The Assigned (5 page)

“Wait a minute,” I say. “Slow down—back up. What people?”

Martin continues. “Mannnn, I got myself into something, Tre. A dude by the name of Los introduced me to these real business-like cats. At first they had us doing a couple of small jobs, setting up meetings with these computer geeks, roughing them up if they didn’t do the work. Nothing major. They always paid us good, and I’m not gon lie, they made sure we had something to smoke. I mean, just one big party. Then they said they could make us feel like we were on a never-ending high. They got me to recruit my boys and everything. But somethin not right wit them cats.”

“They sound like drug dealers, Martin. What do you expect?”

“No, it’s not that …” Martin hesitates. “They’re—they’re some kind of cult or something—look Tre, I know this must sound crazy, but I’m not high. These dudes are evil. I mean
Lucifer
type evil. I’ve seen stuff …”

“What kind of stuff?” I ask.

“Tre, I just need to get out of here. Please. Just come get me. I can’t trust any of my crew now. I’m the only one who hasn’t drank the kool-aid. Just come pick me up, PLEASE!”

“Okay, okay. Fine. Where are you?”

“I’ll be somewhere near that old dry cleaners on Bering. Uhhh, 242 Bering Ave. I’ll see ya when you pull up.”

I program the address in my phone. “242 Bering Ave. Got it. I’m on the way.”

“Thanks man.”

“No doubt.”

“And Tre …”

“Yeah?”

“Love ya, bruh.”

His words catch me off guard. I don’t know how to respond. No one in my entire family, especially Martin, has talked like that in years. “Yeah man, I’ll be there shortly,” is the best I manage to get out. The call ends.

I stand motionless away from the bar for a moment as I try to process the conversation. The level of difficulty is increased due to the alcohol I’ve consumed. Not sure what to make of all this. Martin’s usually the one dishing out fear, not the other way around. Walking back, I decide to stop the analytical processing going on before my brain explodes.

“Hey Lou, I gotta make a stop. Put it on my tab.”

“Sure thing, Tre.”

“Going so soon?” asks a soft voice to my right—the
low-cut yellow top
girl. She pouts with pink colored lips as her right index finger gently brushes against my shoulder. Man, she looks even better close up. My eyes capture a head to toe image before responding. “Yeah, I’ve got to make a quick stop.”

“Come on. Stay,” she mouths. “Next rounds on me.”

The offer is appealing. I take another head-to-toe glance.
Very appealing
.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“My friends call me Bree.”

“Ok, Bree—you’re gorgeous by the way—but listen. I have to go make this one stop and then I’ll be back and I’ll buy you and your girls all the drinks you want. Don’t worry about buying me a drink. I’m Tre “TNT” Turner.”

The seductive twenty-something licks her lips as she answers. “ONE, I know who you are. And TWO, I didn’t say I’d buy you a drink. I said … NEXT ROUND’S ON ME!”

The cute blond runs to the bar—hops on top—grabs a shot glass—lies down—raises the bottom of her shirt a few inches and places the shot glass on her bare stomach.

She then points towards me for approval. “Well …”

A small crowd gathers as everyone waits for my response.

Gotta give the people what they want, right?

“Now THAT’S what I’m talking about!” I shout to the crowd. “BODY SHOTS!”

The place erupts. It’s as if—wait a minute—Martin.

The girl—what’s her name—it doesn’t come right to mind, but her actions nearly cause me to forget why I was leaving in the first place. But I can’t leave now. The people are depending on TNT Turner. Besides, what’s a few more minutes?

“What are you doing Zeek?” Alicia asks. I barely notice her question as I scour through tattered pieces of the lint encrusted paper that line my pockets.

“Hunh,” I mumble. “Thomas from the temp agency said he’d call me back in an hour. That sorry son of a—”

“Zeek, you’re gonna drive yourself crazy!” Alicia shouts.

