The Random Affair Read online

  "I heard a shot," E-Man said. His brown clean shaved face streamed sweat. His chest bounced in rhythm with his labored breathing. Jordan gave his friend a reassuring smile and clasped E-Man’s shoulder.

  "Good work," Jordan said. He walked to Michael Random's body. Just a kid - nineteen according to the file. It was some sort of decoy play. Cody would distract and Michael would finish Jordan off. Good plan…kinda.

  Michael looked alive except for the pinpoint in his forehead. The eyes stared into Jordan's. The face appeared to be shocked. Shock, the last thing he experienced as Jordan suddenly turned and pushed a sizable amount of Michael's brain through the back of his skull.

  Jordan holstered his weapon as he shook his head. The Reaper had been close to him today. His mind was on its way to the dark place of doubt and recriminations.

  “You cool?” E-Man asked.

  Jordan looked away from the corpse. “Yeah, I’m good. It never gets easy, ya know?”

  E-Man scoffed. "We shouldn’t have been here, man. This ain’t our beat, being all Five-O with it."

  “These guys were more than just drug dealers.”

  Another scoff. “National security, right?”

  Jordan nodded. “Uh huh. And Random doing those guys at Ramstein made it all kind of murky as to whose jurisdiction is what. And you know, your uncle and mine ain’t down with that.”

  “Your Uncle Sam,” E-Man said. Jordan let it slide. He didn’t have the time nor energy to debate the righteousness of the US government, its clandestine operations or the logic of two black men from Detroit being involved in said operations. He did, however, miss the blanket of security being such an operator normally provided and he lamented the upcoming confrontation with Agent Storey over the death of young Michael Random.

  The first stars appeared in the Miami sky as the sound of police sirens shattered the still of the night. And Jordan Noble wished he could just disappear into it.

  Chapter Two: Home Again For the First Time

  Today…

  “So, what do you think?”

  The real estate agent drew back the shades, revealing the massive back yard. Jordan glanced at it but focused on Barbara, his agent. She was nice looking. Mid to late forties. Maybe ten pounds heavier than she should be and like many black women, she carried it in her hips and thighs. The skirt was a professional length, at the knee and dark, blue not black. The pink blouse however, was a little too summery even though it was in season.

  “It’s very nice,” Jordan said. The yard was about a quarter acre and its southern border was the Detroit River. It gently lapped at the shore, still Jordan thought he may need to put some sort of fence else his new puppy might run headlong into the water.

  “It’s very nice.” Jordan repeated and turned back to the house. It wasn’t quite a mansion, and its location, Detroit’s Historic Berry District was the driving force behind the ridiculous price. Well, ridiculous for Detroit. Sordid history…somebody famous had lived here.

  “You haven’t seen the best part yet,” Barbara said. She turned away from the windows and back into the house. Sensible shoes, slight heel. Enough to accent the curve of her legs but not so tall to make walking through large houses uncomfortable.

  “You’ve been in the living room,” she said, a tremor in her voice. “Let’s look at the bedrooms.” Her eyes went to his, as if the word ‘bedrooms’ would ignite something unseemly in him.

  Pretty. Maybe even cute. Still he wondered about the short hair framing her face. It didn’t suit her. So why? More clues as he dropped his vision to her hands. Ring finger indented. Divorced, not widowed. A widow would wear her ring, even a small one as she had, given the size of the imprint on her finger. So, no – a recent divorce – couldn’t wait to get it off. And the haircut, the default reaction of ‘starting over’ for women.

  “So,” she asked and mounted the first of the stairs, “is there a Mrs. Noble?” She turned awkwardly to see him as they rose.

  “Nah. Just me. And my dog.” He smiled and she did too. The mention of the dog meant he wasn’t thinking primarily of her. He did it to relax her a little – just to let her know he wasn’t here to hit on her. Although, dressed down in his black T-shirt, gray slacks and chukka boots, far from the best he could look, he was still sure he could bed her. He was probably ten years younger than her and his military style cut translated well as the hair of an African American businessman. A few personal questions…a call about the house…another referring to something about her. Two days. Better make it three. No sense in rushing it. It’s better if it’s natural and not forced. As if she’s not trapped into the notion of having sex with a man. No, it works better if she thinks at least some of it is her idea.

  Jesus, what’s the matter with me?

  He stopped just at the top of the stairs and closed his eyes tight. Sure, he had assessed, measured and came to the very realistic conclusion he could get her in bed. Just like she was an asset. A tool to be exploited and used for the best interest of the United States government. Only he didn’t do that sort of thing anymore. He hadn’t been in the Air Force, operating in the Defense Intelligence Agency for over sixteen months. Major Jordan T. Noble III was an element of the past. He was now just Mr. Noble. Private citizen and potential homeowner. So, what was his thing? What did he do now? The detective agency he started? Was that a kind of guilty reaction to the way, the extremely dissatisfying and perhaps illegal way, he left the service? Was being a private eye really what he wanted to do now? He put his teeth on edge and groaned slightly.

