Street Soldiers (2 page)

Nigel

The star-quarterback at South Bay High, Nigel’s a friend of Jayd’s from junior high school and also Rah’s best friend, making Jayd’s world even smaller. Nigel’s the son of a former NBA player who dumped his ex-girlfriend at Westingle (Tasha) to be with Mickey. Jayd’s caught up in the mix as both of their friends, but her loyalty lies with Nigel because she’s known him longer and he’s always had her back. He knows a little about her spiritual lineage, but not nearly as much as Rah.

Chase (a.k.a. Chance)

The rich, white hip-hop kid of the crew, Chase is Jayd’s drama homie and Nellie’s ex-boyfriend. The fact that he felt for Jayd when she first arrived at South Bay High creates unwarranted tension between Nellie and Jayd. Chase recently discovered he’s adopted, and that his birth mother was half-black—a dream come true for Chase.

Cameron

The new queen of the rich mean girl crew, this chick has it bad for Jeremy and will stop at nothing until Jayd’s completely out of the picture. Armed with the money and power to make all of her wishes come true, Cameron has major plans to cause Jayd’s senior year to be more difficult than need be. But little does she know that Jayd has a few plans of her own and isn’t going away so easily.

Keenan

This young brotha is the epitome of an intelligent, athletic, hardworking black man. A football player on scholarship at UCLA and Jayd’s new coffee shop buddy, he’s quickly winning Jayd over, much to the disliking of her mother and grandmother. Although she tries to avoid it, Jayd’s attraction to Keenan is growing stronger and he doesn’t seem to mind at all.

Bryan

The youngest of Mama’s children and Jayd’s favorite uncle, Bryan is a deejay by night and works at the local grocery store during the day. He’s also an acquaintance of both Rah and KJ from playing ball around the neighborhood. Bryan often gives Jayd helpful advice about her problems with boys and hating girls. He always has her back, and out of all of her uncles gives her grandparents the least amount of trouble.

Jay

Jay is more like an older brother to Jayd than her cousin. He lives with Mama and Daddy, but his mother (Mama’s youngest daughter, Anne) left him when he was a baby and never returned. Jay doesn’t know his father and attended Compton High School before receiving his GED this past school year. He and Jayd often cook together and help Mama around the house.

Jayd’s Journal

It all feels like a dream, but I know I’m standing in front of my grandparent’s house staring at the gruesome scene. I can still hear Pam’s raggedy sandals click-clackin’ up the block asking for Mama in her quiet, raspy voice. Mama says we have to dedicate three shrines to Pam and feed them daily for the next forty days. She also says that Pam’s soul will not rest until her true murderer is brought to justice, but I don’t think that’s true. I believe it’s Mama’s soul that won’t rest until we catch whoever—or whatever—committed this heinous act. Granted, Esmeralda most likely put one of her loyal legion members up to it, but her hands are just as dirty as if she held the murder weapon herself. Either way I know it wasn’t Mickey’s ex no matter what the police think.

I’m no fan of helping Mickey’s former man, especially after all the hell’s he’s caused, but I can’t let the wrong person go to prison. I know once the shock of the gruesome murder is numbed a bit Mama will focus on bringing Pam’s killer to justice, come hell or high water. I just hope it’s sooner rather than later because the cops don’t look interested in pursuing any other leads. I’m sure they have their reasons for wanting dude off the street, as do we all. But we have to put the right person away for this, if for no other reason than because Esmeralda’s power grows stronger every minute she thinks she’s gotten away with murder.

Esmeralda’s brood has been very quiet next door since the cops started questioning Mickey’s ex about his whereabouts this evening, waiting like the rest of us to see what’ll happen next. There’s apparently some link between he and Pam that I’m not aware of. More than likely she was his client at one time. I don’t know what he sells, but I know it’s more than weed—whatever Pam was on the last time I saw her was the highest I’ve ever seen her. She never looked good, but she looked worse than usual, almost as if she were slowly becoming vacant inside.

