Sinner (22 page)

“So you'll help me prepare for the debate, then?”

Johnny smiled. “On the condition you promise that none of the knowledge we stuff into that brain of yours will make you cry any less.”

She stood and raised her right hand. “I swear. On one condition.”

“Which is?”

“That you cry with me.”

He hesitated.

“Swear it,” she said.

“I swear it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THEY USED a QP-505 news helicopter borrowed from an ABC News affiliate for the flight in, so as to avoid any appearance of military aggression. Whoever controlled the whites, who were hunkered down in the center of Union Cemetery, would likely fire upon army green but be friendly toward news coverage that might spread their cause.No military personnel, no police, no one but her, she'd insisted. She had to go in flying friendly flags and she had to do it quickly.

At least that was the plan, and it sounded reasonable to Darcy. Maybe the only reasonable part of what she was about to attempt.

The blades chopped through the midday air above Kansas City as the helicopter moved closer to the green blotch of land spotted with a thousand graves. Billy sat beside her trying to hide his concern. One airman had accompanied them to operate the ladder.

“It's not too late,” Billy said. “Please, Darcy, this can't go well.”

She'd avoided speaking to him plainly without her glasses on, because she didn't want him to love her because of some spell she'd cast on him. At the moment his words seemed more convincing than her own.

“It is too late,” she said. “Lawhead sold them on this attempt at negotiation. The governor and the commanding officer of the National Guard have acquiesced. They've held off the assault in hope that I can do something to prevent further bloodshed. I probably already have blood on my hands.”

“No, that's not true! For all you know, delaying the assault has saved lives.”He peered at the approaching cemetery from his side window. They tried to talk him out of accompanying her, but he'd been adamant to the point of belligerence.

“This is nuts.”

“Please, Billy! You're not being helpful here!”

Billy saw the tremble in her hands and took them in his own. “Okay. I'm a nervous wreck. But you're right, this is precisely the kind of situation we can do some good in.”

She nodded. “So much for looking out for just us.”

“Beats being a sniffing dog.”He brushed her hair back from her cheek. “You're not doing this for Washington. You're doing it for us, for them.” He looked out the window. “Forget what I said—that's just me being me.

The truth is, I couldn't be more proud of you.”

They each wore one earpiece, which now crackled. “One minute.” The pilot was from the Air National Guard, dressed in civilian clothes. “I'm going to drop like a rock right over the friendlies. Nick, you ready?”

The airman slid the door open, locked it into place, and readied a rolled aluminum ladder. The sound of the engine roared. The whole scenario felt horribly wrong out here in the air. She'd forgotten how much she hated heights until they climbed aboard the helicopter.

“Ready when you are.” Nick faced her. “Just like we practiced. Let the ladder do the work. Just step off on the grass, easy.”He tapped his palms. “Gloves on.”

She could have hooked in but after some discussion decided that the risks of getting hung up outweighed any risk of falling. Looking through the open door, she wasn't so sure.

Darcy took the gloves from Billy and slid them over her hands.

He leaned over and spoke into her ear.“You can do this, Darcy. Just don't stop talking.Make them look into your eyes and talk. Just . . .”

“Here we go.”

The helicopter dropped like a stone.Nick took her hand, ready to pull her into place as soon as they hovered over the clearing.

“Hold on . . .”

They fell for what seemed an eternity before the blades flared, slowing their descent like an elevator braking to a stop at the bottom floor. Nick threw the first few feet of the ladder out.

“Go, go, go!”

She adjusted the flak jacket she'd donned, flung her glasses off, and slid off the seat with Nick's and Billy's help.

They're white, I'm white, they won't shoot. They won't shoot.

She grabbed the ladder, shoved first one, then her second foot into the third rung. “Okay.”

The ladder began to uncoil and she swung into open air.

Darcy looked down, saw the grass twenty feet below. Bodies were scrambling to get out of her way. She kept telling herself that no one would shoot, that all she had to do was get her feet on the ground and everything would be okay. They were rioters armed with a few popguns and pipes, not an army with machine guns.

She kicked her feet out and dropped when she was still ten feet from the turf. Hit the ground hard and rolled as they'd shown her.

The helicopter's thumping deepened then faded as it climbed. Leaving Darcy on her belly in the grass, staring at a large tombstone ten feet from where she'd landed.

She shoved herself to her knees, looking for someone, anyone, who could do what she needed done. The clearing was roughly thirty yards across, encircled by the tombstones of those who had paid the most for the largest monuments to their loved ones. Perfect cover for a hundred or so rioters who'd taken up position on this side of them.

The tent that had housed the crime scene investigation just yesterday had been reduced to charred balls of plastic. A group of seven or eight men, at least two of whom were armed with rifles trained on her, hunkered down behind a row of gravestones.

A glance to her left showed another group with several handguns and three rifles, pointed in her direction.

She lifted her hands high above her head.“Don't shoot! I have critical information!”Her voice rang out above the sporadic popping of distant gunfire.

“Keep your hands high or we'll blow your head off.”

“Just don't shoot! I'm unarmed. Just the messenger.”

Based on her limited experience, her persuasive power seemed to work only in conjunction with a person's own intentions. She didn't think she could force a person to do something they knew to be wrong unless they harbored a deepseated desire to do it.

She made eye contact with one of men who had a rifle trained on her.

“I'm here to help—you don't want to shoot me! You hear me?”

She couldn't see his immediate response from this far away, but she felt exposed here, so she stood and went for the large group, hands lifted high.

“Look at me, all of you,” she screamed. “Just look into my eyes, see if I'm not telling you the truth. You do
not
want to shoot me. You
will not
shoot me.” She kept walking but turned her head to face the men behind the gravestones.

“You hear me? You don't want to harm me.”

