Harlem Girl Lost (27 page)

“Chancellor, why you never told me you had such a pretty girlfriend? You want to stay for dinner? We just ‘bout to feed the families.”

He looked at Silver and shrugged. “Yes, Ms. Geneva, that's a great idea, but I'd like to show her around first.”

The older woman beamed. “You go right on ahead,” she
said. She grabbed Silver by the arm. “You sho’ is one lucky girl to have the affection of a person like Chancellor. He's a fine young man. You make sho’ you take good care of him, you hear me?” Silver blushed and nodded.

“Ms. Geneva, I need to talk to you for a moment,” Chance said. He gently pulled her aside and whispered to her as he pointed to both bags. He then picked up both bags and said to Silver, “I'll be right back.” Silver nodded.

When he returned a few minutes later, she had not moved. “Chance, what is this place?”

“I'm about to show you.” He took her by the hand, led her to an adjacent office, and guided her to a bulletin board on the wall. “Read that.”

Silver looked at the bulletin board and noticed a golden plaque on it.

She appeared stunned beyond words, and Chance explained. “When you left the first time, I thought about the things you'd said—you know, about ruining families. For some reason, that shit stayed with me. Well, one day I ran into Ms. Geneva. I used to stay with her when I was in the system, and she was the one foster parent that genuinely cared for me and
never took advantage of me. She took in the kids that nobody wanted, the mentally retarded and the problem ones—it didn't matter to her. When I bought this building a couple of years back, I decided to let her move in, since she still lived in the same cramped apartment with all those kids.

“Crack had hit the city with a vengeance, and all these unwanted crack babies started turning up in the system. Being the person she was, she didn't turn down one of them. Before long, she started helping their addicted mothers, too, and now it's like a family shelter for addicted mothers who want to get their life together. After two years or so, it grew so much that I let them use my other house around the corner also.” He smiled with the zeal of a little boy. “You want to see something really nice?” He took her by the hand and led her into the hallway. As they moved downstairs, they were met by a group of women with young kids and babies. They said hello to the group and let them go ahead of them. When they neared the bottom of the stairs, the delicious aroma of home cooking wafted toward them. As they entered the dining area, Silver saw a sign above it:
THE SILVER ROOM OF LOVE.

After dinner
, when Chance and Silver finally had the opportunity to be alone, he turned to her. “Silver, in some twisted way, I feel that I'm making some kind of difference, a sort of contribution. Or maybe it's just some way of me seeking redemption for all the foul things I've done.” He paused. “Either way, what's done is done, and I can't change a thing. But you, Silver, you can really make a difference. It would be a travesty if you didn't utilize all resources to ensure that you succeed with your
future plans without having to worry about how you are going to pay for it.”

“Chance, I'm not sure if I'm following you.”

Chance smiled. “Those bags I brought in—each contains two hundred fifty thousand dollars. One bag is for Ms. Geneva to continue running this program. The other is for you to continue your education to become a doctor.” Before she could reply, he continued. “Now, I know how you feel about my money, but you got to understand that you can really make a difference and help so many people if you become a doctor.”

Silver shook her head, uneasy about the money.

“Silver, take a look over there.” He pointed at a woman with three small children. “I remember when she got here over a year ago. She weighed about eighty pounds and was strung out on crack. She was homeless for two years after the city took her kids because she was found dirty with drugs when she gave birth to the last one. She was an incorrigible and habitual addict who would surely have died on the streets if she hadn't gotten busted for possession. The court mandated her into a program and sent her here.” He looked over at the laughing woman. “After less than six months of being off drugs, the court allowed her visitation with her children again. Six months after that, she got full custody of all three, but only because of a place like this! Ms. Geneva just told me that she will be moving into her own three-bedroom apartment in two weeks.” Silver looked around as he continued. “And that's about the same story of all the mothers here. Can you imagine what would happen to these kids if their mothers didn't get themselves some help? I do.”

