In the City

Akbar was at the wheel of the CTS.

“Been a while since I’ve driven,” Makenju had explained with a wry grin. His colleague only grunted.

The two men were attired in warm weather suits, which fit horribly over their shoulder rigs. The Queen sat in the rear seat, busying herself with a magazine. Her dark dress and matching hat made her appear older than her years.

“Lake Shore Drive to the museum campus, and west, right?” Akbar asked.

“Yes. East would take us straight into lake Michigan.” Makenju unbuttoned his jacket, withdrew his revolver, and flipped open the cylinder.

“Do you have to do that?” the Queen asked calmly. “Do you really think you’ve shot anyone in the hours we’ve been here?”

“Always pays to be on top of things, Majesty,” Makenju responded in a flat tone.

“What are the chances you’ll need that thing on a college campus?” she demanded testily.

“Ma’am,” Akbar began, “You’re walking the campus. We’re protecting a head of state. The major has it right. Better safe than sorry.”

Akbar wheeled the CTS onto the Midway Plaisance and looked for Kimbark Avenue.

“They allow freshmen to live off campus?” Makenju looked around and took in the leafy campus.

“Arrangements were made,” the Queen responded calmly. Makenju nodded.

“Parking is lousy around here,” Akbar grated, finally finding a spot some doors down from the building.

The flat was a on the second floor of an old but well maintained walk up. Akbar produced keys the monarch had given him and opened the security door. Makenju followed the Queen into the foyer, and then brought up the rear as Akbar opened the apartment door.

The apartment was large, with a spacious living room and dining room separated by a long hallway. A large bedroom was just off the living room. The kitchen was tiled in white and had heavy wooden cabinets from another era. The gas stove was clean.

“She has a housekeeper?” Makenju looked in the pantry and refrigerator.

“Not to my knowledge. If she chose to hire one with her allowance, that’s her business,” the Queen looked at photos hanging in the hallway. Pictures of Thandiwe and her parents on holiday. Framed snaps of her playing soccer, or out for drinks with other young women.

When the three of them walked into her bedroom, more photos adorned the wall. One was a large eight by eleven of a teenaged Thandiwe hugging a somewhat younger and slimmer Makenju, in full dress uniform, the scowl on his face unconvincing.

“Interesting,” was all the major could say.

“There’s nothing perishable in the refrigerator,” Makenju started. “You’ll want to check her personal items, but there’s no mail or magazines piled up in the foyer, either. Wherever she went, it was planned.”

“Quite right,” the Queen murmured.

Akbar was staring at a photo on the nightstand. A facial shot of Thandiwe and a young man, beaming.

“Who’s he?” The soldier handed the picture to the queen, shaking his head.

The young man in the picture had chocolate skin and dark, curly hair. He wore glasses.
His teeth were even and white, and his smile, while not as wide as Thandiwe’s, was no less sincere.

The queen took the photo and stared at it.

“I don’t know,” she said slowly. She put the photo in her large handbag.

“We’ll sit in the other room while you go through her things, majesty,” Makenju suggested.

“Very good. I shall call if I need you.”

The men left and each took position at opposite ends of the sofa. Makenju slipped his Ruger from his shoulder rig and popped the cylinder again. He shook out the six rounds and shoved them in his suit pocket, then looked down the barrel.

“She’s right, you know,” Akbar yawned.

“What?”

“That is damned annoying.”

A key turned in the lock. Makenju fed the shells back into his pistol and had the cylinder in place before the lock unbolted. Ha held the pistol in his hand at his side as he stood, and Akbar, jacket unbuttoned, stood to the right of the doorway.
A woman in her early twenties stepped in and had closed the door before she noticed Akbar. She opened her mouth in shock.

Makenju slipped his pistol in his trousers at the back of his jacket and held up his hands in a placating manner.

The woman turned to leave, but Akbar blocked the closed door.

“Who are you?” Her eyes were still wide, and her hand darted into her open purse.

Akbar pulled his jacket back so she could see the butt of the large automatic and said calmly, “Take your hand out of your bag…slowly. We are not here to harm you. We’re here for Thandiwe Oludara.”

“How do I know that?” Her hand was still buried in her bag. She was short, petite, and had skin the color of cinnamon. Her hair was short and styles well, her bands falling into her face. Her oversized sweatshirt and baggy jeans did little to conceal her figure.

The Queen came from the bedroom. “I heard a voice…” she left her sentence in mid air as she saw the young woman.