  “Mr. Noble?”

  Jordan opened his eyes. They had reached the second floor and she was a step or two nearer to him. She must have thought he was an idiot, moaning and carrying on.

  “I’m fine, Barb,” Jordan said. “Really like to see that master bedroom.” He smiled bright, getting his eyes into the act and hoped she bought it.

  “OK, then,” Barb said. “Now remember, it’s an historic home, but as long as you don’t change the outside, there’s a lot of options to make it your own.”

  He sighed. Yeah, she bought it. He watched her ample bottom and pulled back shoulders vanished into a bedroom. She was in full sales mode. It was his mode he was concerned with.

  The bedroom was large – larger than he had expected. Again, the windows opened out to a picturesque view of the river. The light of the day didn’t directly enter the south facing window and a glow filled the room. A sailboat slid by on the calm, glasslike water, radiant in the bright mid-morning sun.

  Jordan unconsciously walked to the window. He put his hands to hips as the corner of his mouth went up a tick. His mind was already decorating – bed, dresser, weapons locker… Just as quickly, his mood crashed down. Is this what he was now? Two years ago, he was a member of the Defense Department’s clandestine anti-terrorist operation. Now, one mistake – one stupid mistake later – he was back in his hometown, picking out drapes. Not because he wanted to, but because he had nowhere else to go.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” The words came out of Barb with a sigh.

  “Is it?” He honestly didn’t know.

  Barb followed Jordan to the front of the house. He parked behind her gray Honda Accord. He reached the door of his black 1991 Corvette ZR-1. He couldn’t help but smile every time he saw it. It was the one purchase he made with the millions he got on his last mission that did not cause him guilt. He had longed for the classic since he was a kid.

  “What do you think?” Barb asked.

  Jordan shifted weight to one leg. The house had everything he wanted and needed. Location, size, it could be updated to the level of security he demanded. Still, his earlier moment of doubt gave him pause. Plus, he had to put on a show for the saleswoman.

  “It’s definitely on the list,” he said. “I do have a few other options.”

  He didn’t.

  A sigh quickly followed by a smile came from her. “Well, just let me know.” The
y shook hands and Barb headed for her car. Jordan opened his door and reached in to get his blazer. He was going into the office and he had to at least look the part.

  ~

  The UrbanKnights Investigations and Security Services blended into the city landscape. It had been an empty office building on Jefferson Avenue until Jordan and his newfound wealth. He transformed the three-story unit of red brick and accented metal work into a modern workspace. After his service to his country, he now had the skills and funds to deal with the cancer of crime choking his home. Skills came from his time in the Defense Intelligence Agency. The funds…that’s a story for another time.

  Jordan put the car in his personal spot in the rear parking lot off Larned Street. A buzz sounded as he swiped a card reader next to a metal door, opening it. He passed through an employee lounge into a floorspace filled with cubicles. Typical of such places, a series of light fixtures hung overhead while a tan and incredibly average carpet lie underfoot.

  Most of the occupants were at their desks, answering phones and working on computers. A couple were with clients. These were the ten detectives of the agency. Five of them were temps, hungry for a chance to prove themselves. Former police officers, mostly. Jordan hadn’t gotten to the place where valued and capable operators were beating a path to his door.

  The administrative secretary stood in a corner monitoring a construction project. Tonya Brown was tall as a power forward, dark as chocolate and curvy as the Autobahn. The blue dress was as tight as a second skin. She worked with the detectives on the first floor and served as the UrbanKnights’ gatekeeper. Human nature took over and Jordan took in every inch of her as he came to her side. Closer, he saw a trio of men in overalls before an electric panel.

  "Ain’t nothin’ changed, Mr. Noble," Ms. Brown said, the voice revealed an education not reaching a high school diploma. She flung her hand at the men with not so much a sigh as a growl.

  “Jerome,” Jordan said. One of the men, thin with a head full of dreadlocks, turned with a toothy smile.

  “Jordan!” Jerome threw out his arms. “What’s up -”

  Jordan held up a hand. “You know I got a gun, right?”

  Jerome’s arms dropped. “Damn, bruh. Why you got to come at me like that? Hell, Trey over there is strapped.” A short light skinned man turned long enough to throw up a hand in greeting.

  Jordan shook his head. “Why am I coming – Look, man. This wi-fi system was supposed to be done Friday. It is now Thursday.”

  Jerome dismissed with a hand wave. “Bruh, seriously? Every company runs a little behind. C’mon. Don’t be like that.”

  Jordan knew he should be counting backwards or thinking about baby ducks or something but all he wanted to do was put hands on Jerome. The recent college grad was trying his hand at his own business. IT and related infrastructure. And knowing the barriers facing young enterprising African Americans, Jordan was willing to give Jerome a chance. His patience, however was not without end.

