Black, White, and RED All Over, part 9 -- Ironwood Hamilton from #freewrite in an extended story!

Thank you yet again to the @freewritehouse for making me the adoptee last week -- here is part 9 of "Black, White, and RED All Over," special extra content (nine down, three parts to go)!

UPDATE: Thank you, @curie, for a FOURTH pick and acknowledgment -- WOW! THANK YOU!!!!!!

Here are parts one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and eight.

If you are just jumping in, here's a quick summary: Lofton County, VA has been greatly disturbed and several of its police departments infuriated by the coming of the confrontational Lofton County Free Voice newspaper and its demand for release of ten years of records of incidents and arrests involving the county's Black citizens. Captain Hamilton of Tinyville, VA complies fully with the request, but is surprised when his fellow officers also suddenly reverse course and decide to comply. He and his counterpart, Captain Lee of Big Loft, suspect bad motives in the reversal of course based on some hints dropped in the last half of part 5, and in parts 6, 7, and 8, they and the principals of the Lofton County Free Voice begin to discover what is really going on!

In part 9, Captain Lee makes a separate and devastating discovery that pushes some buttons in him a whole bunch of people are going to be eternally sorry they pushed in part 11 ... but, first let's deal with part 9, after my dividing graphic ...

Tuesday night: on his way out of Big Loft's police headquarters, Captain Lee heard someone calling his name. He turned around and looked down the street -- .

“Commissioner Thomas, good evening.”

“Good evening, Captain Lee! I'm glad I was able to catch up with you – that traffic out there is horrible! Can I buy you a drink?”

“I don't drink, Commissioner, but I will enjoy a virgin mojito in your company if you desire.”

So: down the street and around the corner to the Blue Line Bar, a favorite of police big wigs in Big Loft. Commissioner Thomas looked on with great intrigue as Captain Lee had his virgin mojito – three limes, a whole bunch of mint, molasses, cool water – made to order while the commissioner enjoyed a big mug of his favorite draft beer.

“I just wanted to get out of the shop for a minute to talk shop, but, you know how it is,” said Commissioner Thomas.

“Yes, sir.”

“First let me say again, thank you, Captain Lee, for coming out of the army to help your hometown in its time of need – I don't know how we would be able to handle this whole FOIA thing without you working on it.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You do have it ready for release on Friday, yes?”

“It will be on your desk for review in the morning. Had I known that you would be back at headquarters this evening I would have presented it to you before we left.”

“Oh, no, I didn't expect to be back tonight and there was no need for that. I am going to just have a look at your summary; nobody else has time to go through almost 200 folders of data. I feel sorry for that paper, that they have to go through it.”

Captain Lee registered that the commissioner had told his first outright lie of the evening. At such close proximity, no one without special training could control their body language well enough to fool the colonel from Special Forces.

“It was such a blessing that you brought fresh eyes to the thing, just a blessing,” the commissioner continued. “People in the middle of it just tend to get bogged down in the details they were involved in, but it is so good that you don't know anything and could see the broad picture.”

The beer had gone to the commissioner's head a little too soon. Of course, Captain Lee already knew he had been brought in as a dupe, and handed a task that he was supposed to rush through in order to save more time to work his cold cases. Nonetheless, the fact that the commissioner had said it to his face infuriated him … but that was what the big mint limeade was for, and he kept sipping it in a measured way to control his heart rate, blood pressure, and temper.

On the other hand, when the enemy was dumb enough to reveal his position ...

“My summary does contain a broad overview,” Captain Lee said, “and it will be ready for you in the morning.”

“Good, Captain. That's what I wanted to know. I hear nothing but accolades coming to you from every corner of the department –.”

A second, and immense lie!

“ – and our getting through this crisis will seal up the sum.”

“No doubt it will, Commissioner.”

The conversation turned away from shop, at least on the commissioner's side; he relaxed and talked more and did not notice that Captain Lee had nothing else of substance to say, but merely made listening noises, his dark eyes focusing on the progress of the life-saving elixir downward in his glass as he swallowed it at the necessary intervals.

At an appropriate time – because the commissioner was going to stay and drink quite a bit more – the captain excused himself, walked back around the corner and up the street, and returned to his office. He opened up the first of the file folders to be turned over on Friday and took off the summary that was there. He then started up his computer and typed up the kind of broad overview the commissioner wanted to see, leaving the first summary for inclusion in the files he would hand over to the Lofton County Free Voice.

Captain Lee then left for the night and went to his studio apartment, looked through his large music collection, put on Jobim, went to his refrigerator, and pulled out the dinner he had made for himself in the morning – curry spinach and hard boiled eggs – and an indulgent dessert: a whole hunk of ginger, steeped in lemon juice and honey. Thus passed away the first part of his night, and he settled into sleep in his armchair.

