Endangered (14 page)

Tameka nodded in agreement. “We have to fix this.”

Chapter Twenty

LORETTA GAINES LIVED ON THE SECOND FLOOR OF A THREE-STORY HOUSE that had been converted into apartments. The structure looked abandoned. There were several posts missing from the wooden railing. The front area looked as if a kitchen trash can had been dumped on it months ago and was left to thrive. A third-floor window was missing its pane, which was replaced by a piece of cardboard covered by a clear trash bag.

Calvin walked up to the front door, self-assured, as though he had been there a thousand times. He rang the doorbell, then turned his back on it as he and Janae waited.

Janae watched Calvin as he reviewed his notes. Their lives couldn't be any more different. He was a success story and she was a failure.

“Why are you so certain that everything is going to work out?” Janae questioned.

“The alternative is to expect the worst. And why shouldn't I be positive? Malik is innocent. He also has you, Janae. And you're totally committed to your son, I can see that,” Calvin said, looking up from his notes.

There was a long silence as Janae took in his supportive words. He seemed to get to her. Calvin was affirming, and, most important, he believed in Malik.

“I don't think anyone is here,” Janae stated.

Calvin pressed down on the doorbell for several seconds. “Someone is in there,” he said, and his eyes drifted upward. “I saw the curtain move as we were walking up.”

Just as he was about to press down on the bell for the third time, the door opened. It seemed the wind or some other invisible force opened it. Then, inch by inch, a female's silhouette came into view. She stood back in the shadow of the doorframe—silent, staring, slumped in the darkness of her doorway. Calvin and Janae stood in the low light of the porch. Loretta waited in the thickness of her moodiness.

“Good evening,” Calvin said as he glanced at his watch. “We are looking for Loretta Gaines. Are you Loretta Gaines?”

A raspy, resigned “Yes” trickled out of her.

“We need to talk to you about your son,” Calvin said, purposely raising his voice as he added, “Michael.” He conspicuously scanned the area around Loretta's home. A few row houses down, there were a couple of guys on the porch smoking cigarettes. One looked in their direction and gave him a nod. “Is Michael home?” he asked loudly.

The door swung completely open. “Do you, do you mind talking inside?” She stumbled over her words. “I'm on the second floor here. We, we can talk up there, if that's okay with you.”

As they entered the vestibule, there was a door to their immediate right, which was the first-floor apartment. Ahead of them was a dark, narrow hallway with a flight of stairs at the end.

“That light has been out for months,” Loretta said, pointing to an exposed lightbulb that dangled from a wire coming out of a hole in the ceiling. “My landlord said he would fix it, but he's a joke.”

Inside her apartment, Ms. Gaines offered them a seat. She removed a handful of toys and a crumpled newspaper from a loveseat. They could hear the muted sound of two or three children's voices and a TV coming from behind a closed door to the kitchen.

“My kids,” she said with a faint smile. “Well, actually I run a daycare. They're just up from their naps. Watching
Sesame Street
. They're going to want their snacks soon, so I don't have a lot of time.”

“Well, then, we should get right to it. Is Michael here? Has he gotten home from school yet?”

Loretta's thick body stiffened and her soft jaw locked. “He's not here,” she replied, not once making eye contact.

“Loretta, you know my best friend, Tameka. I am Malik's mother. He's the one who was charged with Troy Barnes's murder.”

Still no eye contact. “I know who you are. Why do you need to talk to Michael?”

“You know, Loretta. You know exactly why we are here, and you know exactly why we want to talk to Michael. I am not going to allow my son to take the fall for yours. I'm just not,” Janae said, full of anger.

Calvin touched Janae's hand. “Let me handle this. Trust me.”

Calvin moved forward on the sofa. “We know that Michael has been recruited to sell drugs for Shaun G. We also know that he was with Shaun G when he killed Troy.” He paused. “We were told by a reliable source that Shaun G actually had Michael pull the trigger. That's first-degree murder with conspiracy.”

“That is a lie! That is not true,” she bellowed. Her eyes welled up instantly.

“Well, that is exactly what we are on our way to tell the police, and we have an eyewitness to back us up.”

Janae darted an eye at Calvin. He didn't even flinch at the lie.

Loretta held her hands in tight fists at her sides. Her eyes moved rapidly from Calvin to Janae. “Well, I don't know what you are talking about. He's not here, anyway.”

Janae scurried out of her seat straight for Loretta. Janae's face was inches away from her. “Do you think I am really going to let you get away with this? Do you think I am going to allow my son to go to jail for yours?” Wide-eyed, she forced Loretta to look at her. “
That
is never going to happen! Do you hear me? It's
not
going to happen,” she threatened, shaking her head.

