ZWD: King of an Empty City (35 page)

“No. I got nothing, I just know we don’t need to start no fight tonight.” His deep voice vibrated in our chests.

The conversation became a heated debate till we settled on a course of action. I went back to the party and searched our guy out. He was hanging around the drink table that was loaded with bottled water, Kool-Aid, and big cans of punch. I asked him if he was having a good time and we chatted for a few minutes. I apologized to him for my outburst in the Paris Towers bathroom and started to leave. Then I turned to him and asked if he could help me with something.

             
“Sure, anything,” he said and I put an arm around his shoulders to pull him near and started talking into his ear as if I didn’t want others to overhear what I was saying, or as if I wanted him to hear me clearly over the noise. I mumbled my first words, then said more clearly, “And that’s what I need your thoughts on.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,” he replied. I looked around and motioned him to follow me. I led him down the hallway to the same office everyone was waiting in. Outside the door I warned him, “I have several of my people in here and we’ve been debating for an hour on how to handle this, that’s why I want you here. I want a person who isn’t involved to give us their view, what you think. You good?”

He grinned and said, “You can count on me, I’m happy to help.” I opened the door and let him go in first. I shut the door behind me and suggested he take the chair behind the desk. As he moved over there, I introduced him to everyone and he shook hands with each, then sat in the chair.

“Here’s our problem,” I said. “Donny, hit the lights.”

              Donny hit the wall switch, leaving only the desk lamp on, throwing the majority of us into shadow. I sat down in the chair across from him and pulled out the group photo and looked at it again. “We have a problem with this black truck and the guys in it. Do you know them?”

“I’ve seen them around, I know they’re trouble,” he said.

“But you don’t know any of them? You’ve never talked to them?”

             
“No, why?”

I placed the black truck group photo in front of him with my index finger squarely above his head and looked at his face. A range of emotions crossed it in a second. He knew we were accusing him of being one of their numbers.

“Ok, I knew them, but that was a long time ago.”

“We’re not fucking around here,” I said to him.

“I’m telling you the truth,” he said calmly.

“How long ago?”

“A few years.”

“Danny is dead,” I said, pointing to another face in the picture. Andrew threw a photo he held onto the table in front of this guy. The photo had him and the spiky-haired leader holding up two semi-automatic rifles propped on their hips.

“Flip it over,” Andrew’s voice rumbled. I did. There on the back of the photo was the date. The date was scrawled in blue ink; it was less than a year ago. “Years ago. Huh?” Andrew growled.

“Danny is dead,” I said flatly. “I killed him this morning.”

He sat there in silence. Eyes darting between photographs. You could tell he was trying to determine what we knew and just how much danger he was in.

“Patrick is dead too, this afternoon. Along with this guy.” I pointed to the guy with the tattoo on his neck. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the photo. I moved my finger over to the big burly man with the pockmarked face and scraggly beard. Tapping his face, I continued, “We got James too.” His face went chalk-white. I moved my finger to the man I didn’t know, who was skiing behind the truck a few weeks ago, and asked, “Where is he now?” I didn’t like the twinkle I saw in his eyes when I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said, unable to conceal a grin.

“You don’t? We do,” I said, and saw a moment of doubt cross his face.

“We should have word any moment now about him. That leaves this guy.”

I tapped the face of the spiky-haired leader. “And you.” He glanced up at me and was about to speak when a knock came at the door. Donny opened it a little and my girl stuck her head in the door. I immediately stood up and went outside.

“What’s going on in there?” she asked.

“We’re taking care of some things,” I said.

“What things?”

“Can I tell you about it later?”

“Give me a hint?”

“Black truck things.”

“And the guy?”

“A black truck guy. We’re trying to get information from him. I’m trying to spook him into telling us something.”

She nodded and then gave me a kiss and went back to the party. I came back into the room and sat down. “It’s just you two now. Anything you want to tell us?”

He glared at me.

I’m hesitant to chronicle the events that took place next. History may call us criminals for it, murderers. Or, history may say we did what was necessary to protect ourselves. Before I went to get him from the party, we’d debated what to do about him. Eventually we drew straws and depending on the evidence provided as to his innocence or guilt, we’d decide his fate.

             
We spent a few more minutes trying to get information from him, but he wasn’t talking. He was defiant, his carefree smile transformed into a scowl. Several of us tried to assure him that we were really trying to help him and were giving him every chance in the world to prove his innocence. Finally he muttered, “I knew we should never have let so many of you live without hooking you on the drugs. I knew this would come back and bite us.” At this, we closed ranks on him so there was no escape from his chair and we bound him to it.

             
I won’t say who the executioner was, because it doesn’t really matter. Seven good men pulled straws. Six men watched. Six men carried the body out of the church and dropped it in the dumpster behind the building. Then, we all walked back to the party as if nothing ever happened. I’ll never say who the executioner was because we’re all to blame for this death. But I believe we did it for the right reasons.

I saw my girl on the dance floor and joined her, trying to act like nothing had happened.

“You alright?” she asked.

“No. But I’ll get over it.”

“Want to talk?”

“NO!”

I didn’t feel much like dancing either, but I needed to move and I kept moving till I was sweating again. Probably an hour later, I’d spent the energy I had pent up inside me and went over to the tables to sit for a moment. We were sitting there watching the people in the crowd when Jr. jumped in front of us. He was doing some kind of dance that looked akin to a frog dancing the Watusi, but with more arm-flailing. At the end of the song, he pointed a hand at me and shouted “Like a boss!” and then darted back into the crowd. I had no idea what that was about.