“I need to be working!” I shout back. “We’re up the creek either way!” Alicia’s entire face drops. The words, now freed from my mouth, seem to echo in the confined concrete reformatory. It’s not so much about the job as it is keeping busy. Alicia stares at me as she gauges what I really meant.

“We’ll get through it,” she assures me.

Alicia and I have grown close since the tragedy four years earlier. Surprisingly, she never blamed me for the accident. She knows all too well the anguish I carry inside. I guess she figured no need to add to it. Not that there was any room left.

“I’m gonna go down to the cafeteria,” I say. “Get a paper. See if I can find something in the help-wanteds.” I don’t clarify my earlier statement but Alicia knows me well enough now. She knows how I cope. “You okay for a minute?” I ask. She nods. Christina rests, her eyes closed. Walking out the door, a news story on the television above the bed catches my eye.

“The man that promises 3,000 jobs for Memphis is due to make his arrival any minute,” says a young reporter. “That’s right. We’re here live at the Peabody Hotel downtown, and we’re told that Jason Bale and his entourage will be arriving any moment,” the reporter continues, trying to hide his own excitement. “As you can see, hundreds have gathered to get a glimpse of the unconventional celebrity.”

Police barricades line the streets as people anxiously gather in front of the hotel. Some raise “
We Love You Bale!”
signs as a white limousine approaches.

The reporter touches his earpiece and squints as he attempts to hear over the growing roar of the crowd. “Wait! My producers are telling me … YES! The white limo is not a ruse. Jason Bale is about to be escorted in! Let’s—”

The reporter and his camera crew take off towards the limo. Running, the news staff looks almost as fanatical as the crowd. They scurry around the corner just in time. Cameras flash a near blinding light as the chauffeur opens the rear door. Three men dressed in custom-tailored white suits emerge from the vehicle. Like most bodyguards, sunglasses hide their eyes. Suspiciously, they survey their surroundings, seeming to watch the crowd’s every move from behind darkened specs. Their suits are impeccable, all-white from head to toe. And although the same color, each suit is designed differently. Too grand for my own simple tastes, but I can’t deny their impressiveness.

Just as the suits vary, so do the men in height and ethnicity. One guy looks way too short for what seems to be a security detail. Bearing features of Asian descent, the grimace on his face more than makes up for his stature. A fourth man steps from the limo. Reporters close in to take shots of the most
unusually
dressed of the group. Sleeves from the high-priced suit have been torn off revealing two extensively tattooed arms. A smashed-in white cowboy hat sits cocked to the side over his brow. His ears reveal several piercings. Whoever this guy is, I like his style. Reporters snap away. The oddity licks his tongue out, rock star style, as the horde of fans eat it up. The people on the corner can barely move now, the crowd and reporters tightening their stance. The police are having an increasingly hard time keeping order.

Now a fifth man emerges from the limo. Reporters pause as their eyes pan from ground level to the sky. What some would call a
man
stands before the crowd. He has to be at least 7 feet tall, I’d say 350—400 lbs, although this does little to describe the monster. He breathes hard as he stares at the mob. Muscles protrude from every limb of his body, even his neck. I’ve never backed down from a fight in my life, but I’d hate to tumble with that beast. His suit
has
to be tailored-made. Not wearing sunglasses like the others, his narrow eyes pierce through the crowd causing people to immediately back up. One happy-go-lucky cameraman snaps a shot right in the giant’s face. Startled, he covers his eyes from the light. The huge man quickly detects the culprit from the swarm of reporters, stares him down, and lets out a bellowing grunt. The cameraman steps back, tripping over his own cord. No one dares snap his picture after that. After surveying the crowd once more, the fifth and largest of the
men in white
leans back into the limo. As his large frame reemerges, so does a sixth man. He’s dressed in all-white, as the others, but the roar of the crowd signifies his importance.

The dapper cat is in his early forties, stands about 6’1”, and looks to be in great shape. His brownish-blonde hair is cropped low, showing signs of a slight recede. Combined with a rugged 5 o’clock shadow, however, gives him a look of mystery and prestige. Now here’s the kind of guy that tries hard for that “I don’t care” look.

