by Joy Copeland
“I believe you. You’re smart all right. You recognized me right away, even in this getup.”
“Never forget a face. Never forget a face. Got a photographic memory. I record the bone structure. Measure the width between the eyes, nostril size, distance between the eyebrows, and angle on the curve of the lip. Details. Details.” He released his folded arms and pointed to his head. “All the measurements are up here. In millimeters.”
“I see,” Zoie said, hoping the unfolding of his arms signaled that she was making progress. She looked over at Simon’s confident face and kept prodding. “Then maybe you know what’s going on at the Shelter. Since you remember stuff.”
“No maybe about it. Humph. God’s on my side, and I memorized everything, even if I don’t have my binder to write it down. I write things down to clear my database. It gets a little crowded up there,” he said, again pointing to his head.
“I understand that it’s important to write things down. What if when we go to the Shelter, I help you find your binder? That’s where you lost it, at the Shelter, right?”
He cackled. “Silly woman! Getting something stolen ain’t the same as losing it…get my drift?” He cocked his head to the side in a quirky pose and stared at her with a devilish grin, showing a mouth full of yellow teeth. She was repulsed but not afraid. “Start from the beginning,” he continued. “Hear me! Check your facts. Can’t jump to conclusions about my binder or anything else about me. Humph! Truth is, you don’t know jack shit.”
“You’re right about that,” she said, responding to Maynard’s animated response. Under the circumstances she thought it best just to agree. Seeking help, she glanced over at Simon, who watched the whole encounter while sitting on his low stool. Simon raised his chin in a signal of encouragement. Perhaps she was making progress. One thing for sure, her twenty minutes was just about up; Muwakkil was due back. “Perhaps you can explain the truth to me. I believe I can trust what you say.”
“Do I sense some sense?” Maynard snickered. He finished laughing at his own joke and seemed to calm down.
Zoie and Maynard talked for a few more minutes. Maynard did most of the talking. He rambled, his thoughts mostly lucid, about his binder and the evil looming at the Shelter, although he gave no details as to just what evil he meant. In a roundabout, upside-down way, he confirmed that something funky was going on at the place. Perhaps what she was looking for was documented in that binder. But who would believe someone like Maynard without corroboration? She told him that she needed help to fight the evil and to save her life and the lives of her grandmother and little girl. Fear for her family seemed to resonate with him.
After a few minutes, Maynard became contemplative. He said, “Okay, I’ll go to the Shelter with you and Simon. You must listen to what I tell you. I know what I’m talking about. I get my directions from God, and God tells me how to stay alive. He’s going to help us.” He looked to the sky. “We’ll need his help when we enter the devil’s pit.”
Chapter 39
The Plan
It was a quarter past six when Muwakkil dropped them off several blocks from the Shelter. Zoie didn’t want to be seen getting out of a taxi with her companions right in front of the place. “See, nothing to worry about,” she said, handing Muwakkil a wad of cash amounting to the agreed-upon price for his services, plus a generous tip.
“Many thanks,” Muwakkil said with a satisfied smile, stuffing the wad of bills into his pocket. “I knew you were a lady of your word.”
“For a while, though, you doubted me.”
“Just a little,” he said sheepishly.
Maynard and Simon had moved away from the curb. Zoie looked around to be sure that her soon-to-be guides hadn’t abandoned her. Maynard, who was farthest from the taxi, worried her. Head down, he seemed to be inspecting his feet. So much was resting on Maynard’s keeping it together. But the chances of his keeping it together dwindled when he began to chant. He circled his meager pile of belongings in what could only be called a rhythmic warrior shuffle.
“Oh, God, he’s preparing for battle.” Zoie’s heart sank. “This is going to be a disaster.” She gave Simon a pleading look, but Simon simply shrugged.
Rubbing his chin, Muwakkil watched Maynard’s shenanigans. Initially he’d refused to let Maynard into the taxi. “Am I going to have to delouse this cab?” Under Zoie’s pressure he finally caved. “Lady, I know you’re trying to do a good deed, but you need to be careful!” He let Maynard put his belongings into the trunk. Simon didn’t have anything. When Zoie climbed into the passenger seat in the front, Muwakkil said, “There’s more room back there, but I can understand why you don’t want to sit next to him.”
