Stealing Candy (28 page)

Standing in the rear, the paint-speckled man folded his arms tighter and furrowed his brows as he waited to hear Khalil’s response.

“The summary of this neighborhood’s decline was very informative. I found it particularly interesting when Mr. Daniels described the glory days of the nineteen-fifties when people looked after each other. It seems that the expression, ‘it takes a village to raise a child,’ was taken seriously during those times.”

There was a chorus of agreement.

“That’s right.”

“You ain’t never lied.”

“Yes, indeedy. We sure did look after each other’s kids. If the mother wasn’t around when a child was acting up, any neighbor had the right to take a strap and whip the daylights out of that child.”

“Uh-huh,” a woman with a hair net joined in. “And when the mother got home, that child had another whipping coming.”

The girls gave each other looks. “Ain’t you glad we wasn’t back in those days?” Stacey whispered to her three friends. Each girl nodded.

“I want to remind each of you,” Khalil continued, “time has passed, but Portia Hathaway is a part of that same village.”

“No. See…I can’t agree with that,” said Miss Hattie. “Children today are hard-headed and wild. They got too much sass in their mouths. Won’t listen to their own mammas.”

With great effort, William Daniels worked himself up to his feet again. “How are we supposed to help raise a pack of heathens? If you try to discipline one of these children today, you better have a lawyer handy. Spanking kids is against the law.”

Not to be outdone, Miss Hattie cleared her throat. “That’s why we have a neighborhood full of little hooligans, all walking around with their chests stuck out.”

“She telling the truth, right there. Spare the rod, spoil the child,” Mr. Daniels said, quoting scripture, his voice strong with religious indignation.

“We’re not dealing with ordinary children anymore.” Frowning, Mr. Daniels shook his head. “If you try to discipline a child today, you better be wearing a bulletproof vest because they might whip out a gun and shoot you.”

At an age where everything seemed comical, Amirah, Tasha, Chyna, and Stacey found the seniors’ comments to be hilarious. They erupted into girlish giggles that seemed to echo inside the sparsely filled room.

“Girls!” Saleema’s voice was sharp with disapproval.

The girls apologized, but couldn’t contain their shoulder-shaking laughter.

“You should be more respectful to these seniors.” Saleema’s voice sharpened in disapproval, shaming the girls into quelling the eruption of giggles.

“I don’t want to take up too much of your time,” Khalil, said, bringing the meeting to an end. “The students will be passing you fliers on your way out. We’ll be gathering here again tomorrow and I’m hoping those of you who came today will tell your family members and your neighbors to come out and join us.”

Suddenly agile, the seniors, as well as the small sprinkling of younger members of the community, all raced for the door, many refusing to accept the fliers that the girls were passing out.

“Another thing…” Khalil said, his voice amplified by the microphone. “Beginning tomorrow, we’ll be raffling off a prize at the conclusion of every meeting.”

Miss Hattie turned around. “Oh, yeah? What kind of prizes?”

“You’ll find out tomorrow,” Khalil said, smiling.

 
 CHAPTER 32

Touching the small of her back, Khalil helped Saleema into her Camry. “How’d you think the meeting went?”

She wanted to say something encouraging and show gratitude for Khalil’s help, but prodded by her urgent need to find Portia, she said bluntly, “I’m having second thoughts about this whole community involvement campaign.”

“The turnout was disappointing, but I didn’t expect a big crowd. Not right away. Don’t worry; more people will come out tomorrow. Give them some time. They’ll get involved.”

“I can’t sit through another community meeting. Those people are so bitter. As far as they’re concerned, Portia is nothing more than another blemish to the neighborhood. They have the same attitude as law enforcement—that Portia’s a criminal…not an abducted teen.”

“Give them time. Sure, they’re a little bitter from all the years of watching helplessly as their neighborhood declined, but they’ll come around. We can accomplish more and put a spotlight on Portia’s situation if we speak as a united voice.”

“But time is running out! Who knows what horrors are happening to Portia while we’re waiting for the community to open their hearts and come on board. Seriously, Khalil, they’re senior citizens who were railroaded into the meeting in the first place. Then you had to bribe them with a raffle to try to spark enough interest for them to coerce their families into attending the next meeting.”

“Yeah, that was a little cheesy, but it piqued their interest. Initially, people will come out of curiosity or to see what kind of prizes are being raffled off, but after a while, they will get involved.”

Saleema let out a sigh. “I can’t wait to hear the newcomers tomorrow start fondly reminiscing about the good ol’ days of whooping their neighbors’ kids’ behinds,” she said sarcastically. “That kind of thinking is so outdated, it was embarrassing to hear about it.”

“There are a lot of customs from the past that we don’t agree with, but during their era, that was the norm. The important thing here is that they get to have their voices heard. They are at an age when no one listens or thinks that they have anything of value to share. It’s great to provide them with a forum to share their feelings.”

“I thought this was about Portia. I didn’t know you intended to conduct group therapy sessions for the elderly at Portia’s expense.”

“That’s cold,” Khalil said with a faint smile.

“I’m sorry. I have to speak my mind. Don’t you think it’s odd that no one has responded to the posters? There hasn’t been one phone call with even a hint of a lead. If Portia’s own family isn’t concerned about her whereabouts, what makes you think her neighbors are going to care?”

“Give them time.”