Captain Lee woke up three hours later and found himself going from pleasantly waking, in the exactly eight seconds it took for his clear mind to assemble certain facts from Saturday to that day, to completely enraged. His blood pressure went through a corresponding spike, but it had been low while he was sleeping owing to his having taken his medicine while eating, so, there was some room for his pressure to rise and fall safely.

If that had been the only problem, but no … he had been triggered. His mind had gone into an entirely different gear. Colonel Lee, in the first year after Five Bright Nine, looked out of the dark eyes of the police captain ... Colonel Lee outraged by the callous indifference of his superiors to the needless deaths of his men, Colonel Lee who at such times had all too much in common with his equally deadly ancestral uncle, of the same rank when he made the decision to join the Rebellion. There was an important difference between the Colonels Lee, however: one had begun as an military engineer. The other had begun in Special Forces. That is to say, the modern Lee had much more knowledge of ways and means to do folks in.

Captain Hamilton and his family were completing dinner by the time Captain Lee got home, and soon after that, Captain Hamilton was on his home computer, communicating in writing with Ham It Up's suppliers about the month's invoices and requisitions. On screenshare and a conference call line was Ironwood Hamilton Jr., the captain's firstborn, who was also working that aspect of the business, and whom the captain had prepared to take it over entirely should anything happen to him. This sort of training had been going on for years, but Ironwood Jr. noted his father's seriousness that particular evening.

“Things going bad already in Tinyville, Dad?”

“Yes, son, they are. Friday night, Saturday morning – likely to get kind of rough.”

“Dad, if it comes to it, I've got this down. But I'll be praying that you'll be back to take it up again.”

“So am I, son. This is where we have to trust God.”

“Yes, Dad, I know. How's Mom holding up?”

“Trusting God, son, and praying.”

“What about you?”

“See previous answer.”

“All right, Dad, I get it.”

“I'm not happy, son, about this thing. But I knew there was trouble when I came, and I don't think my work is done here. If it's not, I'll talk with you Saturday night.”

“I'll be praying for and looking forward to it.”

Ironwood Jr. had another thought.

“How is Cousin Harry?”

“Not too good, son. Getting better overall, but this thing has opened up some doors in him that were better shut. Pray for your cousin.”

“I will, Dad.”

“You have it from here?”

“Yes, Dad, go on and be with the crew. Good night.”

“Love you, son.”

“Love you too, Dad. Be careful out there.”

“I will, son. You watch out for yourself in New York City too. Tinyville ain't the only dangerous place in the world, you know.”

Ironwood Jr. laughed.

“Always that way with words – good night, Dad.”

“Good night, son.”

Captain Hamilton shut down his screen, and then went over to check on his wife Agnes, who was on her computer doing wholesale orders.

“How are we doing over here?” he said.

“These stupid tariffs, Woody, these stupid tariffs … my regular suppliers are struggling to be profitable because of it, and they are out of stock more and more often. How do you buy American when America doesn't produce what you need – tariffs don't solve that, and are driving businesses out of business.”

“I know, darling,” said Captain Hamilton. “Take a break for a few minutes … your shoulders are holding as much tension as mine, and you know we can't have that.”

Mrs. Hamilton smiled as her husband wrapped his powerful hands around her shoulders and began a deep massage.

“Oh, that feels so good, Woody... oh that feels so good … I guess I am stressing and I don't need to be … the Lord is our Supply, and always will be … what I'm really stressing about is not moonstones …”

“I know, darling.”

“You told me it was not going to be easy being here, but you know I'm from New York and I didn't think Tinyville would offer up this kind of trouble. I was wrong. You were right.”

“I ought to give you a massage more often, Aggie.”

“I agree. But stop interrupting while I'm confessing.”

“Yes, dear. Carry on.”

“I didn't believe you 24 years ago when you told me how it was, and I didn't believe you when you said how it would be. At least in New York, or even in Roanoke or Big Loft, at least you wouldn't be by yourself, but this is ridiculous.

“You should have heard Mrs. Mary Leigh at the store, complaining to her friends – Ira and Agnew combined don't whine that much.”

The yearling twins, hearing their names, looked up in their playpen for moment. Ira squealed ...

“Don't worry about it, Ira,” his father said gently.

Ira went right back to his blocks, and Agnew followed his lead.

“Ira is definitely the New Yorker,” Captain Hamilton said.

Mrs. Hamilton cracked up laughing, which got her sons' complete attention, to the point that they started laughing, and then their father started laughing because all of them were laughing. He went and got the Baby Hams, and they and their parents enjoyed a nice half-hour playing and laughing. The yearlings got sleepy after that, and their mother let them sleep on her lap as their father took her place at the computer and finished up the wholesale orders.

By the time Captain Hamilton finished the orders, Mrs. Hamilton was asleep with her baby children, and Ilene and Allison had come in and snuggled up with her and gone to sleep as well. Captain Hamilton kissed every face tenderly, and then left the room before his emotions overcame him. Later, when he and Mrs. Hamilton finally had the bed to themselves, she could feel both his deep exhaustion but also the deep emotion in the captain's good night kiss … and also the faint stirring of arousal within him, competing with his need to sleep.

