The Lights of Tenth Street

by Shaunti Feldhahn

  “No biggie. The kids have a pizza party here next Saturday, so I’ll see you then.”

  No, you won’t. Ronnie tried to smile. “It was good to see you.”

  “You, too. If you ever have any questions, give me a call, okay?”

  Ronnie nodded as the little family waved and left. She headed back to the restaurant’s cluttered office, where she found the owner sitting at his desk, making up the work schedules for December. He glanced up as she appeared in the doorway.

  “Hey, Ronnie. Listen, we’ve got a couple big holiday parties in the next few weeks, which of course I want you to do, so I moved your shift from—” He broke off as he saw her expression. “What’s wrong?”

  She took a deep breath and gave him a rueful smile. His expression changed from cheerful to apprehensive as she took a seat on the other chair in the office.

  “I—uh—I have to talk to you.”

  Ten minutes later, she walked out of the office, grabbed her coat, and headed for the door. She smiled and said good-night to the others.

  As the cold night air hit her face, she straightened with renewed determination. The hardest tie had been cut. One more to go.

  “Thanks, Ms. Dugan.” Ronnie gave her guidance counselor a quick hug. She juggled a stack of papers in one hand as she reached for the doorknob. “You’ve been great. Just like your father-in-la said.”

  The counselor gave a short smile and placed a gentle hand on Ronnie’s arm before she could open the door.

  “Before you go, may I ask you something?” At Ronnie’s perplexed nod, the counselor smiled again. “May I pray for you?”

  “Uh, sure.” Ronnie felt her cheeks growing pink. “I guess. That would be nice.”

  Ms. Dugan kept her hand on Ronnie’s arm and closed her eyes. Ronnie peeked sideways, then shut her own eyes tight. She felt awkward, standing in the cramped office like this, holding her exit papers. No one had ever prayed for her before.

  “Lord Jesus, I ask that You watch over this girl as she goes. I pray that You would be with her as she travels, as she finds a job, and as she makes friends in a new place. Keep her close to You, Lord Jesus, and never let her go.”

  The counselor paused, and Ronnie was astonished to hear emotion cloud her voice. “Lord … just … please protect her in her new life. I ask this in Jesus’ name, amen.”

  Ronnie looked up to see tears in her counselor’s eyes. She stood still, not knowing what to say.

  The woman took a breath and gave a self-deprecating smile. “God loves you very much.” She reached across Ronnie and opened the door. “I will pray for you. May the Lord bless you and keep you.”

  Ronnie shuffled through the door. “That, uh, that means a lot to me. Thank you.”

  As she walked away, clutching her high school records and GED materials, she shook her head slightly. What was that all about?

  The school bus groaned to a stop at the end of the little road and Ronnie made her way down the bus stairs, balancing a stack of school materials. She gave the driver a brief wave and watched him drive off, swamped by a sudden feeling of unreality.

  That was it. In another hour, Tiffany would be in her driveway and she would be gone before anyone got home.

  Ronnie trudged down the street, her backpack straps cutting into her shoulders. She had loaded up as much as she could from her locker, and was carrying the rest. A few feet shy of her driveway she stopped to get a better grip on the load.

  “Well, I told you twice, Linda!”

  Ronnie’s head snapped up in alarm. The sound of Seth’s slurred shouting came clearly through the flimsy kitchen door. She could hear her mother’s protests, then some sort of scuffle.

  Ronnie looked around, then crouched behind the unkempt row of hedges that lined the street, her heart pounding. Why were they home?

  “You better go get it!” There was the sound of a blow, and Ronnie clenched her fists at her mother’s familiar pleading.

  “Okay, okay! I’ll go now, Seth. I’ll get it. Stop! I’ll go!”

  Ronnie heard the kitchen door bang open, and the sound of her mother’s little car starting up. She hefted her load and scurried around the hedge so she couldn’t be seen from the road. The decrepit car backed down the driveway and sped off.

  How on earth was she going to get out of here now?

