T.J. Sloane

© 2021 Rosalind W. Johnson. All rights reserved.

Cover art by Wendy G Photography www.WendyG.com

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 03/11/2021

ISBN: 978-1-6655-1515-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-1514-6 (e)

This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Author’s Notes

I am deeply grateful to my late son, James K. Johnson III and his father, James K. Johnson, Jr., for their encouragement in my literary endeavors. T.J. Sloane’s story could not be told without my son’s stated understanding of what can happen when race and culture intersect in today’s world. It does not always result in the expected.

______________________

Every man’s life is a storybook of many chapters. Each one filled with the drama of conflict, hidden fears sheltered by quiet dreams and love as it suits him. T.J.’s tale begins with the backstory of change and sudden loss. But this part of the narrative need not bind his hopes and dreams. On the other hand, ancient fears of violence challenge his self-determination with unreliable memories and sometimes, myth. Like a river rushing to the sea, his backstory is always chasing the present. If he ignores this segment of his journey, he does so at his peril.

1

How was I to know, as I stepped into the waiting car, in two hours my life would change forever? Nothing unusual about the cold December morning alerted me to the looming disruption I was about to face. The weather was typical; sharp wind gusts blew with steady force, foretelling rough months to come. Mr. Joseph, as was his habit, drove cautiously through heavy downtown traffic and I’d finally cleared my calendar for an extended holiday visit with my son. Unlike the previous morning, on that day my only concern was the team’s readiness for our prolonged Shanghai negotiations.

When I arrived in my office, I immediately noticed a small pile of mail stacked on the conference table. On top was an unopened envelope with a familiar Mississippi State return address. I set it aside to read after attending to the regular morning mail. An hour later when I opened the envelope and began reading the enclosed letter, a morning that started as an ordinary business day, became instead, the day my world imploded.

Mr. Sloane:

You’re receiving this notice because our records list you as next of kin. On Thursday, December 16th, Inmate No. 16590, Billy Cady, died peacefully in his sleep. His body has been moved to the county morgue. It must be claimed within thirty days. If not, it will be disposed of according to state regulations. Please let us know your intentions immediately. In addition to the body, all personal effects are available for pick-up. If you need assistance, contact the Department of Corrections, Office of Inmate Services at the address or telephone number shown below.

Stunned, cold numbness seized my heart, my mind rejecting the words staring back at me. I couldn’t believe them. Forcing myself, I reread the message twice, concentrating on each word. But my mind played a reel of long-ago pictures of two young boys, always together. They were vivid scenes of happy times playing along rutted roads or sitting at the base of the old levee having serious discussions about our next day’s activities. Even occurrences I thought were forgotten resurfaced. The last scene that looped around again and again, was of a man behind bars and bullet-proof glass, caged like a trapped animal with no way of escape. He would be remembered by few, other than myself. Billy’s years of a life going only in circles, finally left him defeated. He gave up the fight to make his life relevant. I hope he didn’t suffer.

Forty years of my life ended by a one-paragraph note without even the dignity of a signature. Despite the searing pain of loss, I immediately made arrangements for his body to be transported to Jackson. During the coming hours a sadness I’d never felt before engulfed me. By nightfall I was on a plane, my mind a jumble of churning thoughts. One after another, the memories still flooding my senses did nothing to ease my loss.

All the conflicts of your life have ended Billy. Thanks for everything. Rest in peace. Even though I will never know why you betrayed me, we are brothers still.

Almost a year has passed since Billy’s death. His loss upended the settled existence I’ve spent a lifetime creating. Entrenched memories of the path that wove our lives together surface daily. They come to me as I need them to ward off creeping doubts about the authenticity of our friendship. My recurring focus, most often, settles on the last year of his life and our wide-ranging conversations during my visits. Even unbidden thoughts of my mother surface and she’s been dead for more than twenty years. My memories of her are always interwoven with the contradictory emotions around an intriguing woman who recently entered my life. As these emotional conflicts become more pronounced, I must look back to the beginning, to Sero; the town that brought Billy and I together.

Some people call it luck. Others say I’m blessed. It is true I had a chancy start in life. My options improved, however, when I landed in a place, at a time, in the care of a woman who had an intimate relationship with luck and his close relative, chance. Luck will lift your dreams, Grandma Neetha would say. Chance is indifferent to them. How she was able to fine-tune the difference between these road signs, as she called them, I never understood. But one of these possibilities was the reason I started my life with her. It was, however, pure luck when I met Billy and we began our lifelong friendship.

