“Good morning, Deacon Bailey,” the twins said. “May we be excused for children’s church?” They curtsied and waited a moment for a response.
Deacon Bailey gave them the nod and ushered them to the stairwell that led to the mezzanine level, where children’s church took place. I was not so insistent on the discipline of church etiquette, but I appreciated her efforts.
The sanctuary was almost full as we picked our way past patrons already seated in the pew where Travis, Kenyetta, and Elijah sat, saving seats for us.
The sound of the music swirled overhead and rained down a calm that always penetrated whatever crusty exterior had built up since my last visit. I prayed every morning and thanked God for waking me up in my right mind . . . maybe “in my right mind” was stretching it, but I was still here.
My thoughts drifted to Nareece waking up in the confines of the hospital. I glanced over at Dulcey, who sat tall and proud like she had received the best blessing ever. I tuned in to Rev. Thomas singing Kirk Franklin’s “Blessing in the Storm.” He ended the song with a hallelujah, that was repeated several times by the congregation, before the church quieted, in wait for his next words.
Rev. Thomas paused to allow parishioners a chance to absorb the meaning behind the lyrics, I supposed. He took up his handkerchief from the podium, wiped his forehead, set it back down, and continued.
“Some of us are going through a real storm and we have to drop anchor and pray for daylight . . . Don’t drift, don’t despair. How you handle that storm will determine a good deal how you live the remainder of your life. Let me leave you with four anchors to help you with the storms of life. Number one, the presence of God. The Word says he will never leave you or forsake you . . . Number two, the anchor of faith. We need faith because of fear. The Word of God will matter little if you do not exercise faith in it . . . Keep hold of that anchor of faith . . . Number three, the anchor of purpose. You must have a sense of destiny about your life and know that God keeps his promises without fail. Number four, the anchor of peace. When we trust God, no matter what the circumstances, we are peaceful. When we are in a storm we ask why. Many times we do not get an answer or the answer we want . . . You need to surrender to Jesus.”
At the end of the service, the low hum of voices got loud with greetings and laughter. It took at least a half hour to work our way through the greetings from members to the pastor’s receiving line. The twins bounced into the sanctuary from Sunday school as Travis, Elijah, Kenyetta, Hamp, Dulcey, and I escaped our pew row and took up positions at the end of the receiving line. Dulcey and Hampton stood in front of us, holding hands and cooing at each other like newlyweds. What an hour in the Lord’s house can do, I thought.
The twins were first to greet Rev. Thomas, who stood on the sidewalk in front of the church. Deacon Paul stood beside him, taking notes as the reverend spoke to each parishioner.
The twins wrapped their arms around the reverend from either side.
“What’d you young ladies learn in children’s church today?”
“That you should pray about everything and be patient, wait for God to answer,” Helen said.
“Very good. Anything else?”
“Oh, Reverend Thomas, you know everything about God without us tellin’ ya,” they said. They broke their grip and ran down the sidewalk to the crosswalk, yelling their goodbyes behind them.
Next up, Travis and Elijah conversed with the pastor. “Good to see you in church, son. How you making out your first year in college?” the pastor asked Travis.
“Good so far; a 3.64 GPA.”
“That a boy,” Rev. Thomas said, pumping Travis’s arm with congratulatory strength.
“And this is?” Rev. Thomas said, taking Kenyetta’s hand.
“Rev, you know Kenyetta. She’s my girlfriend.”
“Ah yes, I do remember. It’s nice to see you again.”
Then he focused his attention on Elijah. “Glad you came, young man. I hope you decide to become a part of our membership.” Elijah assured the pastor he would consider such, depending on whether he decided to stay in Philly. My ears perked.
Travis and Elijah moved down the sidewalk to where the twins waited at the corner.
Dulcey, Hampton, and I took turns giving our good wishes.
Pastor took Dulcey’s hand and pulled her in for a hug. “It’s been a long road, Dulcey, but you are looking well now, lady. I will continue to pray for your recovery.”
“It was everyone’s prayers got me this far. Prayer will take me the rest of the way. Thank you, Pastor.” Then Reverend Thomas and Deacon Paul went back into the church sanctuary and closed the doors as we made our way to the corner.
