YNs—Speedster

1994

Cosmo Millhand’s clothes looked clean. At twenty-four-years-old, he had attained a master’s degree and ensured that he looked and smelled clean. His suit and dress shoes appeared immaculate. He lived in a house that looked like it could take flight. The leaves angled like wings in a dream. He hopped into his yellow Porsche 911 Speedster convertible with the black top. With the flip of a switch a tiny compartment opened and a crackpipe and a lighter issued forth. By reaching into his pocket, he extracted a baggie with ready rock in it. With precision, he added the contents of the small bag to the crackpipe. A flick of the lighter burned at one end of the crackpipe and the product heated. Once he took in the drug, his heart beat quickened and his eyes widened. The charge from the rush of the substance allowed him to continue on his journey to his desk at E.I. du Pont de Nemours and Company in Wilmington, Delaware as a senior vice president.

When he parked his car, he felt the weight of being the only black executive at the company. The crack cocaine battled his body’s defenses and somehow won. As he ambled through the doors of the building, he felt the high wash over him like so many currents of air. To get to his desk seemed like a great way for him to mask his high.

His office assistant, Marigold Tommers, looked pert and ready to offer a word. She appeared pleasant, pale white skin and red hair and just twenty-two-years-old, she secured this position from a friend of a friend. Marigold relished this role, just to give Millhand a stack of junk mail and a few messages.

“Good morning, Mr. Millhand, you have a meeting with Mr. Gadley at––”

“Eleven o’clock, which is exactly one hour and fifty-four minutes from now.”

“Yes.”

“Is that everything?”

“It is, sir.”

Marigold stood still and in silence as Millhand walked into his office.

“Thanks.” He shut the door. The pipe and the crack cocaine stayed in his pocket in a little case. His quick thinking skills kicked in to prepare for the meeting with a DOW Chemical executive by the name of Christoph Gadley. His skin looked darker than Millhand’s but he figured that the company paired the two black men together out of some “brother love, kinfolk” nonsense. He withdrew his paraphernalia once more and beamed up again.

The rush, coming off of the last blast felt more intense and he knew what to do with his current state. Never did he show signs of unprofessionalism or erratic behavior. Always did he mask the odor of burnt plastic with air fresheners and incense. His office featured mahogany and Bordeaux colored accents. As an SVP he handled himself rather well. As a crack addict, he could put the sheets over his life and business dealings.

Once eleven o’clock rolled around, he shook hands with Mr. Christoph Gadley. He had about an inch on Millhand and a soft smile. The latter invited him to have a seat on one of two small couches adjacent to his seat.

“How goes the grind in Michigan?” Millhand asked.

“We’re pumping out more products than you can name. This Internet thing is going to take us to another level of shipping and distribution.”

“Really?” Millhand asked.

“I can bet you.” Gadley pulled out his cigar. Millhand’s eyes widened as he forgot to put away his materials.

“May I?”

“Of course. Go right ahead.” Millhand raised from his seat and walked over to the desk with a bit of pep and nervousness all wrapped up into one.

“So, we’re going to use the operating system to facilitate the scientists with this, what’s it called? World Wide Web?” Millhand brushed his remaining rock into a piece of paper and folded it like a chewing gum wrapper. The crack pipe saw its temporary home in the interior to Millhand’s desk.

Gadley looked at Millhand’s jittery actions. With his movements, he attempted to cancel out the jitters by pressing his suit jacket down with every step.

“You okay?” Gadley asked, conviction creeping into his voice.

“Fine. Fine. Our scientists are the backbone and nervous system to all of this,” Millhand mentioned.

“Yes. That’s precisely why we have to do a deal with Dupont and merge,” Gadley stated.

“A merger’s never going to happen with the two biggest chemical firms in America,” Millhand propounded as he returned to his seat, his left foot tapping slightly in his chair.

“I see it coming. We’ve got the wherewithal to merge and become a massive company. Everybody knows about Michigan but how many people know about your state and what Dupont has meant to so many lives?” Gadley wondered.

“Not enough and oh so many,” Millhand responded.

“Yes, you know we’re just tokens…mere figureheads in their chess game of who can out black the other….” he stopped and looked at Millhand quizzically. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine. Just a bit of a head thing. I left the ceiling fan on overnight as I slept. That’s all.”

“Okay….”

“Now, let’s get back to the business of seeing these two companies merging. I don’t see it. You see it. I don’t.”

“In a few years. Maybe a decade or more, we should see some definite change and solidification of the deal…are you sure you’re alright?”

Millhand’s eyes grew wild. He fidgeted and corrected and repeated the process over and over again.”

“Hey, listen if you’re not up to the task of––”

“No, no no. We can negotiate like men. Like black men. I don’t even know what that means. But we can do it.”

Gadley’s patience waned. He finished his cigar and looked at his fellow businessman. Gadley had about fifteen years on Millhand. “Son, if you’re sick at sea, just say so. We can get you some help….”

“Help? Help for what?”