  Her back ached from the strain of the backpack and her awkward hiding position. Carefully, she set down her stack of materials, then lowered the cumbersome pack to the ground and pushed it under the hedges as much as she could.

  She hurried along the edge of the yard to the side of the house, wincing as a carpet of fallen leaves crackled under her feet. She paused in the shadow of the house and caught her breath, listening for any clamor from inside.

  Nothing. Seth was probably too drunk to notice anything. But that would just make it worse if she were caught.

  She rounded the corner and slipped along the back of the house, then reached up and released a catch on a window screen. With a practiced yank, she pulled the screen off, then stopped to listen. Again, nothing.

  It took only a moment to step up on the old tree stump and get inside—many a boyfriend had gone this route—and she clambered down atop her desk, carefully avoiding the computer that had already been disconnected. She had saved for more than a year to buy it. She couldn’t leave it behind.

  She grabbed the cordless phone and slipped into her closet as she punched the buttons, closing the door as much as she could.

  “Hello!” The cheery voice rang through the receiver.

  “Tiff!” She spoke in a stage whisper. “Tiff, can you hear me?”

  “Ronnie?” Her friend’s voice dropped a few notches. Ronnie could hear traffic in the background. “That you?”

  “Yes. Just listen. Seth is home. He doesn’t know I’m here. I snuck into the house to call you.”

  Her friend let out several curses. “There’s no way I’m driving up–”

  “No, no, I don’t want you to. He might—Well, anyway, you shouldn’t.” She hesitated. “Do you still want to take me?”

  “Don’t be an idiot. We just have to find another way to do this.”

  “There’s really only one option.” She outlined her idea in a hoarse whisper, her ears alert for any noise in the hallway. “The only problem is, we have to do it right away. My mom will probably be back soon.”

  “Okay. I’m already heading toward you. Give me ten minutes.”

  “I’ll meet you in the other driveway.”

  “Deal.”

  Ronnie clicked off the phone and dragged a heavy suitcase out of the closet. She pushed the window open all the way and shoved the case up and out, listening to its soft thump on the ground below. It was just too bad if some things broke. No way around it. Next went her fully loaded duffel bag. She frantically stripped her bed, tied the sheets and pillows inside her blanket, then stuffed her phone, alarm clock, and a few other electronics inside the loose bundle.

  She clambered out the window, the soft bundle cumbersome in her arms, and dropped to the ground below. As her feet hit the dirt, she tripped and fell, the electronics ringing and clattering. She held her breath.

  “Linda, that you?”

  She could hear heavy feet tromping down the hallway—passing her bedroom and heading into the master bedroom at the side of the house. The side of the house she would have to sneak around in order to meet Tiffany. She lay motionless, heart pounding, listening to curses and mutterings as the heavy feet headed back down the hallway to the living room. She tried not to picture what would happen if her drunken stepfather looked out the back window.

  Shaking with tension, Ronnie gathered her bundles and dragged them around the corner of the house and toward the deserted house next door. She pushed through a cluster of trees and a small thicket, scratching her face and arms, before stepping onto the quiet driveway.

  A shiny yellow convertible was already stopped there, its engine off, its driver looking nervously in th
e rearview mirror. She jumped from the car when she saw Ronnie, and ran to help.

  She grabbed the suitcase from Ronnie’s hand and gave her a brief hug. “What can I do?”

  Ronnie was out of breath. “You can—you can load the trunk while I bring the rest out. And if you’re feeling brave, you can go get my backpack and school stuff from over there.” She pointed.

  Tiffany didn’t look thrilled, but set off without a backward glance. Ronnie crept back the way she had come, mentally reviewing the things she still had to bring.

  Finally, just her computer was left. Tiffany stood on the old tree stump, helping Ronnie leverage the heavy monitor out her window, when she suddenly froze.

  “Your mother! I just heard her drive up!”

  Ronnie worked frantically to gather up the rest of her computer equipment, passing it out to Tiffany in pieces.

  Knock, knock! “Ronnie, you in there?”

  Ronnie stared into Tiffany’s wide eyes. Her friend vanished under the windowsill.