Travis, Elijah, Kenyetta, and the twins had crossed the street and were at the car by the time Hamp, Dulcey, and I got to the crosswalk. Hamp and I took our positions on either side of Dulcey, each holding an arm, and began crossing the street.
Rose ran from the car to meet us. The squealing of car tires caused me to look away from her down the street. When I looked back, Rose froze in place on the sidewalk, her eyes wide with fear. Hamp and I rushed Dulcey to the curb.
A dark-colored sedan sped toward us. A glint of shiny black inched out of the window. My heart raced as I looked to Hamp, who pushed Dulcey behind him, then to Rose, still frozen in position. I ran toward her and yelled for everyone to get down. Several shots were fired as I grabbed Rose and we fell to the ground. I jumped up when the car passed, hoping to see the license plate. The car turned the corner without slowing.
Helen’s bloodcurdling scream ripped through the loud silence that settled after the gunfire. I spun around to see her standing over Rose’s still body, which lay spread-eagled on the pavement.
CHAPTER 7
Rose was dough in my arms. Dulcey pushed Helen into the backseat and jumped into the driver’s seat. I slid in beside Helen. Blood oozed from a hole in Rose’s left shoulder. I put pressure on the wound. She did not flinch. Dulcey leaned on the horn as she sped down Lombard Street to Children’s Hospital. Hampton hung out the window on the front passenger side, screaming for cars and people to move out of the way. Helen cried, screaming Rose’s name. About a block from the hospital, Helen stopped screaming and said, “Tell Auntie Dulcey she can slow down, Auntie. My Rose will be all right.”
When we arrived at the emergency entrance, Dulcey got out of the car before I could open the car door. She ran into the hospital and came back with two nurses rolling a gurney. Rose floated from my arms to the gurney. A doctor came as they rolled Rose inside, with us following. Partway down the hall, the doctor stopped, blocking our path, and said, “Who is responsible for this child?”
“I am,” I mumbled.
“Who is . . . ?”
“I am,” I said louder.
The doctor nodded, then hurried down the hallway while a nurse took up the duty of blocking our path so we could not follow.
I moved when Helen pulled at my hand, leading me to the waiting room and a chair. Dulcey and Hampton followed. My brain revved with the details—the shooter’s car dented on the driver’s side, dark blue, three faces, no, four faces, the gun, semiautomatic, the license plate covered or partially covered: 3H or 8H.
Travis, Elijah, and Kenyetta arrived a few minutes later. As soon as Travis came, Helen ran and jumped into his arms. Then she told him the same thing she told us, not to worry because Rose would be fine. I could tell from the relief on his face that Travis bought it. He believed her. He sat down with Helen on his lap and Kenyetta next to him. He rocked Helen while she buried her face in his collar.
Elijah stayed to the rear corner of the room, away from everybody else. Our eyes met and locked for a moment before he looked away, at nothing in particular as far as I could tell. I told myself I did not blame him. His brother may not have had anything to do with it. I took a deep breath and tried to regroup.
“Hey, partner,” Fran said, bringing me back. “I was in the neighborhood, heard over my scanner.”
/> Helen jumped down from Travis’s lap. She approached Fran with an outstretched hand. “Hi. I’m Helen. My sister got shot, but she’s going to be all right.”
“I’m sure she is.” Fran reached out to shake Helen’s hand. “I’m Fran. A pleasure to meet you, Miss Helen.”
She giggled. “A pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Fran. Fran is a girl’s name.”
“It can be.” He cupped his hand to one side of his mouth and bent toward Helen. “Between us, I think my mom secretly wanted a girl,” he said, which drew another giggle from Helen.
I got up and directed Helen to go back and sit with Travis while I talked police business with Fran. Helen was resistant, wanting to participate in capturing the bad guy who hurt her sister. I gave her my no-nonsense glare, the same one my mother had given me in difficult moments. She obeyed.
Fran and I left the room and walked down the hall to the door that let us inside the stairwell. I took a seat on a step. Fran stood with his back against the door to ensure our privacy.
“How is your niece?”
