Outcasts (24 page)

“Where?” I asked.

“Well, you know. He drive me around in my car. We friends now. My good friend Carl.”

Carl still walked circles around the intersection. Only now did I notice the tears. Samantha sat down during the story. Her face was streaked with blood from where she wiped her eyes.

“We didn’t kill no men,” Miss Pauline said. “No sir. We wanted their hearts. We wanted them back. I don’t pretend to know about the sickness. That’s up to God. But our men. Well, you know. You can’t drive out darkness with darkness. You need the light.”

Carl shook his head, like trying to dislodge his grief. “Can’t drive out evil with evil. Praise Jesus.”

Miss Pauline placed her firm hands on my arms and squeezed. I wanted her to hug me and never release. I wanted to be one of those kids in her yard. “You said we defeated the Chemist without violence. You half right. You more right than most. But there was violence. Yes, boy, oh Lord, there was violence. Violence that makes me cry still. But we took the violence into ourselves. We accepted it, instead of throwing it on others. Martin Luther King. Ghandi. Sweet lord Jesus. They won hearts with their broken bodies. We won our men’s hearts with love.”

My voice sounded strange. Not my own. “I don’t know how to do that.”

“Do you love the Chemist? Would you die for him, boy?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then. Well.” Her palm went to my face. Calloused, rough, and soft as angels. “You aint’ ready yet, sweetie.”

We ate dinner at Miss Pauline’s house. Her friends all brought food for her and each other and the kids and us. The gathering overflowed the house into the yard. Samantha and I sat on the sparse grass, leaning against the fence, watching. Samantha hadn’t spoken for hours. Miss Pauline’s guests stared at us but didn’t approach.

Miss Pauline’s reign as mayor caused pronounced consternation among entrenched politicians. She held office at construction sights while picking up trash. She took meetings and expected attendees to pick up a paint brush. That’s not how it’s
done
. I could see it on their faces as two groups of sharply dressed constitutes were rebuffed at her fence gate. By children.

“Missus Pauline say she’ll see you tomorrow at the airport,” they were told by a sassy little girl in a white dress. She shook her finger at them. “That’s where she be cleaning tomorrow. Now she set down to dinner. Good
bye
.”

The people loved her. The establishment didn’t. I learned that over my plate of pasta in the span of twenty-five minutes while sitting on her grass.

Carl sat next to me, his plate heaped with pasta. He was a big guy, broad shoulders, strong arms. “Miss Pauline, she like you.”

“I like her too.”

“Then you ain’t dumb. Even though you white.”

“Mmm.” I waffled my hand. “I’m kinda dumb. But my girlfriend is hispanic. That’s gotta count for something.”

“She with you, she dumb,” he grinned, big and bright and infectious.

“I can’t fault your logic. But she’s not.”

“She blind?”

“No. Beautiful eyes. And you’re about to get punched.”

He laughed. I’m hilarious.

His phone rang. It rang a lot. Carl acted as her political bouncer. He rose with a groan and paced the yard and talked into it. After a minute, he pocketed the device and found Miss Pauline. She listened and nodded and excused herself.

“Well,” she said at the front gate. She glanced at us. “Better come on.”

Carl drove, Miss Pauline in the front, Samantha and I in the back. The sun sat on the horizon, casting Compton into shadows. Obviously tired, Miss Pauline leaned her head against the window.

“Ain’t no place can change overnight. Or over a year. Or ten years. Compton got a lot healthier. But we still got poverty. Hate. Anger. Divisions. Gangs. You know?”

“I know,” I said.

“It’s culture. Culture hard to change. Watch Jesus. One reason they killed him, he was changing culture too fast. Why don’t God just work miracles and change a place? Because people got foundations. They got beliefs built and established. God don’t push. He pulls. He calls. Cause people? They don’t like being pushed. You can’t change people by pushing.”

Samantha shook her head, staring at the ceiling. She’d reached her daily limit of crazy ideas. Samantha had foundations too.

I asked, “How do you pull people? Instead of pushing?”

Miss Pauline elbowed Carl. “See? Boy got some brains.”

“Maybe. Not so sure.”

“How do you pull people,” Miss Pauline sighed. “These people are broken. Especially the young ones. Need healing. And I am willing to die for them. They know it. It shakes them. I will sacrifice. They know. And that sacrifice begins healing.”

