It would be hard to be a minority, I decided. For a lot of reasons, but also because fewer people looked like you. A simple but powerful factor. I became acutely aware of my whiteness as I noted eighteen of the twenty partiers plunging into the club weren’t white. We’re all racists, so said the Wall Street Journal, but I’d like to think I was less so than most and yet I still felt the tension of looking different.
I’m deeply profound.
Actually, my first impression of Mackenzie August was a different word--snide, or mocking, as opposed to profound... But, his style of speech grows on you... He clearly presents, for me, both Mike Hammer and Robert B. Parker's Spenser. Mike Hammer is the typical private investigator who talks tough while wondering what in the world he's doing... On the other hand, Robert B. Parker has been my favorite fiction writer since the first book I read... In fact, when I've been asked for advice about writing, I immediately recommend that the hopeful author study the writing of Parker... His words are concisely chosen as well as presented in short sentences that allows readers to move more quickly into his stories. There is no confusion in what is being said... Blending the two successfully is an achievement, but for those who have experienced both of these characters, especially on TV, I applaud Lee for achieving what many could consider impossible, especially adding his being a teacher of English and using it precisely, often to correct somebody else during a conversation, LOL ... I was impressed by the time I'd finished the first book.
“I met the chief,” I said. “Or what’s left of him. We shook hands and I nearly killed him.” Buzzcut did a snort. “I heard you was funny,” he said. “Were.” “What?” “Were funny, or are,” I said. “Not was. It’s complicated because are and were are both plural, but you does not take singular verbs.” “The hell are you talking about?” he said. “Don’t blame me, Sanders. It’s the rules.”
On the other hand, Lee offered no personal traits for Mackenzie, other than "big, wide" etc... So I chose Spenser's sidekick, Hawk... as how I visualized August. Yes, he's black and Mackenzie is white, but in this book, that really doesn't matter, since we throw in Mackenzie's friend, Manny who adds in Latino words quite often... Truly, I loved the multicultural vibe, even at the same time, people are killing each other... Kinda a wide chasm, considering the many different characters presented in this story...
After first period, between classes as the hall was throttled with hormones, I stood by Reginald Willis. He wore a sweater, as he did every day no matter the heat. “Mr. August, you need a good shave, sir. How then shall the children learn? You, looking like a bum,” he said.
“Willis, you ever heard about the Addisonian Social Club?” He turned to regard me from the corner of his eye. His mouth cracked a smile but for once was silent. For several seconds. “What’cho want with the Addisonian?” “A friend mentioned it.” “A friend.” He cackled, a burst of sound that startled the passersby. “A friend. You’re a lying White man.” “What? I have friends.” “The Addisonian.” He shook his head. “Enlighten me.” “It’s a club. Dancing. You know?” “You ever go?” I asked. “Of course. Old Reggie got moves, youngster.” “Can I go?” Another long pause. His expression was full of mirth and suspicion. “Why?” “Because.” “Who you going with?” he asked. “Does it matter?” He nodded. “It does.” “I’ll go with you.” “The hell you will! Old Reginald showing up with this funny-looking White man. My women would eat you alive, Mr. August, and enjoy every minute. They’re like jackals.”
“It’s a club exclusively for people of color?” “People of color,” he said. His tone was mocking. “Call me Black, Mr. August, ‘cause I call you White. People who fret over such distinctions got nothing better to do. Hurry up, children! The bell tolls for thee! And no sir, the Addisonian is not exclusive to brothers and sisters.” “But.” “But. You’d be the only one, most times.” “Maybe—” “The Addisonian is a place where I go to cut loose. All are welcome, Mr. August, but White people don’t have fun. Don’t know how. Too uptight. You understand? You can go, sure, but you’d be like Trump at a black church. You don’t look a man who can get down.” “It’s a good time?” “The Addisonian? Best place in Roanoke. Good for my soul.”
“You know a guy, Big Will?” His face clouded and laughter drained away. He grabbed me by the elbow. “Listen here, Mr. August, you come talk to me after school. You understand? And don’t say that name again.” The bell rang. He gave me an extra hard squeeze and released. Classes ended. The school emptied of students and noise, like a balloon deflating. Sudden silence. I glanced in Ms. Bennett’s room. Her room was tossed and shaken, desks and papers everywhere. She sat in a student’s desk, legs splayed, a far-off look. A spitball was lodged in her hair. “I don’t even know what happened,” she said. She was drowning in the deep end. I’d offered ranks of suggestions but she still wasn’t brave enough to pull the proverbial trigger. She’d start swimming soon or sink to the bottom, and nothing I could do to change it. I moseyed into Reginald Willis’s room. He sat at his desk and overwhelmed the chair. He glowered. “So it’s true.”
