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Book Information
Genre:
FICTION / Romance / Suspense
Publication:
Nov 09, 2007
Pages:
243
Books by Tracy L. Moore
MIDNIGHT BLUE is a work of fiction, set in New Jersey. It is composed of part crime drama and romance narrative, centered on the life and actions of the protagonist Khalil Petersen. Petersen is a sergeant in a police department corrupt by greed of a few dishonest men in power.
Petersen is working on a rape/murder case of a 15-year-old runaway, which takes place on New Year's Eve. He has also rekindled the love he had for a woman from his college days by the name of Athena Gibson who has uncanny ties to the victim and has vital information that will help solve the case!
MIDNIGHT BLUE is written in the third person which aids the readers to become more involved in the story as they experience the thoughts and emotions of each of the characters, allowing for different perspectives.
Finally, MIDNIGHT BLUE is a detective drama that includes several story lines into a story of the triumph of a sincere and honest cop in his professional and personal life. This book is a must-read for those who enjoy crime narratives with a romantic subplot.
Special thanks to several friends who are former police officers. Their input on some terminology and police procedures was greatly appreciated.
Kudos also to photographer Randolph Waterman of Brooklyn, NY; book cover was designed by Ms. Atsede Elegba, and model was Mr. Wayne Powell.
Copyright by Tracy L. Moore.
"Midnight Blue' Brings Child Exploitation and Sordid Police Corruption Front and Center in Bold New Crime Novel
Author Tracy L. Moore illuminates a gritty, urban landscape through the lens of personal experience.
Los Angeles, CA (PRWEB) February 7, 2008 -- With an unflinching gaze, "Midnight Blue" takes an authentic, often stunning look at life on New Jersey's mean streets through the eyes of a world-weary, principled cop named Khalil Petersen. The stage is set for Petersen's perilous journey when, on a bitterly cold New Year's Eve, he finds the corpse of a 15-year-old runaway who had been savagely raped and murdered on the streets of East Orange.
In the tradition of HBO's "The Wire," where street heroes and villains shapeshift with each new lead, this compelling crime/romance novel intricately weaves Petersen's determination to give voice to the voiceless---through the mysterious, tragic runaway he calls "Baby J"---together with his campaign against corruption in his precinct. In death, Baby J manages to lead Petersen through a cavernous underworld of crime and child exploitation. The trek ultimately brings Petersen face-to-face with his own ethos and character, as he takes on bad police long embroiled in practices the "good old boys" consider a perk--sexually abusing women in custody. When Petersen's former friend and love interest, Athena Gibson, arrives on the scene with uncanny ties to Baby J, Petersen learns he is not alone in his quest for justice.
"Midnight Blue" is an inspirational work of suspense and intrigue depicting ordinary people who triumph in extraordinary ways. The recently published Suspense/Romance paperback is available worldwide on such book retailer websites as Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Target, among others.
Originally, "Midnight Blue" was promoted as a work of fiction. Recently, however, the author revealed that the book was largely born of real-life experiences, a fact that could not legally be divulged prior to the novel's publication.
Moore revealed how the victims of juvenile crimes are often victimized yet again by the very institutions they turn to for protection.
For more information on Los Angeles-based Media Specialist and Journalist, Suzanne Marcus-Fletcher, please contact Ravenridge@socal.rr.com
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C O N T E N T S Chapter 1 Murder at Winthrop Chapter 2 Corruption from Within Chapter 3 Conduct Unbecoming Chapter 4 Revelation Chapter 5 Off the Beaten Path Chapter 6 Ambushed Chapter 7 Booty Call & Willie Lynch Chapter 8 Plot to Kill Chapter 9 Myles Thompson: Ruminations of a Killer Chapter 10 A Playette’s Game Chapter 11 Decisions, Decisions Chapter 12 Flashback Chapter 13 On the Heels of a Rat Chapter 14 Shutterbug Sam Chapter 15 Surprise, Surprise Chapter 16 Coincidence? Chapter 17 Victoria’s (Toya’s) Story Chapter 18 Rekindled Love Chapter 19 Turned Tables Chapter 20 Code One: Nabbing of a Killer Chapter 21 Home
Justice,
Undeniably,
Shall someday succeed
Tremendously to
Inevitably
Conquer
Evil.