  “Here’s the thing, Jerome,” he said. “You are now three weeks over schedule and several hundred, maybe thousands of dollars over budget.”

  “Oh, but see. The thang is -”

  Jordan held up a hand. “I ain’t playing with you. Finish this job. Friday. Or not. But I ain’t paying another dime after that. You feel me?”

  Jerome scoffed and muttered something under his breath. He went back to his companions and visibly worked with effort. Jordan stood for a moment then moved on, heading for the stairs. At his side, Ms. Brown followed.

  “I know he’s my cousin and all, Mr. Noble, but say the word and I will put my foot straight up his -”

  Jordan turned sharply and directly to face the secretary. “Just…just make sure he finishes his work.” They were less than an inch apart thanks to Jordan’s swift turn. It took only the slightest of eye movement for him to peer down to the plentiful chest seeking to free itself from its blue prison. He thought the peek when unnoticed. He was wrong.

  “You know, Mr. Noble.” She leaned in just a hair. “It’s really my fault Jerome and his crew are here. It would be only fair if you…punished me.” The devil was in her eyes and Jordan fought back a laugh at the clear attempt to embarrass him. Their relationship had been about flirtation and double entendre as much as anything else. He wasn’t sure just how to take her yet, but since she worked for him, he didn’t act on her advances. Didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun.

  “And I’m sure you could take it - well. But let’s just focus on the matter at hand.”

  “Let’s. Oh, and before you head upstairs…” Ms. Brown gestured with a nod to the waiting area at the front of the building. Before her desk at the building’s main entrance, stood a woman.

  Maria Kelly was well-dressed, in her twenties, honey bronze and very attractive. The UrbanKnights had just concluded a case for her. Her husband, Brian, an accountant in a suburban firm, had been involved in an affair. It got ugly quick and to make matters worse Maria’s sister discovered the matter. The discovery led Brian to take her life.

  The UrbanKnights uncovered the details of the murders and in turn Brian Kelly was convicted. For the UrbanKnights, it was their first major case. For Maria, she was suddenly caught in a no-win situation. To find her sister's killer, she had to turn in her husband. Jordan could only imagine what the past two weeks since Brian's arrest had been for Maria Kelly.

  "Mr. Noble," Kelly said, her voice wavered like a branch in a tornado. "I-I don't have an appointment..."

  "Don't worry about that. What can I do for you?"

  "Mr. Noble, when they arrested my husband, I lost everything. I can't be married to the man who killed my sister, but without him, I have no money. And divorce is so expensive. I'm going crazy! What should I do? Please help me."

  "I…legally can’t advice you in such matters,” Jordan said. His eyes bore into hers.

  "But you know I gotta dump him." Kelly said. Her back straightened, eyes intense.

  Jordan reached for the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a billfold. "Here," he handed Kelly a card, "Call this man – he’s a good lawyer. He'll help you."

  Kelly looked at the card as if it were poisonous, "But, Mr. Noble. I can't afford..."

  "Don't worry about cost. I'll take care of that."

  "I – I don't know what to say."

  "And another thing," Jordan said dropping his voice to a whisper. "This is the number of a good friend of mine. She's a doctor. You might be going through some tough times now and, well, you know..."

  Kelly lowered her eyes as she took the second card. She did know. When she raised her eyes again, they were wet with tears.

  "Thank you," she said. Her voice was overcome with emotion. " I don't know…why are you doing all this?"

  "Because I can," Jordan said. He shook her hand again. "Good luck, Mrs. Kelly.”

  "Ms. Taylor," she corrected with a slight smile, "and thank you."

  Jordan watched Maria Taylor leave. There was a certain movement in the hips that projected confidence, pride and sexiness all at the same time. He was glad to help – the services he just offered would have cost her a small fortune. But for him, it was a matter of paying back some favors. Jordan snapped out of his stupor and saw Ms. Brown back at her desk, looking at him.

  "What?"

  Ms. Brown lowered her head. "Don’t be cuttin’ my check handing out all this free service," she said. “We got bills up in here and you being all soft.”

  He tried to resist, but a smile formed on his face.

  Guess I am.

  The access key slid through the slot on the door effortlessly. Jordan was greeted by the sounds of Joe Sample's “Somehow Our Love Survive”. The second level of the detective agency was the home to the UrbanKnights Special Investigation Unit. Jordan worked along with his three closest friends on this floor. The cases they worked on here, personally got Jordan’s interest and usually required his particular skill set. />
  The door closed behind him and a sole hallway stretched out. The walls were a pale gray and the carpet was deep with a blood red hue. he walked up to the crescent desk of the reception area. The executive secretary, Gloria Steed didn’t even raise her gray-haired head as she handed Jordan a stack of letters.

  "Good Morning, Mr. Noble.”