“The rumors about how much I bench?” I said. “You think this is a joke, boy.” “That’s just how I interpret the world, Reginald. I joke. What’s true?” I asked. “You’re a cop.” “‘Fraid not.” “Bull,” he said. “Cross my heart.” “Don’t matter. The rumors say you are, so that’s the truth. The students find out, you’re busted.” “I’m not a police officer. I used to be.” “Why are you asking about Big Will?” Reginald asked. “You know him?” “Everyone knows him! So, what? You part of the war on drugs? You gentrifying your students? Come to save us with your whiteness?” I grabbed a chair from the wall and set it down across his desk. Sat in it. “Mr. Willis, I’ve upset you. I’m sorry. Can you explain? I’ve taken away all your joy and I don’t know why.” He leaned back in his chair and his thick fingers drummed on the desk. He made a low grunting noise. “You used to be a cop?” “In Los Angeles. I quit two years ago. You dislike cops?” “I do. Well, that ain’t right. I think they often cause more trouble than needs be. More trouble than they solve. Only cops allowed in the hood should be from the hood. You get it?” “I do.” “Why you asking about Big Will?” Reginald asked. “I’m not sure I trust you. Like you said, if the students get the wrong idea, if you start talking, I’m busted.” “Mr. August, I’m a teacher. Coulda been a preacher. Right? Got me a degree in paralegal studies from Richmond, could be working for a judge. But I teach. You understand that? I grew up off Melrose, and went to college ‘cause of the grace of God and my eleventh grade math teacher, Mr. Fowler. My daughter, she’s a nurse. My other daughter, she’s married an accountant and I got two grandkids. Happily married these twenty-seven years. I’m mad at’cha, Mr. August, because you’re in trouble. Or about to be. So maybe you tell me why you asking about Big Will.” “Students in my class are buying and selling cocaine. I found the notes and I found the delivery system. I don’t want to ruin their lives so I haven’t reported them. Instead I’ve done research and discovered Big Will.” “You discovered Big Will,” he repeated. “Right.” “And you haven’t told about the coke.” “Ms. Deere has no idea,” I said. “Nor do the other administrators.” “Well then. Not as dumb as you look. Maybe hope for you.” “Why’s that?” “You think jail cures problems? You think kids go to Coyner Springs and come out good people? Naw. Drugs ain’t the problem. Drugs are a coping mechanism. Drugs are a currency, a market, a pain reliever. And also drugs are the devil. But the police don’t offer any solutions. Jail acts like a school for criminals, you understand.” “You and I are on the same page,” I said. “No we ain’t, neither. What good you think you’ll do with Big Will? You think he’s the only way kids get drugs? You take him out and your problems are solved?” “Tell me about him.” “He came through these halls. Twenty years ago, maybe. I was here. I remember Big Will. Enterprising young man. Good student. He’ll kill you, Mr. August. He will. Won’t even stop eating lunch to do it.” “You’re scared of him.” “I respect him. Same way I respect violence. See, Mr. August, the drugs are everywhere. You think you’ll stop them? Try stopping cancer instead. Got a better chance. Big Will’s got a big operation and you won’t stop it. You do? And someone else will pick it up. Can’t stop time. And you can’t stop this.” “Your solution is to be a role model?” “Same solution as Mr. Fowlers, my math teacher. Teach the truth. Be a role model. Kids who come from money will go on to have money. Kids who don’t, won’t. What’s gonna change that cycle? Nothing. ‘Cept maybe me. Not the police. Not the drugs. But you pick the hill you want to die on, Mr. August, and some hills can’t be conquered.” “Where’d you hear I was a cop?” He shrugged and waved the question away. “People talk. Teachers gossip. You stay away from Big Will.” “I’m not sure I can do that.” “Well. Then. S’been nice knowing you, Mr. August.”
~~~
Based on Mackenzie's dual background experience--as a cop as well as an English teacher, he was the perfect man for what the local police offers needed to go undercover. Two criminal issues are running rampant in town--drugs are even being sold in schools. But, lately, young teens are being kidnapped and killed--possibly as training for young gang recruits...