“Sacrifice begins healing?” I asked.

“Our goal is grandchildren, really. We want healthy grandchildren. These young men, they already got babies. The women got baby daddies they don’t know. And we love them. It spooks them. I want to spook long-term changes. You know. Little by little. And our current unification? It’s just a start.”

“What about the Chemist’s super drug? Is that still here?”

“I think we run out. Hope so. Awful withdrawals. The Chemist, one good thing he did, he disrupted the drug flow. The system broke. He flooded Compton with his own brand. For free. Lord Jesus, help us. Drug dealers out of work, all a sudden. Now listen. You two.”

She turned all the way around in her seat and locked eyes.

“We almost here. These OGs. Big important men. They got pride. They act dangerous. We cannot speak their language. You understand? We cannot speak with violence. Cannot.”

Samantha said, “I’m not sure I follow.”

“If they hit me…” she said slowly, keeping her eye contact, “…you don’t hit them back.”

“What about shooting them?”

“No baby,” she said. “That’s not even funny. They ain’t gonna like you two. Too white. Too many corrupt white cops. So you stay in the car. And don’t get out.”

“Stay in the car?!”

I asked, “What’s going on?”

“Gang dispute. Going to be bad soon. But maybe not tonight. And you will stay in the car.”

“Miss Pauline.” Samantha struggled to keep her composure. She wanted to explain to Miss Pauline that the two people in her backseat could most likely subdue every trouble maker tonight. She didn’t need to endanger herself. But we’d agreed to travel in secret. Incognito. There was, after all, hundreds of millions of dollars hanging over our heads. “We are good at this. We can help.”

“Your violence will create more. I don’t want to win this fight, sugar. I want to win their hearts. I want to win their grandchildren. And you will stay in the car.”

Carl’s headlights washed over an angry mob on the corner. The street lights were busted. Forty people, at least, raging against each other, just this side of fighting. Posturing and cackling, men and women, all under twenty-five.

“Miss Pauline,” Samantha hissed. “There’s going to be trouble. You can’t go in there.”

“I’m the Sheriff,” she chuckled. “Ya’ll stay here. Drive away if we don’t come back.”

Miss Pauline’s arrival was an
event
. Clearly adored and revered, she circulated throughout the mob distributing hugs and conversation. Carl stayed tight on her heels, stone-faced even when accepting complex hand-shakes. The OGs, the men with most at stake, stayed back, watching impassively. No chance could they admit they loved Miss Pauline, no chance could they hand her power. She moved deeper into the riot, into the danger, and we lost sight of her. A handful of the disinterested sat on our Crown Victoria, laughing and banging on the windows.

Samantha took deep breaths. “I’m so stressed.”

“Right?” I agreed, peering desperately into the crowd. “I’m terrified. For her. This sucks.”

“I see a dozen pistols. At least. And we’re just sitting here.”

I tore my eyes away and scrubbed my face with fingers. “Can we really drive away if it gets bad?”

“Hell no.”

“She asked us to. Demanded it.”

“She ain’t my Sheriff,” Samantha sniffed.

“She should be.”

Her fingers drummed on the hidden gun beneath her jacket. “An old lady stares down an armed gang. While the mighty Outlaw watches from a nearby car.”

The crowd shrieked and tensed. Angry shouts. Something had happened. Samantha’s hand flew to the door handle.

“Wait,” I shouted, grabbing her. “Give her a chance.”

Our window was cracked. Above the noise, we heard Miss Pauline’s stern voice. Couldn’t see her though.

“She’s alive.”

“For how long??”

We waited forever. Hours. Days. An eternity in fifteen minutes. Finally the crowd began to disperse. The uninvolved grew bored and wandered off. Like an onion, the mob peeled away in layers.

A half-hour after she climbed out, Miss Pauline returned to her car. She collapsed into the passenger seat, sweating, drained, eyes closed as Carl gunned the engine.

Samantha might have been nearly as exhausted. “How’d you do that?” she asked.

“I have earned the right to be heard. So they listen. No deaths tonight, Lord Jesus,” she sighed heavily. “Still a chance those little babies will know their daddies.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The men and women with the sickness. You know? I can’t speak about them. But the men of Compton? My men? You can’t solve their gun problem with guns.”

We had travelled halfway back to her house when Carl’s phone rang. He answered, one hand on the wheel. He listened and hung up.