Chapter 1 – Murder at Winthrop
It was a cold Thursday night the first week of January. With the wind chill factor, temperatures were reading ten below zero. Yet Khalil's clothes were soaking wet, partly from his workout at the gym but mostly from the encounter he'd just had with Myles Thompson.
Khalil Petersen had just exited Russo's gym to get in to his Yukon truck when two men he had never seen accosted him. They were both about six feet tall, heavy set; one was White, the other was African American. They grabbed him, punching him several times in the abdomen. At that point, Myles had stepped out of the shadows of the nearby storefront, smoking a cigar in his right hand and wielding a pocketknife in his left hand.
"You're going down KP. Despite that little victory in court today, you're going down." Myles quickly slashed Khalil behind his right ear. "Next time it won't be so pretty." Snapping his fingers, Myles and the two men vanished into the darkness as quickly as they had appeared.
Ten minutes later, Khalil was pulling into his driveway. He barely remembered the ride home. Somehow he had managed to calm his pounding heart, and the sound of his own blood roaring through his veins. Breathe, he repeated to himself. Just breathe. Think of nothing else right now. Focus on breathing. He sat in his truck, engine still running, heat turned up full blast. The clock read six pm and in a few hours he had to be at work. Technically the shift was from eleven pm to seven am, but it was still called the midnight shift. Khalil worked for the East Orange Police Department in New Jersey as a sergeant where he had served for almost twenty-three years. In another six months he would be retiring.
I really don't need this crap from Myles. Not now, especially with the increased crime wave the department had experienced in the past week. On Saturday night, there had been thirteen date rapes, all suspects apprehended. The following night, there had been three deaths as a result of drunken driving and road rage.
Shortly before midnight on Sunday, several calls came in to dispatch about an accident. Witnesses claimed that the driver of the first car had gotten upset when an elderly driver had cut him off after the tolls on the Garden State Parkway. To make matters worse, the old man appeared to be in another world, driving slow in the fast lane, oblivious to the events unfolding around him. The young man shouted obscenities at the old man, even going as far as rolling down the window and flipping the old man the bird. The passenger in the car with him cheered him on. The old man continued to ignore them, driving at five miles an hour.
Additionally, witnesses claimed that the passenger in the car with the young man then began throwing what appeared to be empty cans at the old man. Without warning, the old man veered to the right, crossing several lanes and taking the next exit. "Follow him, follow him,” his friend exclaimed. “Don't let him get away." The driver veered to the right as well, missing several vehicles, his black 1978 Pontiac Trans Am immediately increasing to seventy miles per hour in less than six seconds. Unfortunately, at the end of the ramp, at the traffic light, in the middle of the intersection the old man had stopped his 1956 Rolls Royce and was standing outside of his car. The last words uttered by the young men were lost in their screams as the Trans Am careened into the old man and his vehicle.
Khalil vividly remembered the details at the crime scene. Blood and broken glass were everywhere. The lifeless body of the old man was caught between the two vehicles. The two in the Trans Am had been ejected through its windshield. They did not survive the crash. Neither was wearing a seatbelt. The smell of beer was everywhere. On the floor of the vehicle were the remains of two six -packs, the contents exploding upon impact of the two cars.
Khalil's mind was in overdrive as to the old man's actions. Why? Why had he stopped and gotten out of his car? Why did he get out at that intersection at that time of the night? Did the old man want to die? If so, what had led up to this?
Khalil continued to sit in his truck a bit longer, thinking about the unusual week he had experienced. As horrific as the car accident had been and the need for him to learn more details about the tragedy, his mind was occupied by what he considered the last crime of the old year.
The call came in shortly after two early Tuesday, New Year’s morning. One of his rookie officers had gone to get some donuts for the officers working the desk. On his return to the precinct, Officer Julio Lopez had almost run over what he thought was garbage. Getting out of his vehicle to remove the garbage from the roadway, the officer shockingly discovered that it was not garbage but the lifeless body of a young female, so he immediately reported it to Dispatch. Sergeant Petersen, who worked in Homicide, was on duty and upon hearing the call, cut in to Dispatch and directed that emergency medical service or EMS, along with a medical intensive care unit (MICU) be sent to the scene. He directed the Detective Bureau respond to the scene as well which was in charge of collecting forensic evidence.