This was Chance's story; this was his plea for her to understand
how bad he'd had it growing up in all those group homes. In that very instant she understood. He told her she didn't have to say yes, but to think about it. Whatever she decided, the money would be there. All she had to do was come see Ms. Geneva, and she would give it to her, no questions asked.

Silver frowned and looked up at him. “Chance, is there something wrong? You sound like you're going somewhere.”

He tried to reassure her with a smile. “No, it's nothing like that. I just like you to be up on my every move, that's all, boo.”

As they started to leave, Ms. Geneva saw them to the door. A shrunken woman was coming in from outside. She was small, almost child-like, a seasoned addict. Her skin was ashen and wrinkled, and her dark, sullen eyes seemingly stared at unimaginable horrors. Ms. Geneva shook her head in empathy.

“Claresse,” she said, “you can't keep doing this to yourself, baby. You killing yourself.”

The woman simply broke down and cried as Ms. Geneva tightly embraced her. “I know, Ms. Geneva,” she muttered. “I know … but I just miss my babies.”

“It's okay, it's okay. Now you go downstairs and get yourself washed up and get somethin’ ta eat.”

Chance stared at her with compassion. He knew her from the old neighborhood, where they called her Tiny.

The rain came down
like cats and dogs, and Chance used his jacket to shield Silver. Hugging him around the waist, they laughed as they ran in a futile effort to escape the downpour. Unnoticed, a vehicle slowly crept toward them.

Chance opened the passenger-side door of his car and whisked Silver inside. He covered himself with the jacket as he went around to the driver's side, and it was then that he noticed the slow-moving Suburban with tinted windows. Sensing danger, he put his hand on his gun and moved away from his car in case there was trouble. Suddenly, the vehicle came to a complete halt. Hand on the trigger, Chance stared cautiously at the vehicle as the smoke-hued window begin to roll down. It was then that Chance realized that the driver was his brother, Hollis. He let out a huge sigh, reholstered his gun, and smiled. It wasn't until he stepped closer that he realized Hollis had yet to look his way.

As if trapped
in a bad dream, Silver watched in horror as the barrel of a shotgun extended out the rear window of the vehicle that had pulled up alongside Chance's car. The person holding it was Butterfly Ty Chance dropped his jacket and made a mad dash away from his car, but he had run less then three feet when Silver saw a flash from the weapon, followed by a roar. The blast caused Chance to fly backward. He staggered to his feet and tried to continue, but more bullets tore through his body. Then another weapon was aimed at Chance, this time a 9 mm that fired off a volley of shots that caused his body to twist and contort as he fell to the ground. The falling rain caused the growing pool of blood beneath him to run like a river in the gutter. The two shooters watched Silver jump from the vehicle and, heedless of the danger, run screaming toward her fallen man.

The headlights and horn from a sanitation truck behind
them caused the attackers to drive off. Drenched from the rain, Silver collapsed at Chances side. “It's okay, baby, they're gone. You can get up now, baby.” She cradled his head in her arms. “Chance, baby, come on, we got to go home now. It's getting late. I've got to cook you your favorite dinner, baby.” She smiled. “And then … and then we gonna watch some
Jeopardy!
like we used to and see who wins.” She did not register anything going on around her. Sirens were in the background. People were out on the sidewalk, looking, pointing. She begged Chance to get up. “Come on, Chance. Don't leave me, honey, don't leave me, not like this … Please, don't leave me, Chance, I need you.”

A police officer arrived on the scene. “Ma'am, we got it from here. Please give us some room.”

He tried to lift Silver to her feet, but she wouldn't budge. The paramedics arrived and tore open their red medical bags as the officer again tried to pull her away. “Get off of me!” she snapped, holding Chance tighter.

Finally, two officers pried her loose and pulled her out of their way so the paramedics could do their work. Silver could only struggle in the officers’ grip, panic rising in her gut, as they worked frantically on Chance's unmoving body.

Suddenly, one of the paramedics yelled, “We got a pulse!”

