[b]Sun City, Arizona[/b] Sun City Mayor Tom Clark felt flutters in his stomach. The elevator shot up past floors. His bodyguard, Officer Melvin Brown, close by. A single sheriff's deputy served as sole protective detail. He wanted it that way. Mayor Jerry Hill, his predecessor, had a huge detail. Two dozen cops in black suits with black ties, black shirts, and black shoes. They formed a mini Praetorian Guard. Lines blurred. They became more secret police than protection. They muscled the mayor's enemies. They tapped phones. They shook down wealthy Arizonans for contributions to the Hill slush fund. Tom's very first act as mayor: Destroy the protection detail, shatter it into a thousand pieces. Cops on the detail were fired outright or given a chance to quietly retire and take half pensions. Brown was his main protection against a would-be assassin. Tom supplemented it with a .38 detective special he kept in a shoulder rig. His suit coat was baggy enough to hide the piece. Two years since he resigned from the sheriff's department and he still carried heat. Old habits died hard. The elevator dinged. The doors slid open. He stepped out into the Lucky Gent's penthouse suite. Evidence of a party's aftermath all around him. Empty glasses on the floor, articles of clothing covered couches, empty liquor bottles stuffed into a plant pot, a used rubber hung on a lampshade, coke residue scattered on a coffee table. Naked call girls sleeping on the floor. His head felt light. Dizziness came and went. The sights made him woozy. He found them outside on the balcony. County Sheriff Scott Andrews, County Administrator Hubert Perkins, DA Carl Hull, and US Senator Rod Marston. Andrews, Perkins, and Hull wore suits, Marston wore a bathrobe and slippers. The four wolfed down breakfast food, bacon and eggs with hash browns, coffee, and booze. They stopped when Tom stepped out. "Mr. Mayor," said Marston. "Have a seat, have a seat. I hope you don't mind we went ahead and started breakfast without you." Hull said, "We figured you weren't coming." Andrews winked, "Six months since your election and you still haven't showed up to our little breakfast pow-wows. Where is the love, Tommy?" Tom waved Brown inside the suite while he took a seat at the table. Tom and Hull were the city powers, Perkins and Andrews held the county power. Marston towered above them all with his hands on state and federal money. The monthly meeting between the municipal powers was where Marston held court. He lorded his power over the other pols like he did to the state gaming commission and the casino mobsters. Nobody in Arizona did anything without Rod Marston approving and getting his cut. Marston dabbed his mouth with a napkin and said, "Regardless, he's here now and he is a very welcome presence. Mayor Hill was a valued member of our little meetings, and I hope Tom continues the good work of the former mayor." They spieled while room service sent up a plate of food for Tom. Perkins cracked racist jokes. Marston regaled the men with last night's exploits. He did hookers three at a time while coked out of his mind. Tom's food came on a tray with beer and booze. Andrews and Hull pounded shots and Irish coffee. Andrews and Marston danced an Irish jig arm in arm. Hull did some soft shoe. Tom felt queasy. The booze tempted him. The Thirst came on strong. It made his mouth water. He forced his food down and zeroed in on secrets. His big secret: Dirt files on all the men gathered at the table. He found them three years ago when indicted sheriff Mark Hickey went to jail. Tom was internal affairs boss at the time. An IA asset forfeiture squad raided Hickey's private safety deposit box before the feds got to it. The squad found a thousand pages filled with hidden secrets on Arizona's elite. Six novels worth of secrets. Six novels worth of political juice. The words CLARK, THOMAS spooked him bad. He read it. Detailed paperwork on his rehab stints, copies of the divorce papers Simone's lawyer served him with. The papers cited his affair with Liz and drinking as grounds for divorce. He pocketed it, fudged the chain of evidence so it wouldn't be missed. He destroyed his file and stashed the rest in his own safe deposit box. He was too afraid to read the rest of the files in the stack. He could not trust himself with that type of information. He would either use it as blackmail to get ahead, or evidence in a trial. Either way his political career would be up in smoke. The party hit a lull. Marston said, "There is a lot of federal money coming down the pipes, boys. A few senators and I are working on an urban redevelopment bill. This bill will put the entire Northside right in the crosshairs of federal grants. It's still going to be a year or two out, but there is going to be a lot of money made on that land. Right now the property out there is dirt cheap. I suggest we all get to buying." Hull picked his nose, "In my legal opinion, land is always a good investment." Marston picked bacon from his teeth, "All of North Sun City, my friends, even spilling out into the county. We'll make at least seven figures on kickbacks