by T. E. Woods
“Of course, I’m going far away, aren’t I?” A sadness fell across her eyes and Kashawn’s hands instinctively balled into fists, ready to bat away anything that dampened the lovely young woman’s mood.
“Are you going to college?” she asked. Kashawn could hear the hope in her question.
“I’m not what you call the book type.”
The waitress brought their pizzas. Kashawn didn’t have to watch LaTonya to know how to eat his.
“You don’t like your grades?” she asked. Kashawn noticed she waited between bites, until she swallowed, before talking.
“Never give ’em much thought, I guess.”
He liked the way LaTonya looked at him as she chewed. “Ever use a tutor?”
“What’s that?”
“A tutor, silly. A private teacher. Someone who works just with you. To help you understand what’s going on in class.” Her eyes got wide. She set her slice down and leaned forward. “I could be your tutor! What’s your worst subject?”
“All of ’em, I guess.”
“I’m good at most subjects. I can teach you.”
“I don’t think so.”
The excitement in LaTonya’s demeanor shifted. She lowered her voice. “You wouldn’t have to pay me.”
Kashawn threw his shoulders back. “Money’s not somethin’ that’s a bother. I make my own.”
“You do? I’m so jealous. My father won’t let me have a job. Except in the summers. And even then it’s only to babysit my little cousin. Where do you work?”
“Few blocks over.”
“Where? What do you do?”
Again, Kashawn hadn’t anticipated the actual words he’d say to LaTonya. “I help a guy. This, that. Whatever he need done I do.”
She nodded and her deep brown curls bounced around her cheeks. “Like an assistant, you mean? Is this guy disabled or something? Kimba’s sister is a personal assistant for a lady in a wheelchair. Says she spends most of her time watching TV with her. Makes fifteen dollars an hour, if you can believe that. I wish I could get that lucky. Somebody wants to pay me fifteen dollars to watch Real Housewives, I’m going to let them!”
Kashawn wanted to tell her he’d pay her twice that if she’d be willing to watch just one show with him. He wouldn’t even care what it was.
“Your parents don’t mind you working?”
Kashawn shrugged.
“Where do you live, anyway? We live over on Olive Street. If you’re anywhere close by, I could come over and study with you. I’m a good teacher. I’ll bet I could have you acing your tests in no time.”
Kashawn thought about his room at the clubhouse. What made him think a girl like LaTonya would ever agree to go there?
“Don’t need to worry ’bout my grades. I’ma go in the service after school.”
LaTonya drew in a loud breath. “You’re what? Aren’t you afraid? I mean, there’s all this terror stuff going on. What if you get sent to Afghanistan or Syria? Aren’t you afraid of seeing somebody get killed?” She shivered and shook her head. “All that blood. Aren’t you afraid of getting shot?”
I’ve already seen people get killed, he thought. Didn’t need to go to no Arab land to see it, either. Banjo bought it not ten blocks from here. He remembered the night D’Loco took care of Ax Man. There had been a lot of blood that night. He’d been scared. But he’d been scared before and was certain he’d be again. But it would pass. Some scares take longer than others, though.
“I’ma go to basic training not long from now,” he lied. “Marines.”
“What about school? Graduation’s not till June.”
“Marines gonna take care of that. I’ma get my schoolin’ with them.”
LaTonya’s brow furrowed. “You mean like a GED?”
Kashawn had no idea what that was, but if LaTonya considered it an option, it must be one.
“Yeah. Like that.”
LaTonya finished her second slice of pizza. “Are you going to make the military your career?”
He didn’t like the focus being on him. He wanted to hear more about her girlfriends and her family. He wanted to hear her laugh and feel the warmth deep in his stomach when she looked at him.
“Don’t think far ahead, I guess.”
She wiped her lips with her napkin. “Whew! I’m full to my chin. And you haven’t eaten half yours.”
“I’m too busy lookin’ at you. Got no need for pizza sittin’ across from somethin’ as pretty as you.”