  “Ronnie?”

  Ronnie stood by the door, trying to make her voice sound normal. “Yeah, Mom. What do you want?”

  There was a hand on the doorknob. “Can I come in for a second?”

  “Uh, no, Mom … I’m changing. You need something?”

  “Yes, I need something. Can you come out when you’re done?”

  “Okay.”

  She listened as her mother moved away, then she hefted a box of computer accessories and clambered out the window. Her speakers and CDs still lay on the desk.

  Tiffany was already hustling around the side of the house, the heavy monitor in her arms. Ronnie clutched the CPU to her chest, strung the mouse over her shoulder, and hurried in her friend’s wake, leaving the last bits and pieces in a box under the window.

  “Yeah, baby!”

  The wind blew past at eighty miles per hour, and Ronnie yelled in explosive relief and delight as the yellow convertible sped onto the expressway. She threw back her head, her ponytail whipping in the breeze, and raised her arms in triumph.

  Tiffany glanced over from behind the wheel and grinned. “I can’t believe we made it!” She punched a button on the CD player and out blared their favorite song. Tiffany began singing along, moving with the beat behind the wheel.

  Ronnie laughed, almost giddy. The weight of the world was lifting off her shoulders, rising, rising with every mile behind her. The sun was low and vivid on the horizon, her best friend beside her, and she was gone! She was embarking on an adventure to finally have a life!

  She put a hand to her head, trying to keep flying strands of hair out of her eyes. Despite her efforts, she could feel her ponytail loosening.

  “Give it up!” Tiffany shouted sideways. “Caution to the wind, baby!”

  Ronnie hesitated, then looked at Tiffany and let her hand fall away. With deliberate exuberance she tilted her head back and shook her hair in the wind. The ponytail holder blew away down the road behind them as the car sped toward Atlanta.

  TWO

  Two kilos for you. No more,” Tyson barked at the man beside him as he watched his underlings distribute their load.

  Three other senior members of the group came and went, slipping out the side door with their briefcases and backpacks, heading for their own rendezvous. And still the little man stayed, standing off to the side, belligerence in his eyes, relying on his unique position to give him this access to the top echelon of the organization.

  Finally, Tyson gave a signal and his men jumped down from the truck and shut the back door, the clang reverberating around the empty bay. He turned to go, only to find Snoop in his face again.

  “You said I could have—”

  “I said,” Tyson hissed through his teeth, “if you could handle the last shipment, we’d think about giving you that run. Instead, you got two mules arrested, dropped your nine, and left federal agents crawling all over the plane.” He turned and headed for the office. “Not the most successful trial, all things considered.”

  Snoop shoved his kilos in his duffel bag, and trotted beside the second-highest-ranking man in the organization, gold chains thumping against his chest. “Not my fault, bro! Look here, you know—even Proxy knows—that we was set up. And no way the feds found the gun. But I got contacts all over south side, man, and y’all need me. And since I hear that y’all are getting into some new business, well, as I see it y’all need me even more.”

  Tyson ignored him, trying not to seethe. Snoop aggravated everyone, but his information was valuable enough to warrant patience. Until last week’s debacle, at least. He wished Proxy would just let him blow the informant away, but that wasn’t his call. After a moment, he smiled to himself. Snoop didn’t know that once the new business line was secured, the old lines were history. Maybe then.

  The two men pushed through a door and up a series of narrow stairs, legacy of the forties-vintage trucking depot they had recently purchased. On the third floor, Tyson strode through a wide, empty space and entered a large but cluttered office furnished with a sturdy metal chair and desk, remnants from the original WWII-period furniture.

  Snoop poked around. “Man, what happened to your old spiffy digs? Don’t Proxy and them like you no more?” He turned back to Tyson and guffawed, slapping his thigh.

  Tyson clenched his jaw and stood behind his desk, entering some notes in the log.

  Snoop stepped across the desk from Tyson. “Look, I just messin with you. I know the big man dig you.” He slapped Tyson on the arm.