Khalil arrived at the underpass on Winthrop Terrace and South Grove Street within minutes. He commended Officer Lopez for his timely actions. As sergeant, it was Khalil's responsibility to preserve the crime scene, knowing that every piece of evidence would be sent downtown to the Prosecutor’s Office. God help the person who would dare tamper with the evidence on his watch. He would make certain that a repeat of the O. J. Simpson, Nicole Brown case didn’t happen here. Together, he and Officer Lopez secured the area, setting up barricades and the yellow crime scene tape.
Khalil continued to sit in his truck, heart pounding as he thought of what he found at the scene. The lighting in the surrounding area was poor, casting eerie shadows on the walls. At first glance, he saw what appeared to be a light-skinned, black female, mid twenties, long black hair, naked, faced down in the street in a pool of blood. It looked like her throat had been slit from ear to ear. Her back was covered with bruises and abrasions, with pieces of her flesh hanging loose. She had two tattoos, one on her right shoulder blade and the other on the back of her left calf. Both tattoos were engraved in Chinese.
Off to the right of the body was a set of stairs, leading up. Upon closer examination, they discovered a trail of blood on the stairs. There were also shoe prints, unquestionably not the victim’s. It was apparent by the dirt on the back of her heels, that the body had been dragged down the stairs and discarded.
When MICU arrived, Sergeant Petersen was surprised to see that the medical examiner arrived simultaneously. “Hey, we didn’t call for you yet. What are you doing here?” This question Khalil directed at Dr. Arthur Matthews, the medical examiner. Dr. Matthews was white, with blonde hair and intense blue eyes. He was about five feet four inches tall, in his late sixties. Khalil remembered him as being very thorough, having worked with him in the past. Though he was little in stature, Dr. Matthews did his job well. His reputation preceded him. Khalil knew that the FBI and other agencies throughout the country often called on Dr. Matthews as an expert witness.
“I was returning to my office from another homicide when I heard your dispatcher put the call out over S.P.E.N. (State Police Emergency Network). It sounded like more work for me so I responded over here.” Khalil then knew that the neighboring precincts were aware of this recent crime, because S.P.E.N. allowed neighboring municipalities to monitor emergency calls.
Though Khalil knew it was futile, protocol dictated that resuscitation be attempted. Twenty minutes later, the medical examiner officially pronounced the body as dead. Looking around him, Khalil was thankful that it had not snowed for days so this would allow the detective bureau to effectively collect evidence.
"Hey Sergeant Petersen, take a look at this." Dr. Matthews beckoned Khalil to his side where the body was. “She’s been dead about three hours, and due to the freezing temperatures, rigormortis has not yet set in. Her attacker used a knife, but the specific type of knife is not yet known. The knife left weird markings on her back and near her neck, with pieces of her flesh hanging out. It’s observable that she put up quite a fight indicative of the broken acrylic nails. Her thighs are bruised so she may have been raped.” Dr. Matthews paused, looking intently at Khalil. “She is not as old as she appears.” Slowly Dr. Matthews removed the wig from her head.
“Oh my God,” exclaimed Khalil. “She’s just a baby. She can’t be more than fourteen or fifteen years old.”
“One more thing”, said Dr. Matthews. “I recognize this tattoo on her shoulder as the work of Chan Lee located in the Washington, DC area. I’ve worked with him in the past. If you look closely, you will see the tiny initials tbc which stands for Tattoos by Chan. Here’s his telephone number. He may be able to shed some light on the tattoo on the back of her leg as well. Good luck.”
After Dr. Matthews left, Khalil was informed by the detectives at the scene that the victim’s clothes (black pants and matching silk top) had been found at the top of the stairs, neatly folded. There were blood spatterings everywhere, not far from where the clothes were found. There was a red purse, a pair of red boots and a black trench coat. These were neatly placed near the folded garments. A book of matches from a nearby grocery store was found in the left pocket of her coat. In the purse were a pack of cigarettes, a twenty-dollar bill, and a scrap of paper with a Florida telephone number with the letter “M” written on it.
As Khalil finally got out of his truck he vowed silently. Little girl, I don’t know who you were. But I will do my best to uncover this murderer. Your life, your existence will be vindicated and justice will be served.