LaTonya glanced down. Kashawn had never noticed how long her eyelashes were. He thought about a puppet he’d once seen hanging from some string in a store window. That puppet had lashes like hers. But LaTonya was real.
“When do you leave?” she asked. “For the Marines, I mean.”
The joy Kashawn was experiencing got shoved aside by something cold. “Two days, I guess. I’ma be gone then for sure.”
“Two days? Then what’s this about? Why did you want to have lunch with me if you’re going to be gone in two days?”
Kashawn heard the disappointment in her voice. While he never wanted her to feel anything but happiness, a part of him was glad to know she seemed to want more time with him. He reached for the bag he’d brought with him.
“I wanted to give you this.” He handed her the bag. “I wish I had said somethin’ to you back in Ms. Bolton’s class. But you was out of my league and I knew it.”
“Kashawn, don’t say things like that.”
“But that’s then and this is now. Things are. Nothin’ truer than that. But time bein’ what it is and all, I didn’t want to waste none of it gettin’ this to you. I hope you like it.”
She reached into the bag and pulled out a folded fabric. “It’s so soft.” She shook it and draped it across her lap. “It’s a tiger!”
“I had it hanging on my wall. Art.”
“It’s beautiful. But I don’t understand.”
Kashawn reached across the table and petted the fabric. “This here’s real important to me. I can’t take it where I’m headed. I’m wantin’ someone special to have it. Special to me, that is. I watched you all them days in school. You’re not like them other girls. You hold yourself strong and sure. Like that tiger on that art there. You’re smart. Gonna go to college and make yourself into a teacher. Gonna have a day your mama cry tears of joy when you get that cap and gown.”
“And your mother will cry too. When you graduate from basic training, they pin something on you. My uncle did that. He was in the navy. But my dad went down and took video. It’s a big deal. Your mom’s going to cry buckets. You can believe that.”
Did you cry buckets, Ettie? When they took me from you, did you cry buckets?
Teenagers stood up from tables and booths all around them.
“Looks like it’s time for you to go back to school,” he said.
She folded the fabric and put it back in the bag.
“I can’t take this, Kashawn. It’s too important to you.”
He shook his head. “You keep it. Hang it on your wall and think of me from time to time.”
She stood, put on her coat, and hugged Kashawn’s gift against her chest. “How about this? I’ll keep this safe until you get back. Then you give me a call and we’ll meet back here. I’ll bring it and you’ll see I’ve taken good care of it.”
Kashawn swallowed hard. He stayed seated, staring up at her. Memorizing her chocolate skin and sweet brown eyes. “That’s a plan. You hang on to it. Till you hear from me.”
“Are you sure I can’t pay for my lunch?”
He waved his hand. “Like I said. Money’s no bother to me. Go on, now. Get back to school. You tell Ms. Bolton old Kashawn sends his greetings.”
LaTonya nodded. She thanked him and took two steps toward the door before she turned around and walked back to him. She leaned down and kissed the top of his freshly barbered head.
“You should have talked to me back then,” she whispered.
And then she was gone.
>
“You payin’ for the two of you?” Kashawn hadn’t noticed the waitress returning. “Because I can’t have any more of you kids running out on your checks. Boss takes it out of our pay, you know. I got a three-year-old at home and it’s nobody but me payin’ the bills.”
Kashawn looked up at her. For the first time he noticed the waitress couldn’t have been more than a year or two older than he was.
“I’ma pay. No need for worry.”
The waitress looked skeptical as she put his bill on the table and walked away.
Kashawn stood and reached into his pocket. He laid five hundred-dollar bills under the check and called out to the woman to keep the change.