“She got hit in the right shoulder.” I looked up at him. “Helen says she’s going to be fine. So, there you go.”
A few moments of silence passed before Fran plowed forward. “Police are interviewing people at the scene. So far, when I left, no one saw anything. They heard noise that sounded like gunfire but didn’t see anything by the time they got to their windows or out their doors. The reverend heard the shooting but said the car was gone and you were taking off by the time he got outside. There also were no casings at the scene.”
“The question is, who was the target? We were the only ones there—Dulcey, Hamp, Travis, Elijah, Kenyetta, the twins, and me. It had to be . . .” I hesitated.
I decided I needed to slow down and rethink my thoughts before sharing suspicions that I had no basis for. Elijah was a good kid.
“Something you want to share?” Fran quizzed me.
I headed in another direction. “I can tell you it was a dark blue Toyota, a Camry, I think. There were three black men, young, maybe twenties. There might have been a fourth, I’m not sure.” Fran pulled a little black notebook from his pocket and scribbled down what I said. “The license plate was covered by something hanging out of the trunk, but two characters were either 3H or 8H. Not much, I know.”
“It might take a while, but I bet we can narrow it down.”
“I’d also appreciate it if you would pick my sister up from Penn Center and bring her here. I can’t leave . . .”
“Done.”
“I’ll call over and tell them you’re coming. Ask for Darla Dawn.”
“Darla Dawn? Really?”
“It’s a code name so they know you’re supposed to be there. Thanks.”
Four hours later, Dulcey dozed in a sitting position on the couch in the waiting room, her head hung back, and a full-engine snore going on. Helen was wrapped up in a blanket next to her. I paced between looking out the window and checking down the hall for the surgeon, Dr. Sharma. Another hour passed before he came to the waiting room after five hours of surgery and told us that Rose was in recovery and would be kept under constant watch for several more hours before we could see her. He said the bullet missed bone but damaged some nerves, and while they performed debridement of the damaged tissue, follow-up surgeries might be required.
Helen smiled and said, “See, Auntie, I told you Rose is going to be fine.”
I hugged her.
“Twins are spooky like that. Thinkin’ the same thoughts, feelin’ the same feelin’s, knowing what the other one is going to say before they say it. That ain’t nobody but God’s blessing on them,” Dulcey preached.
“Ma, who were they shooting at? I mean, none of the gangs operate in that area. And there definitely wasn’t anyone else there but us that I remember seeing,” Travis asked.
“Oh boy, what can you tell me about gangs and where they operate?”
“Please. Me and my boys are hip to what goes on in our city, who the players are, where they be hangin’ and who not to mess with.”
I noticed Elijah did not say anything, just nodded his head and kept a crooked smile on his lips, not in an evil way, but rather in an awkward boyish manner with an air of innocence.
“Really? That’s not at all what I would have thought, the way you came home last night.”
“So I got into some stuff. I handled it. I’m your son, ain’t I?”
“Damn sure is your boy.” Dulcey snickered. “Listen to him, Muriel. Maybe you need to interrogate him. Might learn a few things.”
It was going to be a long night.
Dulcey and Hamp took Helen, Travis, Kenyetta, and Elijah out to get something to eat. I was not leaving. They’d been gone maybe twenty minutes when Calvin strode through the double doors, followed by three of his men. I double-timed it into his arms. Caught him off guard. The feel of his hand at my lower back, pulling me into the warmth of his hold, allowed me to absorb all his splendidness and renewed my spirit.
“I came as soon as I found out,” he whispered. “How’s baby girl?”
“Doctor says she’ll be fine.”
“Whaddaya know?”
I turned away and sat back down on the couch. Calvin directed his lead man, BJ, to make sure the room was guarded, then he sat with me. I recognized BJ and the other two men from Calvin’s club, bouncers who kept the mix of thugs, politicians, and neighborhood folks who patronized the club, at a happy medium.
“Muriel, I can fix this quicker than the police. If you don’t tell me I’ll find out, it’ll just take longer. This is about keeping your family safe. This is about that little girl, your family, needing protection. I’m the best person to make sure that happens.”
When I did not say anything, he continued.
