The Conductor

by Ronald Johnson

  Once she retrieves her pocketbook, she gets up off the pavement and goes on her way. After the older woman has placed a considerable amount of distance between herself and the young predator, Caleb ceases his orbit and races off.

  Caleb, out of respect, tries to match his stride with his grandmother’s shortened, less agile steps. “Caleb, are you going to be escorting me to Missionary Meeting every Wednesday?”

  “These streets aren’t safe for you to be out here alone at night.”

  “They haven’t been safe for a long time. I remember when your brother and Taylor, with his pit bulls, used to patrol the neighborhood and escort folk back and forth protecting them from the crackheads. We felt safe back then. But your poor brother got addicted to that crack, and I don’t understand what changed Taylor.”

  “It was money, Grandma. Pure and simple. The City King Pin offered Taylor big money to supply him with pit bulls to protect his crack supply. He had his crack stashed all through the neighborhood in different apartment units. Those apartments units were completely empty, with no furniture. The only thing in them was the crack and Taylor’s pit bulls. That King Pin grew fond of Taylor and eventually offered him a piece of the action. Taylor’s piece of the action is this entire neighborhood.”

  “Perhaps if there had been more job opportunities, your brother wouldn’t have had to go to work for Taylor selling that crack. He went from being an employee to becoming a satisfied customer addicted to that stuff.”

  “Grandma, why can’t you stay home on Wednesday nights?”

  “Pastor asked for volunteers to hand out clothes to the needy. The past number of years, it’s only been me and Sister Jenkins.”

  “The way I see it everyone’s got a purpose and a role to serve. Me and Sister Jenkins’ role is to hand out clothes to the needy, if we don’t do it, who will?”

  “If everyone has a role to serve, what is Taylor’s role?”

  “He serves as an agent of evil, manifesting the worst side of mankind. Taylor’s purpose and role doesn’t benefit others. He sells that crack cocaine in the community. It harms others while he profits at their expense. His present role serves only his interest and not the interest of others.”

  This little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine.

  This little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine.

  This little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine.

  Let it shine. Let it shine. Let it shine.

  All through my neighborhood, I’m going to let it shine.

  All through my neighborhood, I’m going to let it shine.

  All through my neighborhood, I’m going to let it shine.

  Let it shine. Let it shine. Let it shine.

  Continuous shouts of “Amen” echo throughout the church’s empty pews as the Wednesday night faithful gather to bear witness. “Praise the Lord! Does anybody have a testimony to give?”

  A short stout woman rises and makes her way to the front of the church. “First I’d like to give honor, praise, and glory to the Lord Jesus Christ, my personal Lord and Savior. Secondly I’d like to give honor and praise to our Pastor. And may peace and blessings be bestowed upon the saints of the body of Christ. I would like to thank everyone who called me out of concern, when I didn’t show up last Wednesday for service. I had an encounter with an evildoer, but the Lord’s mercy delivered me! Saints, last Wednesday when I was on my way to service, a robber attacked me. He knocked me to the ground and was planning to take my pocket book. But suddenly, an Angel of the Lord swooped down on him and imprisoned him with his wings so that he could not harm me. The Angel dealt him, blow after blow, until he crumpled to the ground. I picked up my pocketbook and escaped without harm.

  “When I looked back over my shoulder the Angel of the lord was still guarding that robber. I couldn’t really see the Angel. He was like a blur, I guess because he kept his wings moving so fast to shield me from the robber. Saints, I believe the Lord has sent us an Angel to deliver us and protect us from evil on these wicked streets. Praise the Lord! Hallelujah!”

  Caleb, sitting at the back of the church, hears the woman’s testimony, “A deliverer and protector… is that my role?”

  Beep…beep…beep. Caleb stares hard at the intensive care monitor at Gotar’s bedside. He looks over at Gotar’s motionless body for the slightest movement. Caleb tunnels his hand under Gotar’s facedown palm on the bed. Sensing Caleb’s hand, Gotar grips it tightly. A jolt of energy surges from Gotar’s grip to Caleb. Their limbs become stiff as boards.