Seeing another female calmed the young lady a bit, and she pulled her hand out of her bag.

“I know you,” she said. “I mean, I know your face. You’re Thandi’s mother!”

The queen nodded in assent and the younger woman went to her.

“Thandi talks about you all of the time! It is such a pleasure to meet you. I guess it’s an honor.” She laughed nervously. “I don’t know if I should…what? Bow or something?”

Akbar and Makenju’s eyebrows raised, but they said nothing.

The Queen smiled graciously.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked graciously.

The young woman, her eyes wide again, nodded.

“Aside from being Thandiwe’s mother?”

The young lady nodded again, her smile wide.

The queen put her hands on the young woman’s shoulders and said calmly, “I am looking for my daughter, dear. These men are with me. No one here will do you any harm, child. What is your name?”

“Jessica, Jessica Montgomery, I’m Thandi’s best friend. She told me all about you! We were going to try to see if I could stay with you one summer, if it’s OK, I mean, I’ve never been overseas before, but I am sure my folks would approve, and I saw you in Ebony magazine, and Thandi always talks about what a wonderful woman you are, and…”

She ran out of words, but continued beaming.

The Queen shook her hand. “Of course, you may stay with us, my dear. Our doors are always open to Thandiwe’s friends.”

Maryam Oludara motioned for Jessica to sit, and the bodyguards each took an easy chair opposite the sofa.

“Are you really a queen?”

“Yes,” Maryam smiled, “I am.”

“And Thandi is really going to be queen herself one day?”

“God willing, my dear.”

“Did she know you were coming?”

“No, I think not. In fact, we are here just to check in on her. I have not heard from her in a while. I am concerned.”

“Really?” Jessica’s shook her head. “But don’t you have a country to run?”

“Well, dear,” Maryam took Jessica’s hands in hers, “there is no greater duty than that of a mother. You will understand that one day.”

Jessica looked at the two men sitting across from her. She stared at Makenju until it made him uncomfortable.

“You’re her…friend. The one in the picture?”

Makenju nodded. Jessica let that end of the conversation drop and turned back to the queen.

“Thandi left with her boyfriend. A while back. She asked me to come check on her mail and stuff when I got a break between classes.”

“That is kind of you. What are you studying?”

“I’m in my third year. Biology. Medical school, when I’m done, if I can get past the MCATS.”

“I am sure you will do fine, my dear. I was going through Thandiwe’s things. Would you care to join me in the bedroom and chat while I finish?”

“Sure! Your majesty…well, what shall I call you?”

The queen smiled warmly. “Mrs. Oludara is fine, Jessica. Come with me.”

Akbar had been eying the young woman. Makenju caught his eye and grinned.

“I don’t think there were any concealed weapons on her, friend.” He chuckled.

Akbar looked stonily at him and replied, “No, Ibrahim. I confine my ogling to women that can’t have me imprisoned for finding them sexy.”

Makenju laughed out loud. “That, my friend, is the wisest thing you shared since we reconnected.”

Half an hour later, the Queen emerged with Jessica, who was still chatting rapidly.

“My dear,” the monarch said when she could get in a word, “should you see or hear from Thandiwe, please tell her to contact me as soon as possible.”

“Sure!” Jessica nodded so hard Makenju thought she’d be dizzy.

“And as I have explained to you, please do not share with anyone else that we are here, or who we are. Thandiwe has shared a great confidence with you. I know you won’t betray it.”

“No ma’am!” More dizziness. Makenju felt tired.

“Can we drop you anywhere, Love?”

“No, ma’am. But remember what I told you about Kevin. He’s a nice guy and all, and he really has a thing for Thandi. I just don’t think it’s…well, we talked. You have my number, Mrs. Oludara. Call me anytime!”

Maryam smiled. “We look forward to your visit, Dear. Take care now.”

Jessica bustled out the door, and the Queen sat on the sofa.

“That child…” she began.

“Ma’am?”

Akbar was standing by the window, looking below.

“Yes Major Akbar?”

“There’s a black sedan parked a few cars back from our vehicle. It has been there since we arrived. I think it’s the State Department. Or government. Anyway, they know we are here.”

Maryam shook her head wearily.

“Can we get rid of them?”

“Best they don’t know we’re aware of their presence, Ma’am. I suggest you and Major Makenju exit via the back stairs. I will meet you in the vehicle on 57th Street.”

