The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Caught (30 page)

So I prayed, glad that God was
El Shaddai
, all-powerful, all-sufficient, able to handle problems too big for me—which certainly described the problem of the moment.

Denny got there first.Giving him the sketchy information I had, we decided to go down to the Clark Street police station, just a mile or two from Adele's shop. If the boys who'd been arrested weren't there, we'd probably have to drive all the way to “Twenty-Sixth and California” —everybody's shorthand for the main Criminal Courts Building and Cook County Jail on Chicago's South Side.

I got a queasy feeling as we pulled into the parking lot behind the neighborhood police station, even though the compact building was modern and attractive with fancy bricks spelling out POLICE in an arch over the large half-moon window facing Clark Street. The last time I'd been here, almost a year ago, I'd come to reclaim my wedding ring that “Bandana Woman” had stolen at knifepoint.
Oh God, You've worked some mighty miracles since then,
I breathed.
We may need a few more.

Florida Hickman, hair tucked under a worn knotted scarf, was pacing in the lobby near the L-shaped front desk, sucking on a cigarette. No chairs. Guess they didn't want people to think of it as a waiting room. “Was hoping you'd be Carl,” she started in, without even a hello. “Told him to get himself here.When that boy comes out that door, I want his daddy to be the first person he sees.”

“When he comes out? ” That sounded hopeful. “Does that mean they're not charging Chris with anything? ”

Her brows furrowed. “Oh, that boy's in trouble, all right. But . . . could be worse. It's a first offense, so they're releasing him to us, but he has to pay for removal.”

“Uh, Florida? ” Denny loosened his tie. “Remove what? We really don't know what happened. Just came to see if you needed some support, a ride, whatever.”

“Tagging, that's what!” she muttered. “Don't got the whole story. But what they sayin' is that
somebody
tagged an alley near Adele's shop with Black Disciple gang symbols, some other stuff. Latino kids saw it on the way home from school, said it was disrespecting Latin King territory, started yellin' an' pushin' the black kids around. Cops came, busted the crowd an' some of the younger black kids got scared, said it was Chris did it—oh. That's gonna be Carl.”

I caught a glimpse of Peter Douglass's black Lexus turn into the parking lot, three men inside. The third person turned out to be Josh.

“LOOKS LIKE CHRIS'S WORK ALL RIGHT.” Josh stood in the alley in the fading light. “Gotta admit, Mrs.Hickman. He's good.”

Peter Douglass had offered to stay with Carl to wait for Chris, bring them home. Josh wanted to stay, too, but Denny said too many people might be humiliating. Florida had elected to leave with us, leave Chris to his daddy and Big Bad Peter, but she wanted to see the start of all this trouble.

“Whatchu mean, looks like Chris's work? ” Florida glared at the brick wall, covered in spray paint, depicting a powerful black man, muscles bulging, dripping attitude, like a superhero in shades and gold jewelry. The now-familiar six-pointed star, crossed pitchforks, and a bold, black
BD
decorated the man's shirt. The letter
C
with a slash through it had been slyly worked into the man's pant leg.

I shot a grim glance at Josh.
Thanks, buddy.
We'd never told Florida about that mural we saw at the el station or what José had said about Chris's “signature.” But we did now, apologizing for not saying anything earlier—though we had no proof at the time that it was Chris and didn't want to be passing rumor.

“But the style is the same, Flo.” Denny's voice carried a note of admiration. “Like Josh said, he's good.”

“Don't ‘good' me, Denny Baxter. We don't need this kind of trouble.Where we gonna get the money to pay the city to remove this, tell me that? ” She angrily brushed away tears that threatened to spill over.

I put my arm around Florida as we walked back to the car. “I don't know, Flo. But we're not going to leave you caught up in this alone.” Though I felt some of her panic. What would it be? Five hundred bucks? A thousand?