Chapter 29
Seattle
Vanessa didn’t break conversation with whomever it was she had on the phone when Mort walked into Our Joint. She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow and nodded her head toward the hall, as if to bless his access to Gigi Vinings’s office. Mort saluted and headed back. His affection for the place was growing. As he walked down the long hall, he passed rooms filled with kids. Some were quietly clustered around computers. Others laughed while up to their elbows in art projects. In one particular room six teenaged girls, each with a belly swollen by advanced pregnancy, held yoga poses, lost in a world of quiet behind closed eyes. Mort paused to watch. He inhaled deeply, caught the aroma of frying onions, and tried to guess what the church ladies were making for lunch. The girls switched to another pose. Mort wondered what kind of life awaited these children having children.
Who’s to say? he thought. Edie and I tried our damnedest to do right by our kids. Look how that turned out.
He sent a silent wish into the universe for the yoga girls to have easier days ahead and continued on to Gigi’s office.
“You’re late,” Gigi said when he knocked on her door. “Punctuality counts, Mort. It’s disrespectful to keep someone waiting.”
Mort looked at his watch. It was two minutes past the hour she had agreed to see him. “I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t.” She waved him in and motioned for him to sit. “Word on the street is things have quieted down.”
“Thirty-one hours without a new body to process,” he said. “Either they’re running out of bullets or they’re hiding the bones better.”
“Or maybe there’s been some kind of truce.”
“You an expert on gangland diplomacy, Gigi?”
She didn’t look like she was in the mood for silly questions. “Last time you were here you said Lincoln Lane told you to let the gangs keep killing until they’d wiped each other out.”
“His brother was right there echoing his sentiments. As I recall, you didn’t seem to think that was such a bad idea.”
“Come sit in my chair for a month, Mort. Talk to a mother whose fourteen-year-old is dropping out of school because he can make two hundred dollars a week running errands for some pusher. She’s upset, of course. But she also knows the money her kid’s earning goes to put food on the table. Keeps the family in their apartment another month. Or sit in my spot and track down that sixteen-year-old beauty who’s suddenly stopped coming to homework club. What are you going to do when you learn she’s out on the streets now, selling her precious body to support her mother and three siblings after her mother’s food card got cut off?”
“There has to be another way. Programs. Subsidies.”
“What year you living in, Mort?” Gigi’s voice rose an octave. “LBJ’s Great Society was fifty years ago. Tax dollars go to billionaires now. There’s no programs. Government money goes to building giant sports arenas. The suburbs get new parks and libraries.”
“There’s always jobs.”
Gigi huffed out a disgusted grunt. “Where? Where are those jobs? You tell me what company is going to expand in these neighborhoods. Hell, the nearest grocery store is four miles away. And how are my people supposed to get to the neighborhoods where there are jobs? City budgets get lean and bus service gets cut. Guess which lines get dropped first? There are no jobs here. Gangs keep the companies away. There’s no plan B here. The gangs are the only option most of these people have. Things aren’t going to change until the gangs are gone.” Gigi leaned back in her chair, looking exhausted at having to explain to yet another white person the troubles on these streets. “I say let the gangs kill one another. Banjo was just…If I…”
“If you what, Gigi?”
The urban warrior sat behind her battered desk, staring at Mort through a teary veil. Finally she reached for a tissue, dabbed her eyes, and shook her head. “You’ll have to forgive me, Mort. I get a little weary with this fight.”
“You don’t sound weary. You sound desperate.”
She looked at him again. This time with no tears. “Maybe. But these streets have taught me that desperate often gives birth to determined.”
Chapter 30
Olympia
Lydia craned her neck, first left, then right, checking the damage in her bedroom mirror. The scratches on her neck from being dragged through the underbrush weren’t as bad as yesterday. She’d continue to wear scarves to hide them from her patients, but probably no longer than another day or two. It was her shoulder and ankle that still bothered her. She opened her robe, turned her back to the mirror, and saw the deep purple abrasion stretching across her back, shoulder to shoulder. The Cockney who had pinned her to the forest floor had used his entire weight to hold her in place. The bruising was ugly. But she had full range of movement in her arms. No bones were broken. Even her swollen right ankle was improving.
