Blow the Man Down (Ch 11-18)

11
When Officer Durham and Jerrod were about a mile away from Auction Central, they could see clouds of smoke rising upward like it was escaping from captivity.  Four fire trucks were outside the building, one arcing water onto the roof, which was now flaming on one corner.  Jerrod got out of the car, but didn’t know where to go.  He just stood, staring at the smoke and flames escaping from the building.  Sarah drove up and parked near the police car.

She got out of the car and walked over to Jerrod, Dylan must have been told to stay in the car.  Sarah put her arm around Jerrod’s waist without saying a word.  He felt tears well up in his eyes, even though he really wasn’t emotionally attached to the auction house or its contents.  It was really her sensitivity that touched him.  “Does anyone know what happened?” she asked.  Jerrod hadn’t thought to ask that question.  He assumed that it was started by the gang members.  He shrugged his shoulders, afraid his voice would waiver.

“Officer, how did this happen?” Sarah asked Officer Durham.

Looking at Jerrod, rather than Sarah, Officer Durham said, “Let me go see what I can find out.  Don’t go anywhere Mr. Taylor.”  He walked toward the nearest fire truck.

“Sarah, there’s something you need to know.  I’m worried about our safety,” Jerrod said, still staring at the fire.  His voice was steady now, as though the fire was not connected to what he was saying or how he felt.  Sarah looked at him and when he didn’t look back, she stepped in front of him, putting her hands on either side of his face and holding it.  Her hands smelled like lotion and felt cool to his stubbled face.

Sarah stared into his eyes and said, “Tell me now, you’re scaring me.”  She and Jerrod both looked over at the car.  Dylan was inside playing his pocket Nintendo game.  Even a four alarm fire couldn’t hold a kid’s attention these days.

Jerrod started, “Earlier today, during the auction, three black guys showed up and started making trouble.  They want some papers from an estate.”

“Did you give them the papers?” she asked, looking in his eyes, knowing the answer before it came.

“No, but I’ve found them since.  I gave them to that police officer.  I’m afraid those guys believe I got the papers and will continue after me ‘til they get them.”

Officer Durham approached, “Apparently there was an explosion.  Did you have anything in that building that could have exploded – gas canisters, ammunition, gun powder, explosives?”

“No, nothing but a bunch of old furniture,” Jerrod replied.  “Suppose those guys started it?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them.  They’d do anything to make a point.  I think you should all come down to the station with me.  We have some paper work and some planning to do.”  Jerrod’s cellular phone rang.

“Jerrod Taylor,” he said, lower than usual.

“You got dem papers yet?” said the voice.  There was a low, pulsing vibration in the background on the other end.

“They just burned up in my auction house.  You wouldn’t know anything about that would you?” Jerrod replied.

“Shit man, why is it that whenever they’s somethin bad happen, the white boy blame the black boy?  You better watch who you be accusin, cracker.  I give you somethin to accuse me for, but you be too dead to talk after swallowin my forty-five.  Now, how I know dem papers be gone?  You say you ain got no papers, now they be burned wit yo building.”

“I got the papers from the administrator.  You’ll have to take my word for it.”

“You’re word aint shit, man.  You ain had enough time to get nothin, unless you be lyin to me earlier.”

“Listen, I don’t have any papers, pictures, notebooks or anything.  It’s all gone.  All of it.”  Jerrod felt a bead of sweat form on his upper lip.

There was silence.  The throbbing in the background had stopped.  So quiet Jerrod thought the connection was lost.  “Notebook?  What the fuck you talkin about?  Notebook?  I never said nothin about no notebook.  Listen you fuck, you be there tonight at ten – no, make that midnight.  If you don show up, or I find out you jackin wit me, I shove my fist up yo ass an rip yo fuckin tonsils out.”  The line went dead.
12
Jerrod told the officer and Sarah about the call, agreeing that he would go nowhere near the burned-down auction house until the officer called him. 

“Sarah, you’ve got to leave here.  This is too dangerous for you and Dylan.”

