TUESDAY 1330 Hours
The door to the 27th Ward Alderman’s office on Chicago Avenue opened, jangling the bells behind the glass. A black man in his early thirties stepped through from the street, dressed conservatively in a navy suit. Mavis Stomps watched from the back of the room under the switched-off overhead lights. She knew who he was but had only met him once since he’d come to his church as pastor. By all accounts, people seemed to believe he ran his church in Cabrini-Green for the glory of the Almighty and no personal agenda.
He was average height and weight and wore rimless glasses, and no jewelry. He had a smooth, caramel complexion and a close-cut beard matching a trimmed Afro. Everything about him was church conservative. As he stepped up to the receptionist’s desk, she saw that he carried himself with confidence.
The girl working the front of the office looked up. Mavis snubbed out her cigarette on the window sill and blew the smoke toward the back of the hallway.
“May I help you?” the girl said in a nasally voice that just irked Mavis to no end.
“My name is Turner Galbreath. I’m here to see the alderman.”
Mavis stepped from the shadows toward him. “Ah, Reverend Galbreath, thank you for coming.” She extended her hand as she got close.
His manicured hand took hers, his grip strong and calloused.
“Let’s go in back. We can talk.” She gestured for him to follow.
Her office, paneled in dark wood, was Spartan, containing a worn desk and a couple of plastic chairs. The desk had come from another closed school, which had been another loss for her ward and her community. The plastic chairs were the white stackable variety. She led Galbreath in and shut the door before taking her seat behind the desk.
“I know you’re a busy man. So I really appreciate your stopping by.”
He settled into one of the chairs and looked around before nodding.
Given his silence, she continued, “I have been a bit slow getting together with my ministers.”
His stare bore into her as if she had his undivided, borderline hostile attention. He must be an effective preacher with a look like that. “Your ministers?”
“You know, Reverend, the ministers in the ward is what I’m saying.”
“I see. Please forgive my cautious nature, but I’ve been quite disappointed with public servants of late.”
“Really?” She found herself wishing she’d taken the opportunity to slam a little more whiskey, but perhaps a clear mind was needed. The good reverend might prove a little challenging.
Elbows poised on the arms of the plastic chair, Galbreath steepled his fingers in front of him. “As assistant chairwoman of the police/fire committee, I’m sure you’ve heard about our picketing.”
“As a matter of fact, that’s why I wanted to see you.”
He settled back into the chair and seemed to want her to continue, but finally went on when she didn’t. “We’ve called and left quite a few messages with your office. We’d like to see you join us on the picket line.”
“Perhaps.” She weighed the option of a photo op. “But I prefer to work behind the scenes, where I can do more good as an elected official.”
“That’s all well and good,” he said. “Your community would benefit by seeing you standing with us. Seeking those very same answers you say you’re looking for.” He made quote marks in the air. “Behind the scenes.”
“My people know I’m at work.”
“Do they?” he asked. “I can assure you that those members of our community who stand with me are skeptical.”
Mavis felt her blood pressure begin to rise. “I promise you I do labor on behalf of the constituents of my ward and I don’t appreciate anyone saying I don’t.” She crossed her legs under the desk and laid her hands in her lap, to keep them from betraying her rage. “I work tirelessly for my people.”
“I didn’t come to level allegations.” Galbreath smiled. “Just telling you what some of ‘your people,’”—he made the quotation gesture again—“have said in my presence. Though, I shouldn’t think an alderman as powerful as yourself cares what a few picketers think or say.”
“I do care, though.” She clinched her hands in front of her face.
“Don’t you see?” she said. “That’s how this mayor works, dividing the people.” She pointed at him. “First you’re out there saying the poh-leece did this or the poh-leece did that, but then slowly you start saying, ‘Where’s Alderman Stomps?’ Next thing you know, the poh-leece is all but forgotten and I’m on the hot seat.”
Galbreath took a deep breath and slowly released it. “You seem a little defensive, Alderman.”