An unnatural stillness had gripped the clearing, and she knew that she was connecting with them. So she turned around, walking backward now. They looked to be a loose gang who'd taken advantage of the lynchings to express their own hatred or mistrust of blacks. Most if not all of the hundred or so gangsters were watching her.

“All of you listen to me,” she cried out. “No one wants to harm me. No one will shoot. You all want to listen to every word I have to say. You hear me?”

Darcy stopped and looked around at the circle of men staring at her, dumbfounded. She couldn't tell who their leader was, or even if there
was
a leader, but learning this wouldn't be difficult.

“I have information that is going to change your day, my friends. You will want to do what I've come to suggest.” Turning, she said it again. “I have information that is going to change your day, my friends. You will want to do what I've come to suggest. Show me who's in charge.”

No one jumped to her wishes.

She turned, more angry than fearful now. “Show me, for heaven's sake! I need to speak to your leader now!”

A man armed with an automatic weapon stood and stepped out toward her. His pitted face frowned and his dark eyes seemed to sear her with hatred, but he came willingly.

“What's your name?”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to get everyone over by your position so I can address them.”

“Are you nuts?”

“Don't be a fool.” She threw the words at him in a flash of anger. “I'm here to save your rotten white skin and there's nothing more precious to you than your own skin. Now get everyone over here immediately.”

He hesitated a moment, nodded once, and waved at the men across the clearing. “Get over here, all of you.”When they hesitated, he cursed and raised his volume.

They hurried to his side, ducking behind the tombstones as they ran. An occasional bullet slapped into the tombstones surrounding them, but most of the firing came from the streets surrounding Union Cemetery. They had placed their command in the safest part of the field.

Darcy approached and stared at them all, tapping her cheek. “Look at me. Don't remove your eyes from mine. I know all hell is breaking loose out there, but you want to listen to what I have to say.”

They watched her, attentive as dogs begging for a steak. She had them in her hands and the power was intoxicating.

“You're all going to lay down your weapons and leave this place. You're going to do that because you know in your gut that this is a dead-end fight. You don't want to die today. And you're not going to die today, because you're going to help me stop this standoff. Every one of you knows that's the right thing.”

“Robby?” A skinny kid with one of the rifles was shaking, looking at the pitted-faced man for guidance. “Robby?”

“Shut up!”

“Listen to Robby,” Darcy snapped. “Tell them how they can save themselves, Robby.”

Their leader looked confounded and disturbed.

“Robby?”

“She's right,” he said.

“Of course I'm right. You're going to leave this place now and run as fast as your legs can move.”

How her words worked their effect she didn't know, but whatever power they carried had now fully engaged them. First a dozen and then twice as many dropped their weapons and began to run west, toward the warehouses and Main Street just beyond, the closest and safest line of exit.

“No, not that way,” she cried.

They pulled up, disoriented. Others were dropping their guns and pipes. Standing, eager to be gone. But she needed more from them.

Darcy pointed east and north. “You're going to run that way, into the houses, spreading the word to everyone who will listen. You'll say, ‘The riot's over, lay down your weapons, and run while the running is good.'”

“What?”

She didn't know who called the question and she didn't care. “If you go west, the National Guard will be waiting to clean you out. Go east, undo what you've done here, tell them all that it's over. Lay down your weapons and run, run, run! Go north and tell them to spread the word; get out now before it's too late.”

The skinny kid who'd called out for Robby was the first to move. He threw his gun on the ground in a fit of panic, whimpering and swearing at once. And he ran pell-mell into the graveyard, headed due east.

Then they all ran. All except for Robby, who'd dropped his weapon and stood staring at her. It was as if his mind knew what to do, but his muscles were in shock and refused to move.

“Run, Robby,” Darcy said, walking toward him. “You will yell the loudest.”

He turned and jogged after the others.

BILLY PACED the street at the intersection of Main and Twenty-ninth, where Darcy would emerge.
If
she emerged.

He'd bitten his nails to stubs, pacing behind the line of police cars, waiting. If she'd succeeded, she would have been out by now. Unless she'd decided in all of this newfound confidence of hers to head farther into the war zone.

Her first plan had been to meet with both black and white leaders, but they'd talked her out of it. A white heading into a black zone couldn't turn out good. But what if she'd gone anyway?

A news van stood at the ready, filming the empty street. If Darcy man-aged to calm the storm, they would make sure the entire country knew. Already there were reports of vandalism in St. Louis, Miami, Detroit, and Los Angeles. Nooses with hangman's knots were found in half the universities across the country. Putting an end to the Kansas City riot was really about nipping a much larger problem in the bud.

Billy looked up to see Kinnard walking toward him with quick strides, phone plastered to his ear. Billy had removed his glasses, intent upon knowing the truth, however ugly it might be. Kinnard, however, still wore shades.

He covered the mouthpiece while he was still twenty feet off and called to Billy. “She did it,” he said. “I think she actually did it!”

“What? Where is she?”

“Spotters are reporting a flood of rioters running east and north.” Into the phone: “Say again . . . Let me know the moment you hear anything.” He snapped the phone shut.

“Any word on Darcy . . .”

“Look alive, people!” someone shouted. “We have incoming.”

Billy ran up to the line of cars. A solitary figure was jogging toward them from around a warehouse a hundred yards out. There was no mistaking her long, dark brown hair, flowing in the breeze as she ran.

Darcy.

“You getting this?” someone said. The news crew.

Billy hopped over the barricade and sprinted toward her. An officer started to protest, but Kinnard shut him down. The rioters were headed east. Only Darcy was headed west.

He saw her beaming smile fifty yards off. And her wide brown eyes, glistening, uncovered in the sun.

“You made it,” he said, slowing to a walk.

“And you were worried?”