“You’re going too.  This is for the police to handle, not you.  We’re going home, packing, and leaving for Jeff City.”  Sarah’s parents live in Jefferson City, about 140 miles from St. Louis.

Jerrod looked at Officer Durham.  “I’m afraid we need Jerrod here.  But I do agree with him that you and your son should go somewhere until we sort this out.” 

Sarah looked at the officer and Jerrod, their eyes looking at her hopefully.  “You guys all have some unspoken code about sticking together.  Take Dylan and me home and we’re going.”

Later, as Sarah and Dylan were leaving, Sarah pulled Jerrod close and said in his ear, “You’re already a hero to us, please don’t try anything stupid.”  Jerrod’s eyes locked on Sarah’s, and for the first time in a long time, they both felt warmth.  He truly longed to go with them.

“Stay cool.  It’s supposed to stay hot and your parents don’t have AC.”  With that, Sarah closed the car door and drove away.  Dylan stuck his fingers through the cracked window to wave goodbye.
13
After changing his clothes at home, Jerrod drove his car to a little restaurant that sold spicy Cajun food and beer.  While waiting for his meal, Jerrod drank a beer and watched the other people.  A man with a camouflage hat was staring straight ahead, no doubt planning his next hunting kill.  A couple were eating and talking quietly, laughing, touching each other.  Clearly they couldn’t be married and act that way, Jerrod thought to himself.  Sarah had been cold to him lately and he thought for the hundredth time what life would be like if he’d never answered her phone call to sell him an ad in the St. Louis paper.  She was still really good looking, though.  He thought about how her knees were starting to look wrinkled when she stood in one place, hands on her hips like she so commonly did with him.

The crawfish ettoufee arrived with another beer.  Jerrod began to think about how the officer had ordered him to stay away from the auction house that night like he was some kind of little kid.  Jerrod prided himself on how streetwise he’d become with his series of ventures, knowing how to get himself out of jams and turn the tide on bad situations.  Once, while pursuing an opportunity to open a casino on an Indian Reservation, a person who was considering investing made the decision to withhold his financial support of the venture.  This made the other investors nervous, causing them to each reconsider their own investments in the casino.  Jerrod called them all together and offered them the ability to receive a preferred dividend on an additional 10% investment.  They all anted up for the additional funds and made up for the lost investor.

On his third beer, Jerrod decided that the officer’s idea to wait for the gang secretly and then pounce on them wouldn’t work.  That Rat and Spade were too streetwise like him to fall into that trap.  What the police needed was for him to act as bait, engage the two in conversation, maybe with a wire attached, and then for the police to swoop in and detain the bad guys.  After paying his tab, Jerrod left and dialed Officer Durham with his cellular phone.  Although he wasn’t there, Jerrod left an urgent message for him to call him on his cell phone as soon as possible.  In the mean time, Jerrod decided to go for a drive.

Without thinking about it, Jerrod found his car driving toward East St. Louis, the ghetto area where the Baxter residence was located.  It was a warm, damp night so that it was like breathing in a steam room.  The headlights of the car projected cones of light which diffused in the ether.  The area looked so different at night.  Every other corner had a convenience store with bars on the windows and neon beer signs.  Always a couple of guys stood out front, as if waiting for someone to drift by that they could attach to.  They smoked, heads hung low, dark and watchful.  Not a conversation between them, but a mouthful of words and then nothing.

One block had several groups.  Jerrod guessed that this was the meeting area.  Strength in numbers, but only the members they wanted.  Every car was watched carefully by the groups.  Not a lot of cars driving by, but a couple stopped over at the side by a group or two.  The low beat from the woofers of one car made Jerrod’s windows shake.

A couple more blocks and Jerrod passed the Baxter home.  The bars on the door had been pried open and the door left ajar.  The thugs had obviously entered to search for the notebook.  A tattered “For Sale” sign perched in a window on the front of the house. 

