by Joy Copeland
As the cab headed down North Capital Street, she spotted a homeless man heading in the opposite direction, with a shopping cart stuffed with plastic bags. Seeing him triggered thoughts of Maynard and Simon—the quiet one and the wild one with the head of unkempt dreads, a haunting laugh, and the sudden, threatening moves. The lamb and the wolf. What a pair. Then a thought came to her, crazy as it was. A thought that made her pulse quicken. What if I go to the Shelter undercover? What if I go as a homeless person?
“Something wrong, lady?” asked Muwakkil, peering at her in his rearview mirror.
“No, I’m okay,” she answered. “On to Southwest, where you first picked me up.” Zoie glanced at the time on her cell phone and hoped that Lena would be on time.
When she arrived at Lena’s building, she instructed Muwakkil to find a place to park. “I’ll be about forty minutes. You know the drill.”
“Whew! You’re sure one busy lady,” he said as she slid across the back seat.
This time she took her overstuffed bag as she exited the cab.
Muwakkil exited as well and leaned on the open driver’s side door. He eyed her big bag with a grimace. “Don’t you want me to watch that bag for you like before?”
Zoie glanced down at her possessions. “Oh, I see. You’re worried that because I’m taking my things, I won’t return and pay you.”
“A man can’t be too careful,” he responded with a broad smile. “I’m trustworthy, but I am not sure about everyone else.”
“Trustworthy but not stupid, huh? Look, you know where I live and where I work. You even have my cell number. I’ll be back. At the end of the day, you’ll get your money…okay?”
“You’re right, lady. But it’s a crazy world. I need to be careful. I’m just a poor workingman. You’ve been my sole passenger for the day. All my money for today is riding on you. I worry for my family’s sake. Nothing personal.”
“No offense taken. And thank you again for trusting me,” Zoie said with a half smile.
Zoie beat Lena to the building. After providing the desk clerk with a brief explanation as to whom she was there to see, she sat on the worn leather couch in the small lobby and used her wait time to scroll through her phone’s recent-call listing. Her eyes fixed on three unidentified calls. At least one of them had to be from Queen. The early call was the threatening one, and the other one was a mystery.
Lena arrived five minutes later, damp with perspiration and a little out of breath. “Sorry. I hope I’m not late; traffic was horrendous,” she offered before turning to give a nod of recognition to the desk clerk.
Lena was quiet, even pensive, as she guided Zoie to the elevator and up to the seventh floor and then down the hall to her apartment. Inside, Zoie followed Lena’s lead, shedding her shoes in the small foyer, before wading barefoot into the living room’s plush white carpet. A movement in the carpet caught Zoie’s eye. For an instant she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her. But quickly she discerned that the moving carpet was actually a fluffy white cat. The cat was performing a belly stretch in almost perfect camouflage. It rose and greeted Lena with a whine. Ignoring Zoie altogether, it followed close to Lena’s bare heels as Lena entered the kitchen.
Abandoned in the sea of white, Zoie waited with her big bag in the living room. She wondered whether the cat had been hiding in the carpet that morning.
Lena returned, bearing a tray on which she balanced two large vodka tonics, plus a big glass bowl of potato chips. With the addition of the chips, it was a repeat of the before-noon drink offering. This time Zoie felt no guilt indulging. She guzzled her drink and downed the usually forbidden chips. A small bag of nuts and the apple bran muffin thrust on her at Queen’s place were all she’d eaten that day.
“When I come home, I need time to get my head together,” Lena said after a long sip of her drink. “That place can suck the life out of you.” Lena studied Zoie’s face. “You look exhausted.”
“I am,” responded Zoie. She finally felt comfortable enough to lean into the white couch.
“What did you find out at the Foundation?”
Zoie considered for a minute how to summarize the day’s events. She decided to include the events of the previous night at Ray’s house, information she’d held back before. She knew she had to make her story concise; otherwise, they’d be there for hours.
“Look, Lena, I’m going to tell you everything I know. You’ll be the only one, besides myself, to know the entire story…at least the part of the story that I know.”
