Chasing Sunsets (7 page)

Still, as Aspyn returned with their water, and as they worked on the boards, Mary Catherine couldn’t quite shake her new friend’s words. The idea that Marcus might actually need a girl like her. Or vice versa. The possibility defied her mind and filled her heart.

More than a couple of times she caught herself looking
for him, watching the kind way he had with the volunteers, the humility in his eyes. Finally, she stopped herself and focused on the task at hand. She wasn’t going to waste the hours dreaming about a guy she could never have. Life was too short.

Especially hers.

7

L
EXY SAT IN DWAYNE’S
passenger seat, once more slumped down in the shadows. They were parked half a block down from the new youth center.

Any minute Marcus Dillinger was going to walk outside and get the pizza. That was the big draw tonight. Free pizza. Lexy felt sick to her stomach. She wanted to be Dwayne’s girl. Wanted her spot beside him. But she didn’t want Dwayne to shoot the Dodgers’ pitcher.
Don’t come outside, Marcus.
Lexy silently begged the baseball star.
Stay inside.

Beside her Dwayne tugged at his baseball cap. He had one hand on the wheel, the other on his loaded revolver.

Lexy didn’t dare say a thing. She looked at her shaking fingers. She looked toward the youth center. If only she could defy Dwayne, take a stand for herself. Find her own way. But she couldn’t. Being Dwayne’s girl was the biggest thing that had ever happened to her.

Lexy thought about the rest of the guys in the gang. The WestKnights were on a drug run tonight. At least they were supposed to be. Dwayne made a call. His words were short, but Lexy got the idea. The gangs were going to fight in the alley across from the center. Dwayne needed to kill one of them before he could take a shot at Marcus.

Her teeth began to chatter. So many rules. She wanted to open the door and throw up. What if they got caught? And why did Marcus Dillinger have to die? He was only here because he wanted to be nice. She kept her mouth shut and waited.

Dwayne had shaved his head. He didn’t look as hot now. His face was meaner. Scarier. Beneath his baseball cap he had a blue bandana around his forehead. He told her he had to look the part. More gang leader than gang boy.

Five minutes passed, then ten. Dwayne made another call. If the EastTown Boyz didn’t show, the killing was off. When the call ended, a pizza delivery car pulled up in front of the youth center. Dwayne started the car and pulled out onto the street.

No! Not Marcus.
Lexy put her hand over her eyes. This was terrible. She couldn’t watch. Through the cracks in her fingers she saw Dwayne drive slowly up to the youth center. So far no one was coming out for the pizza.

Through the windows they could see kids playing basketball and what looked like maybe carnival games. For a moment Lexy wondered what it would be like to be inside. Playing games. Being a kid.

Dwayne laughed, and the sound rumbled deep in his throat.

Lexy stared at him and then looked down at her lap. What was so funny? Had he seen Marcus? Was the baseball player about to come outside? How could he laugh at killing Marcus Dillinger?

Dwayne hit the steering wheel. He looked down the alley, down the street. Suddenly Lexy realized something. The EastTown Boyz were nowhere to be seen. At the last second Dwayne sped up and squealed down the street. If the EastTown Boyz weren’t going to show up, the fight would happen another night. She had never been so scared in all her life but now Lexy felt like she could breathe again.

Later, back at her grandmother’s house, Lexy sat alone in the dark. Just sat there staring at the picture of Jesus on the wall. She sort of wanted to wake her grandma up and tell her what had almost happened. What was about to happen. Maybe her grandma would have some advice. Some way she could get out of this crazy life.

Last thing Dwayne had told her before she got out still made her feel sick. He told her he was still going to kill Marcus. But more than that, he would kill her if she said anything. If she told anyone what he was about to do.

Lexy clenched her teeth.

For a year all she had wanted was to be Dwayne’s girl. But now she was afraid of him. Like for real. She couldn’t tell her grandma. The woman was old. She still missed Lexy’s mom every day. Her grandma would be so disappointed if she knew Lexy had joined the gang.

No, there was no one to talk to. Nowhere to turn. She needed to go to bed. There was only one reason she could bring herself to walk to her bedroom and fall into her bed.

Marcus Dillinger had not been killed.

Not tonight, anyway.

JAG WAS A
police officer again, all six feet five inches of him. His blond hair framed his face, but it did nothing to lessen the fierce look in his eyes. He had distracted the EastTown Boyz, kept them away from the youth center. Now he shouted just once at them. “Leave!”

The EastTown Boyz—twenty or so of them—sauntered into a cluster. One of them pointed a gun at Jag and laughed. “You talking to us, pig?”

Jag knew how to respond in a situation like this. The kids were just that—kids. They weren’t the ones at fault. This was all they knew. It was all their parents knew, and their parents before them. The kids gathered before him were not the enemy.

But all Jag could see was the gun. The same type of gun the hit men had used against Officer Terrance Williams. He felt fire in his veins. Without a single hesitation he walked toward the gang members. “I said leave!” He boomed the words like so many gunshots.

