Details at Ten

by Ardella Garland

  Auntie Vee, no longer hunched over by grief on a hospital cafeteria table, was stouter and taller than I had realized. She was slapping her hand against a red-covered Bible.

  Miss Mabel was clutching her black-covered Bible against her chest, popping up and down on her toes in sync with the clapping. Their voices died down and Miss Mabel began to pray. “Jesus, my savior in times of need. When I’se in trouble, where else can I go but to thee. Turn your eye from the sparrow and come by here, oh Lord, into the basement of our humble house of worship, Sweeter Water. Oh Lord, my God, our sorrows are running deep this evenin’.”

  “Yes! Yes!” Auntie Vee said.

  I felt the ebbs and tides in her voice as Miss Mabel continued to pray.

  “Lord, we want to ask you to bless Jackie’s spirit this evening as we go about some important business in this neighborhood. The devil done got a toehold, a foothold, and a hip hold on things ’round here but we’s here to say not for long—”

  “How long, not long,” a member of the circle said.

  “We ’bout to get a prayin’ spirit on these hoodlums and my grandbaby Butter. We pray that you wrap your arms around her and be a shield, send the Holy Spirit to her wherever she is and wrap arms ’round Butter till the victory is won—and when it is over, Sweet Jesus—bring Butter on back safe, happy, and prayerful as she was ahfore and I know you will ’cause you a mighty God who answers prayers. These blessings we ask in Jesus’ name for our sakes, amen.”

  “Amen,” said the members of the circle.

  If that didn’t fix everything, I thought, we’re all in trouble.

  T W E N T Y - T H R E E

  Momentum. March. Message.

  The sun was low in the sky and had a beautiful glow to it when Reverend Walker began to speak. He shouted, his head back, launching the words into orbit, “What do we want?”

  “Peace!” the marchers answered back.

  “When do we want it?”

  “Now!”

  The marchers were walking six across, a good fifty rows deep. Across the front were Reverend Walker, Miss Mabel, Auntie Vee, Kelly, a man I recognized from the deacon huddle in the parking lot, and a woman I recognized from the basement prayer service. Zeke and I, like all the other television crews, had anchored ourselves to a spot well in front of the marchers to get a long shot of them walking toward us.

  “Up with hope!” Reverend Walker shouted.

  “Up with hope!” was the repeat.

  “Down with gangs!” he said.

  “Down with gangs!”

  Zeke was lying flat on the street getting a tight shot of the ground as the army of feet came into the picture, and then he started panning up to focus on the faces of the people. Everyone in the neighborhood had agreed to move their cars from the street so the marchers would have a clear path to the park. A hazy, golden shadow was cast back and away as the marchers walked past us. They had spaced themselves just right so that their shadows were falling back and adding another layer to their ranks. Somebody, somewhere had done some stone-to-the-bone, black-power fist-in-the-air protesting back in the sixties. This rally had that kind of a feel to it.

  “What do we want?” Reverend Walker shouted.

  “Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!” came the response to his words. I jerked around in time to see the crowd hit the street in waves, like a tide rolling out. Zeke was on the ground, his camera still on, still rolling. I quickly got down on the ground next to him. I looked up and around at the houses and the two flats on the street. Then I saw little shards of paper floating down from the sky.

  “Awww, wasn’t nothing but firecrackers!” someone yelled. Then we heard a loud rattling sound. Three little boys were laughing from behind a couple of garbage cans. I recognized them immediately as the little boys I’d given the ice cream to. One of the marchers spotted them and yelled, “Hey, there they are!”

  The boys took off running down the closest alley.

  Slowly everyone began getting up, Zeke first. I was waiting for my heart to stop pounding. He took his camera off his shoulder and laughed.

  “Hey, gimme a hand up!”

  “Naw, I’m already overworked as it is!” Zeke said, ignoring me.

  I slapped at his pants leg until he reached down and pulled me up.

  The marchers were shaking off the commotion: some mumbling, others cursing, all disjointed. Then Reverend Walker started it up again: “What do we want?”

  “No firecrackers!” someone answered in a playful voice.

  Everyone laughed, including Reverend Walker. “I say, What do we want?”

  “Peace!” the crowd shouted and they began marching again.

  There was a squad car stationed at every other corner. I looked around for Doug. I didn’t see him anywhere.

  We finally reached the park, the field house being the stopping point. A plywood podium had been built right next to the field house, nestled against the park swimming pool. There were folding chairs for the preacher and politicians lined up in two angles that faced the oncoming crowd. The marchers spread out in front of the podium.

  I got ready for a long, long sermon by Reverend Walker and more speeches from other political power mouths. Zeke began milling through the crowd, picking and choosing his shots to conserve precious power in the battery pack.

  Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder and a voice in my ear. “Where your cop friend at?”

