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  He looked over at Elizabeth. She broke in, “Why don’t we stay for a little while. I’d love to see the boys swim.”

  “Yeah!” the kids shouted and they grabbed their towels and suits.

  Elizabeth was gushing and could not restrain herself as they followed the boys to the pool. “Marcus, I can’t believe you never told me about the Englewood Boys Club. These kids love you. It’s so obvious how important you are to them.”

  “Most of these kids are like me when I was young – they don’t know their fathers. I am just trying to fill in part of the void. To tell you the truth, I think I get more out of it then they do!”

  Elizabeth responded, “I doubt that. The time you invest here is invaluable, I am sure. You are going to make a great dad someday with your own kids too.”

  “I’ve never thought about it that way – all I know is that it feels good to spend some time here.”

  After watching the kids swim around for 20 minutes, Marcus left the balcony and said goodbye to the boys. Before leaving, they splashed a little water on him. He walked Elizabeth to the car and they drove to the famous Tropical Hut restaurant on Stoney Island Street, a few miles southeast of Englewood. When they walked in, they smelled the sweet aromas of Tropical Hut’s barbeque. This was a well-known dining spot, a mini-melting pot for all walks of South Siders. The sixty-something host must have started when she was a kid. No one could remember going there before she was the greeter. She was a large, light-skinned black woman that most people called “Mama”. She always wore Hawaiian moo-moo flowered dresses and she had an incredible memory of the restaurant clientele.

  “Hi Marcus. How are we tonight?” Mama asked when she saw him.

  “Mama, this is Elizabeth. We are doing great tonight. And you?”

  “I’m good, baby. Hey how are those Englewood kids doing?” she asked.

  “As a matter of fact, we listened to their homework, and watched them swim tonight,” Marcus said.

  “You are a blessing to the neighborhood, Marcus”

  “Wow,” said Elizabeth. “Everybody knows about your Boys Club work?”

  “It’s no big deal,” Marcus replied.

  By the time they sat down to eat, Elizabeth’s head was spinning. On one hand, Marcus was just a security guard. However, after this evening, she understood how deep his accomplishments were and what a great person he was. She noticed things about Marcus that she never saw before: his green eyes that stared patiently at her as she spoke, his disarming smile, and his deep soothing voice. She was falling for him.

  At the end of dinner, Elizabeth said, “This place could be an entry in the Best Food in the Worst Place Contest. Food was great.”

  “Don’t fret about the neighborhood. I’ll always protect you when you are with me,” Marcus said further cementing her blossoming feelings.

  ***

  Jon Handelair did everything he could to stop the relationship, as it grew more serious by the day. It became so serious that Elizabeth decided to attend Chicago’s DePaul Law School without a real interest in becoming a lawyer. She had fallen in love with the security guard at the Board of Trade and she wanted to be close to him.

  She bragged to anyone who would listen about Marcus’ tough luck story, which cost him his chance at a college education. She propped him up to skeptical friends and family members who pointed out the difficulty in committing to a relationship with such a wide educational and cultural divide. Elizabeth would counter repeatedly with her list of Marcus’ best attributes: He was loyal, intelligent (although not well educated), hardworking, gentle and loving, very good looking, and great with children. She understood that not everyone shared her idealism about interracial marriages, but she had completely fallen for him.

  For his part, Marcus definitely loved Elizabeth. He was not envious of her family’s wealth. Gaining respect at the Board of Trade was more important to him than anything was besides his mother and the kids at the Boys Club. He felt the resistance of those close to her and hoped that Elizabeth’s love for him might rise above the family’s prejudices.