ACCORDING TO ADELE, the mural was defaced during the night with the Latin Kings' five-pointed gold crown and
LK
in fancy script letters. Another melee erupted on the street after school; one boy was badly kicked and beaten—Latino? Black? No one seemed to know for sure. The cops came; a few more kids got hauled away for disorderly conduct. Fortunately, Chris was nowhere near Clark Street since Florida had showed up at Sullivan High School after work, went straight to his last class, and hauled him out before the last bell. Ha! I could imagine Chris slouching behind bushes all the way home.

Fortunately, that was Friday. No more school for two days. But I shouldn't have been surprised that everybody was talking about it at the workday on Saturday. After polishing off a blueberry doughnut and a cup of Dunkin' Donuts coffee, I had been handed a bucket of ivory paint and assigned the woodwork around the doors of offices and classrooms. Well,
doors
plural might be stretching it. I'd forgotten how careful one had to be painting trim when the walls were a contrasting color. Slow about summed it up.

But in the large room where a bright coral was going up on one wall, contrasting with a light salmon on another, I heard snatches of conversation between some of the men and teens. “We ought to have a neighborhood presence on Clark Street after school, diffuse some of this violence.” . . . “But that's three o'clock, man! We're all still at work!” . . . “Yeah, but some of the little kids are gonna get caught up in this mess.” I recognized Josh's voice. “They go to Clark Street after school to get snacks.” . . . “Yeah, all the vendors are still out. Maybe we oughta man one of those carts ourselves! ” That last was met with general chuckles. “Don't let Pastor Cobbs take a turn. He's got a weakness for those little doughnut balls—what do you call them?
Bunuelos
, I think.”

I thought about what the guys were saying hile I finished the trim on another door. Thought about it again the next day during worship, when Pastor Clark preached on “Living with Divine Interruptions,” using the ministry of Jesus as an example of the Holy Spirit interrupting our schedules with opportunities to pour out God's love on hurting people.
Huh.
Street violence was an interruption all right—to the Hickmans, whose son ended up at the police station . . . to Adele's Hair and Nails . . . to the kids walking home from school, who clumped naturally in groups but could easily get caught up in the anger and violence of a few . . .

“What
are you thinking about, girl? ” Florida said at the potluck after worship, it being the second Sunday of September. “Bunch of New Morning folks are here, but you sittin' there like a bump on a log, not talkin' to nobody. An' you ain't even tried my greens yet.”

I squinted my eyes at her. “Lemonade.”

“
Lemonade
? Just go get yourself some! In that pitcher over there—whup, sorry. Too late. It's empty. You a sad case, girl.” Florida moved off. “See you at Adele's tonight.We got some serious prayin' to do.”

“LEMONADE.”

My Yada Yada sisters looked at me as if my lightbulb was dimming. We hadn't even started our meeting yet, but already Chanda and others wanted all the details of what had happened near Adele's shop a few days ago. Adele, bless her, left out Chris Hickman's role when talking about the gang signs—a mural, really—decorating the alley nearby. It was irrelevant, in a way. Rival gangs and the flotsam of young lives floating around their edges didn't need much provocation to get in each other's faces. If it wasn't tagging on rival gang territory, it was somebody's sister dating a rival.

“We gotta do somethin'!” Florida fumed. “Too many kids gettin' caught up in this gang mess. Chris too! That boy's grounded again, but you all know that's about as effective as expectin' yo' man to remember your birthday.”

That got several hoots. I was momentarily distracted by Delores, who had steered Ruth into the hallway and seemed to be giving her an animated lecture. Ruth looked confused, but she was listening. I tried to refocus on the discussion at my own elbow.

“Lemonade,” I said again. “Lots of kids walk along Clark Street on the way home from school because they can buy snacks. All the street vendors are still out, selling flavored ices, sweet corn, burritos—stuff like that.What if . . .” I tried to hold on to my idea in spite of cynical looks all around me. “What if we set up a lemonade stand near Adele's shop,where the trouble started, and give out
free
lemonade to kids on the way home from school? We might get to know some of the kids that way, while adding an adult presence on the street.”