Khalil grabbed his gym bag from the back of the truck and walked in to his house. It was a two story red brick house, surrounded by a fence. A beware of dog sign was posted, discouraging trespassers. He also had security cameras and alarms on the property. These were installed in the past four years, ever since he exposed the corruption regarding promotions in the department by a number of high-ranking officers, including sergeants, lieutenants, the captain, and even the chief of police. There was concern that even the mayor and board of police commissioners were involved.
Astonishingly, only two of the officers who were to be promoted actually lived in East Orange, Khalil being one of them.
When he was passed over a second time for promotion to lieutenant after refusing to pay for his promotion, Khalil filed a lawsuit against the City of East Orange, the Prosecutor’s Office and several officers. Daily he had to deal with harassment from several of his superiors, amidst threats of insubordination. He had to be careful of who he called friend.
In the midst of all this, Khalil still had to do his job, which was to serve and to protect the citizens of East Orange.
Khalil did not take lightly the encounter he’d had with Myles, especially since Myles was known to be ruthless. Khalil and Myles had been in the Police Academy together but for some unknown reason, Myles hated Khalil. Until two years ago, Myles had been a detective in the Narcotics unit, having served on the police force for almost twenty-one years. On several occasions, charges had been brought against him of police brutality, rumors surfacing of him being a dirty cop, and being in business with the local drug dealers. Today Khalil had testified about an incident concerning Myles that Khalil had witnessed a year ago while off duty.
He remembered walking out of the barbershop one Sunday morning when he saw, about a block away, a light-skinned black man about six feet tall, screaming and kicking a boy. There was a bicycle nearby, as well as a baseball bat and the boy had fallen to the sidewalk, face already bloodied and bruised. The man was livid, screaming obscenities and shouting that he would teach the kid a lesson for stealing his money. “I gave you five hundred dollars worth of weed and all you have is two hundred dollars? Where’s the rest of my money? Where’s the rest of the weed?” The man started kicking the boy again. By then Khalil had already called the precinct on his cell phone for backup and had drawn his gun. “Police, don’t move. Put your hands up and turn around slowly.” Khalil was shocked when the man turned around and he was staring at the face of Myles Thompson.
“Man, don’t even say one word. You are under arrest.” Khalil read Myles his Miranda rights and placed him in handcuffs. By then, several police cars and EMS had arrived. Unfortunately, the boy had died, having sustained severe blows to his head, lungs and kidneys. His name was Victor Mackey; he was sixteen years old, African American somewhat small for his age and suffered from sickle cell anemia. Khalil learned later that Victor had dropped out of school only a month prior to his death because he was tired of being picked on at school. How Victor became involved with Myles was still a mystery.
Upon entering his home, Khalil tossed his keys on to the white leather sofa, walking past the living and dining rooms and in to the kitchen. He quickly ate a grilled cheese sandwich with a bowl of soup. Opening the back door, he then fed his dog, putting out a fresh bowl of water. “Hey Hoodlum, at least I can always count on you.” Hoodlum was a three-year-old bullmastiff with a rough, grayish-brown coat of hair.
Next, Khalil went down to the basement to get his uniform. There was a recreation area where he kept his collection of guns. His prized possession was an old civil war 1861 Springfield muzzleloading rifle with a bayonet. This had been passed down to him from his mother. The rifle/bayonet had been used by his maternal great, great, Grandfather Moises Henson who was born in Kentucky, the same state where President Abraham Lincoln was born.
Henson had been a slave and had fought for the Union Army during the American Civil War. The war had lasted from 1861 to 1865. Khalil had had a special plaque engraved with words written by Lincoln: “When peace comes, there will be some black men who can remember that, with silent tongue, and clenched teeth, and steady eye, and well-poised bayonet, they have helped mankind on to this great consummation: while, I fear, there will be some white ones, unable to forget that, with malignant heart, and deceitful speech, they have strove to hinder it.” The plaque hung right next to the bayonet in a separate display cabinet.
Moreover, Khalil reveled in the knowledge that after the Civil War, his ancestor had been a Buffalo Soldier, a part of the Tenth United States Calvary.
There was also an exercise room, a bathroom, and a laundry room in the basement as well. Khalil quickly retrieved his uniform that he had previously washed and ironed. The pants were dark blue and the shirt was white with long sleeves.