“You have a point. Actually, with the two of them, there’s no room without a squeeze,” she said.
Muwakkil looked at the back seat and seemed bewildered. He scratched his head. “Whatever you say, lady.”
Maynard mumbled a lot during the ride, but Simon remained silent.
Now Muwakkil pointed to Maynard as he did his warrior-inspired dance and ignored Simon completely. “I’ve seen his kind before. He could turn real nasty, real quickly.”
“Yeah, I get it. He’s stinky, but I think he’s harmless,” she replied, trying to believe her own words. “I’ll be all right. But thanks for the warning.”
“You have my number should you need me again,” Muwakkil said. He was no longer smiling. “You might need me again.”
“We shall see,” she said. Needing Muwakkil again wasn’t in her plan. But in truth, she had no plan. Beyond disguising herself to get into the Shelter to snoop around, she hadn’t thought much further.
Muwakkil drove away, leaving the ragtag crew on the corner.
During the ride from downtown, Simon shared the back seat with Maynard and remained perfectly quiet during the trip. Now he stood with his hands loosely clasped behind him, rocking slowly on his heels, watching Maynard’s warrior dance. As soon as the taxi disappeared into the traffic, Maynard ended his performance.
“Thank God,” Zoie said. “Are you sure you and Maynard can get in the Shelter tonight?”
“Folks want to sleep under the stars on nights like this,” Simon answered, looking up at what was still the summer’s daylight. “There’ll be plenty of beds.”
“Huh, I had to have a reservation…but we should strategize.”
“Strategy is his domain,” Simon said, nodding in Maynard’s direction. “There’s your man.”
Simon’s words signaled Maynard to resume his dance, shuffling in tightening circles.
“Not again!” Zoie gasped. Despite the litany of degrees Maynard supposedly possessed, she found it difficult to believe that Maynard was the man for this job—any job, for that matter.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Simon said. His voice again lulled her rattled nerves. “Remember to not let his buffoonery fool you. Listen to what he has to say. Trust him.”
Trust him! Right! Men she’d loved and trusted had failed her: her father, Elliot, and Jahi Khalfani, to name the most recent. She was being advised to trust a fool. And the man counseling her to do so while seemingly so young to be so wise was also a mystery.
She took a deep breath and went over to where Maynard performed his dance. He stopped but didn’t look up. “I hear you’re the strategist for this undertaking,” she said.
“Glad you recognize my qualifications,” he snarled. “And you, lady, might be smarter than I thought.” His body language was no longer threatening.
“So tell me something. Once we’re in there, you and Simon will be in the men’s section, and I’ll be in the women’s. How…”
“You mean what’s the plan? The plan. The plan.” With his head cocked, he looked like a whacky pirate, more comical than menacing. “What’s the plan?”
She nodded vigorously.
“I guess we have to meet up, so I can take you to the secret place.”
“What secret place?”
“Aha! Now
you get it. It’s the place I know about that you don’t.”
“Yes, definitely that place. How are you going to get me there?”
“That’s where they’ve got my binder. The one they stole from me. No one thinks I know, but I remember.” Maynard beckoned her to move closer, but she could only get so close without tripping over his green bags.
“But how?”
He whispered, “After the lights are out, find a window that looks to the rear. I’ll shine a light in the courtyard as a signal. You meet me out there.” He reached into his bag and retrieved a flashlight. “Look for this beam.” He shined its beam into his hand. “I’ll wait until late…midnight or later.”
It was the sanest-sounding string of words to come out of his mouth thus far. Perhaps he was on to something. What was this “secret place”?
“But how do I get to the courtyard?” she asked in a tense whisper.
“Calm down, Ms. Smarty Pants,” he said, sucking his teeth. “You’ll figure it out.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll wait for your signal—a flashlight shining into the courtyard, right?”
“Bingo.”
“Then I will meet you outside…after I figure out how to get outside.”
“Better figure that out before I give the signal.”