After the passage of so many years, at odd times, I clearly recall Grandma’s face and hear her ghostly voice telling me to stay alert for these signs. Always vigilant for the opportunities they brought or the warnings they signaled; she imparted their importance to me. So I suspected last summer the months to come would be unusual, not only because of all the predictions of higher than normal temperatures. There was also the low-level anxiety building in my gut, warning me, a rough patch lay ahead.

I recall those quiet drives from the airport to the prison. There were few cars on the lonely two-lane road, just an old pick-up truck every now and then. Life in rural Mississippi moves at a slow pace as there is nothing requiring folks to hurry. Still I remained alert, mindful of the speed limit, not wanting to draw the attention of police. One thing that hadn’t changed in my lifetime, the uncertain outcomes of encounters between black men and the law.

One of the last visits I had with Billy stayed in my mind. It was my third visit since January. By the time I arrived at the prison, the sun’s rays had gradually burned away the hovering haze, forecasting a meaner afternoon. But the searing humidity did not dampen my enthusiasm for the visit. Being a child of the soupy weather, I knew life made no concessions for uncomfortably high temperatures. Just as I’d also learned early on, unless an inconvenience threatened my existence, it was merely a nuisance to be tolerated for a time. This is a constant life lesson, especially in my professional life.

Approaching the massive complex, my mind briefly, flashed back to the office and the face of one member of the team who was putting my future in jeopardy. Immediately rage and fear coursed through me like venom. With supreme effort I set those emotions aside and adopted the appropriate nonthreatening persona for the visit. Now is not the time.

I also remembered Grandma’s admonishment, Always walk with purpose and confidence. Show the world you know where you’re going. Even so, I suppressed the easy movements of my body not wanting them to look like a swagger. Once inside the building only the humidity was missing, allowing inmates to tolerate the oppressive heat. As I set waiting for my old friend, pictures of childhood antics flooded my mind, but I held the smile that threatened to escape. We were renegades. To Grandma’s everlasting distrust, Billy and I formed, what turned out to be an unbreakable bond.

As he walked through the heavy metal door on the left, he seemed shorter, but that couldn’t be. We were always equal in height, over six feet. Sitting across from me, without preamble, he began the conversation as if we’d last spoken yesterday.

Every time you walk through those doors, I prepare myself for the visit to be your last.

You know me better than that. Brothers never abandon each other,

Each of us examined the other with the eyes of our youth, looking for changes in understanding, any hint of disrespect or a fraying of our decades-long connection. I saw only a friendship that held fast, respect flowing freely. Time, itself had bound us together. But I understood the challenge of Billy’s often manipulative behavior. Today he projected an air that showed respect for the bond, but also tinged with a hint of superior knowledge. Behind the spoken words, I saw a brief spark of relief in his pale gray eyes. The boyhood smile I remembered was now marred by the empty space where a missing tooth once set. Through all our years, I learned to peel back the layers of his hidden intentions. Our bond never depended on one-upsmanship. He always had my back.

I also saw raw intimidation before he eased into a more relaxed, but watchful posture. I didn’t avert my eyes. His threatening stance was not directed at me. It was a necessary skill he needed to survive the prison system. We had chosen different journeys powered by narratives that set like heavy weights between us. But both of us knew the friendship was stronger than the bumps on our individual paths. Billy was born with everything necessary for a comfortable life. He was a bright white boy with an easy-going nature and open smile that charmed everyone who met him. With these attributes he was destined to succeed. Even with his expanding midriff, the promise of youth shone just as bright, but didn’t completely hide the intensity of his prison aura: projecting strength and dominance, while never showing weakness. It was terrifying.

The physical barriers now separating us did not limit the comfortable recall of easier times. I began the familiar dance of words. You didn’t know it, but you were my first mentor. My initial understanding of people came from watching you; how you were able to convince us to act on your orders, the expectation your every request would be honored and most of all, your assumption of leadership. To this day when working on solutions, I often ask myself, what would Billy do?

Fun days, weren’t they? His chalk-white face briefly flushed with color and his eyes softened, less alert.

Fun maybe, but wild for sure. I often recalled some of the dark and dangerous games we played. A grimace crossed Billy’s face as he quickly raised a hand to his chest. His breathing seemed more labored, something I hadn’t noticed during previous visits. Are you okay?