  Their hearts race, and their breathing accelerates. Tears roll down Caleb’s face from his tightly closed eyes. His upper molars become etched into his jawbone, his mouth cemented closed.

  Caleb’s eyelids roll back, and he begins to blink his eyes repeatedly. Caleb loses his sight. His optic nerve becomes impaired. A vision comes to Caleb’s moistened eyes. He sees Gotar and two men walking after dark along an empty, desolate street.

  “Hey, I need to stop at a food shop to pick up some things before I go home.”

  Gotar responds, There’s a shop right around the corner.” The three men enter the shop. Gotar addresses the shopkeeper, “Greetings Enan, how are you and your family doing?”

  “We are doing well, Gotar. Your wife was in here the other day shopping. It looks like she might have that baby any day now, huh?”

  “Yes, it could be any day.

  “Is she still working?”

  “Yes, she will be working up until it’s time for the baby.” Gotar glances up at a large hanging mirror at the front of the store that’s angled to pick up images in the rear. He sees one of the guys who came into the store with him standing in the aisle stuffing grocery products into his coat pock ets. “Excuse me Enan.” Gotar walks to the rear of the shop. When he reaches the aisle where the guy is stuffing his pockets he speaks, “What are you doing?”

  “Man, I’ve got to feed my family.”

  The shopkeeper, Enan steps into the aisle. He is pointing a loaded weapon at Gotar and his comrade. The second man who entered the shop with Gotar rushes Enan from a side aisle. The weapon goes off. The two fall to the floor and a struggle ensues. The weapon goes off again.

  Momentarily, the two men lay motionless on the floor. Then, the man who entered the shop with Gotar rolls off of the shopkeeper’s body. The second man stands to his feet, and in fear pushes the first man while motioning to exit the front door. The two men leave, and Gotar stands alone in the shop. He kneels down next to the shopkeeper, lifts his head and cradles it on his lap.

  Tears pour down Gotar’s face, as he rocks back and forth.

  The shopkeeper, with his last breath speaks, “Get out of here, the armed patrol will be here soon. I’ll be dead and won’t be able defend your innocence. They will take you away.”

  “You are my neighbor. I can’t leave you.”

  “Shortly, I won’t be your neighbor anymore. I’ll be with the ancestors, but you will still be a husband and father. Leave for your family’s sake or they will take you away and charge you with my murder. Go!”

  Gotar watches the shopkeeper’s eyes close. He gently places the shopkeeper’s head down on the floor. In the background, the audible siren of the approaching armed patrol vehicles grows louder.

  Gotar stands and flees out a rear door. As the vision fades away, Gotar’s hospital bed comes back into view. The room is flooded with nurses and physicians checking Gotar’s vital signs. They are responding to the monitoring equipment next to Gotar’s bed that signaled a distress call. One of the nurses addresses Caleb, “Sit down young man. We think you may have gone into shock, seeing your friend go into cardiac arrest. Let me check your pulse and take your pressure.”

  Chapter 5

  Encounter With Truth

  “When we meet strangers for the first time, it is awkward and we don’t know what to say, likewise is an encounter with Truth”

  —Journal Entry: 7/25/08

  6:00 PM, Caleb’s grandmother c
alls out from the kitchen, “Caleb did you take your medicine today?”

  “No, I’ve been in my room all day, studying.”

  “You know when you aren’t taking your medicine the audio hallucinations will return, and you will start hearing voices again. Come on downstairs now and take your medicine.”

  “Yes, Grandma.”

  Caleb descends the stairs and enters the kitchen.

  “Since you missed your morning dose, just take your afternoon dose for now.”

  Caleb goes to his pillbox and extracts the required dosage. He places the pills in his mouth and goes over to the faucet. He turns on the water and places his mouth under the faucet and takes a gulp of water into his mouth.

  “Dinner will be ready shortly.”

  “I’m about to leave now and go to the library. I need to look at some reference books before I go to school. I’ll eat when I get home from school tonight.”