It was a plan of sorts. The best she could expect from the likes of Maynard. She could see that questioning her enigmatic guide any further would get her nowhere. In fact, questioning him more might rile him. She’d have to rely on her wits to find a way to the back of the Shelter. She remembered seeing a loading dock and an inner courtyard from her tour of the place weeks ago. The courtyard was the view from Jahi’s office window. If she could get into the place, surely she could get out.
“Did bulbs come on for you, hmm?” Maynard said, laughing. “I was beginning to worry. Didn’t know whether your brain was engaged.”
He’s worried. What a joke.
At the Shelter’s entrance, some men mused about, though not nearly as many as there’d been earlier in the day. No one paid the trio any attention.
“This is where I leave you,” said Simon, stopping about five feet from the door.
“What do you mean? Leave us!” Zoie said with panic in her voice.
With a sorrowful expression, Simon did his best shrug ever.
“I told you she was a little slow,” Maynard said in a loud whisper as he leaned into Simon. Maynard turned to Zoie. “He never goes into that place. He’s too smart for that. Shh, I wouldn’t be going back in there if it wasn’t that he had asked me—very nicely, I should say—to help you.”
Simon shrugged again, this time with raised palms, which seemed to grow in size right before her eyes.
“We’ll probably see him tomorrow or the next day. Never can tell. He’s got bigger fish to fry,” said Maynard, chewing on a plastic straw. “Hey! This talk of fish is making me hungry. I could use a meal.” Maynard looked to the sky. “God, I’m counting on you.” And with those words, Maynard took a deep breath, yanked open the Shelter’s heavy door, and entered.
The door closed behind Maynard, leaving Zoie with Simon outside. “I’ll wait until you go in before I leave,” said Simon.
“Big help you are!” She was angry. She didn’t know whether to cry or just stomp away and abandon the plan. If not this, then what? She was crushed. Her arms and face went limp. Her plastic bag almost touched the ground.
“Have faith, dear.” It was Simon’s soothing voice again wrapping around her jittery anger, smothering those feelings of fear and disappointment like a damp cloth on a small blaze. There was a sparkle in his eyes as he talked to her. “Maynard will do what he said he would. He said he would guide you, and he will. Maynard has summoned all his courage to do this. Crossing that threshold on his own accord was a big deal for him. He hates that place. This is quite a test for him…and for you.”
She felt almost in a trance. “If you keep your head,” the voice continued, “you’ll find what you’re looking for.”
Simon added his strength to hers to pull open the Shelter’s heavy front door. “Into the pit,” Zoie said with a fatalistic sigh. Once inside she turned to say goodbye to Simon as the door slowly closed behind her, but through the door’s narrowing gap, she could no longer see him.
In the familiar lobby of the Shelter, someone new was behind the high counter. Her eyes scanned the half-dozen men parked on the pew-style benches that ringed the room. Where was Maynard?
“May I help you?” said a deep voice from behind the counter.”
“I’m…I’m here to stay at the women’s section,” said Zoie.
“Your name?”
Zoie said, “Anna.” She didn’t recall being given a last name.
The man at the desk picked up the phone. “A young woman named Anna is here for you.”
Young? How young? Perhaps she’d passed the first test.
“Someone is coming. Have a seat.” He pointed to an empty bench.
Sheepishly Zoie sat down on the bench. The occupants on the nearby benches seemed oblivious to her arrival. One man nervously rubbed the side of his head with his palm. Another bench sitter stared into the distance in a kind of stupor. Another man rummaged through a paper sack in search of something, mumbling to himself all the while. Where was Maynard? He’d passed through the same door only a minute or two before her.
Zoie sat like a frightened schoolgirl, clutching her white plastic bag. She was in full costume for this act, but her nervousness was not feigned. Discreetly she sniffed at her armpit and grimaced. Lena’s funk and stale perfume now mixed with Zoie’s nervous sweat.
It wasn’t long before a middle-aged woman in a long sack dress appeared from the dark passageway. She looked soft and pudgy but had a kind smile. She approached the bench and touched Zoie’s arm. “Welcome, Anna. I’m Lois. I’m a volunteer here.” Zoie had already gathered the woman’s name and volunteer status from her blue-and-white name tag. “Follow me, dear,” she continued. “We’ll get you settled in.”
