Killer in a Hood, Part 9 of 'What's Going On': A Political Fiction

james-grady

James Grady

Contributor
Posted:
09/29/09
Previously: Despite his wife Rhea's worries and a political threat by a city councilman, Dante forges a truce in a street war between two Liss Garden groups, but knows the rivalry over a girl named Shawn between West Sider Mondel and East Sider Caps will inevitably shatter this neighborhood peace and suck their crews back into war. Dante can't isolate and convert the two rivals without revealing them as the core problems to criminal kingpin Luther -- and his bullet solutions to peace for his heroin business.

Dante missed the bus depot of his youth, a swooping art deco D.C. building that he'd stood in front of when he headed back to his Army base for shipment to Vietnam.

That night in 1971, he'd stared at the neon glow of nearby Mafia-tainted burlesque houses that employed a stripper whose 1974 car crash affair with a Democratic congressman destroyed his political kingpin career – an eerie parallel to the 2009 adulterous road trip of a Republican governor that redefined the presidential campaign of 2012: Both women were from Argentina, home of the tango and los Desaparecidos.

Now here I am because of another war, trapped inside an artless blue & white-walled block-sized "terminal" for wandering souls, thought Dante.

Fading sunlight filtered through the glass front doors and portals to garage bays for buses adorned with racing dogs. The thick air smelled of sour dust and mop disinfectant.

Every noise echoed in this vast cavern. Cable channel news chattered from big-screen TVs mounted halfway to the high ceiling of pipes and girders. Loudspeaker announcements blended into electronic gunshots of zombie-killing video games placed near the bathrooms to kidnap quarters. Wheeled suitcases rumbled over the brown tiles.

Three children babbling Spanish ran past where Dante stood. Over there was a Buddhist monk in orange robes, there walked a man in African garb. A boy and a girl carefully not checking each other out slouched like college kids. An old man clutching his ticket sat on one of the black metal benches facing a lost world only he could see.

That could be me, thought Dante.

Cop: bulletproof vest bulging under his blue uniform shirt, SWAT baseball cap and boots as he marched past Dante to vanish 200 paces away out the far end bus bay. No one was inside the clear-walled corner cubicle labeled: SECURITY SEGURIDAD

Can anyone hear the thunder of my heart?

Looming outside the west front's glass doors.

A sunset-seared silhouette wearing a pulled-up hood.

Looking. Hunting.

For me.

The hooded figure pushed open the glass doors to the terminal.

Stalked toward Dante.

Sun burning my eyes, can't see 'face . . .

Stopping just out of grabbing range, the lone figure pulled off the black sweatshirt's hood with an empty right hand.

She said: "This ain't fair!"

"No, Shawn," he said. "It isn't."

"You show up ' my house, like, two hours ago, barely meet you, 'n you scare my folks to death, making me like a prisoner, shipping me off, no good byes, take my cell phone shut up and move get outta the car an' get inside here you' going to _______ Cleveland!"

Shawn ran out of breath and Dante truly saw her for the first time.

Wasn't that she was beautiful – maybe she was, maybe she wasn't. Call her tall, could use or lose a few pounds. Hair cascading around a look then look again face, classic cheekbones and common nose, the kind of mouth that makes young men sweat and old men sigh plus cannon-bore eyes. But lioness ferocity was what made her a killer who sent men's hearts to heaven or hell.

"All I want to do is live my life!" she said. "Those shootings aren't my fault! Nobody's doing nothing like that for me."

"Not because of you, but Mondel and Caps will gun the world for you."

"So I get shipped off because they're rain men?"

Dante blinked. "Rain men? Like . . . the movie?"

"My life is no movie." She shrugged.

Dante realized she carried only a backpack slightly more stuffed than the burdens teenagers cart to high school.

"Rain men," said Shawn: "Modnell's the kind of guy you chase after in the rain, and Caps is the kind of guy who'll stand in the rain for you.

"What was I supposed to do about that?" She shook her head. "I'm just – I was just trying to figure it out. Now you're ripping me out of my home, everybody 'n' everything I know. This is America, land of the free!"

Dante quoted: "And the better be brave. That's how you need to be."

"Brave? What does that mean when I can't even find Cleveland on a map? What am I supposed to do there?"

"Not be caught in the middle of a war.

"Look," continued Dante, "you're staying with the sister of a Coalition guy, nice house, they'll help you find a job, maybe go to school –"

"Yeah? And be who?"

"Who are you now?" said Dante.

"'Least I know where my mirror's hung."

"Don't be so sure about that."

Dante told her: "You're free to say no. Free to go or stay. But you gotta live with what happens next."

Her eyes told him she got it. Facing it like a lioness.

He nodded at her backpack. "Is that it?"

"I ain't got a suitcase. I'd rather show up with a backpack of not much than with all my not enough in black plastic trash bags."

Dante handed her the envelope with all the cash left over from buying the bus ticket that he, Max and 'Trey had pulled from their ATMs.

Rhea, she'll have to understand.

He told Shawn: "That's all we can give you."

"NOW BOARDING CLEVELAND, GATE A-11! CLEVELAND!"

He raised his hand – she flinched, but let him lead the way.

Said: "When can I come home?"

"What do you want me to say? Not for a long time."

"You couldn't figure nothing else?"

"Not without more people dying. Including Mondel and Caps."

"'Least now they got me leaving them in common."

And that gives everyone a new place to start.

"What'll I tell people? You know . . . wherever the bus goes."

"If you gotta tell them something, tell them you're a refugee."

Dante handed her ticket to the driver.

"Guess I'll find out what that means." Shawn turned on the bus step. Glared at him. "You're gonna watch until I'm disappeared, aren't you. Make sure I don't bolt."

Anger and tears turned her face ugly: "I hope I'm never like you!"

"Good," said Dante.

Like she said, he stayed until he knew she was long gone.

Walked out of the front doors as the setting sun shimmered on new glass and concrete buildings that blocked his view of the Capitol dome only a hard run away. Bus fumes vanished. The evening smelled cool and clean, night rolling into the city.

He cell-phoned that number. Said: "Can I come home now?"
What's Going On is fiction. All characters and incidents, except for historic references, are purely fictitious. Copyright: James Grady
Related: 'What's Going On:' Facts Inside the Fiction