“As you suggest, Major. Come, Makenju. Perhaps you can put that toy of yours to good use.”

Akbar clumped down the stairs, and after ensuring the apartment was secure, the queen and Makenju left down the wooden back staircase off the back porch. Makenju opened a gate that led to a driveway, waved for Maryam, and they walked at a brisk pace onto 57th Street, where Akbar was waiting. The other car was not in sight.

“What was that all about?”

“They probably figure you sent me on an errand, Ma’am. They won’t move until they see you.”

“Why are they so interested in my comings and goings, Major?”

Makenju answered for Akbar. “This is bigger than the safety of a visiting monarch.”

Akbar wheeled the Cadillac west until he spotted Cottage drove, and then turned north.

Makenju turned around in his seat and faced Maryam.

“What happened?”

“Apparently, Thandiwe has left town with the Youngman in the photograph, a Kevin Summers. They have been dating for a while.”

“Why not just tell you she was going on holiday?”

“Well, for starters, Thandiwe has completely compromised her safety in confiding her identity to her friend. Although Jessica swears she is the only one who knows, we cannot be sure. Thandiwe has expressed concern to Jessica that Mr. Summers is interested in a very serious relationship, and her own commitments may make that impossible.”

“And?”

“Apparently, Mr. Summers is the scion of a rather notorious family in Chicago.”

“Royalty takes on all forms, Majesty.”

“So the two of them have run away to do some fool knows what. This is straight out of Shakespeare.”

“Never read him myself,” Makenju turned back around and scanned the area. “I’m just a simple murderer with bad taste in women.”

Maryam ignored him.

“So,” Akbar spoke as he headed for Lake Shore Drive’s 47th Street ramp, “the princess has connected with the offspring of thugs and they have run away to live happily ever after?” He shook his head. “Orders, Majesty?”

“I would like to dine. Somewhere…local. This Jessica girl suggested a place where the students congregate. Perhaps we can stop and procure some food and take it back to the hotel. I am quite tired and I think a meal and some rest are just the thing for figuring out our next move.”

“Where is this place?”

Maryam told him.

“Majesty, begging your pardon?”

“Yes, Major?”

“Deferring to you on all matters of protocol, Ma’am, is it fitting for my sovereign to not only eat in public, but at a place…the name alone, ma’am…the press?”

“I am a mother looking for her child. We can order the food and return to the Sheraton. I do intend to see this city, however, and I intend to find my child. Patronizing a place she frequents is a part of that, Major.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

They drove south a few miles and Akbar parked in a strip mall. Makenju’s face was bright with pleasure.

“Koor’s Big Butts and Beef Barbecue?” He shook with mirth. “I am almost tempted to leave my pistol and find a camera.”

Akbar was visible uncomfortable. ‘Let’s get this over with.”

The three of them walked into a well lit eatery, lined with leather booths and reeking of wood smoke and sizzling meat. A hostess seated them in a booth away from any windows, as Akbar instructed. There was a cross section of Chicago dining, laughing and drinking, men in suits seated at booths next to young adults in jeans and athletic shoes. A thin man behind the grill in an apron eyed Makenju steadily. Makenju held his gaze then let it drop. A short, plump, pretty woman tended the cash register.

Maryam opened a menu and studied it. “The waitresses’ uniforms are...amusing.” She smiled. Makenju grinned back at her. Akbar pretended to study the crowd.

A large bald man in a black jacket and dark slacks entered with a raven haired beauty. They were shown immediately to the booth across from the Oludara party. The man looked over, did a barely noticeable double take, and escorted the woman over to their booth. Akbar tensed.

“Might I suggest the beef brisket and baked potato, Ma’am?”

“You may, Mr…?”

“Morgan, Ma’am. Theodore Miles Morgan. This is my friend, Naomi Hopkins. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“And you, sir. I am Mrs. Maryam Oludara. These are my associates, Mr. Akbar and Mr. Makenju.”

“Are you from Africa?” The woman’s voice held a musical quality Maryam could not place. The woman wore a large wedding ring, yet Morgan’s fingers were bare.

“We are. In town on holiday.”

“What country?”

Makenju noticed Morgan shake his head slightly. Naomi proceeded to compliment the queen on her hat, and Morgan shook his head slightly again before speaking.

“Please enjoy your meal. It would be my honor to buy you all dinner.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Morgan.”

Morgan was excusing himself when the thin man in the apron came over.