  I turned to face Angel, Trip’s mother. She looked worse than the last time I had seen her, if that was at all possible. Her skin was splotchy, her face was drained of color, and her hands were shaking. She was rocking nervously. Angel still had on the T-shirt Butter had won at the spelling bee. She asked again about Doug.

  “I don’t know where he is. Are you okay?”

  “You don’t know?!” She groaned. “Damn, when you need a cop you can’t find him!”

  “Angel, it’s okay—”

  “No!! No!! How the hell is it okay? Huh?”

  “Angel, let’s just get one of the officers around here—”

  “Naw, naw, that ain’t gonna work. I want him. He know Trip and he would fix it with the law!” Angel said, and put her hands in front of her face.

  She was coming loose at the seams. Tell her what I knew? In her shape? I had no choice really.

  “Oooh-we,” Angel said, rocking. “I got the jitters!”

  “Where’s Trip? Angel, we gotta find Trip because—”

  “I know! I know! I know what Trip’s done and what he tryin’ to do. I know!”

  “You know that Trip hid Butter?”

  “Yeassssss!”

  “All this time you knew!” I shouted at her.

  “Hell no! Do you think I’m crazy or something? I just found out,” Angel said, standing in front of me rocking and scratching her arms. “I didn’t know before he done hid her! If I’d ah knowed that I’d ah whupped his ass and made him tell it. But now Trip ’bout to get in more serious trouble. One of my friends told me, wanted to cop some of my hit and I said naw and she—she said I know somethin’ you wished you knowed. And then she said it’s 'bout Trip and what he did and gonna do. She told it all. I knew she wasn’t lying ’cause she sleeping with one of the top ones in the Bandits and I know she wanted them drugs badder than me. She wanted ’em badder than me.”

  “Angel, let me just tell one of these officers and I know—”

  “No! Can’t trust ’em! I’ll go myself!” Angel turned and slid around the side of the field house. I ran after her. We were hidden by the building as we walked across the open grassy area of the park.

  “I was with Detective Eckart when he arrested T-Bob. He’s out now trying to find out where the hit is going down.”

  Angel looked exhausted and weak, her steps shaky. I took her by the arm and said, “Let’s call the police—”

  “No!” she said, looking wild-eyed, then she clutched her head. “No time. It’s happening now. I know—know where. Y’all think I’m bad, but I’m not. I’m not
bad! I gived up almost all of my stash to find out ’bout Trip, to save him. Ain’t that love?”

  “Yeah, Angel,” I said softly. “I know you love Trip. Tell me where? Huh? Just tell me where and we can get the police and fix it?”

  “No-no-no!” Angel moaned, and she shook her head.

  “Why?!”

  “I ain’t stupid! You done fo’got? They go in shootin’ not askin’ no questions. What they care about shootin’ some little black boy who gets in the way? I gotta go get him myself now!” She started to jog the rest of the way across the field.

  I couldn’t let her go alone, could I?

  T W E N T Y - F O U R

  Angel moved quickly down the streets and alleys, every other step giving me a glimpse of the heels of her slip-and-slide shoes. We finally reached the back stairs of an abandoned building. The fingers of her right hand trembled as she clutched the corner and peered around the brick wall. She motioned for me to follow her, pointing with her finger. Two doors down I could see a young man rocking against a fence, smoking a joint.

  “Top floor is where Little Cap is at. He’ll be down any second now.”

  “You sure?”

  Angel nodded and I noticed that her entire body was shaking.

  “Are you okay?”

  She nodded yes when the answer was clearly no. I silently cursed myself. Why hadn’t I flagged down a cop?

  Angel peeped around the corner again. “See?!” she whispered, and pulled her head back. I saw three guys walking down the back steps, looking cautious but not as guarded as I thought they would be. They wore the yellowish-gold colors of the Rockies. I noticed one, a dark-skinned young man with a long ugly scar on his face. I recognized him from the mug shot that I had seen at the cop shop and from the picture in his mother’s house. It was Little Cap.

  My eyes darted around, looking for Trip. Where was he?

  Angel was nearly sitting on the ground, her body racked with spasms. She turned her head and spit up.

  “You’re too sick to move, Angel.”

  The three Rockies were walking toward the alley now.

  “You gimme some money when this over?” she begged. “You gimme some money to buy me some stuff?”

  I heard a car door slam. Where was Trip?

  “Okay, okay,” I lied, trying to calm her down. I didn’t want her voice to carry.

  I heard another car door slam. Where was Trip?

  “You go stop Trip now, huh? Can’t—ca—can’t hard—ly move. I needed all my stuff. Ain’t have none to give away. Trip done messed me up.” Angel moaned as she held her sides and rocked against the building. “Go on! Go on!”

  I didn’t know what to do. Instinct pushed me forward, down the rear walkway. I was looking around wildly, trying to spot Trip. I heard a car engine crank up. By the sound I could tell it was an old car. Just as I reached the fence at the end of the yard, the car grunted past. It was a late model long Caddy with a torn black vinyl top and a gurgling muffler. The car eased down the alley. I opened the gate and stepped out, watching the car pull away. Just as it neared the end of the alley, two shopping carts filled with tin cans came rolling out, blocking the exit.