Just a little indigestion. Still holding his chest, he took a heavy breath and continued, We learned a lot about life, maneuvering through all the twists and turns of our young days.

Between what I learned from you and Grandma I have almost perfect accuracy on reading people’s actions, even yours Billy Cady.

An honest grin swept away his serious expression. For a moment we sat quietly remembering our long-ago small group, running up and down narrow dirt roads. We were a rag-tag bunch that gave no truck to social conventions. Over time the group shrank, but Billy and I stood our ground holding the friendship precious.

We didn’t rush the conversation even though I had a late evening plane reservation after a brief stop in Sero. I never let go of respect for his opinion on my life events. Today I was also hoping for some useful bit of information I could take away concerning my current professional difficulty. I’d told Billy during an earlier visit about the investigation I ordered against a subordinate I suspected was engaged in illegal activity. The first time I brought it up, his identity was unknown. Discussing my concerns with Billy was as natural as breathing. I listened with the expectation of hearing an idea that might strengthen my strategy for trapping the person who was putting my life at risk.

I see you still favor expensive suits.

Proper business attire had been the subject of many of our conversations, even though he had zero business experience. You and Grandma taught me well. Presentation is everything. The whole package matters.

Never forget it, he warned.

We set for a while in respectful silence when words neither add to nor detract from the warmth of the brief time together. It was important just to have the presence of a trusted peer. Our alliance had been tested and forged into a bond so tight that no matter each individual journey, the connection remained intact. Billy had offered me a measure of protection, during our most risky adventures. The memory of one horrifying summer night sneaked up on me and flickered briefly in my mind’s eye. Even now remembering the attack is terrifying. Billy saved my life that night. Then as time will have its way, I give back to him, visiting frequently.

Remember Jeremy Cobb?

Uh huh, that scrawny kid who was always hungry.

He passed through here two months ago.

I often wondered why he hung around with us. He seemed to have more reliability at home than we did, just not enough food. I couldn’t figure out how our rag-tag group was relevant to his life.

You’ll always find hidden layers behind a family’s outward façade. They didn’t have any more stability than we did. Like my father, his dad had another family with three kids down in Jackson. That’s where he was when he died after having a stroke.

How do you know that?

You can’t be a leader if you don’t have all the pieces. I still make it my business to know everything.

Not everything. You can only live in the past. Whatever happened to Jimmy, Cave and Clem?

Jimmy disappeared. I think his family moved to Kentucky. Cave is still living in that shack he grew up in. Clem fell on hard times, worse than my situation.

How can that be?

He’d kill for those comforts now.

We discussed more of our youthful adventures. No one outside the group knew all our exploits. Billy made our little secret cabal feel we could trust only each other, so we held close. He possessed a natural propensity to provide answers to the many questions and wonderings I put to him, so by habit our conversations were peppered with a question and answer cadence. Finally, he turned to my professional problem. What’s happening with that chump, the one trying to cause you trouble?

I hired private investigators and have him in my gun sight. We’re tracking every thread of his life, inch by inch. So far his associations in the company have not revealed anything important. But they’re going back year by year, to the day he was born. By following his every move, we’re getting closer to his scheme. What we haven’t been able to discover, is what is motivating him.

Billy’s eyes bored into mine. Maybe who, is the question you need to ask.

This was one of those times when the conversational roles appeared more like father-to-son talks than friend-to-friend.

The only way to find this person is to make sure the investigators check relatives and friends. Often someone other than the person you’ve targeted holds the answers you’re looking for. Don’t forget, it’s dangerous to overlook those in your own closet. In the dim light Billy dispensed his usual blunt reality. Who can you trust with your life?

Probably, only you, Especially now that you’re in no position to affect anything concerning me.

No one is without secrets, some buried so deep, they hide in their everyday actions.

Even you, my friend?

Billy’s slow smile acknowledged my thoughts. We were boys again, shutting out everything around us, strategizing under the limited shade on the side of the old dry levee, one of our favorite spots. Suddenly the heat rose with the tempo of our conversation. Anything, no matter how obscure, that affected my domain as an executive of a global powerhouse, demanded serious scrutiny and Billy was the only person I trusted with my secret fears.

"Never let fear of what might happen stand as a roadblock in your investigation. No matter how frightening the situation appears, if you’re ignorant of its scope, you are