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Frank felt as if a sudden rush of moonlight had broken through the clouds on a dark night when Monica called to say she’d like to stop by. The rush lasted only a few seconds before being dimmed by the thought that he was married and probably old enough to be her father.
The lights from her car flashed across the front of the house as she turned into the driveway. Frank went to the door.
“Hello,” she said. “Sorry to barge in on the spur of the moment like this, but I need to discuss a couple of things with you.”
“Come in. It’s good to have some company. How about a Corona? There’s nothing much to eat around here, but . . .”
“I just ate. Beer’s fine.”
“Have a seat.” He took her jacket and laid it across the end of the couch. “I’ll get the Coronas.”
When he returned she was going through some items in her briefcase. How many women could wear a severe black suit and look so attractive? He had searched for just the right word for her before, and he found himself doing it again. Was she intense, forthright? How about dramatic? She was all of these, and a whole lot more. He was impressed with the way she worked, and the fact that she worked so hard, at a job that probably didn’t pay a lot.
He put the tray on the table, poured the Coronas into glasses, and sat on the edge of the couch. He reminded himself of someone . . . the Rev. Jason Abingdon, perched on the edge of his chair last Sunday. Frank eased back and leaned against the cushions, trying to relax. Then he leaned forward and lifted the tray toward her.
“I managed to find some cheese and crackers. Would you like some?”
She nodded and reached for a glass of beer.
“Do you always work so late in the evenings?”
“Usually. I attend a lot of meetings. It’s part of the job. I have some leeway during the day, though. I can take off a bit if I want to . . . it happens occasionally.”
Frank set his glass back on the tray. “I go to a lot of meetings, too. Sometimes just in the interest of the neighborhood, and sometimes for Pauline Washington. We’re in her council district. I do some volunteer work for her office. When she can’t make a meeting, she asks me to go, or sometimes when there’s something technical involved I sit in for her.”
“I wanted to let you know we scheduled the meeting with the mayor and council to find out what happened to the recommendations of the Committee For a Better San Gabriel. We set it a month away so they’ll have time to get on this and make some progress, have something to report to us at the meeting.”
Frank nodded. “How do we handle the meeting?”
“We’ll try to get everyone who served on the committee to come. Each one can ask about one or two of the recommendations to see what’s been done.”
He looked through a stack of papers on the coffee table for his calendar. “What’s the date?”
“December eighth. Six-thirty at the Southside Community Center.”
“I’ll count on being there. Let me know what I need to discuss.”
“I’ll do that—well in advance.”
Frank sat quietly for a moment, hoping she wasn’t through. The more they had to talk about, the longer she would stay.
She pulled another paper from her briefcase and turned to look at him. “I hate to break the bad news to you about this, but we’ve had several reports of drugs being sold at Martin Luther King Middle School.”
“That’s only a few blocks away. I’m not too surprised. That’s where Henry’s grandson goes to school. He’s going to have a fit when he hears this.”
“We hear it’s coming from the crack house down the street. I’m getting a protest organized. We have to get on the problem now. I’ll be sending out a request to a lot of my activist acquaintances to come and help us with it. I’ve tentatively scheduled it for this Saturday, if that’s okay with you.”
“I have to hand it to you, Monica. You don’t waste any time. You’re good at what you do.”
She lowered her eyes to the sheet of paper in front of her. “Thanks. Is the time okay with you? Saturday at ten?”
“Sounds good.”
“I know a couple from the block on the other side of the crack house. I’ll have them organize their block if you’ll do yours. You’ll collect all your people at the end of your block at ten and start down the street. They’ll do the same. We’ll all meet at the corner in front of the crack house.”
“Are we supposed to be carrying signs and yelling ‘Drug dealers get out,’ or something like that?” He laughed. “Do you know how ridiculous this makes a fifty-nine-year-old man feel, to be out in the street protesting like this?”
“Frank! You’re not fifty-nine. I never would have guessed.” It was the first time he had seen her show surprise about anything.
“It’s true.” He wished he hadn’t told her.
“You’ll get used to the idea of protesting if you do it enough. Sometimes it’s the only way of getting what we want. The police can’t seem to do anything. It takes them a long time to gather the evidence they need, and in the meanwhile, our neighborhoods are falling apart.”
“Will you be marching on the block with us?”
“No. I’ll come from the other side. We need a strong leader on both ends. It’s up to you and me to lead—especially at this first protest.”
He nodded. “There are two empty houses in this block—the dilapidated one by the crack house and the one here by me. And then we have the Graces . . .”
“The Graces?”
“Three elderly widows who live in this block.”
“They’re all named Grace?”
“No. I call them that because . . .”
“Oh, like in mythology. That’s wonderful. I can just see them.”
“I doubt they’ll agree to join us. That’s five houses already that won’t take part. Do you think we’ll have enough?”
“Even if you and I are alone, Frank, we’re going to be heard.”
“Darlene’s in Dallas. Of course she wouldn’t be able to join in, with the broken leg.”
“Your wife has a broken leg? And she’s in Dallas?”
