbed her arm and tried to pull her back.

  “Oh, I'm being very reasonable. Considering what you've accused me of, I should have crammed my napkin up your nose. Let go of me.” Michelle jerked away from him.

  “You don't have any more proof now than you had six years ago when you claimed Uncle Ike deliberately tried to ruin your father.”

  Michelle raked him with a withering gaze. “And like six years ago you find it easier to excuse his behavior because you benefit from it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Back then Uncle Ike paid for your car, put you through school. These days... Well, good old Uncle Ike set you up in business and used his connections to get you some pretty juicy contracts.” Michelle's mouth turned down at the corners in an expression of disgust. “You always said you wanted to be like him. Guess you've made it.”

  “Are you saying--” Anthony spluttered, so angry he could not finish.

  “What I'm saying is goodbye!” Michelle shot back before heading for the door.

  Anthony strode after her fuming.”If that's what you believe then you only used me to get to my uncle. You played your part very well.”

  Michelle turned on him.”You and your uncle can go straight to hell, Anthony Hilliard.”She got into her car and slammed the door.

  “Mister, you forgot to pay. Mister.” The waitress stood in the doorway waving their bill.

  “Damn!” Anthony stood watching the tail lights of Michelle's car disappear. Finally he went back into the restaurant.

  ***

  A chill of fear went down her spine as Michelle read the profanity spray painted on the outside wall of LaWanda's apartment. “Maybe you shouldn't do another interview. I can use shots of the apartments to tie up. I've gotten plenty from you already.”

  Michelle did a quick review of the material she had for this last segment. With the invoices and the video, her final report could still pack quite a punch without putting LaWanda in more jeopardy.

  “I told you let's do it.” LaWanda wore a grim determined expression. “They ain't gonna push us around.”

  “I don't know.” Michelle chewed her lower lip.

  “Ready, Michelle,” Bob said after talking into his headset.

  “I've gotta do this, okay?” LaWanda took her hand.

  Michelle gave her hand a quick squeeze then nodded for Bob to begin taping. “For the past few weeks, we have shown you some of the serious problems residents of public housing face. Ms. Sibley you've heard Ms. Charlotte Kinchen's response to our report. What are your thoughts?”

  LaWanda stared at the camera. “We've tried to keep our homes nice, but there's just so much we can do. Charlotte Kinchen don't have to live here. If she did, we wouldn't need to be on television.”

  “We understand that there have been attempts to intimidate you and other members of the tenants association,” Michelle said.

  “Yeah, but we won't stop. That's what they want. New Orleans is sending us some help, too.”

  “The regional Housing of Urban Development, I take it.”

  “Yeah, that's right. We called 'em and they gonna help us pilot tenant management in this complex. We gone turn things around one project at a time.”

  The camera zoomed on a close up of Michelle. “Sources tell Channel Twelve that District Attorney Hanson Connely has been conducting a probe of the East Baton Rouge Parish Housing Authority.” Michelle stepped close to LaWanda so she could be back on camera with her.”And as you've heard, the Tenants Action League is determined to make a better life for themselves and their children. This is Michelle Toussaint reporting for Channel Twelve News.”

  “That's a wrap. Let's get out of here while it's still light,” Bob whispered to Michelle as he passed her.

  “LaWanda, please be careful. Maybe you could stay with friends for a few days. Some of these guys have got bad records. Especially Lonnie Mason.”

  “Don't worry. We got police patrolling more frequently, and a local security firm donated a patrol for the next two weeks.” LaWanda smiled, her face full of hope.”For the first time, we feel like things are gonna get better 'round here.”

  “You've got guts, LaWanda. I know you can do it. Michelle hugged her.

  “Humph, not so much guts as hard-headed.” LaWanda laughed loudly.

  “Let's pray you don't have any more problems.” Michelle glanced around her with a frown. She knew with terrifying certainty that the gang would not give up so easily.

  ***

  Back at the station, Michelle worked hard at being in a gay mood as Gracie, Kate, and Earl insisted on toasting her. They drank sparkling cider in a bottle that made it look like champagne. Before long, they were joined by a crowd of staffers more than willing to party. Yet amid the lively chatter and jokes, Michelle's smile hid her true feelings. The story that everyone assumed she cons
idered a triumph left a metallic taste in her mouth. Anthony's stinging accusations still echoed in her ears. Nagging doubts made her feel morose instead of triumphant. Doubts that left her wondering if she truly had a reason to rejoice. Had her personal feelings skewed her view of the facts so much that the story fell short of being balanced or credible?

