29
29Andre steps into Vittas Haberdashery with his black Brooks Brothers suit draped across his arm. The dapper salesman who served Clops approaches him.
“Sir, how can I help you?”
“I’d like to get this tailored.”
“I’m sorry, we only service the suits that we sell.”
“Oh,” Andre says as he admires the sharply styled mannequins. “I’ve walked by this store my whole life, and I always said that the moment I had a reason to come in here, I would.” He focuses on the salesman again. “I thought this was the time, but I guess it’s not.” Andre turns to leave.
“Let me see what you have there,” the salesman says. He looks at Andre and then the suit. “Forty-two Long.”
Andre smiles. “You’re exactly right. I just need the waist taken in.”
“You probably need the breast taken in also. You have to ensure that your lapels lay properly because the face of a suit is like the face of a beautiful woman, the first and most enduring part that you see.” He removes the measuring tape from his neck and measures Andre’s chest and waist.
“When will this be ready?” Andre asks.
“For you? Tomorrow morning. It’s my pleasure to serve a member of the community who recognizes the value and longevity of our brand.”
Andre knocks on Sandra’s door clad in his freshly tailored Brooks Brothers suit. He has a blue iris and pink tulip bouquet. Sandra opens the door and her eyes widen.
“Dre, you look very nice!”
Andre is swept up in a thrall of flattery and embarrassment. He gives Sandra the flowers to shift her attention away from him.
Little Dre clops across the floor in tiny Buster Brown dress shoes and leaps into Andre’s arms. The junior Dre wears pinstriped pants, matching vest, a crisply ironed white dress shirt, and a burgundy bow tie. His formerly tangled ’fro is parted in the middle and laid to the side.
“We better go,” Sandra says. “We don’t want to miss the bus.”
Outside, Andre hails a cab. Sandra playfully rolls her eyes. “Excuse me, Mr. Big Spending on a cab.”
“I’ve sold a few cars. And I’m going to get myself one after I’m back in my place. Then I can drive you two around and you won’t have to catch the bus anymore.”
Andre collapses Little Dre’s stroller and places it in the trunk of the cab. He slides into the backseat, nabs Little Dre from Sandra, and plops him on his lap.
“Ocean and Danforth,” he directs the cabbie.
Sandra turns to him. “So, Mr. Big Spending, are we catching a cab home too?”
Andre smiles and kisses Little Dre on the cheek. “Don’t worry about it. Just sit back and enjoy the ride.”
The cab double-parks in front of New Jersey Truth. Andre tells the driver, “Pull up so that my girl—so that my son and my—could you pop the trunk, please?”
Andre grabs the stroller and opens the door for Sandra and Little Dre. He feels warm and tingly as he holds Sandra’s hand and leads her between the dirty bumpers of two parked cars. He shakes out the stroller and straps Little Dre inside.
Two bodies materialize. Andre locks onto Clops’s beady eyes, and every stretch of his being chills to the bone. He sees Rahjaan and the glint of burnished steel. Rahjaan’s eyes get big when he sees Andre. He pauses for a breath but closes his eyes and squeezes anyway.
A hot metal storm erupts, and spent shells ping and dance across the sidewalk.
Andre shields Sandra and fire slices through him. He twists his body in an attempt to cover Little Dre but stumbles as the stroller rolls toward the street.
Screeching tires clash with the sound of repeated gun bursts.
Sandra’s shrill scream turns into a sickening moan.
Andre grabs Clops’s shooting arm and in exchange gets several dizzying kicks to the head. He crashes headlong to the pavement.
Little Dre rolls into traffic. Big Will slams on brakes an instant before the stroller passes in front of his bus. The stroller rams the curb and flips over.
As the block is tossed into panic, Clops and Rahjaan vanish.
Andre blinks several times as a brilliant blue sky blows in. Suddenly he’s aware that he’s on his back staring up at it.
Then he remembers.
Sandra!! Dre!!
His mind shouts, Get up! but his body doesn’t respond. Andre turns and sees Sandra’s smoke-colored knee boots. Pain explodes through him when he flops onto his belly. He deposits a ragged trail of blood on the sidewalk as he feebly drags alongside Sandra’s motionless form—pawing, grabbing at her in search of holes, injuries.
Nothing.
The closer he gets to her head, the more frenzy grips his own.
He caresses Sandra’s face in both hands and sees a small trickle of blood draining from her ear.
Andre’s head lightens and his sight goes white.
The block is an amassment of chaos and caterwauls as people cower on the ground and sprint about helter-skelter.
———
Big Will throws his bus into park and jumps off when he spots Andre bleeding on top of Sandra. A rueful bawl escapes his throat. He looks up at the handful of people with cell phones pressed to their ears, but emergency vehicles are nowhere in sight.
“I’m not waiting!” he shouts at no one in particular. He peels Andre off of Sandra and stretches him across two seats of the bus, then he gently lifts Sandra from the concrete. She hangs limp in his arms. He lays her on the floor in the aisle of the bus.