HELP ME, MOTHER

S
ilver stayed at the hospital for two days. The doctor told her Chance was extremely lucky to be alive after taking seven shots from a 9 mm weapon and several blasts from a shotgun. Though he was in the ICU in critical condition, it was nothing short of a miracle that he'd survived. Silver was relieved, but still extremely worried for her man. As she waited in the TV room, two detectives entered the room and flashed their badges. One was a large black male, the other a petite white woman. Silver had talked to about a hundred cops over the two days since the shooting, but something was different about these two, she thought. The female cop spoke first. “I'm Detective Squassoni, and this is Detective McBeth from the homicide division. Are you Silver Jones?”

Silver grew worried. “Is this about Chance?” “Chancellor Haze has been placed under arrest for murder and drug trafficking.”

Silver rose to her feet. “What the fuck are you talking about? My fiancé is on his deathbed after someone tried to murder him, and you're here to tell me he's under arrest for murder?”

“The murder happened over a year ago,” Squassoni explained. “The drug charges are current.”

“How long have you known Mister Haze, ma'am?” McBeth asked.

“That's none of your goddamn business!” Silver snapped.

“You better goddamn believe it's our business, since you're facing federal charges of aiding and abetting a criminal enterprise!”

McBeth let that sink in while Squassoni explained, “Ma'am, what he is trying to say is that we found enough drugs in his apartment alone to put him away for life without the possibility of parole. Like the detective said, you can be charged as an accessory and that can put you away for fifteen years.”

“And that would blow any chances of you going to medical school,” Detective McBeth added sarcastically.

Silver stared at them dumbfounded, wondering how they knew so much about her.

“Yes, we know all about you, and that is the only reason we don't bust you right now, but give us some time.”

Not missing a beat, Squassoni jumped in smoothly. “Unless you do yourself a favor and help us out.” She shrugged. “We might get you off with no jail time … if you cooperate right now.”

Silver put her head down, feeling totally defeated. Moments later, she slowly lifted her chin and spoke with the innocence of a five-year-old. “Okay, if you head over the bridge into the Bronx, you gonna see this large white building.” Both detectives pulled out notepads and began taking notes. “And right in
front, there's a sign that reads ‘Yankee Stadium.’ Both detectives glanced up. “And when you get there, you can sell those wolf tickets to someone who don't know any better!”

Detective McBeth snapped his writing pad closed, stared at Silver, and shook his head. “You know, it's the educated black girls like you who stand by these drug-dealing, murdering thug motherfuckers and turn up your noses at good, decent, hardworking brothers.” He inched closer. “But you know what? I seen hundreds of girls just like you before, and you gonna learn just like the rest of them that loving these niggers only get you one of two things—a bullet or jail time!”

He walked off, and Silver muttered to the female detective, “Ain't this the part when you act like you're really concerned, give me your card, and say, ‘If you should change your mind, give me a call’?”

The woman chuckled, reached inside her jacket, and pulled out a business card. “If you should change your mind, give me a call.” She extended the card.

Silver reluctantly took it and returned to the couch.

“Ms. Jones,” Detective Squassoni said, “all cops are not the enemy. We can actually help. If you should ever get into something over your head, let me know.” As the detective turned to leave, she added over her shoulder, “By the way, my daughter starts med school this year also. Congratulations!” She sent her a wink.

Chance was smart enough
to have a lawyer on retainer that he paid two thousand dollars a month for, just in case of an event
like this. John Morgenstern was from the old school, and had a reputation of being willing to do anything to get his clients off. That included bribing the jury, the judge, or witnesses. Morgenstern had only two requirements for his services: one, that associates refer you, and two, that you have money, and lots of it. Chance had told Silver about him a couple of times, but she couldn't get his number from the house since the feds had sealed Chance's co-op with everything in it. But as fate had it, Chance had left his new cell phone in the car. Even though the authorities held his arraignment without him, as he was still in the hospital, Silver attended every hearing along with his lawyer. Morgenstern was quite frank with Silver about Chance's odds of beating the charges.