He stood up. “Let me get some more Coronas. Do you have time? I need to discuss a problem with you.”
“Of course. I have all evening.”
They had long since finished the beer by the time he told her all the details of Henry’s problem with Hugh Andrews. Monica leaned against the arm of the couch, her head propped on her hand.
“The law isn’t going to do anything without some proof,” she said.
“I know. Can you think of anything else?”
“The only thing would be a protest there, too, but no one’s going to see us out there in the boondocks where he buried the stuff. We could go to his place of business, but I don’t know. There’s such a lack of any physical evidence, and he’s a businessman who’s fairly well known on this side of town.”
“Let’s hold off. I’d have to talk to Henry before we do anything. Maybe Andrews will consider it a Mexican standoff.” He felt his face grow warm as he wondered if she’d consider the term derogatory.
“I know of the Castro brothers, Efrain and Jesus. They’re a menace to society, but maybe Andrews can rein them in. A protest might do a lot of harm right now, especially if he does consider this a Mexican standoff, as you say.” She gave him a sidelong smile.
“Sorry.” He looked at his watch. “It’s after ten. I’m feeling guilty for keeping you here so long. I’m going to follow you home to make sure you get there okay.”
Monica put her hand on his arm. “Not at all necessary. I’m out this late all the time. I appreciate the thought, though.” She started putting papers back into her briefcase.
“I’ve enjoyed your company this evening,” he said. He would have to let her go now. There was no alternative. “Call me as soon as you get home so I’ll know you made it. I’ll come looking for you if I don’t hear.”
“Okay. I go down South Cedar to Ashton; then take it all the way across Laredo Road. Three blocks farther, and I’m home. Las Brisas Apartments.”
He walked to the car with her and leaned down to speak when she rolled down the window. “Your VW still running well?”
“Frank, I’ve never known a man like you. I think about you all the time.”
He turned away for a moment to hide the tangled rush of feelings brought on by her words. “I don’t know what to say. I find you immensely attractive, too.” He fumbled for more words. “But I’m married and old enough to be your father.”
“I’m not into seeing married men. After the crack house protest, I think I’m going to have to switch this part of town to another case worker.” She started the engine and backed out of the driveway.
“Call when you get home,” he said, hoping she heard.
He went in and sat by the phone. It rang in fifteen minutes, and she said, “I’m home. Frank, forgive me for being so forward. Please forget what I said in the car. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Please, Monica, don’t worry. It’s already forgotten.”
But of course it wasn’t. He lay awake a long time with only the ticking of the bedside clock keeping him company.
#
Frank had just returned from work and was getting ready to go out and walk his block in the interest of Saturday’s protest when Mrs. Henthorne’s new dog, Cookie, started barking. Cookie barked a lot, but Frank didn’t mind. It meant that ears sharper than his were on guard at the back of the houses.
Cookie was a huge, unpredictable, slobbering female mongrel who acted each time she saw a stranger as if she couldn’t decide whether to attack head-on or run under the house. When someone walked along the alley in back of the houses on Cedar Street, she would run at the chain link fence, sometimes grabbing it with her teeth and shaking her head madly. A bolder intruder would simply walk toward her and she would retreat, torn between her fear and her natural instinct for guarding her territory.
Cookie’s feelings toward Frank were ambivalent. When he let himself into Mrs. Henthorne’s back hard to check out the dog’s barking, she considered him reinforcement. She bounded around him wildly, and then rushed back and forth between him and the fence, urging him to do something about the intruder in the alley. When no one else was around, her mood varied from cautious friendliness to growling antagonism.
He went to the window, but couldn’t see anything, so he went outside and into Mrs. Henthorne’s yard. Three teenagers came down the alley wearing backpacks. One of them had a handful of rocks, so Frank walked to the fence. Cookie was going crazy, Frank’s presence egging her on. The young men walked on, taking their time, but finally disappearing at the end of the block.
Mrs. Henthorne opened the back door. “Mr. Novak! I didn’t know that was you out here. I didn’t realize you were home from work. I saw you out here in the yard and called the police. I’d better call them back.”
“It’s okay, Mrs. Henthorne. Let them come. We need all the police presence around here we can get. It’s probably Bobby Ledbetter on duty. I need to talk to him anyway.”
Cookie had quieted down and was sniffing around the yard. Mrs. Henthorne came outside.
“She was just barking at some teenagers going down the alley,” Frank said. “I wanted to talk to you, too. We have a problem at the middle school—someone’s selling drugs over there. It’s coming from the crack house. We’re organizing a protest for Saturday morning, trying to get everyone on the block to march down there. There will be others coming from the next block.”
“Oh, Mr. Novak. I couldn’t do anything like that. Getting out with all the people who live in the neighborhood these days and parading down the street . . . I just couldn’t do it.”
“It would help a lot if we could be united on this. We need to show the scum at the end of the street that we’re not going to put up with them. Think about it, Mrs. Henthorne. Talk to the other ladies. I’m going to talk to them, too.” He heard a car in her driveway. “That’s the police now.”