“We ain’t ’fraida you, man!” One of the guys flashed a gang sign at Jag, taunting him. Another fired his gun toward the sky.

“Hear that, big guy? That’s you if you come another step closer.”

Jag kept walking. “You will leave this place in the name of Jesus.”

The guy with the gun aimed it at Jag.

“I said leave! In the name of Jesus!”

The one with the gun waved it in the air. “We don’t care about your Jesus.” He aimed the gun again. “You’re dead, pig. Don’t come any closer.”

Jag had taken enough.

In a fraction of a second he disappeared and reappeared at the opposite side of the alley.

The EastTown Boyz shouted expletives, turning this way and that looking for him. “How’d he do that?”

“You see that, man? He disappeared!”

“Yeah . . . like a ghost.”

Jag appeared again, this time a few feet from the guys. With a voice that echoed through the alleyway, Jag shouted, “I . . . said . . . leave!”

The guy with the gun aimed again. “That’s messed up, man.” His hand was shaking. “No one plays with the EastTown Boyz.”

Jag simply put his hands on his hips and stood there, legs a few feet apart. “Go home.”

This time his booming voice made the boys back up, slowly at first and then faster until finally they took off running.

Jag felt the deepest sense of satisfaction. He hated violence, hated the way the sons of Adam loved to hurt each other.

They aren’t the problem
,
he told himself. But they felt like the problem. They felt like the enemy, if Jag were honest with himself. He searched the alleyway. The demons were gone. They had scattered with the gang. Now that he was alone, Jag exhaled. For today, he was successful. He felt the unfamiliar
adrenaline rush, the feeling that only came when angels were in human form. And something else, something angels weren’t supposed to feel. Something he would have to pray about if he were to be successful in this mission.

The feeling was rage.

8

M
ARCUS LOOKED AROUND THE
packed youth center and silently thanked God for the success and safety of the night. Everything had gone perfectly. Whatever gang violence was supposed to materialize, it hadn’t happened yet. In fact, the whole night had been one unforgettable series of amazing moments.

And it had all started with Mary Catherine’s suggestion that they pray.

He hadn’t talked to her since then. Of course, Shelly hadn’t left his side once, so he didn’t blame Mary Catherine for keeping her distance. Still, he had seen her look his way a couple of times throughout the night.

The girl intrigued him.

She didn’t care what anyone thought. Her allegiance was to God and her friends and helping others. There wasn’t an ounce of pretense or showiness—qualities that practically defined Shelly.

The night was winding down, and he stood in a corner of one of the basketball courts signing autographs for the kids. Across the room, Mary Catherine read to the littler kids. Everything about her was real and genuine. The way she laughed and held the hands of the toddlers.

A woman came up next in line. She had a small boy with her. “Hi.” She seemed shy. “My name’s Shamika.”

“Hi, Shamika.” Marcus smiled at her. He was signing press photos of himself pitching. He picked one up and stooped down eye level with the boy. “What’s your name?”

“Jalen.” The boy grinned. “My mom says you’re a hero.”

Marcus gave the boy’s mother a quick smile. “Well, I think the real hero is your mama. She takes care of you, right?”

“Yeah.” The boy giggled. “Seems funny having a mama for a hero.”

“Not at all. My mom and dad are my heroes.” Marcus held the photo up. “Want me to sign it to you?”

“Yeah.” Jalen grinned.

“ ‘Yes, please.’ ” His mother put her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Use your manners, Jalen.”

“Sorry.” He looked down for a beat and then back at Marcus. “Yes, please.”

Before they left, Shamika looked deep into Marcus’s eyes. “We’re about to be kicked out of our apartment.” She kept her voice low. “I need another job and no one’s hiring.” She looked down at Jalen. “I’m all he has. So maybe . . . would you pray for us?”

“Of course.” Marcus had never been asked to pray out loud before. He wasn’t even sure he could manage it. But he
had to try. Coach Wayne prayed out loud all the time. Just talking to Jesus, that’s what Coach said. Marcus put one hand on Shamika’s shoulder and the other on Jalen’s. “Dear God, I know You’re here and I know You’re listening. Could You please help my friend Shamika? She’s up against it pretty bad, and she loves her boy so much. If You could just give them a reason to believe again. The way You did for me. Thanks, God. Amen.”

Shamika had tears in her eyes. “That’s why I came here tonight. So I could see for myself that someone like you really exists.” She looked around. “Thank you. For doing this for all of us. And thanks for praying.”

She leaned in and gave Marcus a quick hug. “At least now I know you’re real and not some imaginary angel.”

Marcus watched Shamika and Jalen head toward the junior basketball hoop. The image of the two stayed with him as he finished signing autographs and as he took the microphone and thanked everyone for coming. More than two hundred people had stayed for this moment. They gathered around, their attention on him. Most of the adults looked despondent. Defiance flashed in the eyes of half the teens.

Marcus understood. They had come out of curiosity, hopeful for free pizza and candy and wondering what sort of difference a pro ballplayer could ever make on streets this rough.