Untanned, his skin is neither overtly pale. His eyes could be grey, perhaps blue? They seem to change with every light that’s flashed. Mr. Perfection’s smile beams as bystanders take his picture. He seems to welcome the fanfare. I’m sure women, and young girls alike would consider him handsome. The fancy celebrity continues to wave to the crowd as the five men escort him through the press towards the hotel lobby. A chant of
“Bale! Bale! Bale!”
erupts from the masses as the reporter restarts his news feed. I retake my seat at the edge of Christina’s bed as the news report continues.

“… and as you can see, Jason Bale has just made his way into the Peabody Hotel. That’s right. Jason Bale himself is in our fine city. Of course he is accompanied by his elite detail of bodyguards he refers to as his ‘Angels’. And if you know anything about Jason Bale, you know those guys are always with him.”

A newscaster at the studio responds. “Wow, that’s great, Ted. It seems to be pandemonium down there. I’m surprised Mr. Bale didn’t try to sneak in during the middle of the night.”

“You know Sharon, that’s a great point, but once again, if you know anything about Jason Bale, or ‘Bale’, as he likes to be called, you know he does nothing of the norm. This guy really loves interacting with the fans up close and personal. But not to worry, those bodyguards do not look like they play so …”

The studio newscaster lets out a forced laugh. The two go back and forth until the time for the segment has just about elapsed.

“… and remember Entertainment Tonight is on location as well, right here in our very city. They’ll be interviewing Bale as he talks about his latest movie, his expanding business venture, Bale Media, and those 3,000 jobs he’s promised Memphis. I tell you Sharon, this is a great day to be a Memphian.”

“You’ve got that right, Ted. Remember, you can tune in right here to get caught up on all the latest Jason Bale news …”

I finally turn off the television, not wanting to disturb Chrissy Pooh.
Finally some good news,
I think to myself. I’m actually impressed by this Jason Bale guy. A lot of people talk about change, but this guy looks like he’s putting his money where his mouth is. Although I’ve never been a big fan of his movies, (cheesy, over-budgeted, summertime popcorn flicks) he’s at least brought some hope to this dying city. Impressed, I turn to Alicia. “Wow, wish I could work for that guy,” I smile. She smirks and shrugs her shoulders, I guess not so impressed. Maybe she didn’t see the same thing and needs a little clarification. “I mean think about it—”

My sentence is cut short by a loud beeping sound. The kind of sound that signals emergency. I immediately turn my attention towards Christina. Her heart monitor shows one elongated line streaming across the green tinted screen … flatline.

Alicia jumps up from the chair as I rush towards the top of the bed grabbing my baby’s hand. “Chrissy!”

My young daughter is unresponsive. She looks as she does any other time she’s resting, but the continuous buzzing of hospital equipment indicates something more.

“Help! Nurse!”

Alicia steps in the hallway to get the staff’s attention. Nurses rush the room. They speak in medical jargon before beginning CPR. Ninety seconds later, Dr. Amali arrives. He shouts orders to the nurses. “Give me one amp of Epi! Now!”

People scramble around the room. Things happen so fast, it takes a minute for me to grasp what’s going on.

“Nurse Statler, start chest compressions,” continues the doctor.

“What’s wrong with her?!” I plead.

“Mr. Myers, ma’am, you have to leave the room now.”

“No!” I cry. “I won’t leave my baby!” Tears flood my face as I watch the moment unfold.

“You have to let us do our jobs!” Dr. Amali shouts back. “Now please leave! NOW!”

Hospital personnel escort me and Alicia out of the room. The door slams, this time with me on the other side.

“You have fifteen minutes with Bale,” says a member from the celebrity’s security team. His glare signifies he means business, not to mention the mohawk and tattoos that protrude from his torn off sleeves. Arnie, the cameraman, nervously thanks the guard in white as he fumbles with the bulky camera perched atop his shoulder. “Come on, Gloria, keep up will ya!” he shouts. Bet he wouldn’t talk like that to the Scottish version of Mr. T.