“Okay.” Lena leaned back into her sofa with folded arms. “Is this on or off the record? You didn’t forget? I am a reporter…at least for now.”
“I get it,” Zoie answered. “For now I have to ask that everything I tell you be off the record. If things work out or if I end up dead like Ray, well, either way you’ll have your exclusive.”
“Sounds ominous.”
“I have a plan formulating here. First, though, I need to bring you up to speed. And I need you to hold your questions until the end, or I’ll never get through it. Okay?”
Lena looked puzzled. She picked up her drink and swirled the ice in her drink with her finger. “It’s gonna be difficult to hold questions. But okay. May I use a recorder?”
“I guess so. Remember, I’m trusting you with my life—literally.”
“Huh? You’re not gonna die on my account.” Lena was back in a second and placed a small device on the table. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“Last night I was at Ray Gaddis’s house,” Zoie began.
Lena was wide eyed. She gasped and put a hand to her mouth to stifle the torrent of questions waiting there.
Zoie explained how she was supposed to meet with Ray to discuss the Mahali Shelter situation, the irregularities, and her suspicions. She described how, at Ray’s behest, she prepared a briefing for the Foundation’s Board. She went to Ray’s house to go over the presentation. Ray had never admitted any guilt in the situation, but he was acting strangely and at first resisted the idea of bringing the matter before the Board. Zoie explained how she had waited outside his house but that he never answered his door or his phone.
“Do you think he was already dead?” Lena asked. “Sorry—I’m supposed to wait on questions. Go on.”
“Likely,” Zoie responded. “But what did I know?”
She told Lena that she’d been angry with Ray for standing her up. She described the burglary at her apartment that morning, her missing briefcase and laptop, the threatening phone calls, the incident at the Shelter with Tarik, the mysterious woman, and her lack of success at tracking down Jahi, who was (according to his campaign manager) out of town.
“Goodness!” Lena’s hands covered her chest to keep her heart from popping out.
“There’s more,” said Zoie, trying to remain calm as she continued the litany of events leading up to that hour. She explained the arson at her grandmother’s place and how her grandmother was now staying temporarily at her caretaker’s place. And seeing Tarik with her assistant outside the Foundation building. There was so much to tell that she was sure that she’d left things out.
It was Lena who took a long deep breath as though she’d been doing all the talking. For once she seemed at a loss for words. “Well, girl, you have me beat on trauma-drama…I’m confused. Want another drink?”
“Don’t you want to ask me any questions?” asked Zoie.
“Yeah! My first question is, what are you going to do?” Lena rose from the couch. “Sounds to me like you’re a candidate for the witness-protection program.”
“I didn’t see anyone murder Ray. And I don’t know who’s calling me. I can’t identify anyone.”
“Seems to me you can link A to B. You know too much. You’re a danger to someone or a group of people. Hell, so I’ll ask again, what are you going to do? Hold that thought. I’m getting a refill. Sure you don’t want one?”
Zoie shook her head.
Lena clicked off her recorder and headed
to the kitchen.
Zoie nervously patted her knee and then looked at her watch. It was four o’clock. Her eye caught the small chrome recorder on the coffee table. How could she have been so foolish as to let everything be recorded? The device was digital and similar to one she’d used in the past. With several strokes on its touch screen, she managed to delete their conversation. She quickly placed the device back on the table.
“This is incredible,” said Lena upon her return. “You do realize you’re in serious danger, right?”
“Right, Sherlock.”
“So back to my question, what are you going to do?” Lena took a sip of her new drink and seemed unconcerned about the recorder. “I have some reliable police contacts—guys I trust, who don’t play around.”
Zoie bit her upper lip. “Remember what I told you. In that threatening call, the guy warned me about contacting the cops. Somehow they seem to know what I’m doing.”
“You said ‘they.’ Do you think there’s more than one?”
“Could be.”
“Okay, no cops. So now what?”
“I’ve decided to go back to the Shelter…uh…undercover.”
“What!” Lena cried, almost spilling her drink. “Honey, you just might be stupider than I thought.”