Rock races out of New Jersey Truth just as the bus disappears into traffic. A sobbing woman collapses into Rock’s arms and says, “Your nephew.”
“My nephew what?” Rock asks. He notes the smudged blood all over the sidewalk.
The woman searches to see who’s listening and softly says, “He shot up Sandra and her boyfriend.”
The resounding drumbeat in Rock’s chest causes his eyes to dart about wildly. “Where are they?”
“A bus driver put them on his bus.” She points across the street. “The baby’s over there.”
A cloud of witnesses are gathered around the stroller. Rock dodges oncoming traffic and pushes through the crowd.
Little Dre is still strapped inside and bursts into tears when he sees Rock, who lifts him from the stroller and pats him gently on the back. “It’s going to be alright, little man.”
Then reality stomps all over Rock’s instinct to comfort.
I don’t even know if they’re alive.
Rock begins the work of establishing in his mind that the lady must be mistaken.
What connection would Claymont have to Sandra and Andre?
Nevertheless, Rock’s insides are ablaze as he crosses the street and slips into the meeting place just as Detectives Jackson and Carollo show up.
Inside, Rock attempts to transfer Little Dre to Grammy Lee, but he screams. Rock takes him to the rostrum, and he calms as soon as he’s under the hot stage lights. Rock addresses the people who remain.
“Our sister Sandra Horton was injured in the incident out front.”
A heavy gasp pierces the ceiling.
“And Andre, her—Little Dre’s father was injured too.”
Little Dre blinks into the blinding light and his big eyes swell with tears. Rock holds him tight and a tear runs down his own cheek.
“I don’t have any more information other than they’re on their way to the hospital. But we’re gonna ask God to intervene in this situation because he can. Now for those of you who want to leave, I understand. But I want to personally ask all of you to stay until we finish praying. Then we’ll be dismissed.”
No one leaves their seat, so Rock bows his head. “Great One. Nothing ever occurs to you because you know the end from the beginning. And since you’re not bound by time or space, you knew that this would happen before you formed the universe with the words of your mouth. We present Sandra and Andre to you. And we ask that you protect them from injuries seen and unseen. We pray that the medical staff that tends to them would see them as valuable and worthy of their respect. Give the doctors wisdom and direct their care.
“And finally, we pray for this little man here. We ask that you shield him from any lingering emotional scars and the bitterness that can come from them. Use this incident to show him that you are sovereign over injury and evil. We humbly make these requests in the name of the Messiah. So be it.”
When Rock attempts to pass Little Dre to Grammy again, he clings tighter. “Little man, I need you to stay with Grammy Lee. She’s my mommy. And she loves babies, especially little boys. She raised two of them herself. And I’m not gonna be long. I’ll be back. I promise.”
Little Dre looks at the two men at the back of the room and reaches for Grammy without shedding another tear.
Rock approaches Jackson and Carollo.
“Nice prayer, Reverend,” Jackson says.
“I’m not a reverend—”
“Lighten up, Rocky,” Carollo says. “We’re just glad to see you out of prison and doing something positive with your life instead of running from us.”
Rock fills his barrel chest, holds his sigh, and folds his arms.
“We’re hoping that someone in your church—” Jackson begins.
“A church isn’t a place, Detective. It’s a body of believers in the Messiah who follow his teachings—”
“Knock off the semantics,” Carollo interrupts. “We have a job to do.”
“And you don’t have to raise your voice at me to do it,” Rock counters. “Now, I’ve spoken to you with nothing but respect even though you greeted me with an insult.”
Carollo stares at Rock with lifeless eyes and Rock glares back.
Jackson leans between them. “We wanna see if any parts of the body gathered here will answer a few questions for us, Rocky. Okay?”
Rock looks from Carollo to Jackson and returns to the microphone. “Family, Detectives Jackson and Carollo from the JCPD are here. And they’d like to ask some questions. So if any of you were outside when the incident took place, please come forward.”
No one moves.
Rock approaches Jackson and Carollo. “I’ll ask again when you’re not here because if the wrong person sees you talking to the police, it can get you in trouble.”
“You’re the leader here, Rocky. What do you know?” Jackson asks. “You had to see or hear something.”
Rock carefully considers. “I’ve only spoken to one person. So if I get credible information, I’ll contact you.”
Carollo buts in. “But what do you know now?”
“I already told you. I don’t know anything. And I’m not sharing hearsay with two DTs eager to make a collar. You guys ain’t exactly the Boy Scouts.”
Big Will careens to a stop in front of the emergency room at Christ Hospital. A young man in scrubs is smoking in front of the building. Will grabs him and says, “I need help!”
“I’m only a lab tech—”
Will shoves him aside.
Everyone notices the six-foot-three, 230-pound black man in the blood-covered bus uniform when he enters triage.
“I have two seriously injured people on my bus!”
The nurse at the desk snatches up the phone, and as soon as she hangs up, two men burst through the door with gurneys.
Sandra and Andre are strapped onto stretchers and rushed inside.