Of course, I do just as he says, pulling my cables up from behind me. Assistant Cameraperson is just another name for
servant
. My duties deal with anything involving not actually touching a camera—mostly lugging around huge cables. At least it’s a form of exercise, as I try to look at the bright side.

“Uhhh, Mr.?” Arnie’s shaky voice barely gets out.

“Balak,” replies Bale’s mohawked security dog.

“Oh, ok. Bay’lock, Ba—Ba—” Arnie fumbles worse than the old running back from State.

“Balak! Fool!”

“Oh, I’m—I’m sorry, Mr. Barack. Yeah,
Barack
. I love that name.”

Balak
—we all know his name now—cracks his knuckles as he stares down my near shivering superior. Nervous, Arnie quickly turns away from the irate guard only to send his camera into the sternum of another security member, who just happens to be the largest of the group. Frozen, Arnie slowly makes his way up the tree of a man. Smoke almost appears to brew from the massive man’s nostrils. With a shaven head, small beady eyes, and a white suit nearly too small for his frame, the enormous bodyguard is menacing to say the least. It’s a wonder the over-hyped celebrity needs anyone other than this monstrosity by his side. I’ve stood next to professional basketball players before and this guy measures up with the tallest of ‘em. His body is made up like a World’s Strongest Man competitor, muscles so swollen I don’t see how he can move around.

The giant’s fierce look causes poor Arnie’s knees to wobble. He never speaks but instead discharges an intimidating grunt. Despite the way Arnie treats me, I actually feel sorry for him in this moment. This guy looks like he wants to eat not just the camera, but Arnie himself.

“Now Amnon, that’s no way to treat our guests, is it?” says its master—err … boss. The giant’s eyes squint as he leans closer to Arnie, now fully terrified.

“Amnon …”

The giant finally relinquishes and moves on. Still frozen, sweat drips from Arnie’s brow.

“My friend, are you alright?”

Arnie doesn’t move, probably too afraid to turn around.

“Oh, don’t mind him. He’s as harmless as a kitten.”

Slowly, Arnie turns to acknowledge the voice. “Why Mr.—Mr. Bale,” Arnie smiles, relieved.

“Just call me Bale,” says a set of exquisitely whitened teeth.

“Why—why thank you sir. I didn’t mean to—”

“Shhh, it’s no problem. Go. Do whatever your team needs to do.”

“Why, yes sir.” Arnie’s tone firms up a bit as he barks orders at me and the other intern/servant, Sam. “Whada you two doing? You heard the man, let’s get moving!”

All of sudden, any feelings of empathy I felt for Arnie quickly leave.

As I work, I try to take in my surroundings. I’ve never been to the Peabody Hotel before. It’s one of those things where you know about it because you live here and people come to visit it from all over, but you’ve never been to it because … well you live here.

The star known as Jason Bale takes a seat on an exquisite European sofa. The luxurious hotel is known for its handsome decor. Usually a privilege only afforded to the rich and famous, it has been a staple of Memphis for decades. ‘Mr. Famous’ removes his white suit coat to reveal a finely tailored white button-down shirt. It wraps his torso perfectly, also revealing a finely-toned upper body. Not my type at all, even excluding the age difference, but I can definitely respect a guy who works out. His white pants are creased exceptionally. Even his socks and shoes are bone colored, with the rest of his entourage.

“So, are we ready to do this?” smiles our lead reporter, Julie Blaylock. Jason Bale smiles as well, but more from the high hem of her skirt than for his excitement over the interview.

“I’m so excited to have this opportunity,” she speaks while shaking the superstar’s hand.

He grips back, eyes still focused on Julie’s figure. One can hardly blame him. Her skirt is so tight I don’t know how she’s gonna sit down. And they have the nerve to lecture
us
on professionalism. But I get it. It’s about ratings, sensationalism. I’m sure God cries out for the world we live in today. As a young woman, this is what I have to compete with. Guess I’ll never make it to the other side of the camera.

