What Simon Didn’t Say

by Joy Copeland

  Lena thanked her sorority sister profusely and finished her conversation by saying, “Girl, I owe you.” Then Lena turned to Zoie with a satisfied smile. “Well, I guess that’s it. Anna, my little street girl, you’re on,”

  “Guess so,” said Zoie, who was less than enthusiastic as the full weight of what she was about to undertake came down on her. At least Nikki is safe in Ohio, she kept telling herself. “Tell me, Lena, where did you get the name Anna and why on earth did you make me twenty-five? Do I look like a twenty-five-year-old?”

  Lena fingered her chin. “Well, you’re in good physical condition. You must work out. I just thought the powers that be would be more likely to rush to the rescue of a young thing rather than a hardened thirty-something.”

  Perhaps Lena was right about the age thing, though it was sad to think of things that way. “And the name Anna?”

  “I don’t know. It just popped into my head. Anna sounds sweet and innocent. Don’t you think so?”

  “I guess Anna will do.”

  “You better start thinking up a last name and a backstory. The staff at the Shelter are going to ask you questions. You need a life. Oh, by the way, your social worker is Karen Upshaw, my Delta sister. Just say you got her phone number from one of the cards the police hand out to the homeless at the park.”

  “Lena, I don’t know how to thank you. You’ve thought of everything.”

  “No problem. This is gonna work out for both of us. I still think you’re crazy to do this.”

  “But there is one more thing I need you to do for me.” Zoie bit her bottom lip.

  “What now? Take you to a shrink to have your head examined?”

  Zoie smiled. “No, not that…I need you to contact my grandmother in case something happens to me.”

  “Girl, don’t talk like that!”

  “Just if you don’t hear from me in forty-eight hours.”

  Lena turned away. “At least you know this is dangerous. There’s hope that you’re still thinking rationally. And what about Jahi? I thought you were looking for him.”

  “I was but not anymore. If he turns up, fine. Otherwise, damn him.”

  “I see,” said Lena.

  “Look, Lena, I can’t protect Jahi any longer. I don’t know whether he’s involved in this or not. No doubt his Shelter is involved. For all I know, Jahi might be in this up to his eyeballs. If I find out that he is, I’ll make sure he goes down with anyone else involved.”

  “Boy, you’re one tough cookie all of a sudden. As for Jahi I say he’s not involved,” Lena said. “This ain’t him. But then I’ve been known to be wrong about men.”

  “Me too.” Zoie looked at the kitchen’s immaculate white tile floor and then looked into Lena’s eyes. “Listen, this is serious. If I don’t make contact within forty-eight hours, I want you to call the police. Tell them all that you know and that I went to Mahali undercover.” Zoie thought of how she had deleted Lena’s recording. She hoped that Lena would not be too upset once she discovered that there was no recording of the conversation.

  “Okay,” said Lena reluctantly.

  “Then I need you to let my grandmother and my friend Tina know what’s going on. Right now there’s just me, my grandmother, and my daughter, Nikki. My friend Tina is Nikki’s designated guardian should anything happen to me.”

  Lena winced and turned away. “Zoie, I don’t like this. This just went from being a game to get a sensational story to something way too dangerous.”

  “Lena, I have to be practical. My little girl is depending on me. Thank God she’s out of town right now.” Zoie’s eyes were tearing up. She pulled out a small picture of Nikki from her wallet and showed it to Lena.

  “Cute kid,” Lena said, staring intently at the photograph. “She needs her mother.”

  “I know,” said Zoie, returning the picture to her wallet.

  “I hope all of this is in a will or something. You can’t expect me to remember all this stuff.” Lena gave Zoie a piece of paper, and Zoie copied a few numbers from her cell phone’s contact list and handed the paper to Lena.

  “Remember to wait forty-eight hours before calling anyone. I wouldn’t want to worry folks needlessly.”

  “So for forty-eight hours, I get to be the only one who knows where you are. I get to be the one that worries about what’s happening to you,” said Lena.