“ Look, I know it sounds crazy, but I need more evidence before going to the police. And I want you to help me.”
“Jeez! You’re kidding!” Lena made a weird face.
“If I’m ever to have a sense of peace and safety again, I need to do this.”
Lena squinted and stared at Zoie. “Maybe you’re just crazy enough to pull this off.”
“Listen to me—I need to look like a homeless person. And I need to move quickly. Can you help me?”
It took more convincing to get Lena to commit to helping, but when the reluctant reporter finally came around, she seemed to be all-in. Lena supplied a tattered gray jogging outfit. Zoie put it on and sniffed at the armpits. “A little ripe, isn’t it?” Zoie said with a frown.
“What? You got a problem with my body odor? Just think of it as ‘eau de Lena,’ very authentic,” Lena said with a sly smile. “Now let’s get that makeup off your face and that polish off your fingernails and toes.” Lena took Zoie into the kitchen. Within ten minutes, she had Zoie looking thoroughly washed out. Lena seemed to be having fun dressing Zoie down. Zoie let Lena have her way but drew the line when Lena brandished a pair of scissors.
“Your hair is too perfect,” Lena said.
“Hey, no cutting!” Zoie commanded.
“Okay. There’s more than one way to skin a cat. I should have been a movie makeup artist. That could be my next profession if I get laid off,” Lena said proudly as she mussed Zoie’s short bob with gel and dust from a dust mop, turning Zoie’s “perfect” hair into a perfect mess.
“What do you think?” Lena asked, giving Zoie a hand mirror.
“Oh, God. Ugh! Well, I guess it’s good,” Zoie said with a grimace as she admired her new look.
“Let’s add some finishing touches.” Lena retrieved a flowerless flowerpot from the kitchen window and shoved Zoie’s fingers deep into its dark soil. The process left dark residue under Zoie’s nails, making them look as if Zoie hadn’t cleaned them in a month.
“Ick,” Zoie said, wiping the excess soil from her hands into the sink.
“There. You look like you’ve been living outdoors.” Lena looked pleased with herself. Then she found a pair of old white tennis shoes with crushed backs. They were dirty and a little too big for Zoie, but they did the trick. “You’d fool me,” Lena said, standing back for a better look at her creation. I don’t think all homeless folks are bums, but you fit the stereotype.
In the rush to look the part for her undercover operation, Zoie hadn’t hashed out the details of how she would actually get into the Shelter. She called Muwakkil to inform him that she was running late. To accomplish her goal, she had to move quickly. In forty-five minutes the Shelter would start its dinner service and its intake for beds for the night. Being summer, the place was unlikely to be crowded. But thinking through her next steps, she hit a snag. All of her assumptions were about the dorms for the Shelter’s men. She knew nothing about how things worked on the women’s side.
Mahali’s annual report glossed over the operation of the two-year-old women’s program. She remembered that homeless women accounted for less than fifteen percent of the Shelter’s overall operating costs. Zoie had wanted to follow up on the program with Jahi and to ask some other questions about Mahali, but it seemed that when they were together, one thing led to another, and they never got around to discussing Foundation business. So much for mixing business with pleasure.
“What do you know about the women’s part of the Shelter?” she asked Lena, who was busy cleaning up the makeover mess in her kitchen. “It’s almost as though that part of the Shelter doesn’t exist.”
“It exists, all right,” Lena said as she patted some eyebrow powder under Zoie’s eyes with her pinkie to create dark circles. “Yeah, the women’s center, or whatever they call it, exists…and Sister Te is its queen bee. I’m sure Jahi just turned that whole operation over to her.” Lena stopped her patting and primping for a moment. “Huh…now that I think of it, I do believe Jahi is a bit of a chauvinist. I can’t ever remember his mentioning homeless women.”
Needing details on how to gain entry, Zoie asked Lena to call Mahali and pretend to be a social worker wanting to send someone over who needed a bed.
“I have a better idea. My Delta sister, Karen Upshaw, is a social worker for DC’s Department of Human Services. I bet she knows the rundown on Mahali’s section for women,” Lena said. She made the call.