  By the next summer, Elizabeth announced to her family that she became engaged to Marcus. She told her family that she had achieved clarity about her future. No longer did it include a law career, or any social-inspired work like the Peace Corps. Instead, she was dedicated to this man with a radically different background. She knew that her parents would have trouble accepting her wishes, but she committed to her plans. Over the strident objections of Elizabeth’s family (primarily her father and brothers), Elizabeth and Marcus were married in a small, private wedding. The modest wedding belied the big blowout parties expected of a daughter of Jon’s social strata. He asked Marcus to stop calling him Mr. Handelair - a nice gesture except that he told Marcus to call him Jon, not Dad. Despite his misgivings about this union, Jon Handelair outwardly embraced his new son-in-law and privately promised Elizabeth to provide substantial financial support beyond Marcus’ meager security guard pay. Jonathon set up a sizeable monthly “allowance” which nearly tripled the Imari’s household income, primarily so Elizabeth could maintain the lifestyle to which she had become accustomed.

  ***

  One year later Marcus and Elizabeth welcomed Jamal Jonathon Imari into the world. He was a beautiful baby with the best mixture of European-Dutch and African-American features. Elizabeth’s family loved this boy but they never overcame the awkward way they felt about their daughter’s mixed-race marriage. This birth of Jamal solidified the marriage between Elizabeth and Marcus, and no Chicagoland parents could be more proud.

  After a few years, Jon Handelair won the election of president of the Board of Trade. This prestigious position paid well and propelled him into even higher social and political circles. Not coincidentally, Marcus became the manager of the Compliance and Security Department at the exchange. This was no desk job. Although he no longer guarded the entrance to the trading floor, he still carried a concealed firearm in his coat pocket in case the exchange floor or members needed assistance. All threats, and there were many, were taken seriously.

  ***

  Jamal was 13 years old when one of Elizabeth’s brothers was getting married. Marcus was included in the plans for an elaborate Las Vegas bachelor’s party. All of her brother’s Ivy League friends were flying out, as well as cousins and a host of Chicago friends. Jonathon was going as well. As Jonathon had done so many times in the past, he subsidized Marcus by paying for his travel package to ensure that Marcus could attend the party. Jon Handelair’s family survival strategy regarding his black son-in-law evolved to outward support, inward trepidation.

  Marcus arrived in their near west, suburban home just in time to take a shower and leave for Las Vegas. Elizabeth was excited that Marcus was included in the men’s weekend of fun. She was going to hang out with Jamal for the weekend. Because Marcus had little travel experience, Elizabeth checked his overnight bag while he was getting ready in the bathroom. She quickly decided that he had not sufficiently packed for the weekend and replaced his clothes with her choices. Thinking about the cool Las Vegas nights, she added his work jacket into the bag. Marcus emerged from the bedroom and said his goodbyes to Jamal and Elizabeth. He felt accepted as one of the guys and could not wait to launch his exciting weekend.

  The Handelairs had flown out the night before. Marcus planned to relax on the plane in the first-class seat provided by Jonathon. O’Hare Airport was bustling with weekend travelers. Lines were long and Marcus was amazed that there were so many people going somewhere at any moment. He marveled as he strolled past the lengthy coach check-in line and walked right up to the First-Class counter. Living large like this was part of his mother’s goals for him from his birth. She saw college as the way to the good life, and despite Marcus’ basketball and college hard luck, this weekend offered Marcus another taste of Jonathon Handelair’s lifestyle. Exactly what his mother wished for him. He felt great.

  His quick pace through the airport was indicative of hi
s excitement – First Class Flight, a big casino hotel, Vegas Shows, a strip club (probably) and camaraderie with the fellows. He whistled the theme song of one of the Las Vegas commercials and ringing in his ears was the city’s travel theme, “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas”.

  As he headed toward the gate, he proudly displayed his first class ticket to one of O’Hare’s Transportation Security Administration employees. He had to remove his shoes and place them on the conveyer belt along with his overnight bag, keys and wallet. He walked through the metal detector and waited for his stuff to descend through the conveyer belt ramp. The attendant stopped the belt and called over one of the other TSA guards. He looked at the monitor and asked Marcus,

  “Sir, did you pack your own bags?

  “Yes, sir, I did. Is there something wrong?”