August has been asked to teach in a local school. No, he is not to be an undercover cop. Merely an observer of anything and everything that is going on. Who might be selling... Who might be buying... How prevalent are these actions? Are students in danger? But in order to actually check out these issues, August has been given a flexible schedule, so that he doesn't teach the entire day like most other instructors. This, of course, quickly led to gossip...
On the other hand, Mackenzie cares about the students and becomes well liked, even becoming a favorite teacher for a few... Fortunately, Mackenzie lives in the neighborhood--with his Dad, his son, and a newcomer to the house... A Deputy Marshal who is also Mackenzie's good friend! His students living nearby soon start having a closer connection and ultimately become a major part of the investigation!
“I think your gang problem is getting worse,” I said. “None of these girls are White. They make the news?” “Barely. Two of them are undocumented illegals, so….” She shrugged, an angry motion. There was a note of steel in her voice I hadn’t registered yesterday. “If they were White, it’d be a national story. Our planet infuriates me.” “These are brutal, even for a gang rite of passage. You think the new General is escalating things?” She nodded. “I do. “You have a madman on your hands.” “Our hands. You live here too.” I grunted. The best detectives always grunt. “I figured you out,” she said. “Yikes.” “I asked you to be a narc. I used the word snitch. I insulted you, in so doing. It’s beneath you and I apologize.” “I do not get insulted. If I did, though, I’d forgive you,” I said. “We need you to detect. Not to snitch.” I slid the photos back into the envelope. My career as a private cop was taking shape and I didn’t want to be tied down. Those photographs, though. “There are worse things,” she said, “than working undercover, you know. I’m getting desperate, Mackenzie. Let me take another shot at you.” “Sure.” “I want you for ten months. After that, I’ll quit molesting you. You never have to meet with me or Sergeant Sanders, unless you want. I’m after additional eyes and ears, not more meetings. We know the gangs have infrastructure within the school, but we don’t know how they communicate. Despite all security measures, the schools are infested with drugs. Raids turn up stashes but few culprits. The gangs recruit soldiers within the halls, arrange hits, rumble between classes, you name it. We’re making no progress, and those gang initiation murders scare the hell out of me. If I could get some intel on the structure and hierarchy…” “The General could be identified.”
I went to Blue 5 for a beer on the way home. A trendy restaurant and bar with a modern blues theme, polished hardwood, muted lights, no live music tonight. I sat on a tall wooden chair at the busy bar with a view of the Washington Nationals game. We were up three against the Mets with two innings left. Everything hurt. My adrenaline high was wearing off. The bartender came for my order. She was, perhaps, the most fetching person I’d ever seen in real life. Aphrodite herself. Under the hanging bulb, her hair was the color of sunlight, pinned up. Easy smile. White button-down and black slacks worn like evening wear. Cool it, August. Never let ’em see you sweat. “Oh my. What happened to you?” “Walrus,” I said. She laughed. Yessir, old Mackenzie still got it. “You need a drink.” “I need a drink.” “You strike me as a beer guy.” “Got Stella Artois?” “Only douchebags drink them,” she said. “Better make it two, then.” She shook her head and smiled. Such a sight I was nearly struck blind. Forcefully I turned full attention back to the game. I didn’t come here to hit on bartenders. Focus on the game. Focus on baseball players. Gross, nasty baseball players. She brought a draft, set it on a napkin, leaned her hip against the bar, and watched the game as she dried glasses. “Bryce Harper.” “Yep,” I agreed. “I would marry that man just for his hair,” she said. “Me too.” “Except you’re straight.” “Still. That was a long home run.” She said, “You’re an imposing man. Why are you so big?” “The good Lord and His infinite wisdom. Now shush. I’m watching the game.” “I don’t shush. I can tell you’re new because I’d remember that swollen sweaty face.” “It is neither swollen nor sweaty in perpetuity,” I said. “Normally I’m above average.” “Too bad. It’s kind of a good look, all the carnage. Did you move here recently?” “I spent much of my life in Roanoke, southwest. Came back last year.” She said, “Where’s your accent from?” “Louisiana. My formative years.” She was called away by a patron down the bar. I did not watch her walk away. Well. I did. But I’m not proud of it. The view was worth the self-loathing. Light on her feet, constant motion, good muscles. Guy two seats down, already a little over-served, leaned my way. “I think Ronnie likes you.” “Is Ronnie what you call yourself? Because that’s odd.” “What? No. Idiot. Her, the girl. She usually doesn’t talk.” “Maybe because you refer to yourself in the third person as Ronnie,” I said. “Big turnoff.” “What? You’re being a axxhole. I’m just saying.” “An