After two more blocks, Jerrod saw another convenience store.  This one didn’t have anyone out in front.  Tired of being a spectator, Jerrod pulled in to get a beer.  Walking in, Jerrod felt like he’d entered a forbidden place, like walking into a women’s bathroom.  The storekeeper looked at him with big, buggy eyes.  One eye had a broken blood vessel and was blood red throughout.  Suddenly, he felt foolish and out of place.  Nevertheless, Jerrod grabbed a quart bottle of Budweiser from the coolers in the back, which had yellowish fog on the lower halves of the windows.

“One thirty five,” the bug-eyed person said; now not looking at Jerrod.  Jerrod paid and without thinking said, “Do you know where Rat and Spade are tonight?”

Jerrod was looking hard to see if he opened his eyes a little wider.  The storekeeper kept looking down, sucked his lips inside his mouth, and then pushed them back out.  It reminded Jerrod of a sea anemone.  “Don know dem,” was all the storekeeper replied.  Jerrod said thanks and left, feeling like he’d just had a brief encounter with a foreigner from a distant country.  In fact, he’d had more success communicating with people in parts of Mexico where English was not commonly spoken.

His cellular phone rang.  He turned it off.

Jerrod opened his beer in the car and drove back the way he came, this time stopping at the Baxter home.  The caged windows stared blankly at him as he walked up to the darkened house.  Jerrod walked through the open door, the moist air feeling oily on his exposed face.  He heard the sound of a cat meowing in the distance.  Although he’d been in this house before, it looked smaller in the dark.  The walls were marked and had holes in them in some places, like there’d been a fight in the hollow rooms.  The shadows cast blackness on dark gray emptiness, creating hiding places for the lost spirits in the house.

He entered the boy’s room that still had a couple sports posters on the wall, one of which was ripped half-way up.  The cat sounded closer now.  Guessing, Jerrod opened the closet door to see a small black kitten sitting perfectly still on the floor of the empty closet.  It stared at him and gave a small meow.  Jerrod had never been particularly fond of cats, but this one seemed so helpless.  The dense smell of excrement made it all the more pathetic.  On impulse, Jerrod picked up the cat and walked out of the house with it.  Two locals were standing in front of his car.  If they had been speaking, they stopped to stare at Jerrod walking out of the dark house.  Now Jerrod felt like the alien intruding on foreign ground.  His heart rate picked up and the kitten began to purr.

Without saying a word, Jerrod opened his car door, hoping the people would move without comment.  The two young men were standing in front of the car and turned toward him, now facing the windshield.  They were boys really, maybe 13 or 14 years old.  But they looked at him with suspicious eyes.

“Watch-u doin in Blow’s house?” one boy asked.  He fidgeted a little, not seasoned enough to hold a menacing stare.

Too much beer made Jerrod lazy with his words.  “None of your business.  Get your asses away from my car or I’ll run over you.”  The cat stopped purring.

“You the bad man, huh?  Comin down to the hood, pickin over the goods.”  They moved to the side.  “Getch yo ass outta here, white trash.”

Jerrod sat down in his car and started it up.  His heart pounding now, he nearly squashed the kitten in his lap with the seatbelt as he put it on.  Not cool, putting on a seatbelt.  He pulled out, hearing the sound of chalk on a chalkboard on the left rear side of the car as he left.  “Those fucks,” he thought to himself as he drove away too quickly.  He set the kitten on the passenger seat and drove towards his home, welling up in his ability to handle the bad guys.
14
Jerrod drove through a Jack-in-the-Box to get something to eat.  He ordered a cheeseburger and fries for himself and some chicken fingers for the cat.  Once served, Jerrod pulled into a parking space to eat.  The cat liked the chicken fingers, but got the batter all over the floor of the car.  Jerrod took a deep swig of the beer.  There was no cup holder in his car for a beer that large, so he put it between his legs.  The beer was getting warm and his thighs were getting cold.  He looked at his watch:  11:25pm.