“Damn right.” She stood for effect. “Damn right I’m defensive.” She quieted a little. “Wouldn’t you be? Man I invite into my inner sanctum, accuses me of sitting on my hands, letting my people down, when he don’t know jack about what I’m doing or why I asked him to stop by in the first place. But that’s how this mayor likes to divide the people. I can’t stand it and won’t put up with it.” She tried to look like she was calming herself down. “Sorry I cursed, Reverend, but I get riled up.”
He watched her, like he was trying to decide to believe her or what to say, maybe both. “Okay. Why did you invite me?”
“You are leading the group picketing the poh-leece and I was wondering what is it you want to know?”
“It hasn’t changed since we began. We’re demanding answers about the circumstances surrounding the death of Antwan Simms.”
“I know that part, IAD has reopened the investigation. But you know that, too. What else?”
“What else?” The man brought a certain majesty to the plastic chair in his lack of movement.
“Yes, what else are you looking for? You already know the cops have reopened the case. So that’s not what you’re protesting for. What else?”
“Nothing, other than Antwan’s mother deserves to know how her son died, and the police should know already. That’s it.”
“C’mon, don’t play me, Reverend. There’s always some other reason, what’s yours?”
“I don’t know what you’re driving at.” His head moved very little. “You mean an ulterior motive?”
“Yeah, something like that. What is it?”
“I can assure you that we’re seeking answers on behalf of Ms. Collins. She’s a right to know the truth about her son’s death. We know there’s more to the story than we’ve been told, including allegations that Antwan might’ve been thrown from that building. There’s supposedly a witness. If anyone has a right to know the truth, it’s the boy’s mother.”
“Okay.” Mavis settled back into her chair. The honest and righteous were pretty damned dangerous, but they could be useful. She smiled. “Good. I want to applaud what you’re doing, Reverend. In fact, I asked you in here to encourage you to continue and protest more. Maybe escalate things a little, make the poh-leece and the media recognize that you’re serious. What do you need?”
“Need?”
“Do you need more people? Signs? A loudspeaker? What do you need?”
“I think I’ve got all we need. We’re looking for answers, not trouble.”
“I bet you could use some more bodies. Everyone can use more bodies. I can provide you with those bodies. The media loves to see a crowd. I might be able to arrange a little more coverage, too. You’ve got to work with me is all.”
“And you’ll be working behind the scenes?” he asked.
“That’s right. The more pressure you can bring to bear on the superintendent and the mayor, the easier it’ll be for me to get your answers. And maybe even effect a little change in the process. And I will be there with you as well, tomorrow in fact.”
“What are your ulterior motives, Alderman, if I may ask?”
“Sure. Sure, you can ask, Reverend.” She sat forward and put her elbows on the table, leaning toward him like a co-conspirator. “We need to bring some change to the way the poh-leece do business in our community. If we lie down and take it, they’ll just keep on kicking us in the teeth. I think it’s going to remain open season on black people until that change comes about.” Not to mention, she thought, getting rid of that pompous ass white superintendent and getting a right-thinking man of color to replace him. Someone she could exert some control over. “I need for there to be pressure on Plumb and the mayor, both media and community pressure. If we can stir up some interest, we’ll be able to rally others to our cause and that’ll add up to even more pressure from all fronts. That’s the only thing these people respond to.”
“Really? And what change is it that you hope to inspire?”
“That they treat us with the respect we deserve as a community and that our rights aren’t trampled on like just some more garbage in the street. That a black man can leave his home and not be afraid of the poh-leece.”
“I’m not afraid of the police,” he said. “A lot more innocent people are gunned down by gang members than by police. My issue. Well, our issue, at least the issue we’re trying to address, is about a particular incident, a particular officer, and perhaps a cover-up. I realize the police have their hands full, but on the whole, I have a lot fewer problems with them than those drug dealing, gun toting gangbangers.”
“Reverend, you mean to tell me that when a poh-leece car drives by you with two white cops in it you don’t get nervous? C’mon now?”
“I don’t think I’m any more likely to be stopped by white officers than by black officers.”
“You’re wrong, sir.”
“If anything, it’s a power thing, or a covering for one of your own when something goes wrong thing, not just a black-white thing,” Galbreath said.
“Reverend,” Stomps said. “This is Chicago. Everything, and I mean everything, is black and white. You feel me?”