There was a time in the past when his entire uniform was the color of midnight blue. In fact, during his early days as a rookie, when he worked the day shift, he had arrested a homeless man for disorderly conduct in the park. The man had been drunk and was trying to convince Khalil not to take him in. “Come on Midnight, come on Blue, gimme a break. I see you on your beat, so I know you a’wight. You, you one of the good guys. Just havin’ some fun with my buddies seein’ it’s my birthday and all. Hey, have a drink on me.”
Khalil chuckled at the memory. He arrested the man, putting him in lock down to sober up. Since that incidence, people on the street started calling him Midnight or Blue. He wore it as a badge of honor.
As he made his way to his bedroom upstairs, Khalil stopped briefly in the living room, admiring the wooden floors. He took pride in his own workmanship, having done all the labor himself. Until recently, the floor had been covered with wall-to-wall carpet.
He seldom used the living room, as he was usually working. Across from the sofa was a floor model television. Against the wall were a surround sound stereo system and a partial collection of videos, DVDs, some albums and CDs of old school music. The rest of the collection he kept in the recreation area in the basement.
There was a fireplace in the living room that had not been lit in years. Along the mantle were two pictures; the first one was of his parents, Clive and Ina Petersen who had both been dead for almost ten years. His mother had been a music teacher at an elementary school. His father had served in the United States Marine Corps, as did his father before him. In fact, his paternal grandfather had served during World War Two and had been a part of the battle at Iwo Jima.
The second picture was of his only child. Tarick was a recent college graduate from a prestigious university in New Brunswick, New Jersey and was currently teaching high school math and history to inner city youths in Detroit, Michigan. Though he had divorced Tarick’s mother seventeen years ago, Khalil was grateful that he had a great relationship with his son.
On the wall, above the sofa, was a work of art by Elaine Dungill, an artist who didn’t start painting until her seventies. The painting was titled Family and depicted a black family, where the father gently held their young son and the mother tenderly held their baby. Khalil loved this painting because it represented the one thing he had yet to achieve for himself – a loving relationship similar to that of his parents.
Khalil continued on to the second floor. The house had three bedrooms and two bathrooms. At the top of the stairs and to the left was the second bathroom. Next to the bathroom was the first bedroom that Tarick used whenever he visited. This bedroom was done in shades of blue. It had a full size bed and dresser. On the wall was a painting by Upjohn titled African Musicians. In the corner was Tarick’s saxophone that had not been played since his high school days.
To the right of Tarick’s bedroom was the second bedroom that had been converted in to an office. The office furniture was of cherry wood. The leather chair was burgundy. On the right side of the desk was the computer. To the left of that was a telephone. Immediately behind the desk were bay windows that overlooked the back yard and rock garden. On the left wall was a bookcase overflowing with books. On the right wall was the fax machine that he could also use for scanning and copying. Next to the fax machine was a shredder.
Above the fax machine hung a painting. This one was by T. Walker, titled The Bondage Breaker. Khalil was not sure what the artist had in mind but for him, the painting was a rendition of the biblical Samson who had been blinded and bound in chains between two pillars. The painting depicted Samson, at the point of death but breaking free from the chains that bound him. In his death, Samson destroyed more of his enemies than he did in his lifetime. For Khalil, this painting represented his life's journey and having broken free of the chains that others had used in the past to define him, limit him, and keep him in a box. But, unlike Samson, his victory would be in his life, not his death.
The third bedroom was where Khalil sought solace.
His bedroom was done in shades of beige and brown. On the left was a walk-in closet, its doors covered with mirrors. On the right was a king-sized waterbed with several pillows. Above the bed was a painting by Ansel Butler, titled In the Heat of Passion. The painting depicted a couple in a sensual embrace, the beginnings of their love dance.
Across from the bed was a dresser drawer with a small television on it. He made it a practice not to sleep with the TV on because he believed that it affected the quality of his sleep.
Next to the bed was a nightstand with a lamp, a clock radio and an answering machine that was lit up. The readout on the answering machine indicated he had four messages. The first was from his attorney reminding him to call him the next day. Candace’s message followed, reminding him of their date for Friday night. The next message was somewhat garbled from a woman in Florida. Khalil could not be sure but it sounded like she said her name was Tina. She left no details but promised she would call at another time. The caller ID listed the number as private so there was no way to call her back. The final call was from his only sister Grace who lived in Silver Springs, Maryland. Grace was calling to apologize for the disaster date she had set up for him on Christmas.