“Whoa, sister. I don't want no lemonade stand in front of
my
shop.” Adele stood in the center of the room, hands on her hips. “Just what I need, forty kids clogging the sidewalk. Scare my customers away for
sure
.”

My heart sank. I'd actually been hoping we
could
put the stand in front of Adele's shop, use her water, even say she'd given us permission to be in front of her store if anyone asked. So much for—

Edesa spoke up. “Maybe not so, Adele. If I saw a lemonade stand outside a beauty shop, I would think what a great person, she must have a heart for kids, maybe I will go there!”

“For true.” Chanda flashed her own spiffy nails. “All de young girls get dey nails done now. Dey tell dey mamas 'bout your shop, you get
double
de business.”

Adele snorted.

Florida shook her head. “Jodi, that's gotta be one crazy idea.
Lemonade?
We're talking gang fights, girl!”

“I dunno. Makes sense to me.” Yo-Yo eyed Adele from beneath her spiky hair. “Didn't you say your shop's been tagged a couple of times already? My guess is, if we give out free lemonade in front of your shop, it's never gonna happen again.Word gets around.”

Avis looked dubious. “Sounds like a lot of work to me.
I
can't help, I know that. And . . . I'm not sure it's safe.Not with the recent tensions.”

We argued about the idea for the next ten minutes. Skepticism gradually backed down in favor of responding to the after-school violence with something positive. Even something ordinary and kid-friendly, like a lemonade stand. “Not just leaving it to the cops,” as Stu put it.

Yo-Yo waved her hand in the air. “How many days ya wanna do this, Jodi? I gotta work tomorrow. But I'm off Tuesday.”

“
Sí.
My classes are in the morning. I can help,” Edesa offered.

Chanda stuck out her chin. “Mi toss in some monies for de lemonade. Dat be me contribution.”

“It would take a lot of coordination, Jodi,” Avis warned. “Are you up to that”

I gulped. “Well, let's just do it a couple of days. Monday and Tuesday. See what happens. But we could use some guys too. Any ideas? ”
Humph. Count Denny out.He'd balk at the whole idea.

Ruth, released from Delores's clutches in the hallway, poked her nose into the conversation. “Take the grouch. Anything to get him out of the house and off my back. Just don't let him drink all the lemonade.His prostate's not too good.”

“I'll help you, Jodi,” Stu said. “We can do it.” And for the first time since Leslie Stuart had flipped her superior attitude into my face, there wasn't a trace of one-upmanship in her offer or in the gratitude I felt.

“All right.” Avis opened her Bible. “We can talk about this some more after prayer. But right now let's give God some praise that
He
can take five small loaves of bread and two fish and bless a multitude.” She slipped a grin. “In your case, Jodi,maybe five lemons and two cups of sugar.”

Everyone laughed.

Becky Wallace just wagged her head. “You guys are a trip, you know that? ”

28

O
ur meeting lasted late that night. Nony and Hoshi were both absent, but no one had gotten a call; so we prayed the protection of the blood of Jesus over the Sisulu-Smith household. Edesa shared about her visit to Manna House, the women's shelter on the North Side. “So many health needs,” she said, shaking her head. “So many poor life decisions, too, not realizing how soul and spirit affect the body.The Bible even talks about that.” The young Honduran woman paged through her Bible. “The book of Proverbs, chapter three. ‘Do not be wise in your own eyes; fear the Lord and turn away from evil. This will bring health to your body and strength to your bones.'”

“That's in the Bible? Show me.” Becky leaned close and squinted at Edesa's Spanish Bible. “Wait a minute. Didn't you just read it in English? How'd you do that? ”

Yo-Yo snickered. Leaning forward, Avis asked several pointed questions about the shelter. Did women with children stay there?