             
Uncle Andrew and Mrs. Greenbaum started a stroll and it took the kids a moment to catch on, but when they did, everyone wanted to join in. Roland became DJ Grand Master Rolo that night. There was one point in the night, early on after we dealt with the black truck guy, when he played a mash-up of Stevie Wonder’s song “Higher Ground” that was amazing. He’d mixed together Stevie’s version of the song with the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ version and Play for Change’s version.

He’d pause the song and let the crowd sing
“Till I reach a higher ground!”

Someone in the crowd started a chant of “We’re still here” during the chorus so it became:

Till I reach a higher ground,

We’re still here!

We’re still here!

I thought to myself that they hadn’t only found a new battle cry, they’d found a new anthem. Looking at their young faces, I was so proud of them. They’d come a very long way in a very short time. And they all looked so innocent. I sought out the faces of Eddie and Donny, Keith, Shaun, Andrew, and Joseph. Although each was having fun, you could see in their faces they were tired, weary of the responsibilities they’d shouldered. They, most of all, needed tonight. They needed an outlet for all they’d taken on, and even with all my good intentions of giving that to them, I’d forced them to make a life-or-death decision in the middle of a celebration. I suddenly felt that same weight again on my shoulders that I saw in their faces. I fumbled around in my jacket and found the pack of cigars. Fishing one out, I went outside to smoke. I made my way through the rectory and found a side door that led to the street. Out there, I took a seat on a flower planter that lined the path to the sidewalk.

             
My girl appeared next to me and took a seat next to me on the planter.

“Feel like talking yet?” she asked.

“Naw,” I muttered. We sat there in silence for a while, then I asked her, “What do you think about leaving?”

“If you’re tired we can go home, but let’s go to the base house tonight. I want a warm bed.”

“No, I mean leaving here, leaving Little Rock. Just pack our things and hit the road.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know. South?”

“What’s south?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s really bothering you? ‘Cause we’re not going south.”

“West then?”

“No. We’re not going anywhere. What’s bothering you?”

                I got up and led her across the street to the white picket fence of the house there. We went through the gate and over to a bench the owners had in the backyard. I tossed my cigar down and pressed it out with my heel.

“I’m tired of this,” I started. “I’m tired of life-or-death decisions, killing, zombies, I’m tired of making decisions for everyone, of scrounging for food, of trying to think not just ahead to tomorrow but ahead to next year. Of everyone turning their eyes to me for a decision. I’m tired of being president. I liked it so much better when it was only the two of us living off the land. It was harsh but it was more free. . .”

“No! No, no, no, I am not going back to that! Look around you! We’ve rebuilt a community. Civilization. They didn’t do that in those science-fiction movies you were always watching. In those they were always looking for someplace where someone had already done it. Well, we did it. It may not be perfect, but it’s ours. And I like being here. Good or bad, it’s home. I like the security of being with people, not just you, but people. There‘s safety in numbers and I like feeling safe. Besides, look at these kids. They need us. They need you, they look up to you.”

“Yeah, right.”

“They do. Haven’t you noticed that they’ve all started to dress like you? Every one of them who could find them is wearing coveralls. And how many of them are carrying some kind of shovel now? All of them who can have started to grow a beard. They’re emulating you.” She paused then and narrowed her eyes. “Right down to your cigar-smoking.”

“I keep meaning to quit that. Why haven’t you said anything about it?”

“Because in a few months, all the tobacco is going to go stale and you won’t want to smoke it then, so it will take care of itself. Besides, you said it, you’re under a lot of pressure. Leading people is a big responsibility. You need something.”

“So I’m a leader of people?”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“We killed a man tonight because we just thought he was guilty. I’m not even sure of the crime. How many presidents do that?”

“Presidents ordered assassinations all the time. You just got your hands dirty with this one. Leaders have to make hard decisions, and you’ve done very well with the hard decisions.”

              “You really think so?”

I was about to ask her a few more questions to quell my doubts and to build up my confidence again. I swear, heroes always make it look easy. John Wayne, where are you when we need you? I needed to make myself feel better, but just then Jamie stepped up to the fence seeking me out and asked if I would dance with her.

“I think someone has a daddy crush on you,” my girl teased me as I stood to go inside to dance.

“You’re coming with me,” I said to her. “If this gets weird, you’re pulling me out.” She laughed and we crossed the street and went inside. It didn’t help that the first dance Jamie and I danced to was a slow ballad, and if you can give a lap dance standing up, that’s what that first dance was like. After a half-hour of torture, my girl finally rescued me. We gathered our things and said goodnight to everyone.

             
When we left we traveled north on Broadway. We were going to go up to Eighteenth Street, then cross over and head to the Safeway before going to the base house. It was probably eleven o’clock and if things went as I’d scheduled they’d be shutting down the party in an hour. I didn’t care if they partied all night, though; those kids deserved it. We were in front of Paris Towers when we heard gunfire. South of us past Faith Temple where the party was held, someone was shooting, a lot. From the sounds of it there were several someones. She rolled her eyes and looked up to heaven and muttered, “It never ends. Let’s go see.”

             
Although we’d only walked a block and a half, by the time we got back to the church, the shooting was over and everyone was abuzz. In the foyer I found Joseph and Donny conversing and got the details about what happened. Ashley was missing and it appeared that the black truck had gotten her, but not without a fight. Donny had sent a couple of the kids who had guns and not potato cannons to escort the adults who weren’t armed as they headed home. Ashley had decided to leave shortly after we did and was headed home when the black truck pulled up on West Twenty-First Street a block south of the church and two men started firing at the little band of three. One of the black truck people was killed, good riddance to him. One of the kids escorting Ashley was killed and they were bringing back his body now. The other kid was wounded badly and they didn’t think it was good. Searchers were out looking for any trace of Ashley, but everyone was doubtful that anything was going to be found.