  “Mr. Lockport,” Kate spluttered. Wide eyed, she seemed unable to say more.

  “Carry on. Oh, thank you.”Lockport accepted a glass with dignified good humor.”Congratulations on the series, Toussaint. Caused quite a stir in some circles.”

  “No kidding? Details, give us details.” Gracie waved her hands to quiet the others.

  “I hear James Bridges has complained to his friends with the mayor's office, who complained to members of the Red Stick Business Association, who complained to Gerald Mansur, II.” Lockport sipped at the cider and dabbed his lips with a paper napkin. He paused for dramatic effect seeming not to notice the expectant hush his words had caused. “The old man told them to go suck an egg, though not in those exact words.”

  Shouts of glee and applause broke out. The party resumed. Michelle felt nothing, no apprehension about the waves her story had caused nor relief at the expression of support from the powerful Mansur patriarch. At what should have been a high point in her career, all she could think of was the empty apartment she faced after the party. The story that would lead to greater success in her professional life was devastating for an important part of her personal life. Michelle looked around at the merry faces. What was that old saying? Be careful going after what you want; you just might get it.

  “Try to restrain yourself, honey. With all this jumping for joy you'll hurt something.” Gracie perched next to her on the end of her desk.

  “Guess I'm just exhausted now that it's over,” Michelle sighed.

  “You and Anthony must have one good time planned for later, huh?”

  “Not really.” Michelle traced an invisible line on the tile floor with the toe of her boot.

  “Just a quiet celebration. That's even better.” Gracie hunched her with an elbow.

  “Very quiet. He won't even be there. But who needs him, right? If he can't understand my work or want to defend that slimy uncle of his, to hell with him.”

  “Right.” Gracie nodded and pounded the desk with a fist.”It's not like you will miss the guy.”

  “Who needs him questioning my professional judgment, my motives? The man is inflexible and basically dishonest. He knows what Ike is and expects me to play that game. I'll be damned if that's so.” Michelle threw the empty plastic cup into the trash can.

  “Besides, you told him that there was evidence Ike wasn't on the up and up. He shouldn't blame you. It's not like he was blind-sided, taken totally off guard about the seriousness of the allegations. Right?” Gracie clapped a hand on her shoulder.

  “I told him about the series.” Michelle blurted out in defense noticing the penetrating look Gracie gave her.

  “Exactly what did you say?”

  “Damn it, Gracie. I couldn't risk telling him too much.”

  “But I thought you were going to sit down with him right before the first segment. Did you at least give him a sort of broad outline of what you'd be saying about Ike? You already had the evidence. Anything he told Ike at that point would not have made a difference.”

  “I told him I would be doing a few more stories on the housing thing. Or something to that effect.”

  “I see.” Gracie continued to stare at her.

  “What? I hope you're not going to tell me this is my fault. No way.” Michelle's hair bounced as she shook her head vigorously.

  “A bit more detail would have been better,” Gracie said in a cautious tone.

  “Hey, you were the one who said someone you loved would understand your attempts to do the right thing. Anthony isn't even looking at the content of my story, not thinking about how the tenants are suffering.”

  “You could be right. But you were the one who said how much Ike meant to him. How Ike filled a void for a young boy hurt at being abandoned by his father. Pretty heavy stuff.”

  “I gave him warnings, Gracie. This isn't the first time Anthony has heard of Ike's antics. I won't become part of the fantasy that Ike is a lovable roughneck with a heart of gold.”

  “So what now?” Gracie put an arm around Michelle's shoulders.

  “Life goes on, that's what. In fact, let's go out and have ourselves a blast. What do you say? Hey, Earl, you want to?” Michelle yelled to him over the noise.

  “I'm game.”Earl lifted his cup to her.

  “Me too.” Kate called out along with several others.

  “Then let's kick it.” Michelle grabbed her coat and headed for the door.

  Three hours later the inevitable happened. Michelle sat at home alone. She scrolled through stations hoping to find a movie, sitcom or some other mindless entertainment. Images flashed by as she watched each for a few seconds before moving on dissatisfied. A snatch of harmony caught her attention causing her to pause at a music video. With a sinking fascination, she watched a couple embrace to the strains of a popular love song. The story of anguish when a promising love goes wrong tore at Michelle's heart. Tears streamed down her face as the male vocalist crooned: “Why,” a mournful voice wailed, “Why did we have to say goodbye? If only I could see you again.” The words could have been her own. Michelle hugged herself tightly, rocking slowly in time with the melancholy tune.