Zoie responded to the woman with a half smile and then looked down at her arm where the woman had touched her. Though she knew it was meant to be a caring gesture, she found it condescending and much too personal. No one would have ever touched Zoie Taylor in such a manner. The disguise was working.
Zoie followed the woman’s slow steps through the twisty corridor she had once toured as Zoie Taylor, the Foundation’s attorney. “The men’s dorms are back there,” Lois explained as they passed a fork in the corridor. “One of these days, we’ll have our own entrance connected directly to the outside. Then we won’t have to come through the men’s corridor at all.”
After a final right turn, they were standing before the black double-door entrance to the women’s section. Since Zoie’s prior visit, a plaque had been added to the door. “No men allowed beyond this point,” it said. Lois rang the bell and gave Zoie a patronizing smile and pat.
The woman who opened the door could have been Lois’s twin. Zoie followed the two women into the world behind the double doors. She wasn’t quite sure about what to expect in this world, but for one thing the color scheme had changed. The institutional pea-green walls had disappeared and become a palette of delicate pastels: orchid, pale sky blue, and buttercup. Pictures and posters with tranquil landscapes and seascapes adorned the walls. In some of the rooms, she could see curtains at the windows.
Zoie followed the two women to a small office crowded with unopened boxes and filing cabinets. “Bea is going to get you signed in,” explained Lois. “Remember that when coming and going, you always need an escort. I know it’s a pain and it does limit your freedom somewhat, but those are the rules. Believe me, the rule is for your protection. Bea will fill you in on the other rules, and I’ll ask one of the other ladies to show you around.” Lois left.
Squeezed behind the desk, Bea—the less smiley version of Lois—pulled out a packet of forms and placed them in front of Zoie, then invited Zoie to sit in the room’s on
ly other chair.
Here comes the creativity, Zoie thought, seeing all the blanks she’d have to fill in. The only pieces of misinformation she’d come prepared with were her new first name, age, and Karen Upshaw’s phone number. She stared at the form.
“I hate forms myself,” said Bea, interpreting Zoie’s stalling as something else. “Take your time. I’ll leave you to fill it out.” Bea squeezed by Zoie and the desk once again, on her way out.
When Bea was out of earshot, Zoie let out a long sigh. So far so good. Thank God. She hadn’t run into Sister Te. At least the look-alike volunteers seemed to accept her. Zoie focused on the form and began to fabricate her life as a homeless person. Her new name was Anna, and she used the version with two n’s, as her great-grandmother with the same name had done. Now all she had to do was remember to answer to that name when called. Her age, also predetermined by Lena, was twenty-five. For her date of birth, she used her real birth month and day, quickly calculating the appropriate birth year.
So far those were the easy blanks. For a last name, she wrote Jackson because the lyrics of the song “Nasty” came to mind: “Janet, Miss. Jackson, if you’re nasty.” The words to the song made her smile to herself. Making up a new identity would have been fun if the whole situation wasn’t so scary. She hadn’t gone through the consequences of being caught impersonating a homeless person. It wasn’t as if she’d stolen someone’s identity. She began to mentally tick off the legal ramifications but realized that Bea would soon return, so she brought her focus back to completing the remaining blanks.
The blank calling for her last address was a stumper. Something out of town will be appropriate, she thought. She wrote down her late father’s last known address, a tenement building on South Broadway in Baltimore. She had visited the place a couple of times with her mother. That had been quite a while ago. She wondered whether the building still stood. For her current employment, her answer was easy: unemployed. For previous employment she entered “waitress at IHOP,” a job she’d actually held one summer while in college, before her serious internships kicked in. For her Social Security number, she concocted a string of numbers using the same prefix as her own SSN for a bit of authenticity. She quickly filled out the rest of the blanks about health, education, and next of kin, making herself a healthy high school dropout with no next of kin. She reviewed her new identity. It was a fictional life that she was glad she didn’t have.