Miss Pauline said, “Well?”

“Trouble in Northwest,” he answered.

“Trouble?”

He shook his head slowly. “You ain’t gon’ believe it, Miss Pauline.”

“What trouble?”

“The Outlaw.”

“The
Outlaw
??!” Miss Pauline, Samantha and I all said it at the same time.

“The Outlaw up north,” he nodded. “Throwing grenades.”

And in the distance, through the partially lowered window, I heard the thump of detonations.

Cory and I played chess on Minnie’s boat into the evening while I tried not to dwell on Chase. He had texted me when they reached Compton. I knew he’d be fine. Of course he would. Samy was with him. But still. Ugh.

Cory waved at me, getting my attention. “Still your turn,” he said.

I glanced at the board. “You can’t move a pawn backwards, Cory. Try again.”

He glowered and hunkered over the board. “Stupid white people game.”

“I’m not white.”

“You half white.”

We kept moving the board and chairs so he could stay in the shade. Cory’s appetite still had not returned; he’d lost fifteen pounds during our two weeks at sea. I luxuriated in the sun, wearing a bikini at which he tried not to stare. I didn’t mind. Boys didn’t used to stare.

He moved his queen (way too early-now she was exposed) and drank lemonade Minnie had provided. “You worried?”

“About Chase? I’m trying not to think about him.”

“Weird stuff, him being the Outlaw.”

“Yes,” I grinned. “Very weird stuff indeed. You had no idea?”

“You crazy. How would I know he’s the Outlaw?”

“You’re his closest friend.”

“So. You his shorty and you didn’t know.”

I nodded and moved my knight. “That’s true.”

“Think he’ll go to college? With you?”

“To Stanford? I wish. But no.” I gazed up at the blue awning and contemplated colleges and the future and sweet Chase. “Will I even go? Will Stanford still have doors to open this fall? I have no idea.”

“Wonder how much being the Outlaw pays,” Cory mused, tapping a bishop against his forehead in thought.

“I believe it’s a free public service he provides.”

Minnie slowly glided down the stairs, one hand skimming along the rail. She announced, “Time to pack your bags, dear ones. I see your next adventure approaching on our starboard beam.”

“Isaac’s here?” I wondered, turning to inspect the northern horizon. I lowered my sunglasses but saw nothing. “That was quick.”

“The craft is still several miles away,” Minnie explained, swirling a glass of rum punch. “I can see it from the top deck.”

“Hell yeah,” Cory said, trudging towards the stairs. “Bout ready to get back on some land.”

I followed him belowdeck. Due to the desperate dash from my apartment that awful morning, I didn’t possess much clothing, and most of it was ill-fitting Navy gear. Clean-up only required five minutes. I pulled on the long coverup Minnie had gifted, and laid down on the bed. Most likely our next destination wouldn’t be an exquisite luxury yacht. Might as well soak up the last few minutes in my private cabin, which was basically a suite.

I was thumbing through Instagram photos when I heard the boat motoring nearby, and then it attached to our stern. Sounded more like a raft with an outboard propellor than the Coast Guard.

“Goodbye room,” I sighed and collected my things.

The sun blinded me again, streaming from above and ricocheting off the ocean. Minnie spoke softly near the rail. I slid on Ray-Bans and dropped my bags onto the wooden deck.

I’d been correct. The new boat
was
just a life raft with an outboard motor. Far too small for long voyages, and definitely not the Coast Guard. Two men stood on the deck with me and Minnie. One of the men looked about my age. He wore Sperry loafers, stylish jeans, a white button-up shirt and a vest. A good-looking, baby-faced guy.

The other man, hispanic, appeared emaciated. His clothes were rags, like he fell over a lot. His hair needed a trim. His eyes were sunken and full of hate. At the sight of me, he flicked a switch on the small metal rod he held and it began humming. The rod connected by cord to his backpack. He was not Coast Guard. He was Chosen.

Minnie sipped her punch and watched me expectantly.

Cory and I had been betrayed.

My heart dropped into my stomach and my knees weakened.
Chase!

“Katie,” Minnie said politely, “have you had the pleasure of meeting…” She held out her hand to the handsome boy. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name?”

The boy stared at the deck and stubbed it with the toe of his shoe. “That’s okay, ma’am. I’m not allowed to use it.”