After he was done eating, Jerrod drove the car past the auction house.  You could smell the charred remains of the wood building.  The same smell as a campfire smelled the next morning.  The giant corpse of a building had gaping wounds that were exposed from the battle.  Black water stood still reflecting the shell that looked as if it were an open mouth, screaming in despair.  Jerrod got out of the car, the kitten sleeping comfortably on the passenger seat.  He walked over to the gothic structure.  Entering the cave, he could hear the crunching of charcoal underfoot, the fragments dissolving in the standing water.  Nothing had been left untouched.

He turned around to see a police car drive by.  Looking out from within the structure, Jerrod felt the pressure of anticipation begin to build.  It was as if he was watching a 3-dimensional movie screen, framed by the dark outline of the building.  Minutes passed, with hardly a car driving by.  He looked at his watch:  12:10am.  The movie began with a familiar deep vibration.  It felt like it was coming from within the earth below.  In fact, the water on the floor showed the vibration from the approaching vehicle.  The car stopped in front of the building, perfectly framed by the movie screen, and the rear door opened.  Smoke drifted within the car, through which Rat entered the scene.  Spade came out after him.  The driver turned the car and music off and stepped out of the car as well.  It was the third of the trio from the auction earlier in the day.  They said nothing, but looked up at the building then at each other, bumping fists.

“Mr. Auctioneeeeeer.  Where are you?”  Rat’s voice echoed off the walls of the building.  Jerrod noticed how clearly Rat spoke.  They couldn’t see him inside the cave.  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.  It wasn’t loud, but a charred fragment crunched under his foot.  All three gang members stared straight at him.  Though they couldn’t see him, the sound had been magnified by the cavernous space.

As if on cue, police cars screeched to a halt on both sides of the trio.  You could also hear cars pull up behind the building.  Lights were flashing everywhere, reflecting off the water and making the entire scene look like a dance club.  The three ran into the building where Jerrod stood, toward a window that had been broken during the blaze.  Jerrod ran and stood against the other wall, realizing for the first time the danger he was in.  The building was structurally un-sound and there were police all around him chasing felons.  As Rat and the other two jumped through the window, Jerrod heard a struggle and a gun shot, followed by a series of gun shots.  His own auction house had become a shooting gallery.  He heard the drum of feet running on gravel outside the building.  Then more gun shots, but further away.  Jerrod continued to stand very still, though he was trembling.  He wanted to crawl under something and hide to make the whole scene disappear.  Oddly, he thought of the kitten in his car and how he’d found it so frightened in the closet at the Baxter house.  He understood how the kitten felt.

After some time, more police cars arrived.  Jerrod could hear talking outside the busted window, coupled with radio noise and jargon.  As far as he could tell, they’d caught one, shot and killed one, and one had gotten away.  For two hours, Jerrod waited inside the building.  At one point, a police officer did a cursory flashlight search of the building, but Jerrod had sat down and covered himself with a semi-dry set of drapes that had been piled in a corner long ago.  At 3am, the police cars and ambulance had left and Jerrod was alone again in the building.  He crawled out from under the drapes and went back to the place he had stood before, in the center of the structure, looking out at the street.  Everything looked exactly the same, with the exception of some police tape that had been stretched across the opening.  It was hard for Jerrod to fathom what had happened over the past few hours.

He walked quietly over to the broken-out window and looked out.  There was a chalk outline of a body.  It had been lying on its side as if sleeping.  These boys were probably only 19 years old.  It made Jerrod long to hold Dylan.  He felt tears well up in his eyes.  He climbed out the window and walked around to the back of the building.  More police tape, more chalk, but no body outline.  Maybe two boys had been killed.  As he made the last turn around the building, he heard a quiet gasp for air.
15
Jerrod stood very still, thinking that maybe he was so tired he was hearing things.  Then he heard it again.  This time it sounded like someone slurping a spoonful of soup.  Cautiously, he lifted the corner of a large cardboard box; the kind a refrigerator comes in, to find Rat lying face-sideways, chest down in a pool of black liquid.  The boy looked at Jerrod.  His hand reached out, trembling.