alone." Perkins winked. "Kick out all niggers, jack up the prices, and sell it to the rich white people who think it's hip to live in a bad neighborhood. Gentrification at its finest." Andrews smiled. "God, I love this country." They went silent. All eyes fell on Tom. He sweated through his jack and coat. The Thirst practically screamed from inside of him. He did a quick count: At least six counts of federal fraud and corruption felonies. Andrews popped his knuckles. Hull flicked a booger off the balcony. Tom held his glass of water up for a toast. "God bless America," he said with his best fake smile. They cheered. Tom wiped sweat and gulped water down. Welcome to the corridors of power. ---- [i]Note: This section was co-written with [@Vilageidiotx][/i] [b]Philadelphia[/b] Jack Rawlings sipped champagne and mingled among the crowd in the hotel ballroom. Not a bad crowd here on this Saturday night, upward of a hundred people and a lot more than Jack thought would come out. He shared a quick word with Brianna Foley, a secretary for the Philly chapter of the NAACP, before moving on to find other familiar faces. Plenty of the people here were familiar to Jack. They were also, save for a few here and there, all black. The dinner and party here tonight was in honor of the Congressional Black Caucus' first full year of existence. It wasn't a powerful caucus, its six members paled in comparison to the Southern Caucus' forty-five congressmen and twenty-four senators. But it was now six where it had been only four before the election. Jack was part of the group as a second-term congressman from Ohio and one of the founders. He had suggested the name of black over negro or colored. Black. He found there was power in that word if they used it. Negro and colored had been what white people had labeled them as hundreds of years ago. To Jack, they were words he began to equate more and more with nigger. The name reflected their choice to define themselves and their destiny. No longer would they wait patiently for white people to decide when it was time to progress. The black people down south had sought to fight for what they believed in, and now so were the black people on Capitol Hill. And that spirit was not just here in America, but across the ocean in Africa. The five men and one woman that made up the CBC all wore their hair in that long, poofy style that was now starting to be called a natural or an Afro hairstyle. They all wore pins with the Ethiopian flag on their lapels that was as much a show of solidarity as was their hairstyle. That was why Jack found himself scanning the crowd for their guest of honor. Edgar Gordon, the CBC's leader, sent him the invitation with a half-expectation it would be turned down. But to Jerry's surprise and the surprise of the rest of the CBC, Ethiopia's ambassador had accepted the invitation to deliver the keynote speech at the dinner. Jack needed to find him before the mingling ended and the sitdown dinner and speeches started. They had business to discuss. -- Whenever Tomas Haile walked into a room full of Americans it always struck him how strange it was for him to be there. At sixty four, he hand been born the same year as the Battle of Segale. He was a distant cousin to the Emperor through Mikael of Wollo, who was Tomas's grandfather and the Emperor's great grandfather. In his teenage years, he rode with the cavalry during the second civil war, armed with a pistol and a lance. Two decades later he commanded men in the third civil war. He had seen dust rise over highland battlefields, and taken part in cattle raids. He had went to sleep in scrubland wilds where wolves could be heard howling so close they sounded like they were sharing his camp fire. Now he was here, in America, surrounded by a people so removed from their African past it seemed little more than an academic factoid for them, in a genteel hotel ballroom with colonial walls and carefully chosen furniture and decorations that would have been at home in George Washington's front room. It was a funny juxtapositon, him with his history in this place, but it did not make him feel uncomfortable. He cut a different figure among these people. His face was pock-marked from a childhood bout with smallpox. His hair was pale grey, and clung to his head in a prominent widows peak. His lips were thin lines that clung to his teeth when he smiled, but he was an outgoing man who smiled often. He wore an immaculate black three piece suit with a white dress shirt and black bow tie. A sash in the Ethiopian green, yellow, and red hung limp from his shoulders. It took a moment for the Americans in this room to notice him, but once they did it was not long before somebody approached him for conversation. It was a young man and his date. Both of them wore their hair in styles that reminded Tomas of how commoners still wore theirs back home. They both held in their hands drinks mixed with mint leaves. "Ambassador Tomas. My name is Wilton Madison, this is my wife Bess" the young man thrust his hand. They shook hands vigorously and Tomas smiled. "It is very good meeting