“Hey little brother, I'm really sorry about what happened on Christmas. Please forgive me. You know that I love you and want the best for you. You know I want you to have the same type of love that Mom and Dad had, that I have with Daniel. Khalil, please call because I have not heard from you this week.”
Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was almost seven o’clock. He quickly hung his uniform in the closet. He then set the alarm for ten thirty and went in to the bathroom. While he showered, he thought about his sister’s call.
Grace was forty-eight years old, principal of an elementary school in Montgomery County, Maryland. She had been happily married to Daniel Martin, an architect, for twenty-four years. They had one daughter, Sherrie, an art major who attended Howard University. Sherrie was a junior and currently in the student exchange program in Paris, France.
Although his sister was just two years older than him, Grace could be a pain, constantly trying to set him up on blind dates every time he visited her. This past Christmas had been no exception. Khalil had driven to Maryland for their usual Christmas dinner. When he arrived at his sister's home, the other guests were already there including a woman Khalil had never seen.
Daniel's parents, Kris and Anita, had flown in from Houston, Texas. Despite the fact that they were in their late sixties and retired, Kris and Anita were always flying off to some new destination. Kris' mother Olivia Martin had flown in with them as well. Olivia would be celebrating her eighty-seventh birthday in a few days and they were taking her on a seven night southern Caribbean cruise. The day after Christmas, the three of them would be flying in to San Juan, Puerto Rico. Their itinerary included St. Thomas, St. Maarten, Antigua, St. Lucia and Barbados.
Daniel's younger brother Joseph and his wife Dena were also present. They had driven from Columbia, South Carolina. Khalil always had a great time with Joseph who was constantly playing pranks on his family. “Hey, where are the twins?” Khalil asked. “I was looking forward to seeing them, considering it’s been two years since I last saw you. How old are they now, about fourteen?”
“That’s correct. Eric and Thomas are spending the next two weeks with my parents in Park City, Utah,” said Dena. “They wanted to learn how to ski and this was the perfect opportunity for them to do so. It also gives Joseph and me the time to re-connect with one another.”
“I know that’s right,” said Joseph. “And I love it! We closed the bed-n-breakfast for two months to do some remodeling. In the meantime, we’re re-connecting all right; waking up late, back rubs, foot massages, and making love all day long, all night long. It’s been so good that Dena’s been walking around the house singing Patti LaBelle’s Right Kind of Lover.”
Dena replied good-naturedly, “You’re one to talk. Huh, he’s been humming Patti’s song too, walking around singing the chorus, talking about say my name.”
Everybody roared with laughter including Olivia. “Hey babies, you know there ain’t nuthin’ like good lovin’ from a lovin’ man.”
Joseph teased Olivia, “Hey grandma, what you know about that?”
“Sonny, don’t let my age fool you now. You young folks think you know it all. Honey I could teach you a thing or two.” Olivia was known for calling a person Sonny or Baby-girl when she could not remember the name.
There was more laughter. Grace spoke up. “Dinner’s ready. But let me officially introduce Khalil to a new friend of mine. Her name is Beverly Kendricks. She’s new to the DC area, having just moved from Los Angeles about three months ago. Beverly, this is my brother Khalil Petersen. Khalil is a sergeant on the police force in New Jersey”. Inwardly, Khalil groaned because he knew his sister was up to her matchmaking tricks again.
Beverly was about five feet, eleven inches tall, with caramel colored skin, long auburn hair and hazel eyes. In fact, if Khalil didn't know any better, he would have thought he was looking at Tyra Banks, one of his favorite models. Beverly was dressed in a black Kasper pantsuit, silver scarf around her neck, and diamond studs in her ears. There was a faint scent of the perfume Red Door by Elizabeth Arden. Well, at least she looks good and smells good though her hands and feet are somewhat large for a woman, Khalil thought. Let's see where the night takes me. Khalil shook her hand and was surprised at how rough it felt.
“Nice to meet you”, Khalil said.
“Nice to meet you too”, Beverly replied in a voice that fluctuated between that of an alto and tenor, and ending in a whisper.
“What’s wrong with your voice?” Khalil inquired.