  Marcus felt the presence of other people from behind. “This must be a practical joke by one of Elizabeth’s brothers,” he thought. “They have pulled some wild pranks.”

  “Well, Mr. Imari. We have a little problem.”

  He heard those last words before three huge TSA guards tackled him to the ground. Despite being a big, strong person, Marcus respected authority and did not resist. It is what he did for living and he understood the consequences of being uncooperative. With a huge crowd watching, the TSA agents helped Marcus to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two agents with their guns pointed squarely at his chest. His felt the heat on his face, as he turned flush. They led him away to a back room, which looked like the interrogation rooms on the Law and Order television shows. It had a long glass mirror, and there were cameras and microphones hanging from the ceiling. He had never been in trouble before. They shoved him into the chair with his hands cuffed behind his back, and left the room. He was so stunned he momentarily forgot that he was still in O’Hare. Spanning the room, he saw a wall-length mirror amongst the other starkly tiled walls. He sneered at the overhead camera and microphone. He sniffled trying to compose himself from the confusion he felt. The room could have easily been a precinct interrogation cell. It might have been ten minutes but it seemed like hours before someone came back into the room.

  “Do you want to tell us what’s going on?” a well-dressed man with a million-dollar-smile asked.

  “I’m confused. I don’t know what you mean,” as the sweat began to bead on his forehead.

  The TSA agent reached over and put his overnight bag on the table. He put on a pair of protective examination gloves. He slowly took garments and shoes out of the bag. Marcus became confused. Yes, these were some of his clothes, but not the ones he remembered packing. As the agent emptied out the bag, he finally pulled out Marcus’ work jacket. The agent pulled out the gun that Marcus carried legally for work.

  “Shit, Shit, Shit, Shit. I can explain!”

  “We’re listening.”

  Marcus tried to explain that he had a permit to carry a concealed weapon for work, that he was a security officer at the Board of Trade, and that his wife must have erroneously packed his bag for his trip to Vegas.

  “Well, you’re changing the story. You reaffirmed that you packed your own bag. What are we to believe?”

  “There’s a full explanation for this. Please, you can call my wife. This is just a misunderstanding.”

  “We don’t listen to explanations. We have you on tape trying to take a loaded gun into the terminal, we have recorded your voice, and we have the gun. You need a good lawyer, my friend. It will be in the district attorney’s hands now.”

  Marcus had no idea what was in store for him as they led him out of the airport. He was headed to the weekend lockup at Cook County.

  Chapter Three. The Cousins

  Bobby Jones was a happy-go-lucky west side, black kid. His loving grandmother stepped in to raise Bobby in the absence of his mother. Life during elementary school was tolerable despite the rough neighborhood in which they lived. Each block on the west side had gang markings. These indicated the local gang’s claim on that territory. Gangbangers regularly harassed Bobby, but they never physically hurt him. It was harmless teasing. During summer recruitment drives, they bought the neighborhood youngsters ice cream and supported the local sports teams. Gangs courted the block’s tenants with other goodies but most important was their promise of protection against rival gangs. Bobby’s grandmother had a love/hate relationship with the block’s punks. She loved the protection from outside gangs they provided, but hated the intimidation around the block. She hoped that Bobby could avoid a short life expectancy by avoiding any gang affiliation. Perhaps, she envisioned, after Bobby G. graduated from high school he might find his way out to the safety of the nearby suburbs.

  Davis Fryer was Bobby’s cousin. He lived with his family in the same apartment building as Bobby and his grandmother. Davis’ mother was somehow related to Bobby’s dad, which had no significance to either of them. Bobby never knew his dad – he hardly knew his mom. “Grandmom” did the best she could to keep Bobby focused on his school responsibilities, and occasionally protected him from the gang’s benign teasing. Davis and Bobby walked to school together from the time they ended up in the same apartment building to the end of their school days. Davis struggled in the early grades and by sixth grade, he was “one child left behind”.