“Listen, Loretta,” Calvin resumed, “the reason we came here first is because we know your son is young. He's not that much older than those kids in the other room. We are not out to get him. We are not trying to destroy your life. We don't want him to have to go to jail, but we won't stand by and allow Janae's son to take the rap.” Calvin paused to allow her time to digest his words.

“Loretta, can you hear me?”

Loretta's lips trembled. A groan of pain escaped her mouth.

Janae backed away.

“I think we can help each other,” Janae finally said, walking back toward Loretta with open arms.

They held each other and cried. Loretta's watery eyes fluttered as she pulled away. “How?”

“We have to stick together. We have to get Shaun G off the streets. He's the one that needs to be behind bars.”

“I can't do that. I can't.” She shook her head firmly. She hurried to the kitchen. She pulled a jar of peanut butter and a box of saltine crackers from out of a cabinet. “If I don't make them a snack now, they'll be barging out of there any minute,” she said, pointing the butter knife in the direction of the door. As if on cue, a little boy—two, maybe two and half—managed to open the bedroom door and waddled out of it, full of life.

He had pudgy cheeks and a head full of thick curly hair. His gorgeous eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. He reminded Janae of Malik when he was that age.

“Ms. Gaines, Ms. Gaines—potty, potty,” he called out and darted straight for her legs, and clung to them for dear life. “Who they, Ms. Gaines?”

Loretta stooped until she was at eye level with the little face. She reached for his bottom and pinched at the training pants he wore. “Potty? Do you have to potty?” she said in a singsong voice. “You go potty, and I'll make you a snack.” She lifted a cracker smeared with peanut butter off the counter. “See? I'm making you a snack. You go potty first.”

When the little boy was out of earshot, Loretta turned back to Calvin and Janae. “You don't understand. If I help you, my boy is as good as dead.”

Calvin stood up and walked over to her and looked her in the eyes. The eyes never lie, even when the mouth does. “Has someone threatened you? Has someone told you to keep quiet?”

“I didn't say that, I didn't say that,” she whispered as if someone was listening. “I just . . . I just can't.”

“Who are you trying to protect? Michael . . . or Shaun G?” Calvin prodded.

She glared at him. “Really? Do you really think I'm trying to protect
that
piece of shit?”

“What difference does it make, if you don't stop him? If you don't have your son testify against him, then yeah, you're protecting him. And worse than that, if he stays on the street, that just means he has more opportunity to destroy your son's life. And that's assuming your son is not in prison,” Calvin said, then stepped back and gave her some room to think.

Janae lifted her shoulders to encourage Loretta. “Like I said, I will work with you, but not at the expense of my son. Think, Loretta. Use your head,” Janae said and poked at her temple with her index finger. “If we don't get this guy in jail, if we don't stop this, your son
really
is
as good as dead. You don't have to be six feet under to be dead. If your child is beginning to sell drugs at eleven, what the hell is he going to be doing when he's fifteen? The only way you are going to stop this, to change the direction of his life, is if you do something. I know
I
plan to do something different once Malik is out. Tameka said you told her that you were thinking about moving down south, to give your sons a second chance. Maybe you
should
do that, but first we have to get this bastard.”

Loretta bit at her lower lip. “What if we don't get him?” Her eyes welled up with tears again.

“No, no”—Janae shook her head—“that's not even an option. We
are
going to get him. Are you in?”

Loretta covered her face with her hands and shook her head. Her hands slid to her mouth as though she was praying and trying to stop herself from speaking at the same time.

“I saw you on TV,” Loretta said. “I've been watching you. Will you be Michael's attorney, too? Michael is one of those boys the other man was talking about. Will you help him, too?”

“Let's start with him talking. Where is he?” Calvin said.

Chapter Twenty-one

JANAE HAD WATCHED CHANNEL 6 NEWS SINCE BEFORE SHE COULD REMEMBER. Every bit of news about her community, the country, and even the world she had gotten from this news station. She did not like being part of the story.

As a young girl, she'd come to believe that it was black men who committed all the crime. They were the ones who were identified in the news stories by the anchors and reporters she'd trusted. Even when a news story left out the racial description, it was easy to fill in the blank and assume the perpetrator was black because of how many other times the bad guy was identified as black.

Now, Janae knew that the images she saw on the news, the stories they chose to report on, and even the news angle had more to do with the story the reporter wants to tell or the agenda of the network than a deep-seated passion to get at the truth.