Karen explained that Mahali’s facility for women, though still considered an emergency shelter, operated differently than the men’s section. While men could only stay overnight, the women’s section allowed its residents to stay for up to two weeks. During that time they were supposed to find more-permanent accommodations. Mahali’s facility for women had twenty beds. The allowance for longer stays meant open beds were tougher to come by.
Lena asked her friend Karen to make a few calls, telling her sorority sister that a girl of twenty-five, named Anna, needed a place to stay because the streets had become too violent.
“No, she hasn’t been raped!” Lena bellowed into the phone, at the concerned social worker. “Not yet, anyway. But that might happen if we don’t get her off the streets.”
Zoie’s eyes grew big as she listened to Lena’s half of the conversation. What was she getting into? Dressing like a homeless person was one thing; acting like someone who’d lived on the streets was quite another. She could be tough and streetwise if the need arose. For this jobperhaps she’d be better off acting withdrawn and depressed. The less she had to say, the better off she’d be. And why did Lena make her twenty-five? Her make-down made her look older, not younger. One thing for sure is that she couldn’t be Zoie Taylor—the smart-mouthed attorney.
Balancing her phone under her chin, Lena washed her hands and walked into the winter-white living room. Zoie followed, trying to keep up the one-sided conversation.
“No space at Mahali, huh,” Lena said, sounding disappointed and rolling her eyes. “You’re sure? Uh-huh…that’s too bad.”
In her disappointment Zoie felt her adrenalin wane. A fatigue was taking hold. She wanted to crash on Lena’s couch. But Lena’s arctic-looking living room called out to her. “Don’t do it,” it said.
Had all the costuming and makeup been for naught? Perhaps she’d have a better chance at getting into the Shelter disguised as a man. Quickly sizing up her frailties and vulnerability, she dismissed that thought. Simon’s prophecy specifically said, “What you want to know is through a place men dare not go.” She had to go through the women’s section.
“Call the Shelter again and beg,” Lena urged her sorority sister. “Tell them you’ve tried other places. Tell them the young woman was attacked l
ast night and almost raped. Now she’s terrified to be on the street…yes, it has to be Mahali. Look, I’ll explain why that shelter later. Just trust me on this. And, Karen, don’t forget that my participation in this has got to be on the QT. If anyone asks, this girl called you directly…okay, girl. Call me back.” Lena completed her call and said to Zoie, “We Deltas support each other. Don’t worry. Karen will come through.”
Zoie hoped Lena’s confidence in her sorority sister would be enough. The two women stood in eerie silence in the sea of white. After the flurry of activity to disguise Zoie, they considered the prospect of a gigantic letdown. Now there was nothing to do but wait.
Finally Zoie broke the silence. “The women’s section at the Shelter must be the Four Seasons or something. Booked.”
Lena responded with a tired shrug.
Zoie smiled at the irony of it all. In truth, tonight she would be homeless. She was too afraid to return to her apartment after the burglary, and since her grandmother’s house was uninhabitable, staying there wasn’t an option. To sleep that night, she needed to depend on the goodwill of others or simply hit a hotel. She probably could stay with Lena, although she hadn’t asked, and Lena hadn’t offered. She had the key to Tina’s condo. She could go there, but being alone was not that appealing. Right now nowhere felt safe.
The two women returned to the kitchen to wait. Lena made herself a third drink. Zoie declined another round, feeling she needed to keep her wits about her.
“We’ve got to have faith,” Lena said as she busied herself cleaning up dishes in the sink.
It seemed like forever, but finally Lena’s phone rang. Lena answered it gingerly and this time looked up at Zoie and smiled. “Mahali’s going to let you in tonight,” Lena whispered, holding her hand over the phone. “They can set up a cot. A woman who’s been there for a while is leaving in two days. Zoie, you’re in.”
With a lot of help from Lena, it looked like phase one of Operation Mahali was going to be a success. Zoie wasn’t inside yet, but she had the green light to enter.