“Time is running out. I can’t sit on my hands and wait for these people to get it through their heads that a fifteen-year-old is at the mercy of some sicko.”

“I’m not depending entirely on the members of the community. Rashan is a computer whiz. He and a couple of my students are setting up a Help Find Portia website that will provide links for citizens to give anonymous tips. There will be information on Portia’s last known whereabouts, her picture, a description of the car she was seen getting in, and also a description of the driver.”

Saleema broke into a big smile. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day!”

“There’s more. The site is going to have a forum for teens to discuss their experiences with real or potential abductions. Who knows, maybe someone has had an encounter with Portia’s kidnapper. And we’re asking for small donations to assist with the expenses of the search.”

“Oh, Khalil, this is so incredible. I’m about to cry.”

“It gets better. Once the site is up and operating, the boys are going to link it to their own MySpace and Facebook pages. They’re going to encourage their cyber friends to do the same. Portia’s face will get a lot of national exposure.”

Saleema started fanning her face with both hands. “I’m getting so excited, I’m overheating.” Saleema frowned at her poor choice of words. “Uh, I mean…”

Khalil removed his glasses and wiped at imaginary sweat. Smile lines crinkled around his eyes. “Freudian slip,” he teased, having no idea how right he was.

Khalil had become the featured star of Saleema’s nightly naughty dreams, but she’d never let on that she was hot as hell for him. It was her little dirty secret.

“This website idea is brilliant,” she said, giving no hint of the thoughts that were crossing her mind. “Please thank Rashan.”

“You can thank him in the morning. We’re still going to be hitting the streets with fliers. If the site is up, we’ll put the URL on the fliers.”

Saleema beamed. “Now I feel like we’re finally getting somewhere.”

“You shouldn’t underestimate me. I always have several irons in the fire.”

“I won’t doubt your judgment ever again. I promise.”

“So you’ll be at the community meeting tomorrow night?” He had a devilish glint in his eyes.

She turned up her nose. “Yes, I will be there…sticking by my man—” Saleema gasped. “That didn’t come out right.”

“Another Freudian slip?” he teased.

“I meant to say, I’ll be supporting whatever you do.”

Growing serious, he said, “By the way, we’ll be listing the community support meetings on the site as well as any upcoming fundraising events.”

“Fundraising?”

“I plan to discuss fundraising tomorrow night.”

“You’re incredible, Khalil,” she said sincerely.

“I wouldn’t go that far. But everything is going to be all right. We’re going to find Portia.”

“I know,” she said weakly, rubbing her forehead, clearly stressed.

“Hey, I want you to try to relax,” he said and stuck a hand inside the car. He rubbed Saleema’s back. “You’re a bundle of nerves.” His touch gave her a tingling shock.

“I will,” she said, her voice faltering from the sudden jolt.

Khalil rubbed her back for a few more seconds and then removed his hand, and stood up straight.

From Saleema’s vantage point, she had a spectacular view of Khalil’s sturdy thighs. Though he appeared slim, he was surprisingly muscular. Her gaze wandered to his crotch. Experiencing a rush of excitement, that rendered her momentarily spellbound. Embarrassed, she quickly turned her lustful eyes away.

Khalil’s sensuality had a way of sneaking up on Saleema when she least expected it. She let out a slow, soft sigh of sexual distress. She started up the Camry and quickly turned the air on full blast.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Khalil,” Saleema said, giving him a cool smile. Meanwhile, her heart thudded heavily inside her chest.

“Drive carefully.” He bent. Stuck his head inside the car window and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek.

Impulsively, she turned her head, giving him her lips to kiss.

She felt the warmth of his hand touch the side of her face, then his fingers, long and searching, caressed her chin and traveled around her neck, reaching upward and fervently clutching a handful of her hair.

Saleema shuddered. Her eyes closed dreamily.

When Khalil’s tongue found hers, an intense sensation pulsed through her, making her lightheaded, making her body weak.

Though she craved his passion, Saleema forced herself to break the dangerous kiss.

They looked into each other’s eyes questioningly. Neither spoke for a few seconds.

“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” Saleema said, organizing the locs that Khalil had rearranged with his passionate grasp.

“We’ll pretend it didn’t,” Khalil said, appeasing her like a perfect gentleman.

But they were both keenly aware that quite unpredictably, they’d crossed the friendship threshold.

 
 CHAPTER 33

A gravelly backstreet beneath an overpass led to a one-story, red-brick residence. Under the cover of darkness, the three captive teenage girls were herded into the secluded house.

Seven black men, rounded up from a nearby bar, were waiting. Most were casually attired in jeans and T-shirts, but one man stood out from the others—an older man with a professional look, who was wearing a suit and tie.

Gianna’s mocha skin was contrasted with a white satin sheer gown. A white tiara adorned her head, replete with bridal veiling that trailed down her back. On her feet was a pair of white beaded heels. Keeping with the color scheme, white gauze covered the tip of her mutilated finger.

She admired the carefully layered bandages.
Pretty!
she thought, her mind muddled by drugs.

“I’m first and I want that one,” said a man with an olive complexion. His hair was straight and black. He had a Hispanic look about him, but he spoke without a trace of an accent. He was the only man in the room who was wearing a suit. He pointed at Gianna and began moving toward her with two twenty-dollar bills clutched inside his hand.

Feeling no pain, Gianna smiled at the man with the slicked-back hair.