  “Yeah, and you get the exclusive for your newspaper. Let’s hope I find something to put an end to this. I’m not sure at this point whether I know what I’m looking for. But I do know that I can’t live my life looking over my shoulder for a bogeyman to strike out at me or those I love.” For an instant Zoie’s thoughts shifted to Carmen Silva, the former Crayton Foundation employee. Most likely what Carmen knew went way beyond the tryst between Ray and Milton.

  “I’m not pushing it,” said Lena, “but if you find something interesting, snap a few photos with that cell phone when no one’s looking. Something for page one.”

  “Okay.”

  “Hey, let me get a picture of you all dolled up right now. It will be good for the story, and I might need it for the police ID. You know…in case you don’t show.”

  “Have you ever thought of changing careers? Becoming a comedian or something?” Zoie said.

  “You think I’m joking? I’m serious as a diaper rash.”

  Lena took a picture of Zoie. Then with tears in their eyes, the two women hugged. The hug was genuine, like the hug between long-lost sisters. The jealousy (or had it just pettiness over Jahi?) seemed to vanish.

  With her cell phone in her pocket, contact info for Karen Upshaw, no wallet or other ID, and a white plastic bag with a pair of panties and a bottle of water, Zoie left Lena’s apartment to find Muwakkil. “God help me,” Zoie said, sighing as she emerged into the hot sun as Anna, the homeless girl.

  Chapter 38

  Are You Gonna Go?

  Muwakkil was down the street from Lena’s building, parked in a shaded spot. Zoie headed in his direction with urgency, hindered only by her ill-fitting borrowed footwear. She made a mental note: Remember, girl: you can’t run in these shoes.

  Time was almost up on her all-day chauffeuring arrangement. Surely Muwakkil would want to be paid and to go home. Zoie hoped that with a little finesse, she could talk him into another hour or so of service, for an additional fee, of course.

  Zoie reached into the pocket of Lena’s jogging suit and felt the wad of cash she’d pulled together to pay Muwakkil, some of it borrowed from Lena. If she were to drop dead at the Shelter without ID, she could only be identified as Anna.

  Keeping the phone was risky. The latest model Blackberry certainly wasn’t something a homeless person would possess. But she figured she might need it to communicate with Lena or the police should things get hairy. The phone was on but set to vibrate.

  As she approached the taxi, Muwakkil was leaning against the driver’s side door, engaged in a loud, animated phone conversation in a language she couldn’t identify. In all the riding around they’d done that day, she’d been too engrossed in her own problems to ask where he was from. Other than the meaning of his name, information that he’d volunteered, she knew nothing about him. And Muwakkil in turn had respected her anonymity. She hadn’t told him her name, nor had he asked. He never questioned the why or wherefore of their circuitous comings and goings. He’d only asked the important question, “Where to now, lady?”

  Zoie stood a few feet from him, but Muwakkil didn’t immediately respond to her presence. She waved her hands to get his attention. His acknowledgment was to shoo her away and turn his back to her. Obviously, he didn’t recognize her. The disguise was working. She was about to tap him on the shoulder but thought better of it. If startled, he might take a swing at her.

  “Hey, it’s me,” Zoie said. “I’m ready to go.”

  When he turned around, she was still unknown to him. “Sorry, girlie girl. No free rides okay,” he said, shooing her away again.

  Having failed
to get a positive response, Zoie raised her voice. “Muwakkil…Mr. Trusted One! Remember me? Your all-day passenger! Let’s get a move on!”

  “Oh, oh, look at you!” he shouted, breaking into a hearty laugh. He quickly ended his phone conversation and turned to address her. “What happened to the nicely dressed lady I was driving? Forgive me, but you look a mess.”

  “Thank you for your assessment. I am a mess,” she said as she primped her gunked hair and smoothed the jacket zipper of her borrowed jogging suit. “One day, Muwakkil, we’ll have lunch, you and I. Then I’ll explain this whole mad day to you…once I figure it out for myself.”

  “So messy. So mysterious,” he said, scratching his head.

  “Today I’m just being practical. Now let’s go.”

  He opened the door to the back seat, and Zoie climbed in.

  “Where to now, Ms. Practical Messy Lady?”