Mama could always find the soul behind the addict Pam had become, which is why Mama’s taking her death so hard. No doubt Esmeralda knew that and used it to her advantage, adding the personal touch of having Pam slaughtered in our driveway. Earlier, when I was literally running away from Esmeralda’s canine beasts for my life, she said she had a gift for the queen—a sacrifice were her exact words. What better way to get Mama’s attention than to kill one of her own godchildren? I hope Esmeralda enjoys her victory while it last because as with all things this, too, shall fall apart.

PROLOGUE

The south side of Gunlock is the only street in our neighborhood that bends at the corner on the east side, while the shorter of the two sides stops before the bend. Mama and Netta gave a white, seven-day candle with a small amount of palm oil and a penny on top to each neighbor. The entire block is softened by the soft glow from the dancing flames and the flashing lights from the squad car.

Pam’s only been dead a few hours and already the police are convinced they have the only suspect in custody. What happened to in-depth investigations like on
Law and Order
? Where’s the forensics team, or at least a cop with a fingerprint duster—something? What happened to innocent until proven guilty?

“Sir, I’m going to need you to put your hands above your head and assume the position,” the black officer says.

Mickey’s ex looks truly shocked that he’s being arrested for this crime. I wouldn’t call him innocent, but he certainly didn’t slice Pam up.

“For what? I didn’t do shit,” Mickey’s ex says, but the cops aren’t buying it.

Our neighbors look on in horror not sure who to believe. Mickey’s ex-man has been terrorizing the city for as long as he’s been walking, so I doubt too many will shed a tear if he goes away for a long, long time—me included. I’ve been trying to reach Mickey but she’s not responding to any of my calls or text messages. I’m sure she’ll find out through the hood grapevine soon enough.

“Sir, I’m not going to ask you again.” The white officer smiles at one of our most notorious gangster’s protest like he’s seen this a million times before. “Place your hands on top of your head, turn around and lie flat on the hood of your vehicle.”

This time the officer places his right hand on his weapon ready to draw if necessary. The black officer looks at his partner nervously and then at Mickey’s man who hasn’t moved a muscle.

“Young brother, please do what the officer asks. There’s been enough blood shed this evening,” Daddy says, stepping off the curb and toward the disturbing scene.

Mickey’s ex glares hard at Daddy then back at the officers. I feel like I’m on an episode of
Southland
.

Mama looks at her husband and then back at the officers as tears well up in her tired eyes. Netta places her left hand on Mama’s shoulder for support.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you step back,” the white officer says, putting his hands out and stopping Daddy’s advance. “Please don’t interfere with official police business.”

Daddy stops in his tracks and looks at our neighbors stand quiet against this injustice. He shakes his head from side to side, completely exasperated.

“But I didn’t do it,” Mickey’s former man repeats for the umpteenth time but the police officers couldn’t care less. As far as they’re concerned, this young, black male with a record is in the right place at the right time. Usually I wouldn’t give a damn about helping Mickey’s ex, but this isn’t his style. He’s more of a shoot ’em-up-and-keep-driving kind of gangster. Shanking somebody isn’t his usual mode of operation and we all know it.

“Do you have just cause to arrest this young man for the crime you’ve accused him of?” Daddy asks the officers who look irritated and terrified at the same time.

“Are you a lawyer, sir?” The younger, black officer asks as he looks at his partner, who tightens the handcuffs on his victim’s hands before lifting him by the back of his shirt. I notice Officer Bagley’s name on his badge who looks to be about the same age as Daddy. The older officer looks to be in his sixties and close to retirement.

“No, I’m not,” Daddy answers, restraining the anger present in his voice. “I’m a pastor.”

Mickey’s ex looks at Daddy like a scared child and I’m right there with him. But ultimately like the rest of us, Daddy’s helpless to stop the law from taking over.

The older officer smiles as the two share a look and roll their eyes in Daddy’s direction. I know Daddy wants to put his holiness aside and slap the hell out of them both, but he doesn’t let them get the best of him.

The heat in my head begins to rise and I feel a vision coming on. Suddenly, Daddy’s in his twenties and this all too familiar scene’s now taking place in the past. Before I can get completely caught up in the rapture, the officers slam the car door, locking their unwilling passenger in the back seat.