  The car began to slow down.

  I took two steps forward, then stopped, not sure what was actually happening or what I should do.

  The car stopped with a lurch about forty feet away from me. Although my mind was shouting warnings at me, I couldn’t see anyone. I was looking all around for some sign of Trip.

  One of the shopping carts fell over and the cans started rolling out into the street and into the alley. The car doors opened. Little Cap stayed in the backseat. The driver and the other gangbanger got out.

  Just as the two guards stood up and out of the way of the car doors I saw two teenage Bandits, black bandannas covering the lower half of their faces, come out from behind garbage cans in the rear, guns drawn. They opened fire.

  I ducked behind a thick electrical pole and my heart jackknifed into the pit of my stomach. I peered out from behind the pole and saw the Rockies on the ground. I heard one of the Bandits yell for Little Cap to get out of the car. He moved out slowly. I couldn’t hear that much of what was said because I was so far away.

  Then I saw him. Trip had a black bandanna over his face as he stepped out from behind one of the garages. He had a gun in his hand and he was shaking. They left Little Cap for him to kill.

  “Trip!” I yelled. “Don’t!”

  He turned and looked my way. It was then that Little Cap made his move. He spun, pulled out his gun, side-stepping toward cover while firing off two shots. One hit the Bandit standing nearest the car’s trunk, dropping him with a splatter of blood where he stood. As he hit the ground, his mouth became a raw socket prickling and sizzling dangerous sounds. The other shot just missed Trip, who dived for cover.

  Seeing Little Cap this close showed me the raw power that he had. He was tight, his movements mechanical as he decided when and where to strike next. Suddenly, I heard, “Trip! Trip!” Angel was yelling and staggering down the alley. “Trip! Trip!” she called.

  Little Cap fired.

  The shot struck her in the chest. I heard the resisting crunch and thunk of bone and flesh.

  “Mama!” Trip yelled, dropped his gun, and began running toward her.

  The Bandit with Trip yelped, “No!”

  Little Cap whirled and fired at the boy who tried to warn Trip; the bullet tore at his chest and laid him out flat on his back, blood gurgling from a jagged tear in his upper body.

  I ran forward. I saw Little Cap now aiming at Trip’s back. I lunged and felt my body make contact with Trip. I felt as if I were floating. The pictures and sounds that whirled around me smothered my ears and erased my memory because I forgot everything except how to breathe.

  I hit the ground and I felt my flesh tearing away from my arm. I felt Trip’s body beneath me and my momentum made us roll over and over until we hit something hard. Whatever it was stopped our movement. I heard Trip crying and I thought about how much I hated what was happening and then I heard footsteps running toward me. He’s coming! I thought. Seconds became drips of a lifetime.

  I struggled to get up, to fight with my bare hands for myself and for Trip. I looked up. I saw Little Cap fire over his shoulder before hopping a fence as the police began entering the alley. My heart was encouraged when I spotted Doug headed my way. He reached me, his gun low at his side, “Georgia? You okay?”

  I shook my head and all the anger, and adrenaline, and hate that had been building up inside of me escaped through tears that I felt no shame in shedding.

  “Mama!” Trip mumbled, crawling away from me over to Angel.

  “An ambulance is on the way,” I heard someone say. “Damn, that Little Cap must be part rabbit—see him take that fence? But don’t worry, he can’t get far. We got this place covered like flies on shit.” And for the first time I noticed the other officers beginning to swarm through the alley.

  Trip was hugging his mother and I saw a big red splotch of blood covering the T-shirt she had on. I looked at Doug as if to ask him whether or not Angel was going to make it. He hunched his shoulders.

  I felt blood running down my arm. “Oh Doug, I’m bleeding.”

  “Easy, Georgia, let me see,” Doug said, gently taking my arm. He picked up the black bandanna that had covered Trip’s face and gently tied it tight around my upper arm. Then Doug took out a handkerchief and dabbed at the wound. “Just a bad cut, not to worry, you’ll be fine.”

  Doug helped me up and hugged me close to him as we walked together over to Trip, who was huddled around his mother’s shoulders. His lips moved slowly, awkwardly, as if he were reading to her from a primer about the violence that had become the story of their lives. I stared at them until the glint of flashing lights stole my attention away from Trip and his mother. Three cops were moving the shopping carts and kicking cans out of the way so paramedics could make it down the alley with a stretcher.

  �
��Hold on, Mama,” Trip told her. “Hold on!”

  I hoped that she heard him.

  I eased Trip away from his mother. I held him close, my palms across his chest, rocking with the sporadic movement of his breathing while the paramedics worked to stabilize Angel and get her on the stretcher.