“I think I may be getting a cold or something”, Beverly replied nervously adjusting the scarf around her neck. “The change in weather I believe has affected my voice.”
They gathered around the dining table that was beautifully set. There was the traditional turkey, stuffing, collard greens, corn bread, fried chicken, Cornish hens, roast beef, tossed salad with Italian dressing, string beans, cranberry sauce and macaroni and cheese. As far as Khalil was concerned, his sister made the best macaroni and cheese, just like their mother used to with three different types of cheeses (cheddar, mozzarella, and muenster). Sometimes she added colby cheese. There was also a variety of desserts and drinks, nothing alcoholic.
Daniel asked his father to bless the table. This generated groans from everyone except Beverly and Daniel. Kris was known for his lengthy prayers. Joseph said to Daniel, “Bro now why did you do that? You know Dad will go on and on for at least ten minutes. The food will be cold by then”. Everyone laughed, including Kris.
“I’ll keep it short since we have a guest”, said Kris. They bowed their heads. “Dear Lord Jesus, thank you for this day. Thanks for great family, new friends, and good food. Amen.”
Joseph spoke up. “This is a miracle. Dad, you actually kept it short. Unbelievable.”
Anita came to her husband’s defense. “Son, you know your Dad keeps his word, regardless of his proclivity to talk and talk. You got that from him. Now, let’s eat because I’m hungry.” They all laughed again.
Dinner was great with lively conversation from everyone except Beverly who was sitting next to Khalil. She barely spoke a word, in spite of his attempts of talking to her. It concerned him also that she seemed to be uncomfortable. Khalil kept sending telepathic messages to his sister who was trying her best to ignore him.
When dinner was over, they lingered in the living room before the fireplace. During dinner, Christmas music could be heard playing softly in the background. However, Joseph turned it off and suggested that they all sing Christmas carols, karaoke style. Grace, who was known for singing off key, excused herself and began to clear the dining table. Khalil offered to help her and followed her in to the kitchen.
“Hey, what’s up with your friend? She hardly said a word and each time I asked her a question, she got nervous. She kept pulling on that silly scarf. Now, you know I love all things Tyra so to speak. But, something is not quite right with her. I mean, her hands and feet are ill proportioned to the rest of her body. And her voice…Sis, she sounds almost like Melvin on the Tom Joyner morning show.”
Grace looked at her brother in amazement. Worried lines creased her face and she hoped this would not end in disaster. “Well…. she’s usually very talkative and sociable. I hadn’t noticed it but come to think of it, she always wears a scarf. I just figured it was her favorite accessory. Besides, here you go again criticizing without first getting to know her. Can’t you stop being a cop for just one day?”
Before Khalil could say a word in his defense, they were interrupted by the sound of someone clearing his or her throat. “I just know you guys aren’t in here talking about me behind my back. Is that how you treat your guests? Now if you got a problem with me, just come out with it.” This remark came from Beverly who had entered the kitchen without them noticing. She was chewing a piece of gum and waving her hands while she spoke as if she was ready for a fight.
Grace quietly spoke up. “No, I don’t have a problem with you. But, all through dinner you barely spoke a word, which is so unlike the Beverly I’ve known in the past weeks. And now you come in my kitchen, in my house, and acting like you’re ready for a fight! Girl, you need to stop tripping. You knew for the past two weeks that I’ve been trying to hook you up with my brother. So, like Marvin Gaye used to sing in his song, what’s going on?”
“Look,” replied Beverly. “I don’t believe in beating around the bush, okay? So let me just tell you. Until a year ago, I was a man. I won’t go into the reasons why I had a gender change. Suffice it to say that the life I now live is one where I’m beginning to make peace with who I am. So, if you don’t like it…”
There was silence as the gravity of what Beverly had said registered. Grace’s face was a myriad of emotions, displaying shock, amazement and incredulity. She was literally stunned into silence. This did not happen often. Grace stood in the middle of the kitchen with her hands covering her mouth.
Khalil, on the other hand, was as cool as a cucumber. “In my line of work I see and hear just about anything and everything. Nothing surprises me. I’ve learned to be tolerant of everyone. However, from what Grace said, you knew her intentions and at some point before tonight, you should have at least been honest with her.”