“You’re obviously on something. I don't know what it is but I have my suspicions.”

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

“If we’re going to talk about the merger, let’s talk about the merger. Whatever it is that you’re smoking is stopping you from doing your job.”

“No it hasn’t, I mean no I’m doing my job. I’m here aren’t I? We’re sitting on couches.”

“Yes, and you’ve got a problem young man. You’re zipping around trying to seal whatever that is and now you’re telling me you’re ‘doing your job’? No, this meeting is over. You go to get some medical attention or something.” Gadley raised from his seat and strode across the room and opened the door.

Once he left, Marigold stood and walked over to the entrance of her boss’ door.

“Is everything alright, Mr. Millhand?”

“Yes, yes, yes. Thank you. Do I have any more visitors for the day?”

“Yes, you have a two o’clock meeting with one of our scientists. Dr. Flora Wong.”

“That’s great. I’m going out to lunch.”

“Can I order ahead of time at Lacey’s?” Marigold asked with brightness.

“No. I’m going somewhere else.”

“I got it, sir.”

Millhand drove his German ray of light and handled it rather well for a man high on crack cocaine. He didn’t want to drive but he had to get away from the office. Away from the turmoil and rage seething inside his gut that that place engendered. He stopped at every red light and sign. He journeyed along the hills of Wilmington in a leisurely pace to try to clear his mind and still feel the sting of addiction still coursing through his veins. It felt like ants crawled under his skin now. It had been a feeling he grew accustomed to understanding. But the drug proved to be too much. He had to have it.

With his high profile job, he wondered if Gadley would report him or never want to transact business with him ever again. He drove over to the Boxwood Funeral Home in North Wilmington.

The funeral director’s niece stood in for her uncle. Ranika Holland possessed brown hair and ebony eyes that complimented her twenty-two-year-old chestnut brown skin. She wore a suit that matched the navy blue and white motif of the posh funeral parlor. Millhand parked his sports car in the lot where no other vehicles existed. He still had the crack in his system but aside from a few quick jerks and the sensation of bugs under his skin which produced a series of scratches, he felt fine.

“Hey, Cosmo.”

“Rani. Hey. Is your Uncle in?”

“No, sir. He just left to pick up.”

“Oh.”

“What can I help you with today?” Her face looked like she knew him for the past fifteen years, but her voice sounded like she talked to a new client.

“I just need to talk to him to see about my affairs regarding my demise.”

“Okay…well, I think I can help you with that.”

He really didn’t have any business talking about last “affairs” or business regarding his “demise.” He wanted to know of a dealer who would let him score more rock.”

The two twenty-year somethings walked through the corridors of the funeral home. Her mother, Alane “Auny” Boxwood, sat behind a bulky computer and flashed a hand up when she saw Cosmo Millhand and her daughter.

“What are you two up to, now?”

“Mr. Millhand was looking for Daddy. He wants to talk business.”

“Oh….”

“I’m sure you can still accommodate the gentleman….”

“Of course, Mama.” In an adjacent office, Ranika led him inside.

“Now, we have a list of options. I can show you a list of plans to make sure you get the premium experience for your loved ones.”

“Is your father coming back soon?”

“We– yes, I think he will be back soon. Why are you so adamant about seeing him? I’m perfectly capable of providing you with a service to match my daddy’s….”

“Ranika, I have to get back to the office soon so could you tell him that I’m just trying to get touch bases with him?”

“Sure, but if this is in regard to the funerary services––”

“It’s not. Okay. I just have to speak to him. Thanks.”

He clutched his keys and exited from the mortuary. He returned to his car. When the engine revved, it enlivened him and he experienced a moment of clarity that could not have been matched earlier. He handled the vehicle with grace and vigor. All of his moves outperformed the last. He arrived back at Dupont and looked at his watch, one fifty-two. Some police cars parked outside of the building. His heart rate quickened. He had enough time to go into his room and wait for his appointment and still get some crack in during the meantime. He sped past Marigold who reached out an arm. He opened his office to see police officers waiting around with a K-9 unit.

Marigold ran out of the office space and into Dr. Wong.

“Mr. Millhand, I’m Detective Rowan Marks. We were tipped off by a gentleman who had business ties to you.” Millhand knew it was of course Gadley. “Why don’t you come along with us? We’ll read you your Miranda rights when we get downtown. For now, everything in this office is part of a crime scene.” The two o’clock appointment with Miss Wong would for now, have to be rescheduled but not necessarily canceled.

“Dr. Wong.”

“Yes, well we’re just going to talk in our offices.”

Millhand knew that the crack would prove too much for one day. The feeling of queasiness coursed through his being. He’d never been charged with a crime or anything. He just wanted to taste the wild ride of the ready rock. All of his fears and doubts hinged upon the sweet and detrimental trance that the drug put him in these past few months. While he tried to hold onto the reality of not doing it, he still could feel the pinching needles of the slight withdrawal from the substance.

Now, with the police involved he would have to see what his future would be at the company.