  Zoie smiled and instructed Muwakkil to take her back to K Street, near her office. She received a text message, the sender unknown. It was from her nemesis and conveyed a clear instruction: “Keep your mouth shut.” She stifled a gasp. Thank God her grandmother was safe with Queen. Thank God Nikki was safe in Ohio.

  Traffic was heavier as the early rush hour was underway. When they rounded the corner of Fifteenth Street, she spotted the familiar homeless pair in a shady spot against the building. Muwakkil pulled into the access road, and Zoie instructed him to go slow and come to a stop a few car lengths from where they were camped. “Leave me here,” she ordered. “Drive around the block or something. I need about twenty minutes.”

  “Okay, lady,” Muwakkil responded. “You know your time is up at 6:00 p.m.”

  “I know,” she answered, checking the large digital numerals of the Citibank clock. It read a little after five. “Be back in twenty minutes. We have one more stop.”

  She waited for Muwakkil to drive away before approaching the homeless men. Before she could make her way across the sidewalk, she spotted Regina, who was accompanied by another employee. The two were coming out of the building that housed the Foundation. Regina was finally getting to go home.

  As the chatting women passed near Zoie, they looked in her direction. Zoie avoided their eyes. They were oblivious to her presence. Even if they’d looked directly at her, neither of them would have recognized her. Zoie had become one of the streets’ ghost figures, the human beings that other human beings often looked through.

  Good. The disguise is working.

  “Sheee’s baaack!” announced the wild one from his cardboard mat as Zoie approached. “You can dress down, but your air is still high and mighty. I can smell arrogance a mile away.”

  “Hello,” Zoie said, her tone steady and calm in the face of his verbal attack.

  The wild one looked startled, suddenly at a loss for words.

  “Hello, my dear,” said Simon, who was seated on a little stool nearby.

  Zoie had grown somewhat accustomed to the wild one’s initial thank-yous followed by a tirade of crass remarks, both of which usually came after she would leave a donation. She reminded herself that after all, he’d saved her life. His wiser, gentler companion had a velvet voice, a voice that mesmerized her.

  “You both knew it was me right away. How come?” she asked.

  “Despite your disguise and hard shell, your true self beams through.”

  She thought about his words for a second. “Hard shell, huh? Simon, I need your help,” she said. A few feet away, the wild one looked on quizzically.

  “How can I help?” Simon asked. Again his tone was soft and inviting. Like a whisper carried on a whirlpool, it swirled around her head. Zoie shook her head to reset her hearing.

  “Earlier today you gave me a fortune, or a prophecy, or a clue, or whatever you call it. I think it’s pointing me back to the homeless shelter. I’m…”

  The wild one had been listening. He sprang to his feet, did a little jig, and chanted, “Shelter, shelter, helter skelter. Ha ha! Stay away from that damned Shelter!” People walking near took note of the drama and kept their distance.

  “Maynard, calm down!” Simon commanded. His tone was direct, though still soothing. “Let the lady finish telling us how she needs our help!”

  She glanced over at the wild one, fearful that her words would instigate another outburst. Like a scolded child, Maynard pouted and moved his mat away from Zoie and Simon, but he remained well within pouncing range. Zoie turned back to Simon, still keeping a watchful eye on Maynard in her peripheral vision.

  “I want to get into Mahali. I need to look around. I believe that someone there is threatening me and my family.”

  Simon groaned and gave her a blank look.

  “I want you to come to the Shelter with me this evening. Perhaps together we can uncover something.”

  “Something?” Simon responded.

  “Yes. Something that will help me protect my family. I believe someone from the Shelter tried to burn down my grandmother’s house.”

  “Oh my,” moaned Simon. Wide eyed, he stroked his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “You do have a predicament. Are you sure you want to do deal with it this way?”

  “I can’t go to the police. I must do something to prove that that place is the center of my trouble. Something is there. I know it. Please help me,” she pleaded.

  “Too much Law and Order. Too much Law and Order,” Maynard called.

  “You’re in deep, aren’t you?” Simon asked with a frown.

  “Looks that way,” she answered, shrugging.