“Sweet dreams, Woody,” she teased.

“Oh, they will be,” he murmured. “Meet me there...”

“I'll be there, Woody.”

Wednesday, day: Quiet as usual in Captain Hamilton's office, where the most exciting event for the day was another three interviews for the lieutenants' positions. It was getting to be a bit tiresome: the pay was low and the captain's requirements quite high, and those two things did not match for most.

Captain Lee's day was a bit more eventful. Commissioner Thomas reviewed his second summary, and approved the entire release as it was. Captain Lee merely slipped his first summary under it in the folders that were actually going to be released, and began packing the folders into the cases that Henry Varick IV would lift into his car's trunk. He kept an eye on the clock, counting the seconds until lunch time.

In the wake of Five Bright Nine, Captain Lee's mindset had altered, perhaps irreversibly: he remained ferociously devoted to his peers and subordinates everywhere, but the instant a superior gave him an indication that he or she was not to be trusted, that superior became a suspect at best and an enemy at worst – and anybody who looked up Henry Fitzhugh Lee's record could tell you the same thing that could be said about his famous uncle: you didn't want him to consider you an enemy.

The clock struck 12 noon. Captain Lee changed clothes and flipped his hair to a more rakish look to fit the role, and became the 13th busboy at the restaurant where the commissioner and his friends were dining. The place had been hiring for a month; nobody thought to question the new busboy with the perfect face and glorious smile, because he bussed with great efficiency and earned great tips for the pool.

Commissioner Thomas did not recognize the new busboy, although he had sat next to the man and had a drink with him the night before. Captain Lee expected that; the commissioner was just the type of person who didn't see you unless you had on the right insignia, and nobody performing one of the slaves' old roles had it. So, Captain Lee cleaned tables, kept customers delighted, and dropped a surveillance device...

“I tell you, Lee has worked out better than we dreamed. He managed the whole thing but not too well, judging from his summary. Too much data for any one man to completely understand, but he has done a workmanlike job that will cover us in every event.”

“Yeah; chances are with that much data, no one will be able to do any better than he did,” sad another big wig.

“Let's hope so,” said the commissioner. “We have enough problems policing Big Loft without that Negro paper dragging up old skeletons. It's going to be close enough still, the way Lee picks up detail.”

“He surely does,” said a secretary. “He remembered my birthday and divined my favorite color just from what was on my desk – brought me the most lovely card last week!”

“Oh, don't go getting sweet on him!” the other men at table thundered in unison at the blushing belle beauty.

“It's kind of hard not to,” she said defiantly. “He's so handsome, and so sweet in his own, sad way... and he's not dumb either. It took 24 years to wrap up that Swanson case, didn't it?”

“Lee solved it in a week,” said the commissioner. “That's what makes him so wonderful, and so dangerous. That meticulous mind – my fear was that he was going to do so well that he was going to leave a roadmap for that paper to follow to understand the whole mess.”

(Which Captain Lee had, and would.)

“I'm still glad we have Captain Bragg's full plan as backup,” said another bigwig.

The commissioner chuckled.

“We can't talk about that, not even unofficially, and not officially until Saturday morning – but you're right, it is good that we have worked things out with Captain Bragg, and that we have folks to work with him all the way.”

Unfortunately for the commissioner, by Saturday morning, that statement would become part of the official record, even though he would not be alive to know about that.

Henry Varick IV was sitting in his car at 1:30pm when his notification bell for the Free Voice tip line Facebook page lit up. Most people had missed that little detail in the first issue, but apparently, not everyone; someone had liked and followed the page and dropped a recording – a recording that made Mr. Varick jump when he heard the names of the people referred to, and recognized Commissioner Thomas's voice. The dropper – Facebook handle “Friend to Freedom” – had left a single note as the entry photo: “Watch this space, LCFV.” Below it was a link to the recording, and below that a post: “More information forthcoming.”

With trembling hands, Mr. Varick downloaded the recording and then transcribed it, and added it to his notes for the evening's conference call just before Mr. Harrison called.

“Harry – do you see what's on the tip page?”

“I've already transcribed it and I'm sending it to you. It's the commissioner and his two deputies and two of their secretaries.”

“Harry – we're going to have to run back-to-back issues!”

“Hold on – Nathan is calling in – let's go three-way – .”

“Hello? Harvey and Uncle Harry, do you see what just popped up in the tip line?”

“Should make tonight's conference call even more interesting,” Mr. Varick said.

“I'd like to see Hamilton field those questions!”

“It will be as new to him as it is to us,” Mr. Varick said. “I'll send you the number, Nathan – call in but don't butt in. Am I making myself very clear, Nathan?”

“Yes, Uncle. What time?”

“Eight. After prayer meeting.”

“Yeah, I think we are going to need that today – and a whole lot of other people are going to need it that don't even know they need it yet,” said Mr. Harrison with a chuckle.

Part 10 is up!