you, Mr. Madison, Mrs. Madison." Tomas said. "I have to say how much of an honor it is for you to be here tonight, Ambassador." the young afro'ed man continued. "My friends from the Southern Union of Voters would all like to extend our sympathies to your people and your fight." "This is much appreciated, Mr. Madison." Tomas said in carefully spoken English. He was proficient with the language, but learning it as such an old age left him with a pronounced accent. "I stay here in this country and every day I think that American hospitality is most generous." Wilton Madison beamed at that compliment. "It is good to hear. When I think of people like Isiah Wolde or your old Emperor Yohannes and what they have done for my people, well... I feel like I should shake your hand again." Tomas laughed, as did the Madisons. From the corner of his eye, the Ambassador could see another man approaching. -- Jack came upon the small group with a big smile and pleasant greeting. He gave both Haile and Wilton a firm handshake and a pat on the shoulder before he took Bess' smaller hand into his and warmly shook it. None of the three other people were short by any means, but Jack towered over them. He was by far the tallest Congressman in Washington at six foot three. Senator Helms was technically the tallest man on Capitol Hill at six foot five, but old age had made his legs useless and put him in a wheelchair. Jack only took a small bit of pride in the fact that the old racist bastard was stuck in a wheelchair, robbed of his height and his legs, while Jack could race up the capitol steps three at a time if he wished. "I hope you all didn't mind the extra drive out to Philly," he said after greetings had been exchanged. "People tend to forget that the states around Washington are still segregated. Philadelphia isn't much better but," he shrugged before adding, "they let us rent this ballroom and we got to go in through the front instead of the kitchen." "We're hoping that'll change," Bess Madison said with a nod. "The CBC is the start of something, Congressman, feel pride in that. You're showing negro- black people all over America that they have a voice in Washington." "More of a whisper," Jack winked. "But it's growing," said Wilton Madison. "I think that's why y'all need to work on a voter rights act before a general civil rights act. Give black people the vote, and the rest will follow. That whisper will turn into a roar." "What do you say, ambassador?" Jack asked. "The vote or the lunch counter? Which one comes first?" "This is not my country for me to be making your decisions, Mr Congressmen." Tomas Haile said. "But if I can give advice to you, I say fight for both and get what you can when you can get it." "Smart idea," said Jack. "One theory is that we should lump voter rights in with civil rights and try to pass them as one bill." "That would be the first casualty," Bess Madison replied. "Those white people would tear the voter rights part out as soon as they could." "It's gonna be a bitter pill to swallow regardless." Jack shrugged. "Might as well try and get it all through in one go." "Not to change the subject," Wilton said with a look towards the ambassador. "But I want to change the subject. Ambassador Haile, maybe you could enlighten me on something, what is it like to live in a nation that doesn't have these problems? How does it feel knowing that you and your people aren't judged or held back by superficial things like race?" Jack closed his eyes and sighed. He felt embarrassed at the question. Ever since Jack was a small boy, black people in America had thought of Ethiopia in only the most glowing terms. To them, it was a kind of post-racial utopia. Jack understood exactly why they did that. It was because he had once done it. It was easy to see why; it was a country of Africans run by Africans. To a race of people being kept down by their governments and institutions, the idea of a black government -- a black emperor -- was practically a fairy tale. They had treated it like such for years now. In the four years Jack had served on the House's Foreign Affairs Committee, two of those years as chairman of the African subcommittee, he had finally come to the realization that it was not simply a land of black people or African people. It was a hodgepodge of nations, religions, and tribes. To think otherwise was naive. Jack was about to say as much, but Ambassador Haile held a hand up to stop him and spoke instead. "When I was a child, I was taught to think I was not 'black'. There were people in the west of my country we called 'black', because they are darker skinned, and my people looked down on them and kept many as slaves even into my childhood. My people, the Habesha, believed for the longest time that we were a Caucasian people. Many still do, I think. It was the Emperors of my lifetime that led my people to identify with the rest of Africa. But I think that is good news for you, because if my country could become better in the lifetime of one man, it means you can win your fight as well." The Ambassador smiled warmly and put on a fatherly air. He left many things