axxhole.” “What…” “An axxhole, not a axxhole,” I said helpfully. “You weren’t so big, I think I’d like to kick you in the teeth.” “I’m a little punchy tonight. My apologies. Next round’s on me, Ronnie.” “Her name’s Ronnie, not mine,” he said. “Whatever your name is, you smell unfortunate.” He swore and left. The bartender from Elysium returned a few minutes later and said, “You ran off Frank. A couple more whiskeys and he would’ve started singing.” “He said you have a boy’s name. I pointed out that you can be any gender you want and we won’t judge.” “You’re a mess.” “But on the bright side, I’m sweaty.” “Did you look at my axx earlier?” she asked. “A gentleman never tells.” “Because you should. A girl in my building believes she has better hamstrings than me, so I’ve been busting it. I need to prove her wrong. These things are important.” “Maybe I should be the judge of your contest,” I offered. “She was a gymnast but I was a dancer. Perhaps it’s a tie. Where’d you go to high school?” “Cave Spring,” I said. She speared olives three at a time. “We’re rivals, I went to Franklin County. When’d you graduate?” “We’re not in the same decade.” “Never know. I’m old, but I take vitamins by the fistful.” I told her. She told me. I was two years her elder. “You played football,” she said. “How’d you know.” Her eyes were a shade bluer than hazel. I think she actually glowed. I had a hard time maintaining her gaze, like my soul would catch fire. She shrugged and it looked good. “An indistinct suspicion.” Yeowza. Mackenzie, going off the rails. Gotta get out of here. I said, “You don’t look like a Franklin County girl. You’re a little too…posh.” “Mmm, spoken like a boy from Cave Spring. What’s your name?” “Mackenzie.” “Mackenzie what?” “Sorry. Mackenzie, ma’am.” She grinned. “You’re a mess, Mackenzie. You don’t flirt like the other boys.” “I’m holding back. If I flexed you might drop the glass.” She left to fill a raft of drink orders. Ronnie didn’t look like a bartender. More like an A-list celebrity here on a hidden camera show. She returned as I finished the beer. “I just figured out who you are,” she said. “Knight? Shining armor?” “I wish. You’re the investigator who works with Brad. Usually you’re less clammy.” “How do you know Brad Thompson?” I asked. “I’ve been co-counsel with his wife. Twice. I helped her with an immigration case. You and I were in the same courtroom three months ago.” “You practice law.” “I practice law like Giselle wears heels.” I raised my hands, palms up — Huh? Who? “I make law look good,” she clarified. “I have my own firm.” “A lawyer moonlighting as a bartender?” “Similar professions. Taking money in exchange for false hope. Brad told me about you. He says you’re excellent and you shot a teacher.” “Those two possibly do not belong within the same sentence.” I slid money across the table. “Thank you for the drink, Ronnie.” “You’re leaving.” “I know trouble when I see it.” “I’m the best kind of trouble, Mackenzie.” “Also I need a shower,” I said. “Badly.”
A final twist, which struck me, as I thought through what is happening in America right now, is that Lee has created multifaceted characters that will leave you questioning, wondering... What is really going on in any one person's life? Two main characters talk about their relationship to God, while at the same time, being part of the events happening in this book--murder, selling drugs to children and within surrounding states... Since Trump was mentioned in one of the conversations about his relationship to our Black citizens, readers will begin to stray from the story, as if the writer has purposely thrown little bits of the personal lives of his characters that allows us to wonder--is this guy really a good guy or is he a bad guy who uses his religious life to just make millions of dollars... I must admit that I'll probably keep reading these books just to watch how our main character handles himself in his interactions which crosses over into what many of us think is just wrong... For instance, I have long been of a conclusion that drugs are in America because some Americans want them here...either for their use, or for manipulation of others, or just for the financial gain... The book implies that the cartels will ensure that they will always be here in America... But, certainly the personal desires of those who choose to use drugs, incuding teens, should be able to be managed if parents were really concerned about getting rid of drugs availability... And obviously the high dollar income is an easy criminal interprise...
I think this book is well worth checking out. It will take a little while to get into if you, too, find that the "joking" of the main character seems "off..." But, take the time, this writer has given us a book that we can not only enjoy reading, but which will leave you with questions that just might be answers to some of your concerns about the rich and powerful tearing our government apart for seeming no really good reasons! I learn much from fiction...I'm already anxious to learn what happens with Ronnie's secrets and whether she will be freed from the life we learn about... Highly recommended
GABixlerReviews