“Let me help you,” Jerrod whispered.  When Jerrod lifted the cardboard, he could see that much of Rat’s jersey was covered with blood.  The boy shook, pitifully, as Jerrod stared at the sight.  Jerrod knew it was important to keep the boy from going into shock, but he couldn’t remember if he should raise the head or the feet.  He ran into the building and grabbed the curtains he’d been hiding in just a few minutes before and ran back out to the boy.

Jerrod turned the boy over gently onto a curtain, covering the rest of him with the other half.  “What’s your name?” Jerrod asked.

“Raymond,” replied the boy.

Jerrod pulled out his cellular phone to dial 911, but the boy grabbed Jerrod’s arm sharply.  “Don’t bother,” the boy said, staring straight into Jerrod’s eyes.  Light glimmered off the boy’s wet face and eyes, making him look plastic.  Jerrod wiped Raymond’s face.  “I aint gonna make it.  It be better dis way.  I don’ know what else I do with da rest of my life.”  The comment stopped Jerrod cold.

“How can you say that?” Jerrod said, “You’re young.  You have your whole life ahead of you.”  He realized how cliché his words sounded.

“This…this is my destiny.  I’z the burned crust at the bottom of the melting pot.  If it wasn’t this, I’d go to jail.”

“No, no, I won’t tell the police, I’ll…”

“You don’ get it do you, white boy?” interrupted Raymond, with force that surprised Jerrod.  “Where was you ten years ago when I needed you?  You avoided me.  You alienated me.  An you still doin it to the little brotha’s in the hood.  Puttin us all in our place.”

“But you and your gangs are so violent.  You scare people,” Jerrod said.

“It’s all we can do.  We become soldiers to take what’s rightfully ours, cause you sure as shit ain’t gonna give it to us.  We stay in the hood cause we understand it.  We ain’t scrutinized there.  We hone our soldier skills on each other an then take off after you.  But you evade us.  Shit, you look out the corner of your eye at us, waitin to see if we come after you.  You pull that shit long enough on someone, they sure to come after you.  Man I’d rather have someone come up to my face an call me a name than sit there lookin at me out uh the corner uh they eye.  At least I know what I be dealin with.”  Raymond started coughing.  Jerrod put his hand, gently on the boy’s shoulder.

“I don’t feel that way, Raymond.  Some people just don’t know how to act.”

“You don all have to feel that way, we watch yo actions.  We saw the public lynching of O.J.  The black man that made it in a white world.  Then the white Bronco, an all the white people nod their heads wit that knowing look.  Didn’t matter whether O.J. was proved innocent, all da white folks knew this jus shows you can’t trust a black man.”

“I never thought that was a trial against the black man in general,” Jerrod said, almost to himself.

“Then theys Rodney King,” Raymond continued, “each hit was studied and rationalized by the white jury, until they say the whole scene is justified.  An, by the way, have you ever seen a beating?”

Jerrod shook his head.

“The sounds is what you remember the most.  An that videotape ain got no sound.  If they was sound, you can bet people have a different point of view.  Shit, they probably was sound, but the white boys couldn’t think wit all dem bones breakin, so they shut it off.”  Raymond listed over to one side, holding his chest and gasping.  He almost drifted away and then, almost like he was talking in his sleep, he started up again.  “We take care of ourselves though, man.  We form our own society.  Our own language, since the white boys have taken that away.  We have corner aid stations to take away our pain.”  He smiles, eyes closed.  “I learned to drink when I was eight.”

“Things will change, Raymond.”

“Right.  Shit man, you build more prisons than schools.  What’s that tell you about your priorities?  Soon you put dem black prisoners to work an call it rehab.  I call it slavery.”

“What should we do?  What should I do?”

“You take action, man.  You help us when we young.  You treat us like you treat you own.  An when we scare you, you don give up.  Maybe you back off a little an try again.  Mama’s in the hood will do anything to help they kids get out, including facin the white man.  Do one thing fo me, man, get my brotha J-Dog out uh the hood,” he gurgled, “then I call you my brotha too.” 