“Until it’s clear what we’re dealing with, you need protection.” He gave me a highbrowed look with pursed lips. When he spoke, his tone was soft and even. “Babe, you have to tell me so I can help you.”
“I don’t even know what I need help with.” I hated it when I whined. I sucked it up and told him about Elijah’s brother’s visit that morning and his threat toward Elijah. I also told him about Hamp’s gambling debt and what I had learned from Detective Burgan about his debtors, Pebo “Bandit” Miles and Murray “Muddy” Wilson.
“Yes, it could be a coincidence. It could be a case of mistaken identity or they were aiming for someone else who was passing through the area and who we did not see . . . totally unrelated to Hamp or Elijah.”
“Your Detective Burgan is right-on. Bandit and Muddy are members of the Berg Nation gang. Sick dudes. A lot of the young brothers that come through the center are there because they’re trying to stay away from Berg Nation and live.”
“I hate to involve you in this,” I said. “I can’t believe my baby got hit for some shit—”
“Shh.” He took my face in the palms of his hands and kissed me—a soft, warm, wet, long kiss, the kind that slices into whatever ails you and gives you that blessed assurance that everything will be all right. “Now you need to tend to your family. Like you said, it might be about Elijah or Hamp. Could be both.”
“Doesn’t matter whether we’re talking Hamp or Elijah, seems like it has to do with the same wretchedness.”
“Same wretchedness, different solutions. Trust me. I’m meeting with members from Berg Nation at Blumberg. The stuff they’re selling now is killing folks and the police aren’t making much progress. Seems they want to make some changes since they’re the ones contacted me.”
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to meet these guys on their turf?”
“Babe, I won’t be alone. I will definitely be covered.”
“You can’t play God with these kids.”
“Don’t worry your beautiful head about what I’m doing.” He got up and spun around in a cocky stance, pointing his fingers at me, and said, “I got this.”
I laughed at this silliness. He kissed the top of my head and lef
t.
Calvin made me feel safe. It seemed like he was invincible and could do and handle anything and remain unscathed, no matter the weapon. A young girl’s idealistic nonsense, I know. An air of mystery surrounded him. I mean, he was a consultant to politicians, PPD, DEA, and FBI, and then flipped and walked a path out in front of gangs and the Mafia. And every time I broached the subject to understand his role better, he’d say, “If I tell you I’ll have to kill you or somebody else will.”
Not long after Calvin left, Dulcey and the kids returned with cheesesteak pizza. Hampton was not with them. Dulcey said they took him home, so I left it at that. By the time they got back, I had already eaten two bags of cheese popcorn, one bag of chips, and my favorite, a package of red Twizzlers, all washed down with a can of Coke. I could not fathom eating a piece of pizza on top of all that. Travis and Elijah made sure no crumb remained, then decided to go home and come back in the morning.
Three hours later, we were still hunkered down in the waiting room. I had dozed, so surely I was dreaming in blurred Technicolor, streaming from another dimension, the scene of Fran rolling Nareece in her wheelchair into the room. She wore blue jeans, a dark blue blazer atop a white T-shirt with a gray scarf and gray flats, a picture out of a fashion magazine except for her scarecrow hairdo, ashen complexion, and sunken, blank eyes. I yawned, blinked, and rubbed my eyes, trying to work through my drowsiness.
Dulcey popped up like a jack-in-the-box and was on Nareece in one giant step. “My God, my God, he sure is good!” She squeezed Nareece’s shoulders so hard her head bobbed backwards. When she finally released her, Nareece’s head fell forward before settling back in a proper position on her neck. Dulcey adjusted Nareece’s clothes.
“Child, it is so good to see you outta that hospital and all.” Dulcey carried on like Nareece was all the way live and getting it. Nareece sat in her wheelchair, motionless.
Helen sat up from the couch where she had been napping. She wiped her eyes and went from sleepy to awake in a second. “Mommy!” she screeched. She galloped to Nareece and hopped up on her lap. Fran held tight to the chair to keep it steady or they both would have hit the floor. Helen cuddled in Nareece’s lap. “Mommy, Rose is hurt but she’s going to be all right.”
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