“An exclusive interview with Jason Bale!” Julie giggles. “Here I am just a local Memphis reporter scoring one of the biggest opportunities of a lifetime!”

“Well, life is all about opportunities,” smiles the movie star.

Julie takes a seat on the sofa. She’s definitely attractive; no one can take that away from her. Although I do think she tries too hard. We’re only three years apart in age, but a lifetime apart in status. Casually, Julie attempts to pull her skirt down, but the already shortened garment rides up with the contour of the furniture. Jason Bale watches her legs intensely and Julie definitely notices. The look on her face goes from flattery to embarrassment.

“How‘re we looking, Arnie?” Julie asks.

“Ready when you are, Ms. Blaylock,”

“Great,” she smiles towards Jason Bale. “Okay, so what we’re going to do today—”

“It’s Julie, right?” the celebrity interrupts.

“Sure is!” she beams.

“Okay,
Julie
,” says the star, not once looking up from her legs. “I’ve been to the rodeo a few times, so you just fire away and I’ll be ready. And what are you? About a size six? A hundred twenty … two—no, twenty three pounds?”

“I beg your pardon?” she asks, incredulously.

“Okay, we’re on in 20!” Arnie shouts before glancing over his shoulder. “Get with it, Gloria!” I go back to pretending to be busy. Guess I was engrossed in their conversation.

Julie takes a moment to gather herself. She continues to tug on her tight black skirt, to no avail.

“In 5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … ,” says Arnie, mouthing the one and pointing to Julie.

“… Today we have a special treat everyone. We’re here with none other than Time Magazine’s “Man of the Year”, Jason Bale! How are you today, sir?”

“I’m great Julie!” The mysterious star’s tone has completely changed. He continues to watch Julie intently, now only at eye level. His smile is infectious and his manner, engaging. Julie is nearly thrown off guard, in fact. I’m not a fan of his movies, but maybe he is a good actor.

“… okay, so Jason—”

“Julie, just call me Bale,” grins the performer.

“Okay. So Mr. Bale—”

“No sweetie, just Bale. That’s what my friends call me,” he says throwing his trademark smile.

“Okay, Mr—umm, Bale. Well, since you brought that up let’s start right there. You are a man known for your … let’s say idiosyncrasies. You go by your last name only and everyone wants to know what’s up with the all-white suits
all the time
for both you and your security detail. I heard somewhere you call them,
Angels
?”

Bale answers back, proudly. “Why yes, they
are
my
angels
. They protect me.”

“Okay, makes sense,” Julie nods.

“And I just love the color white. It’s so …
pure
.”

Bale’s voice is soothing to the ear. His words are purposefully thought out, his delivery eloquent. Almost
too
eloquent. Like a mother’s lullaby, his voice produces hypnotic-like effects, mesmerizing with every syllable spoken. You try your best to stay awake as not to miss anything. Although, the point of a lullaby is to put you to sleep …

“It seems you can do just about anything. You’re a self-made millionaire, a businessman, an accomplished actor, and I’ve also heard you play five instruments, speak four languages, and can even cook. Wow, what a catch!”

“Oh, stop it Julie,”
Bale
smiles. The two definitely know how to put on a good show.

“But seriously, I just want to be remembered as a man of the people.”

“Umm hmmm … so is there a chance for public office later down the line?”

“Who knows, if the conditions are right, and the people want it—right now I’m just focused on my company, Bale Media. We have an exciting announcement coming up in the near future.”

“That’s right. You just recently completed a huge merger with LabTech, International. That had a lot of people talking and it sent Wall Street into a frenzy.”

“Yeah, but we’re all about rebuilding this economy, Julie. We plan to create 30,000 jobs in this great country within just the next couple of years. Plus many more than that within the next five to ten years.”

“Wow! That’s great! You definitely have a lot of tricks up your sleeve. So how did you get an established tech giant like LabTech to merge with an up and coming media firm? I mean, it’s unheard of.”