“Well, Pastor, why don’t you pray for this boy’s soul and let us take care of the rest.”

I wish I could see the older officer’s badge. I need a name to refer to this jackass by for future reference.

“How many times I gotta tell y’all pigs I ain’t no damn boy,” Mickey’s ex yells through the cracked window. “I’m a man. A grown ass man.”

Daddy again looks like a young man instead of a grandfather. I have a feeling Daddy’s been in a similar position before.

“Mama, what are we going to do?” I ask, but my grandmother’s too distraught over Pam’s death to even think about helping Mickey’s former man right now.

Netta pats Mama on the shoulder with one hand and wipes away her tears with the other. I look at them both sadly and wish we could do more.

“We’re going to feed the ancestors and Iku to ensure Pam’s travels are harmonious during her transition.” Mama turns around with Netta beside her.

I follow them toward the backhouse while looking back at Mickey’s ex-man struggle in the back of the patrol car. For a moment I swear I can hear him pleading like a little boy for his mother to get him out of this mess—I never even thought of him as having a family before now.

“Mama, what about him?” I ask, gently stopping Mama with my hand on hers, forcing her to acknowledge the common scene of a black man going down for a crime he didn’t commit. “We have to help, especially when we know the real murderer’s next door.”

Netta spits on the ground at the thought of our next-door neighbor and says something in Creole. I don’t know the exact translation, but it didn’t sound like a blessing. Mama looks across the fenced in back yard and stares intently at Esmeralda’s back porch. A couple of hours ago it was alive with light, animals and her loyal followers. Now it’s pitch black and completely quiet.

“We are helping him by helping Pam first.” Mama steps through the old gate separating the front yard from the back and walks past her loyal dog, Lexi, who wakes up and joins the procession toward the back house.

“But Mama, they’re leaving,” I say, looking back helplessly. “We have to do something. This isn’t right.”

The more he resists the more painful it’ll be. I wish he’d stop struggling and that Mama would use her coercive vision on the officers to make them hold off, but Mama’s not hearing me.

“And what would you have me do, Jayd?” Mama asks from the front of the short line. Netta jumps slightly at the shrill nature of her best friend’s voice. Mama’s beyond angry: She’s mad as hell. “Do you want me to go out there and tell the police how to do their jobs? Then I’d be in the back of the police car too and that’ll never happen to me again. Hell no,” Mama says, opening the door to the small house attached to the back of the garage. She looks like she’s reliving a memory she’s yet to share with me, but I know during her days as an activist she had her fair share of run-ins with the law down south. And apparently, so did my grandfather.

“Then what are we going to do?” I ask, following Mama and Netta inside and closing the door behind me.

Mama turns on the light switch and dims the setting to a softer hue. She directs me to light the seven-day candles on the two window seals in the main room while Netta lights the ones in the kitchen. Mama washes her hands and we follow suit ready to work.

“We’re going to do what we do best,” Mama says, glancing at the spirit book on the tall, kitchen table in the center of the intimate space. “The true power of persuasion lies in the spirit world and in the streets, not in pleading with officers who don’t give a damn.” Mama opens the refrigerator door and takes out the buttermilk, a few vegetables and eggs and places them next to the spirit book. “The masses have more power than a so-called justice system can ever embody. We have our work cut out for us, and only forty days and nights to get it done.” Mama then removes a freshly plucked chicken and places it inside the sink.

After retrieving the necessary dishes and cooking tools from the cabinets, Netta instinctively inspects the various herb jars lining the counter and I begin sorting the items on the table.

“Sometimes you have to take matters into your own hands, little Jayd.” Netta says, placing the jars of rosemary, lemon balm, sage, and other dried herbs on the table.

“That’s when we let go and let God,” Mama adds, placing the clean carcass on a cutting board. “We practice the utmost faith in the Creator by having faith in ourselves. We can do this because God has put this situation in front of us. And at the risk of using yet another cliché, God doesn’t give us more than we can handle.”

“Never, not ever,” Netta chimes in between hums of one of my favorite Oshune songs. She has such a pretty voice.