  Tyson narrowed his eyes. “Snoop, you better get out of here.”

  “Okay, man, I’ll go.” He grinned slightly and crossed his arms. “I’ll go just as soon as you cut me some slack and tell me when the next run—”

  The phone rang on the desk, making Snoop jump. He started to open his mouth again, but Tyson held up a hand and picked up the receiver.

  “Tyson Keene.”

  Snoop began to wander around the office again, muttering to himself.

  Tyson listened for a moment, then jerked in surprise. “You’re certain?” His eyes flickered to Snoop, and he bent to open and close a few drawers, looking for something. A flat smile appeared on his face as he listened. “I concur, sir … Where? … Okay, sure …”

  He talked quietly for another few minutes, then put down the phone and continued to rummage in his messy drawers. Across the room, Snoop gave a derisive snort and meandered back to stand again in front of Tyson’s desk.

  “So, noisy man, you gonna tell me when the next run is, or do I have to find out where Proxy lives and go ask him?”

  Behind Snoop, the door to the office silently opened, and a man in an elegant black wool coat slipped inside. He looked at Tyson over Snoop’s shoulder, and nodded.

  Tyson stopped his drawer searching and leaned across the desk, his face close to Snoop’s. “You want to ask for a promotion from Proxy himself, do you?”

  “Sure thing. For two years I been dying to meet the big man. I don’t even know his real name.” Snoop cocked an eyebrow. “Say, why do they call him Proxy, anyway?”

  “Because,” the man at the door spoke softly, and Snoop whirled around, “I do all my work by proxy.” He nodded at Tyson.

  Snoop swung back toward Tyson, who lifted a gun from the desk.

  “Recognize this?”

  He smiled as he pulled the trigger. Snoop stumbled backwards and landed in a heap at Proxy’s feet.

  Five minutes later, Tyson watched as two other men shoveled a sheet-wrapped bundle into the back of the truck in the empty bay. Proxy was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, as Tyson gave brief instructions to the two helpers.

  Tyson walked over to his boss as the truck rumbled out the massive doors and into the quiet dusk. “That’s one problem solved.”

  “And one created.” Proxy detached himself from the wall and stretched. “But necessary, of course. Let me know what you hear through your channels, and I’ll see you next month before the gathering. It’s imperati
ve that this transition goes well.”

  Tyson hesitated. “Of course. But … if I hear something urgent …?” He let the unspoken question hang in the air.

  Proxy smiled slightly. “Just give me an e-mail or voicemail report as usual. The rest will have to wait until a regular contact point.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  The two men went their separate ways in the growing darkness, and Tyson studiously avoided watching which streets Proxy’s small car took as its lights faded from sight.

  Proxy checked his rearview mirror and backtracked several times, then headed onto a packed main road, convinced no one was following. On the thoroughfare, he kept a cautious eye on the cars around him, more out of habit than concern.

  The Atlanta rush-hour traffic was heavy as usual, and he fiddled with the knob on the radio, hoping that this little rattlebox would even pick up a signal. Surprised by the clear reception, he listened to the local traffic report and made his decision.

  One mile up the road, he abruptly turned left just as a traffic light was changing and pulled into a massive mall parking lot. He drove around the perimeter of several high-traffic department stores, then cut right and made his way up the ramp of a parking deck. He wound his way through the structure and out the other side, swinging back into traffic on a facing street. Five minutes later, after a few more maneuvers, he turned into a hotel entrance and drove up to the valet stand.

  An earnest-looking young man stepped forward and opened his door, handing him the valet ticket stub. Proxy nodded his thanks, pulled his briefcase off the seat beside him, and stepped out with a dollar in his hand. He pressed it into the young man’s palm, discreetly returning the ticket stub, and stepped into the hotel.

  Tyson’s people would retrieve the car, clean it, and dump it, and he would have new wheels before their next meeting. Proxy smiled to himself. He had chosen his top lieutenant well. Tyson was still learning the ropes, but he had the business acumen to properly manage their unique new opportunity.