  “Well, if I go, then he’s got to go too.” Simon pointed to Maynard. “In fact, it’s him you need, not me. He’s the one that knows that place.”

  “Isn’t he a little off?” Zoie asked, keeping her voice just above a whisper.

  “By off were you referring to the adverb, adjective, or prepositional definition of that word?” piped in Maynard. “And by the way, my high-and-mighty sister, I speak English. I also have super-powered hearing. So ha!”

  “As I said, I can’t go without him,” repeated Simon. “He’s my charge. He needs my help just as you do. In truth, he—not I—is the one who can help you. Mark my words. Don’t be put off by his tomfoolery,” Simon continued. “He’s very intelligent. A scientist. A biochemist, I believe. He worked at Aberdeen Proving Ground before that terrible gas leak. You see that accident had some effect on his mind. But don’t let him fool you. When he’s focused, he can be of great help.”

  Zoie had heard about Aberdeen, the military’s testing facility in northern Maryland, not far from Baltimore—the place where the military tested its biological and chemical weapons and housed deadly concoctions capable of wiping out whole populations.

  She considered this new information and looked at Maynard sitting on his mat. No matter how much education this guy had, he still posed a risk. His current stance, arms folded and lips in a pout, did not inspire confidence. She judged him a liability. She turned to Simon again. “Scientist or not, I don’t think he wants to help me or anyone else. He’s too angry. How can I trust him?”

  “You’re right. He’s angry—but with good reason. You have to see things from his point of view. The real question is, can he trust you?” Simon said. “Trust is hard to come by when you’ve lived his life. If you want his help, you need to first respect him and then ask him.”

  Zoie looked down at her worn tennis shoes, digesting what Simon had advised. Originally she’d envisioned going to the Shelter alone, but when the idea of a homeless guide occurred to her, she thought about Simon and only Simon. Relying on this other unstable man was a stretch. He could prove to be a major liability in an already-dangerous undertaking.

  “Tell him you will help him with something he wants. Tell him you will help him recover his binder. The last time he was at that Shelter, something happened to him,” Simon explained. “I believe it was there that his binder was stolen.”

  Zoie shivered at the thought of approaching Maynard again.

&
nbsp; “Go. Talk to him,” Simon repeated. “He’s a lot of mouth. But he wouldn’t hurt a fly. That is…unless the fly bit him or something. Then there’d be no telling what he might do.”

  Great. Zoie found Simon’s fly analogy less than reassuring. With arms folded Maynard seemed unlikely to cooperate. Perhaps this unstable person could help. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” her grandmother used to say. Zoie took a deep breath and took the five long steps over to where Maynard now sat brooding in the lotus position. His arms were still folded tightly against his chest. He flinched as she squatted on the cement next to his mat. A second later a generous passerby dropped what looked like a five-dollar bill in Maynard’s can.

  “Go away!” Maynard blurted. “Get your own spot.” Then, like an ape, he swung his lotus-positioned legs with his long arms to the opposite edge of the mat and repositioned his donation can. “This place is taken. We’re not partnering. Get it?”

  “Okay, I understand,” said Zoie in a calm, polite voice. “I don’t intend to stay. I’m headed to Mahali. And I want you and Simon to come with me.”

  “Going to the Shelter—whoa! That’s not gonna happen, Alice! You better be checking in with the White Rabbit about your plans. No special guests, meaning me and Simon, are allowed along when you go down that hole.”

  Zoie decided not to let Maynard’s creative but crazy responses deter her. She needed the two of them with her in the Shelter. The thought of going alone to snoop around, as her plan had once called for, no longer seemed possible.

  “From what I hear, Maynard, you’re a pretty smart guy,” she said, hoping to appeal to his intellectual vanity, something shared by most brilliant people. “A high IQ, huh?”

  But Maynard wasn’t falling for the praise bait, at least not immediately. He winced at the sound of his name and reacted as though physically attacked. When she was quiet, he perked up. His wisecracking took on a less crazed tone. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m smart, too smart to go back to that damned Shelter. That place is hell for the homeless. Simon knows it. He believes what I tell him. If you’re not careful, you’ll get to meet the devil…personal-like.”