“I’ll do it,” Jerrod said, “I don’t know how, but I’ll do it.”  Jerrod’s face was inches from Raymond’s.  A snap and a burst of final energy, Raymond grabbed the front of  Jerrod’s shirt and, with the other hand, held a switchblade to Jerrod’s throat.

“You fuckin right you grant me dis last request.”  The point of the knife dug a millimeter beneath Jerrod’s skin.  A bead of blood formed at the tip.  Raymond let go of Jerrod’s shirt and reached his arms back behind his head.  Jerrod felt his neck.  Pulling his hand away, he noticed the dab of black blood on his hand. “What choo know, yo blood looks jus like mine.”  Raymond smiled; his teeth were glossy with blood.  Jerrod braced himself when Raymond brought his hands back around his head, knife in one hand and what looked like a piece of rope in his other.

“Here,” Raymond said, “you take this as a reminder of my dying wish.”  Jerrod reached out and took the rope, to realize it was the braided tail of Rat’s hair.  He studied the hair, coarse like steel wool, yet damp with Raymond’s blood.

“I bet this tail’s seen a lot,” Jerrod said, then looked at Raymond.  “Raymond….Raymond.”  Jerrod reached down and put his hand behind the boy’s slick neck.  Now Jerrod felt chilled like he’d been out in the rain.  “You can count on me, Raymond.”  Jerrod could feel the boy’s muscles relax.  Tears welled up in Jerrod’s eyes and he felt a clamp deep in his throat.  He took a deep breath and pulled his arm away, covering him up to his neck with the curtains so he looked like he was sleeping in a sleeping bag.  He’d probably never even been in a sleeping bag, Jerrod thought to himself.

He got up and just started walking, his head down.  Raymond’s words left a sharp impression in Jerrod’s mind.  He cycled these words in his mind as he walked.  His eyes burned.  When he reached the river, he lied down and fell asleep.

16
Now, Jerrod jumped to get the shirt that was stuck in the tree, using a stick to catch on the fabric and pull it down.  Now he looked at it.  The shirt was orange with pools of dried blood that looked maroon.  He took it over to the river and washed it out.  Putting on a wet shirt would be cold this early morning, but walking around without a shirt on, he’d feel self-conscious.  So Jerrod wringed as much water out as he could and put the shirt back on.  You could still see the maroon circles, but they were faint.  The walk to his house was about twenty minutes.

He got to his house and was somehow surprised that everything looked normal.  Papers were where they normally left them, light shined in the windows, and when he opened the refrigerator door, it was bright and filled with food.  Jerrod started a pot of coffee and went to take a shower.  While toweling off, the phone rang.

“Hello?”  Jerrod answered.

“Jerrod, this is Officer Durham.  We had a situation last night at your auction house.  Three boys showed up.  We caught one and two are now dead.  We thought one got away, but we found him this morning.”

Jerrod’s first wave of feelings, hearing this on the telephone, was that of surprise, as though somehow this event was not connected to what he experienced the night before.  It all sounded so factual and impersonal.  “I don’t know what to say,” was all he could muster, which was true.  Then he realized that his knowledge of what happened made him feel responsible for the morbid scene, and he was hiding his involvement.  He felt like a criminal.

“Well, there’s really not much to say.  I need you to come down to the station and identify the one we caught and the pictures of the deceased.  Do you need me to come get you?”  Jerrod thought about his car.  He didn’t want Officer Durham to know he’d been there the night before.

“I’ll be there in about forty-five minutes,” said Jerrod.  He got dressed, climbed on his bike and rode the 20 minutes to burned-out Auction Central.  There was more police tape this morning, and some officers standing by their cars near the front, which was 100 yards from where Jerrod’s car sat.  He took the front wheel off his bike and forced the trunk closed on the bicycle.

Jerrod opened the car door to see the kitten, huddled on the floor looking up at him.  It gave a quiet meow.  He got in the car and drove away quickly.  The appearance of the kitten touched him, bringing forth the emotions he felt inside about Raymond’s death.  He looked at himself in the rearview mirror.  He made a face like a little boy crying.

