Five Steps Ahead

TWO

When I arrived home a little later that night, I couldn't help but think about the encounter with the gentleman. I kept asking myself dozens of questions that would assist me in uncovering any information that he might've kept confidential when 'showing me the works.' How did he know about the dangers of downtown Peoria at night? According to Brit, the streets were usually empty there at that time. Was it expected that he used the words "Support The Movement" after I had just seen it on that white guy's shirt? Was the movement really a movement, or was it figuratively money moves? I was sure that I would unlock the secrets of this case with the information I provided myself, so I noted all of my wonders down on my white "Unclassified Detective" clipboard and fell fast asleep.

I spent the following day contemplating what to wear. Would he have to get to know me personally before discussing any of his information? If so, did that mean this was technically a date? In this case, my 4-inch black heels would be acceptable to wear again, but not if suddenly we're in the middle of his mafia and I hear gunshots. Anyhow, Brittany and I were supposed to walk downtown again that night, and I forgot to tell her that I made work-pertaining plans that didn't need her assistance. I knew I'd feel guilty to see her in the office at work and keep it from her, so I decided to call in sick and purposely sleep the day away to ignore her calls and be fully energized for whatever I would witness that night.

*beep beep* *beep beep*

There was my alarm clock; After the front half of the day passed, it was finally time to meet up. As I was getting into my car, I started to feel butterflies all through my stomach. One disadvantage of being a lawyer is that sometimes when you overthink, you never know when it is a good thing or a bad thing. This time I had a gut feeling that I was most definitely right, but I feared being incorrect and unsuccessful. I eventually arrived at a small-scale caffeine building located at the corner of a street by a liquor store. When I got out of my car, I could hear the fellas who hung around the premises, all of them wearing black, making bird sounds and pet noises to get my attention. I'm sure one of them even growled. My surroundings were starting to scare me, so I quickly turned to open my car door when suddenly I felt a firm grasp onto my arm. I vigorously turned over my shoulder, causing the grip to loosen, and revealed to me was the African-American man from downtown Peoria.

"Are you okay?" He started. "Something tells me you don't want to be here."

"That something is giving you the wrong message. I just don't feel safe here." I answered, completely forgetting to perceive as the chill, resilient girl I needed to be for the sake of the case.

"You shouldn't feel safe anywhere. Follow me." He insisted just before leading me to the coffee shop.

There were hardly any customers inside, and most of the employees were either not at work or at the back of the shop hiding inside the kitchen.

STEP 1: BUTTERFLIES

"You're a little overdressed for the occasion, don't you think?" He started. "The sneakers are fine, but the dress-"

Gives me butterflies. You know, the fluttery feeling you get when you're initially succumbing to another person? I've been replaying pictures in my mind of her appearance since the second I saw her in the city. This sort of fanatical pondering over someone feels like good anxiety. Instantly, you can't get them off your mind, yet significantly more than that, you're contemplating the picture you're anticipating too because you need to prevail upon them. Even worse...I know her.

"Looks absolutely lovely," I interrupted with a sense of humor and then began to loosen up. I knew I needed to make small talk if I wanted to get him to know me and tell me his information, so I decided to introduce my concealed identity. "I'm Mia," I instructed. " I work from home near downtown Peoria. I'm actually from there."

He nodded his head in response as a hello; it usually resembles the "What's Up" greeting that black people generally use as a form of acknowledgment.

"I'm Joe," He answered plainly.

"Joe," I repeated. "The classification I receive from a black man who is the CEO of a good-running business is that his name is just...Joe. I thought you would introduce yourself as if you're pretty much high status, but Joe could work." I shrugged while taking a sip of the coffee he preordered before my arrival.

He snickered and shook his head. "Look, Princess, I don't know what kind of fairy tale you think I own, but my joint is no palace, and my choice of operation is no tale." He scoffed while taking out a dollar bill and holding it to my face. "What do you see?"

"It's a one-dollar bill," I answered as if it couldn't have been any more obvious.

He flipped the dollar bill and brought it closer to my face. "Look again," He urged.

"A- One-hundred dollar bill," I stuttered.

He slowly put the money back into his wallet. "What I just showed you was metaphorical. Yes, I'm educated. My job as CEO of my "business" is to take small amounts of money from my members and turn it into larger amounts of money." He answered unsurely.

I was beginning to get lost in his conversation. His business didn't sound so much like gang business, but I was still confused about his method for gaining more significant amounts of money. I tried continuously asking him questions that would reveal his type of business, and he went on and on about his work when he answered, but his responses were all sugarcoated and less detailed. It almost seemed as if he purposefully answered that way because he didn't think I was genuine. Eventually, I ran out of questions, and then came a small awkward silence. That was until he broke it by asking,

"Are you interested in the police force, or should I say governmental employment?"

"N- No. Why do you ask?" I stuttered.

He raised his right hand from under the table, holding my attorney badge. I couldn't even remember losing my badge let alone bringing it with me. Instantly, I got afraid. I didn't know whether he'd killed me for working under the law, kill me for not expressing that I was an attorney, or kill me because it was the same damn difference. My palms began to sweat, and I felt the urge to call for backup. I knew immediately what type of night it was going to be.