She pulled her hair up into a clip, went into her bathroom, and stepped into a steaming Epsom-salt tub.
How long can this continue? she wondered as she let the hot water soothe her muscles. Allie has an endless supply of henchmen to send my way. When will she send the one who will finish me?
Lydia saw no reason to inform Mort of his daughter’s latest assault. He needed to keep his attention on his family. They both knew Allie would be back, looking for a reconnection to the Grants. In Allie’s twisted mind the bond of a warm and loving family was her birthright…despite her crimes. Mort believed Allie would lay low for a while, hoping the havoc of Hadley’s kidnapping would fade into an impulsive gesture that somehow the family could come to understand.
But Lydia had a keener understanding of Allie’s vendetta. There would be no laying low in the hopes of future rapprochement. The incident in Burfoot Park proved that. Allie viewed Lydia as the interloper taking her place in the Grant family. By Allie’s calculations, everything she wanted would be hers the moment Lydia was out of the way.
She closed her eyes and redirected her concentration. Worry wouldn’t save her. Regaining her strength would. She reminded herself she was safe in her home. Every monitor and security device was in place. This was her fortress.
But my fortress has been invaded twice by Allie. Because of her I’ve been forced to kill here.
Lydia shifted her thoughts to her patients, calling to mind their faces and voices. She inhaled the fragrance of her bathwater and held her breath for a slow count of four. Then she exhaled long and slow, and with the expulsion of her breath she sent out a wish for the well-being of each and every person who had trusted her with their care.
But that didn’t help.
Allie will kill me. The unwelcome thought charged into her consciousness. Lydia opened her eyes, listening for any sound indicating the security of her home had been violated, but she heard nothing. Careful. Paranoia isn’t going to help. I’m safe. I’m in charge. Nothing can hurt me.
She closed her eyes and tried again to clear her mind, using an old trick she learned in grad school. Pick a letter; any one would do. Name as many objects as possible that begin with that letter. Hold one thought in your conscious mind and there’ll be no room for worry. No place for fear. She chose R.
Rabbit, rice, riot, ridicule, remorse, raft, rumpus, run, ruin, ravage, rape, revenge…
Her eyes snapped open, her senses on high alert. Everything was as it had been. Her body was submerged in hot, fragrant water. White towels rested on the marble vanity. The walls of her bathroom were still the palest gray.
Allie will kill me.
“Stop it!” The echo of her voice reverberated off the walls. She rose out of the water, realizing she needed something more substantial to engage her mind. She toweled off, glad of the increased flexibility the hot soak afforded, pulled on her robe, and headed to her kitchen. She poured herself a glass of merlot and settled onto her living room sofa.
November was settling in, bringing a near-constant chilly rain. Lydia’s beloved evenings on her deck would be set aside for six months, but her wide windows offered her full access to the beauty and activity of her own backyard. The sun was setting, turning the Olympic Mountains purple against a cherry red sky. The islands of Dana Passage were dark dragons floating in bottomless blue water. Her lawn was deep, ending in a sheer drop high above the shore. Two giant Douglas firs stood at the cliff’s edge. An eagle kept its nest high in the branches. Lydia sipped her wine and focused on the aerie, hoping to catch sight of the majestic bird as it came home with its dinner.
Allie will kill me.
She shook her head against the insistent intrusive thought and concentrated on the monumental trees standing sentinel on her property. A sudden surge of wind barreled down the passage, blowing their branches into a frenzied dance. She saw the eagle. It was approaching from the west, flapping its massive wings in the face of the turbulence, struggling to make it to the nest. Lydia saw it blown back, but it tried again to make it to its home. It swooped down, below the cliff and out of Lydia’s sight. A draft brought it back up into the maelstrom. For a moment the eagle appeared to be suspended, motionless high above the water. Helpless to make it to the safety of its nest. But with two powerful flaps of its wings, the eagle soared above the vortex. Lydia rose, crossed to the window, and kept her eye on the massive bird. It circled, high above the windy turmoil.