Ed Hamilton, the anchor, was dressed in a navy-blue suit, a heavily starched white shirt, and red necktie. He was shorter and thinner in person than he looked on TV. His full head of hair was completely white.

“Good evening, I'm Ed Hamilton,” he said to the camera with the same tone and inflection that Janae had come to expect from years of watching.

Janae smiled, eager to get this local news interview started. After her enlightening day, she wanted to share Malik's story. She wanted to tell her neighbors and the world about a boy who had been raised with love.

The interview was like watching a home game of basketball, as Roger slam-dunked his responses to difficult questions.

Roger contended that within the United States, particularly in large metropolitan areas, the overwhelming majority of black males were essentially living in Third World conditions. The rate of HIV in that community rivaled many African nations. He warned again that if something is not done, we could see the virtual extinction of a group of people. “It could happen,” he said. “Just ask Native Americans if it could happen.”

Toward the end of the interview, Ed Hamilton turned to Janae, his blue eyes piercing her own eager eyes. “What would you like to say about your son?”

Janae inhaled deeply. She looked at Roger, then straight into camera. “I love my son. He is a good boy. I also want to express my deepest condolences to Troy's family for the loss of their son. Malik and Troy were good friends. They never stopped being friends. Malik would never do what the prosecution is accusing him of, never.”

After the interview, Calvin's cell phone vibrated. “Excuse me, I need to take this,” Calvin said as he looked at the caller ID. “It was truly a pleasure meeting you.” He extended his hand to news anchor Ed Hamilton.

As he walked off, his eyes briefly met Janae's. She tensed up. She didn't like how he instantly went from all smiles, talking up the local celebrity, to a rigid, almost pained look.

Roger and Ed Hamilton appeared to be good friends, or at least moved in the same circles. Their conversation ranged from an assessment of the interview they had just completed to making plans to play golf as soon as the weather broke. When their conversation turned to complex legalese, it sounded like a bunch of mumbo jumbo to Janae, who was distracted by Calvin, who was across the room.

Calvin was unlike any man she'd ever met. There was a strength about him, not just in his physique but also in what he believed. No black man had ever done anything for her or her son. From across the room he turned in her direction and their eyes met briefly. He smiled, revealing dimples in his dark cheeks, which she noticed for the first time. Heat invaded her own cheeks.

“Excuse me”—she grabbed Roger's left arm and pointed toward Calvin—“but I'm going to see if that call has anything to do with the case.”

When Janae reached Calvin, he was hunched over, completely engrossed in what the person on the other end of the phone was saying.

Something was wrong. “What is it?” she insisted.

Calvin took the phone off his ear and covered the mouthpiece. “It's Loretta Gaines. She's at the hospital. Michael was shot. He's critical.”

“Oh no.” Janae instantly felt a stabbing sensation in her chest.
At least Malik is alive.
“Where are they?”

“They're at Presbyterian,” he said.

“Tell her that I am coming. Just . . . to be with her. To, to support her.” Janae shrugged her shoulders, very much aware of the inadequacy of her words.

“We're on our way,” Calvin said into the phone. His eyes widened a bit. “We can talk more about that later. For right now, just focus on Michael.” He paused. “No, really, it can hold.”

Calvin returned his cell phone to its holster on his hip. He had a glazed look in his eyes.

“I bet you wish you'd never got involved,” Janae said, then pressed her lips tightly together, studying him. “You know, Calvin, where I come from this type of thing happens all the time. It's just this time I know the people. I can put a name to a face. And it's terrible.” She breathed deeply. “If Malik wasn't involved, this would have been just another senseless murder to me. And I wouldn't have skipped a beat. It wouldn't have disrupted my life, not one bit. I wouldn't have missed work, and I wouldn't have missed hanging out with Tameka. Hell, I wouldn't have missed my favorite TV show. But now I can't stop thinking about how devastating all of this is. Not just Malik—all of it. This can't continue. I want to do something.”

“We
are
doing something.”

“I know.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I'm a part of Roger's case, because my son is a defendant on a murder charge. But this case was never about me doing something noble. It has always been about me getting my son out of jail. I'm saying now . . . I really want to help.”

Calvin reached for Janae's hand and squeezed it. “Don't underestimate yourself. You've been helping all along. You've opened up your life to criticism, and you've been criticized. I think you help the most by letting the world know that fifteen-year-olds, even those with murder charges against them, are still kids who have families that love them. That's a powerful message.”

She looked down at his hand, which still held on to hers.