unspoken. His position was that of a diplomat after all, not an educator, and it seemed unfitting to talk about the many racial tensions that existed in Africa. These black Americans, who's ancestors had all been taken from the west coast of the African continent, imagined the black race to be one people, and that fiction helped to unite them. It was not his business to present the blacks of Africa in their true form, as divided as the whites of Europe. "Well said," Jack said, gently placing an arm on Haile's shoulder. "Ambassador, I have to introduce you to Philadelphia's NAACP president. Wilton, Bess." The Madisons nodded and said their goodbyes as Jack led the ambassador through the party. They passed by the NAACP table and Ray Waters, the Philly president, and headed for the ballroom's far wall. The wall wasn't actually a wall, but a black curtain hung across the middle of the ballroom. Since the dinner wouldn't fill the space to capacity, the hotel had closed off the unused part of the room and charged the CBC a half-rate. Jack and Haile walked through the curtain and into the unused half of the ballroom. It was dimly lit, with only a few floor lights on and casting long shadows across the room. Chairs were off the floor and overturned on their tables. For a moment, neither man spoke as their eyes adjusted to the lighting and the area. "I apologize for pulling you away," said Jack. "I'll be brief, but the State Department wants me to put out feelers to you and the Foreign Minister about some things. Have they said anything to you about the foreign aid bill that our Congress passed last month?" "The Foreign Affairs Office has given me permission to accept the offer. They have been quiet out of respect for your country's delicate relationship with Spain, but I swear to you that my country and my Emperor very much appreciate what the United States of America is doing for us." the Ambassador replied. "That does me pride to hear that," Jack said with a big grin. Outside the House leadership, Jack and the CBC had done more to see safe passage of the bill through the House than any other group of congressmen. He'd done his share of horse trading and vote whipping to make sure every Democrat, and a few Republicans, voted to pass the bill. "I'm not sure how much you know about the legislative process here, Ambassador, but the bill prohibits the US government from raising or earning revenue for the purpose of supplying Ethiopia with military aid. All we're authorized to spend money on is medicine and food for civilians, which will be forthcoming in the next few weeks." Jack adjusted his tie and flashed a sly grin. "But, there's a potential loophole that State, Defense, and even the White House want to use. We nationalized a weapons manufacturer in New England months ago and they've been working around the clock, making new weapons and equipment for the military. That gives us a lot of surplus we need to get rid of. Since it's surplus, we wouldn't spend a dime on making it, and since we're giving it away we won't make a dime selling it. It's not the best equipment, Ambassador, but it could help. I understand if you can't answer for your government here and now, but it's something my government has full intention of moving forward with if your government is willing to accept." The Ambassador listened carefully, leaning his head forward to catch the low-spoken words. "This is good." he said when it was his turn to speak. "I will have to send word to my people, you are correct in that Congressman. But I do not see them denying this help, so you have my permission to go ahead with your plan as if I have already received consent to accept it. If there is a problem, I will bear the embarrassment." Jack held out his hand and held it wrapped around the ambassador's own hand. "You're going to hear a lot of things tonight about how much the black people in this country admire the stand your country is taking against Spain. A lot of it is gonna seem like ass kissing but know that it's legitimate. For three hundred years, we have been kicked around, kept down, and treated like animals. But yet we're still fighting, and we're gonna keep fighting. Just like your people will keep fighting. We need you to win your war so we can win our rights." He placed his big hands on the ambassador's shoulders and pulled him in. "You don't want to admit it, baby, but your people and ours are in this together. This ain't about land and civil rights, it's about the future of our race. We have been under the white boot for centuries. The coming months and years will decide if that will last into the new millennium too. If Ethiopia and the Pan-African Empire falls, the best hope the black people of the world have for a future is extinguished. Your nation needs to survive so that the world can witness that black people can create great nations and defend them just as well as white people." Jack surprised himself at the words he had just said. They were more idealistic than he liked and he said more than he had meant to. He let out a little embarrassed laugh. "Let's go get something to eat, yeah?"