  ***

  Long shadows stretched across the apartment complex. Voices calling children into supper bounced from the concrete block walls. Tired workers straggled in from low paying jobs. One by one window lit up as the tenants settled in for the night.

  LaWanda stood at the stove stirring a large pot of black-eyed peas. Occasionally she checked on the cornbread baking in the tiny oven. The television blared away as her three children played on the floor in front of it. Her eldest seemed oblivious to the clamor as she concentrated on homework. The tat-tat did not immediately attract LaWanda's attention. But soon the high pierced screams of her babies made her drop the large spoon. Turning, she prepared to settle yet another fight. Instead her screams blended with theirs at the sight of her youngest on his back, covered with blood. She stumbled across the room to falling on her knees beside Relondo. LaWanda cradled the child with one arm and punched the phone buttons with her free hand. Pounding on her door went unanswered as she shrieked her address at the 911 operator.

  ***

  “The bullet went right through the little guy. Missed all his vital organs. Miracle.” The tired resident rubbed his reddened eyes.

  “But he's going to be okay?” Michelle wanted to shake him for not getting to the point.

  “Yes. Might even go home in a few days.” He wandered off at the call of his name from a nurse.

  “Thank you, Lord.”Michelle slumped into the hard plastic chair of the waiting room. Her whole body shook with relief.

  “You oughta go on home, sugar. LaWanda's family is here.” Candy, LaWanda's friend from the tenants group, sat next to her and patted her arm. “I'll tell her you were here.”

  “In a while maybe.” Michelle pulled the fleece jacket closer around her.”I'd like to see them before I leave.”

  The glare of harsh fluorescent lights made the charity hospital lobby appear even more bleak than usual at four thirty in the morning. Michelle brushed her hair wondering for the first time how she must look. She glanced to notice she was wearing one blue and one green sock, a result of having dressed at top speed. The ringing of the phone had shaken her from sleep at one o'clock. A male voice, one of the tenants active in the association with LaWanda, told her of the shooting. The drive to the hospital was a blur. As the tension drained away, her mind began to spin. What if she were to blame?

  Earl walked in still speaking into his compact cell phone. “Right. Got it. I'll fax it to you from home.”

  “Thanks for stepping in for me, Earl. Sorry I fel
l apart.” Michelle got up to hug him.

  “Don't apologize for being human,” Earl said.

  “Yeah, but I'm a professional. Instead of getting hysterical I should have been getting the facts.” Michelle wiped her eyes.

  “The best advice I ever got was from my journalism professor at Howard. He said the best reporters sometimes do get involved. Otherwise, you're like some cold-blooded scientist staring at specimens under a glass. Once you lose all ability to feel a story, it's time to start selling used cars.”

  “Maybe I should sell used cars or real estate or cosmetics.” Michelle bit her lip.

  “What do you mean?” Earl took a seat.

  “I let ambition and hatred of Ike Batiste cloud my judgment. I was so hot to nail him I couldn't see where to draw the line. I let LaWanda take a dangerous chance when she didn't have to,” Michelle said, her voice quivered as she fought to keep from crying.

  “Child, that ain't so. We knew better than you some of them men workin' for Miz Kinchen come straight outta jail,” Candy broke in. She placed one arm around Michelle. “You helped get us the attention from the big folks in New Orleans so we could make some changes.”

  “LaWanda went as far as she did because of me, Candy. I kept pushing for more information.”

  “You did your job, Toussaint. You reported on a story about people who wanted a way out of bad situation.” Earl spoke in a firm voice.

  “Earl, I have to be honest with myself. Getting this story, especially exposing Ike Batiste, was important to me. Maybe so important that I went too far.” Staring down at her hands, Michelle frowned as if in pain at the words she forced out.

  “Don't beat yourself up like this, Michelle.” Earl spoke softly.

  “A little kid is lying in a hospital bed with a bullet hole in his chest. I can't help feeling I helped put him there.” Michelle's voice broke. She covered her face with her hands.

  “Listen to me, slugger.” Earl pulled her to him. “You're not to blame. Nothing you said or did was enough to put a gun in some bastard's hand and make him point it at babies.”