On the way to the police station, Jerrod stopped at a Petsmart and bought a litter box, some cans of food, and a furry mouse.  When he arrived at the station, he grabbed the cat and went inside the building.

17
“Jerrod, I need you to pick the boy we caught last night out of a line-up and then identify the two kids that were killed as the one’s that disrupted your auction yesterday,” said Officer Durham, looking at the cat.  The line-up was like Jerrod had seen on TV before, with six members across from the one-way mirror.  Why they even needed this mirror was beyond Jerrod.  He was sure that the kid with the pierced nose he identified would know exactly who had picked him out.

Next stop was the morgue, where Jerrod had to look at the two corpses.  The first boy was Raymond.  His mouth was clenched; brow, permanently furrowed.  The second boy he didn’t recognize.  He was younger and had a streak of white on his neck.  Jerrod wondered if that was what a birthmark looked like on a black body.  His mouth was gaping wide, with his head cocked back like he was screaming.  Jerrod shivered, “Where’s the bald one with the scar?” 

18
Driving home, with the kitten climbing around the back seat, Jerrod turned on the radio.  Alejandro Escovedo sang:
“Wave goodbye, they’ve headed for the other side.
The sun shines brighter there,
And, everyone’s got golden hair.”

“The gang members showed up last night and two were killed by the police,” Jerrod said in a voice like he was reporting the news on TV.  Silence on the phone.

“Oh my God, Jerrod.  I’m really frightened for you.  Do the police think you’re in danger?”  Sarah’s voice was small through the phone.

“I don’t think so.  I doubt there will be any retaliation against me, since I didn’t do it.”  He said it more as a question than an answer.  His mind wandered to Spade.

“Can we come home then?  I hate us being apart during this crisis.”

“Let’s give it one more day, just in case.”

Silence.

“I…love you,” Jerrod said gently.  He felt pressure on the back of his eyes, the kind that pushes tears out.

“I love you too.  We’ll be home tomorrow afternoon.  I’ll call you before we leave.  Be careful.”

“Can I talk to Dylan before I hang up?”

“Hi Dad,” came the voice.  It was higher than Sarah’s.  “Home, Dad?”

“Tomorrow, big guy.  Hey, I got you a surprise.”

“What is it?” Dylan’s voice perked up.

“If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise.  I’ll give you a hint though.  It makes an R sound when it’s happy and an S sound when it’s mad.”

“I give up.  What is it Dad,” Dylan was getting tired of this game already.

“You’ll see tomorrow.  Love you bud.”

After hanging up, Jerrod got back in the car to go get something to eat.  He drove toward the area by the river that had most of the fast food restaurants.  A black plume of smoke was rising over an area east of the river.  Without a thought, Jerrod pulled the car onto the highway and headed across the Mississippi.  He exited the highway across the river and wound his way through the back streets.  He had trouble seeing the smoke to know if he was still going in the right direction.  When he did finally see the smoke again, it was south of his position and higher up with a gap from the ground.  Maybe the firefighters had gotten it under control.  This disappointed Jerrod because he wanted to see the blazes and the danger within.

Ten minutes later, Jerrod was about to give up, when he saw the fire trucks on the next street parallel to the one on which he drove.  He caught a glimpse of them between two brick apartment buildings.  Water from a fire hose streamed high into the air, arcing onto the roof of the burned building. Jerrod parked his car a block away and walked toward the neighborhood event.  His feet shuffled along, disturbing the littered curb of scraped lottery tickets, condom wrappers and fast food bags like leaves on a fall day.

Close now, the crowd was obsessed with the smoldering apartment building.  Smoke seeped out from under the eves like steam from a covered pot of boiling water.  Jerrod was mesmerized by the activity before him.

“You think dis a spectator event?” a voice asked.  “You like comin t’see brotha’s lose what little they got?”

Jerrod looked down toward the voice, his eyes a little dazed.  A boy, maybe 12 years old, wearing big sunglasses – the kind you can wear over regular glasses.

“What yo problem, man?  Ain you never seen a brotha in da hood?”