“Let’s just say, I presented them with an offer they couldn’t refuse.”

Julie laughs for the camera. “Like a line out of one of your movies, hunh?!”

“Hey, what can I say?! I’m an actor!” Bale laughs on cue.

“Okay, okay. So, what about this exciting announcement? Can we get a hint?”

“Come on now, Julie. If I gave you a hint, it wouldn’t be so exciting now would it?”

Julie turns toward the camera. “Well, as usual, Jason Bale keeps us in suspense. I guess just like his latest movie, we’ll all just have to wait and see. Reporting live from Downtown Memphis, Julie Blaylock, signing—”

Bale leans over into the reporter’s parting camera shot. “Oh, and to all my fans, I’ll be at the Sin City Nightclub this weekend, so come and party with yours truly, Bale.”

Julie waits a second, making sure he’s finished. “Wow. Most celebs like to keep a low profile when they’re in town, but I guess as we’ve figured out by now, there is nothing usual about Jason—well …
Bale
. Reporting live from the Peabody Hotel, Julie Blaylock, signing out.”

“And we’re … out!” shouts Arnie—my signal to start rolling up line. Julie stands, still tugging on her skirt to magically make it longer.

“Thanks again for the interview, uh, Bale,” she says. Gone is the flirtatious tone heard during the interview.

“Don’t mention it,” he replies. I step in closer to take Julie’s lapel mike. Really, it’s so I can get a better listen. Bale briefly smiles in my direction as I approach. I smile back, keeping my eye contact to a minimum. He continues the conversation as if I’m not even there.

“So Julie, can I persuade you to join me for … let’s say …
dessert
tonight?”

Any hint of Bale’s “Man of the Year” persona has disappeared as well.

“Wow,” says Julie. “At least you get straight to the point. Thanks, but no thanks.”

I’d imagine any curiosity or slight attraction Julie held before the interview has all but left.

“Besides, I’m engaged.”

This is the moment Julie’s been waiting for as she flashes her over-sized engagement ring in front of Bale’s face.

“Even better,” says the unfazed actor. He moves closer, gently brushing the side of her face before she instinctively moves back. The playboy celebrity smiles as he turns and walks away. The giant—I believe called Amnon—joins his side.

“Now, you’re sure you won’t join me?” Bale calls out.

Julie looks puzzled, as if she has something important to say but can’t remember.

“W—we—well, I guess I can stop by for a little while,” she slowly commits.

I can’t believe it! What is she doing? Why would she even give this creep the time of day?

“Great, see you at 10,” says Bale, never looking back. “My Angels will provide you with details.”

The tattooed one, known as Balak, waits for us to gather our equipment so he can escort us out. I look to Julie to express my disapproval. We’re not friends in the slightest, but we are two young women who both despise creeps. That’s what I thought, at least. As I watch Julie, I’m not so sure she even knows what she’s done. She shakes her head as if she’s just been under a trance. Is that the effect stardom can have on people?

“Thank you my friends,” says Bale as we pack up our equipment. “Now leave me.
I must continue to be about my father’s business.
”

Before I even realize it, words tumble out of my mouth. “Wow, that’s from the Bible. Wouldn’t have pegged you as a reader.”

No, Gloria! What have you done!
It was supposed to be a thought, but my frustrations at today’s happenings materialize audibly. Everyone stops as the focus shifts to me. My eyes widen as I freeze in my tracks. Arnie, Julie, those huge bodyguards—everyone turns and stares at me—even Jason Bale stops and turns. How did he hear me nearly out the room? Still yards away, he takes a few steps closer.

“You know what? You’re absolutely right,” he smirks before turning back around. His security or
angels
or whatever, follows. Whew, glad that moment’s over. The men continue to the door as I hear one more statement from the shrewd icon.

“… oh, but I was referring to someone else …”

Am I the only one who heard that? Guess so—no one else turns. Or maybe they just don’t care, diligently wrapping up our gear. Arnie mugs me with his eyes. I know I’ll be hearing about this later.