“I didn’t see the need for it,” replied Beverly. “Besides, she kept singing your praises and I just had to meet you. Hey, you can’t blame me for that. A girl could only hope, okay? Anyway, in the short time that I’ve known Grace, she’s always talking about not judging others. Quite frankly, I’m a bit surprised and offended by her response right now.”
By this time, Daniel had left the living room while the others noisily amused themselves. He entered the kitchen unnoticed, so he had heard the entire exchange between the three of them. Daniel looked at his wife who had tears in her eyes. Knowing that she would never do anything to intentionally cause someone pain, he spoke up for his wife. “If anything, Grace should be offended. Beverly, if you say you’re at peace, then act like it. Don’t be so quick to be insulted or hurt. You didn’t even give Grace a chance to show just how genuine she is.”
“My apologies,” said Beverly. “No hard feelings. Anyway, I’ve got this hot date so I must run. Khalil, if you ever change your mind, look me up, okay? Grace, Daniel, dinner was great.” Beverly then went over to Grace, giving her a brief hug. “I will call you some time during the week.”
Just as Beverly turned to exit the kitchen, she snapped her fingers as if remembering something. She directed her question at Khalil.
“You have an unusual name. Whatever does it mean?”
Khalil responded, “Well, there are various meanings depending on the culture. In the Arabic, it means good friend. In Hebrew it means complete, mature or perfect. And in the Greek it means beautiful.”
“Oooh, I like that last meaning, beautiful. Don’t forget now, if you ever change your mind, holla.” Beverly then left the kitchen and retrieved her coat from the hall closet. Those in the living room were too involved in karaoke to observe or question Beverly’s departure.
Back in the kitchen, Daniel and Khalil looked at Grace who still had not uttered one word. She continued to stand there, with her hands on her mouth. The men looked at one another and started laughing hysterically.
Grace finally found her voice. “How dare you laugh at me? This is not funny.”
Daniel lovingly pulled his wife into a sweet embrace and tenderly kissed her. “I hope this cures you of your matchmaking tendencies for good.” The three of them then went into the living room to join in the festivities. Needless to say, the rest of the evening went on without any more drama.
As he got in to bed, Khalil thought about his sister and laughed. He would make her sweat just a little longer. He would call her some time during the weekend. As much as he loved her, he was sure that this time she would stay out of his love life.
As Khalil drifted off to sleep, he hazily remembered the sting he felt from the slash from Myles’ knife.
About Tracy L. Moore
Tracy L Moore is a student of the human condition, wielding the written craft to enrapture the mind much like an artist wields a brush. The pages are a blank canvas on which to draw from a talent heralded by many and matched only by an imagination that rises to the task. Interwoven within the pages are several original poems or biblical scriptures that set the stage for each chapter.
MIDNIGHT BLUE is the first in a series of recent pursuits, with work progressing quickly on the follow-up.
Born in Kansas, TRACY L. MOORE has been writing since the age of 8. This book will heighten your awareness of what a few corrupt officers can do to tarnish the reputation of an entire department but what driven and honest people will do to set the record straight. It is a story of overcoming adversity and shame despite the odds.
To contact Tracy L. Moore, please visit www.outskirtspress.com/midnightblue.
MIDNIGHT BLUE is a work of fiction, set in New Jersey. It is composed of part crime drama and romance narrative, centered on the life and actions of the protagonist Khalil Petersen. Petersen is a sergeant in a police department corrupt by greed of a few dishonest men in power.
Petersen is working on a rape/murder case of a 15-year-old runaway, which takes place on New Year's Eve. He has also rekindled the love he had for a woman from his college days by the name of Athena Gibson who has uncanny ties to the victim and has vital information that will help solve the case!
MIDNIGHT BLUE is written in the third person which aids the readers to become more involved in the story as they experience the thoughts and emotions of each of the characters, allowing for different perspectives.
Finally, MIDNIGHT BLUE is a detective drama that includes several story lines into a story of the triumph of a sincere and honest cop in his professional and personal life. This book is a must-read for those who enjoy crime narratives with a romantic subplot. 
Tracy L Moore is a student of the human condition, wielding the written craft to enrapture the mind much like an artist wields a brush. The pages are a blank canvas on which to draw from a talent heralded by many and matched only by an imagination that rises to the task. Interwoven within the pages are several original poems or biblical scriptures that set the stage for each chapter.