  “Get yourself something to eat on your way to the library; that medicine doesn’t work well on an empty stomach.”

  8:00 PM, Caleb stands in line waiting to enter “Club Rescue”

  “What’s up C?”

  Caleb turns around. There standing in front of him is a young man with his arm extended, greeting Caleb with a clenched fist. Caleb extends his right arm with clenched fist to return the greeting, touching fist.

  “Whoa! I’ve got to go, C. I see somebody that I need to holler at. Hey, Will! Hold up!”

  The young man’s thoughts begin to leap into Caleb’s head, “I hope Will got that money he owes me. I’m gonna need me some money if me and Kevin hook up with Juanita and her girl.”

  Inside the club, the booming bass buzzes at the conclusion of each deliberate beat. The dance floor is full of swaying bodies. Caleb forges his way across the floor. He wades through a tide of bodies making physical contact with several club patrons. His mind is pounded like a beach with waves of thoughts, “He better not show up here with her or there’s gonna be a problem.”

  “I got to go…where’s the bathroom?”

  “That’s my song!”

  “Where did Carlos slip off to?”

  “Oh no, he didn’t.”

  “Whew, it’s hot in here!”

  “I need a smoke.”

  “Sure could.”

  “Just one!”

  “I don’t!”

  “Feels like.”

  “Looks desperate.”

  “That won’t”

  “Seems right”

  “Can’t stop.”

  “Won’t!”

  “I am!”

  “No!”

  “Was.”

  “Couldn’t!”

  “That’s right!”

  “Please!”

  With his mouth open Caleb sighs, “There are too many people here. I can’t tell where my thoughts begin and end.”

  “Gonna keep.”

  “Wow!”

  “I don’t!”

  “Another?”

  “Theirs?”

  “Catch.”

  “Baby!”

  “Go!”

  Caleb focuses on his own thoughts, “This was a bad idea. I’m not going to be able to gather any information on Taylor and his drug ring operation this way.”

  “Cheater!”

  “Black and Mild?”

  “Curtis!”

  “I got.”

  “That?”

  “Wish!”

  “So!”

  “Place?”

  “What?”

  The booming base ceases. There’s a pause in the music. With the intro to the next song, the crowd falls silent. The streams of thoughts flooding Caleb’s brain come to a sudden halt. A cheer erupts from the crowd. They all join in on the lyrics.

  Soulja Boy, Up in This Hoe.

  Watch Me Crank It.

  Watch Me Roll.”

  Watch Me Crank Dat Soulja Boy.

  Den Super Man Dat Hoe.

  Now Watch Me, Yuaaaaa!

  Crank Dat Soulja Boy.

  Now Watch Me Yuaaaaa!

  Crank Dat Soulja Boy.

  Now Watch Me Yuaaaaa!

  Crank Dat Soulja Boy.

  Now Watch Me Yuaaaaa!

  Crank Dat Soulja Boy.

  Soulja Boy Up In This Hoe.

  Watch Me Lean and Watch Me Roll

  Super Man Dat Hoe.

  Then Watch Me Crank Dat Robocop.

  Super Fresh, Now Watch Me Jock.

  The crowd’s distraction gives Caleb relief from the thoughts that were bombarding his brain. Caleb surveys the club. He spots Taylor seated in the VIP lounge. He is speaking to a man seated next to him. The music is blasting over the PA system. Caleb observes Taylor’s Pantomime-like gestures. The man at the table with Taylor rises from the table and walks to the rear of the club. Caleb pursues the man. At the rear of the club, the man reaches for a door pull. He swings the door open. Caleb, standing directly behind him, reaches for the door pull also. He touches the doorpull and the man’s hand simultaneously. The man jerks his head around.

  Caleb speaks, “Excuse me B.” Caleb follows the man into the bathroom.

  Both men stand at the urinals.