“Theo, you bothering my guests?”

“No, Koor. Please put their dinner on my tab. I assume they will be ordering to go.”

Koor looked askance at Morgan and waved at the cash register. The plump woman came from behind the counter and sauntered over. Makenju’s eyes never left her. The woman had the most alluring walk he had ever seen. When she arrived at their table, Makenju noticed her makeup covered uneven tones and blemished on her face. Her hair was highlighted, her teeth were good, and she radiated something he could not place.

“Hey, Baby, these are friends of Theo’s. Whatever they order, he says he’s paying for, ok?”

“Sure honey. Welcome.” She nodded at the men and reached for Maryam’s hand. “You all come back whenever you are out this way, OK?” She patted Morgan on his arm, smiled at Naomi and went back to her register. When the thin man turned around, Makenju noticed the thin outlined of a gun butt at the small of his back.

“Who recommended this place?”

“Thandiwe’s friend Jessica. Why?”

“Black Americans, by and large, are not that receptive to Africans. The big guy seemed to know who we are and that we would not be eating here.”

“State Department?”

Akbar spoke up. “No, the men in the car were white. And I could be wrong, but the big guy and that woman are more than just friends or colleagues.”

Maryam commented she noticed that as well.

Morgan rose from his table, said something to Naomi, and headed in the direction of the mens’ room. Makenju opened his jacket and excused himself.

“Where the devil are you going?” Akbar asked.

“Wait on the food. I’m going to find out just who our friend is.”

The thin man behind the grill watched Makenju follow Morgan, and then turned his attention to the cash register before resuming his focus on the cooking food.

Morgan had just pushed the door open when Makenju barreled into him. The American pivoted and grabbed Makenju’s arm and flung him over his shoulder. Makenju sprang up and swung his left arm in an arc towards Morgan’s head. Morgan stepped back, threw his jacket in Makenju’s face and hit him twice in the solar plexus. Both men were breathing heavily when Makenju pulled his Ruger and aimed it at Morgan’s head. The bathroom door opened and Koor stepped in with a large Army .45 in his hand.

“Nice way to thank me for dinner,” Morgan wheezed.

Makenju looked from Koor to Morgan.

“Theo, what the fuck? I’m supposed to be out there watching Vira.”

Morgan ignored the African with the gun in his hand. “Why’s she here?”

“You know. Waitresses. Me. Vira got it in her head if she were here she could keep an eye on me. Problem is that now I gotta keep an eye on her.”

“Makenju cleared his throat. Koor leveled the .45 at him.

“Thought he was a friend of yours, Theo?”

“We’ve never met.”

“Since when do you pick up the tab for strangers?”

“Who is this man?” Makenju demanded.”

Koor looked over both men and shoved his gun in his apron.

“Theo Morgan. Runs a hotel out south. Friend of mine. The question Buddy, is who are you?”

Theo laughed.

“Royal escort. You finally classed up the joint, Koor. That lady at his table?”

“With the big church hat? Man, you ain’t no minister, are you? Can’t stand ‘em.”

Makenju laughed and holstered his weapon.

“That lady is Queen Maryum,” Morgan explained.

“Queen of what?” Koor demanded.

Theo Morgan told him.

Koor shook his head. “Well, better than a minister, that’s for sure.”

The three men laughed. Makenju put out his hand. Theo shook it.
“I’m Ibrahim Makenju. Are you from Africa?”

“No, homegrown. I just read a lot. I recognized her when I came in. I figured I’d introduce myself. If I was wrong…” Morgan shrugged.

Koor shook his head. “I’m going back out there to sell some barbecue and look out for my woman. Not in that order. You still paying for his dinner, Theo?”

“But of course.”

Koor left, still shaking his head. Makenju handed Morgan his jacket. The American produced a business card.

“How far is your hotel, Mr. Morgan?”

“Theo. Thirty miles south of the city.”

“We may be stopping in.”

“I don’t have a royal suite.”

“Even better.” Makenju felt he could trust the man. “Her majesty is here on personal business. We’d like to keep a really low profile. If you could exercise some discretion…”

Morgan nodded. “My pleasure. Look, your food is probably ready, and she’s one bodyguard short. You need me, you call me.”

Makenju nodded and held the door for Morgan.

“One thing, Ibrahim?”

“Yes?”

“We both need to lose some weight. I got a feeling a few years back that tussle would have lasted longer.”

“Either that or you would have been shot.”