Bobby Ledbetter got out of his cruiser with a clipboard in his hand. Frank and Mrs. Henthorne went to meet him. “Sorry, Bobby, but Mrs. Henthorne saw me in her back yard. I had gone over to check on the dog. She thought I was an intruder. The dog was just barking at some teenagers going down the alley.”
“That’s okay. Glad there wasn’t a problem.” He started back to the car.
“Anything new on the drive-by at Henry’s?”
“No. We’re still checking. We have the description of the truck Mrs. Henthorne gave us.”
“This neighborhood is going down so,” Mrs. Henthorne wailed. “I sometimes wonder if I should move out.”
“I was just explaining to Mrs. Henthorne that there’s been a drug problem at the middle school. It’s coming from the crack house we’ve been complaining about. We’re organizing a protest march down there Saturday morning.”
Ledbetter looked skeptical. “Good luck in getting your neighbors together on this. I’ve seen it before. The kids have soccer games, people are going out of town, and some have to work. It’s a hopeless job. There’s the element of danger, too, when you’re dealing with drug dealers. Then there’s the apathy. No one seems to care.”
Mrs. Henthorne’s face had brightened and she was looking at Ledbetter with a determination Frank hadn’t seen on her face before. “Officer Ledbetter, we may surprise you on this block. I’m going to get my friends involved. We may just surprise you.” The little scarf she had tied around her hair was fluttering helplessly in the breeze, but Mrs. Henthorne didn’t look so helpless any more.
#
Frank was the first to arrive at the corner. He carried one of the signs the widows had made—“NO SCUM IN OUR NEIGHBORHOOD!” He laughed every time he looked at it. Those little old ladies could turn vicious, given enough provocation and given the skepticism of their local police officer. Frank looked across the street, hoping Henry would join him soon.
Henry had been clearing out the last of his fall garden and turning the soil with a spading fork when Frank told him about the drug problem at the middle school. “I’m going down to the crack house and throw bricks through their windows,” he said. “Better yet, I’ll set fire to the place. If I burn it down, they’ll have to leave.” He jammed the fork into the soil and let it stand there.
“Calm down, Henry. Let’s give this protest a chance to work. If we have to protest every weekend, we’ll do it.”
Henry’s face was a thundercloud of suppressed anger. “Yeah, and in the meantime, my grandson might be experimenting with crack.”
Frank had no answer for him. He had thought about Mary Williams, the woman he met at the crack house. He remembered her face, as emotionless and secretive as a mask. Would a protest shake her? Not likely. Maybe if they kept at it, constantly turning over her rock and exposing what was crawling underneath, she would shrink away from the light and slink away.
He could see Henry coming out his front door now. Henry had insisted on making his own sign. When he got close enough, Frank read it—“STAY AWAY FROM OUR SCHOOLS OR ELSE.”
Old Mrs. Kosub came from behind her house at the same time. Her hair was protected from the possibility of wind by a flowered scarf which was tied under her chin. She walked with a cane in her left hand and carried her sign in the left.
Within minutes several others arrived. Those Frank didn’t recognize introduced themselves as acquaintances of Monica, workers at various agencies who had come to boost the number of protesters. Frank imagined Monica doing the same for them when other neighborhoods needed action.
By ten o’clock, twenty-five protesters had gathered. Two blocks down the street, on Monica’s end, Frank could see a similar group. He couldn’t pick Monica out of the crowd, but he was sure she was there. He had no doubt about her loyalty.
“It’s time to start,” he shouted. “We want to meet at the same time in front of the crack house. We’ll keep an eye on the other group down there and keep pace with them.”
“Let’s go!” Henry shouted.
Frank raised his sign. “Henry will lead us in some chants. Let’s go, Henry!”
“Drug dealers gotta go!” Henry yelled, and the others joined in as they started down the street.
Frank was amazed at Henry’s leadership abilities when it came to getting people to make noise. He usually was so modest and unassuming; now he walked at the head of the crowd beside Frank, his sign held high in his left hand and his right fist punching the air above him to accent every word. The Graces were right behind, hurrying along as fast as their arthritic knees would take them.
Monica had been right, Frank had gotten used to the idea of protesting. He had been roiling for weeks at the helplessness of the neighborhood in having the crack house nearby; after the news of crack dealers at school and Monica’s plan for the protest, he lost his aversion to making a spectacle of himself in public. He had looked forward all week to taking action. It was better than sitting around and wondering when the police would act. Frank felt his face warm with emotion, but instead of embarrassment, it was anger and righteous indignation that filled him.
The timing appeared to be right. They would meet Monica’s group in front of the crack house. He could see her now; she wore slacks and a red blazer and carried a sign. She was ferocious in opposing the drug dealers; he could see it in her face. His own anger faded a little as he took time to marvel at her.
The two groups were coming together now, joining in shouting—at an empty house. The occupants hadn’t moved out during the night; he could see furniture in place through the open drapes. The garage doors stood open and no cars were there or in the driveway. No lights burned inside the house. Someone had warned Mary Williams they were coming, and she had cleared out for the day. And she had left everything wide open so they would know she was wise to their plans and was gone.