  Bobby Jones was a much better student than his cousin was. He excelled in any subject that related to numbers, logic/reasoning, and science. He loved to read stories about sports. He could quote player statistics for each of the Chicago Bulls six-championship teams: points, assists, average minutes, rebounds and a host of other statistics for players such as Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen, Horace Grant, John Paxon, Toni Kukoc and Dennis Rodman. Bobby had an exceptional memory and a capacity to analyze numbers. Despite his academic talents, the educational deck was stacked against him. Out of the hundreds of residents on his apartment-filled block, none of them ever knew anyone who moved on to college. Hardly any males from these circumstances ever made it to their senior year. This was such a rough place that it boasted more convicts than high school graduates. Pressure was intense to join a gang after the bangers provided protection and garnered favors with the youngsters.

  Older kids regularly chased Bobby and Davis off the basketball courts at the end of the block. Kids had low priority. Bangers always owned the court, first, next unemployed adults hanging around the park, then the few teenagers still in high school, and finally the local kids. The best time for the little ones was right after school and during the normal dinner hour. Bobby and Davis were regulars at the park even when they could only watch the elders play. In return for running to the local convenience store to fetch drinks, the bangers would let the boys get something for themselves. Playing, watching or fetching was the regular routine after school in the spring and fall, and all-day in the summer. They progressed into decent players as they rolled through middle school, but not stellar. Davis admired the bangers most of all. While Davis dreamed of becoming a “big boy” (a member of the gang’s upper echelon), Bobby reluctantly participated in a citywide Mathematics Bee at the urging of a not-yet-burned-out middle school teacher. No one except his teachers reinforced academic achievements in his neighborhood. He hoped that no one would find out about the math competition. Davis spilled the beans and the gang poked fun at Bobby for a long time.

  The cousins began attending the local high school. Chicago Public Schools had an open enrollment policy and so the cousins could have gone to most any city-run high school with the exception of the hard-to-qualify magnet schools. In the absence of the magnet school option, they chose the local secondary school a couple of blocks away. At least there, they knew who ran the neighborhood. Both boys made the freshman hoops team but played on the “B” team. Skilled or tall players played on the “A” team. Bobby and Davis had some skills but were too short to play much further. It soon became apparent that they could not play at a higher level than freshman ball.

  By the end of Bobby’s first year, his grandmother�
�s health was failing. She could not control Bobby, nor could she leave the house. He took care of her basic needs such as picking up groceries, emptying the garbage, and minor apartment cleaning. By now, he was staying out all night long, sleeping until noon, and she suspected both cousins were dabbling with drugs. She was correct.

  “Hey dawg,” Davis said. “The veteranos of the block club jammed me up for a little discussion today.”

  “Yup, they’re leanin’ on me too. The guy told me that they we can earn some decent scratch for joining in,” replied Bobby.

  “If we take this route, there’s no turning back, bro.”

  “I gotta be thinking 'bout me.”

  “Are you being straight with me?” asked Davis. “I didn’t think you were ready to sign up.”

  “You know in order to gang bang with these brothers we have to court in?”

  “What the fuck does that mean Bobby?”

  “I think it’s some kind test, a ritual. Two maybe three guys beat on you for 30 seconds.”

  “Can you fight back during the ritual?” asked Davis.

  “Sure, but they pick the biggest and strongest mo fo’s .”

  “Look Bobby. You are my Ace. You know I’ve got your back. We’ll take care of each other. Let’s sign up.”

  “I’m in. What else we gonna do – become doctors?” Bobby concurred sarcastically.

  The gang’s indoctrination started out with the courting in ceremony. The biggest guys knocked around the BG’s (baby gangsters) for 30 seconds to establish a loyalty that is just as irrational as a college fraternity hazing. The cousins made it through the short beatings with some aspirin and bags of ice. Nonetheless, they survived, and soon were on the payroll. Gangs operated with the efficiency of a Wall Street investment bank. The BG’s were assigned simple jobs at first such as lookout, cleaner and other manual labor. Later after tests of loyalty and subordination, the cousins progressed from guest to associate member.