  The man lets out a sigh of relief. His bottled up emotions also find relief as his thoughts begin to flow freely into Caleb’s brain. “Taylor talks to people like they’re stupid. I hate when he does that, like we are a bunch of children. A new driver gets the address wrong for the distribution center, and we are all a bunch of idiots. He’s going to stop raising his voice at me. I’m going to personally go over to Nat’s and tell him that Taylor ain’t having it, and his driver needs to be at 5051 Cape Street at 2:30 PM. And just to make sure that he doesn’t get lost again, I’ll tell him to come to the new city animal shelter.” The man zips up his pants and washes his hands.

  Caleb does likewise and follows him out of the bathroom. Back in the club, the crowd dances and sings in unison.

  Soulja Boy Up In This Hoe.

  Watch Me Crank It.

  Watch Me Roll.

  Watch Me Crank Dat Soulja Boy.

  Then Super Man Dat Hoe.

  Now I Leave YOOOUUU!

  Crank Dat Soulja Boy.

  Now I Leave YOOOUUU!

  Crank Dat Soulja Boy.

  Now I Leave YOOOUUU!

  Crank Dat Soulja Boy.

  Now I Leave YOOOUUU!

  Crank Dat Soulja Boy!

  When the man arrives back at the VIP lounge, Taylor rises from the table. The two men head to the back of the club and exit out a rear door. Caleb creeps to the rear door and slightly cracks it open. Outside, in the rear alley, the man with Taylor opens a door to a Hummer stretch limousine. Taylor enters the limo. The man closes the door and walks to the front of the limo and gets in. The limo engine roars.

  As the limousine pulls off Caleb glances at the rear license plate, which reads “Taylor Made.”

  The next day at 2:15 PM, Caleb walks down the alley next to the animal shelter. At an abandoned building, Caleb jumps up and pulls down a fire escape ladder. He climbs the fire escape to the roof. Perched at the edge of the roof, he can see over the vinyl covered chain link fence of the animal shelter. He observes no activity at the rear of the shelter.

  From the street, a truck makes its way down the alley. When the truck pulls up in front of the gated fence of the shelter, the gate automatically slides open. The truck maneuvers in the alley in order to back in. Inscribed on the side of the truck are the words, “William’s Incinerator Service.” The truck backs into the shelter’s loading dock. With the closing of the gate, armed men carrying assault weapons appear on the loading dock. The doors at the rear of the truck swing open. Out of the truck come steel canisters on wheels 60 inches long by 30 inches wide and 34 inches tall. One by one, they are rolled into the animal shelter.

  The hummer with the license plates, “Taylor Made” comes down the alley from the street.

  Caleb leaps onto the fire escape and makes his way down the stairs with l
ightning speed. Pulling his hoody down over his head to conceal his face, Caleb approaches Taylor’s limousine. He knocks on the rear window, “Help feed the homeless.”

  Taylor’s driver jumps out and approaches Caleb. The rear window rolls down; from inside the limousine, a hand emerges holding a twenty-dollar bill.

  Caleb reaches for the bill. His fingers graze across the hand that’s holding the charitable donation. “Thank you, kind sir. God bless you!” offers Caleb who scrambles off out of sight.

  The rear window closes. The driver walks back to the front of the limousine and gets in. The gate of the shelter opens. The limousine pulls in and the gate slowly closes.

  Taylor emerges from the limousine, dressed in a grey pinstriped suit, looking fresh and fly. He climbs the steps of the loading dock. At the loading dock platform, security buzzes Taylor in.

  Inside the shelter, Taylor grabs a walkie-talkie. Consumed in thought, Taylor follows the procession of canisters from the truck down the hall.

  We’ve got to increase our distribution to daily. Four times a week is not good enough. We’ve got to get more of our product on the street. There’s a great enough demand for it. We’ve got all those crackheads chasing that ‘Taylor Made’ high. We can do more. Allen’s Green Team always exceeds the goals for processing and distribution. They usually help pick up the slack for the Red and Yellow Teams. We need the Red and Yellow Teams to be as productive and motivated as Allen’s Green Team. We need a captain’s meeting to talk about productivity. I’ll let Allen chair the meeting and get him to share some suggestions and ideas on how to increase productivity so that all three teams can be on the same page production-wise.