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“Hey!” Anderson approached the crowd. “Excuse me.”
“Oh, Lord.” Theo put his hand over his eyes.
“Look at this motherfucker.” A protestor pointed to Anderson.
“Yeah uh...” Anderson made his way through the crowd who watched him with their mouths open. He stopped beside a stunned-looking Khadija. “May I speak please?”
“No,” a man shouted.
“Get outta here, whitie.” A woman threw a cup at him.
“Hold on.” Khadija motioned to the audience. “Hey, let’s hear what the man got to say. We’re open to equal opportunity, right?”
People shouted profanities at Anderson.
“Let the man speak.” Khadija clutched her wide hip, chuckling. “What’s your name?”
“Yeah, what’s yo’ name, fool?” the black guy with the corn rolls demanded.
“I’m Anderson Abraham.” He faked a smile.
“Anderson Abraham,” the crowd mocked.
“Hey, I know you.” Khadija snapped her fingers. “You’re that journalist from Boston. I heard about you when I led that protest.”
“May I?” He reached for the megaphone.
She grimaced, handed it to him and stepped back.
Anderson spoke into the megaphone, “Ladies and gentlemen, I understand your anger and—”
“Go back to Boston,” a man said.
“You know why the mayor won’t come out here?” Anderson spoke over the ranting crowd. “Because he doesn’t take you seriously. That’s why.”
“Say what?” Khadija wiggled her neck. “No, he won’t come out here because he’s a damn coward. We ain’t going anywhere until he gets out here.”
“That’s right,” a woman said. “We want justice for Presley Mills!”
“I want that too,” Anderson said. “I’m doing a story on the accident to bring awareness and change. You’re going about it the wrong way. You won’t ever get anything to change if you stomp around like animals.”
“Wait, a damn minute.” Khadija yanked the megaphone back. “Who are you calling animals?” She stuck her finger in his face with her gold tooth beaming in the sun. “We’re protesting the racist ways of this town and if the mayor won’t listen to our demands, then he’ll have hell to pay.”
“Yeah,” a man screamed. “We’re tired of being stepped on and abused.”
“I understand what you mean,” Anderson said. “No one wants justice for Presley more than me.”
“Ah, yeah right,” someone said.
“Believe me I care or I wouldn’t be down here.” Anderson pointed to City Hall. “But we’ve got to do it in an organized, civilized fashion.”
“Fuck being civilized,” the man with the corn rolls said. “The mayor won’t even give us courtesy of speaking to us. Khadija is right. We got to take action now. All this talking ain’t doing shit.”
The audience hooted and hollered.
Corn Rolls stomped in place. “I say burn down this motherfucker and I bet his ass will come out.”
“And what would that prove?” Anderson asked. “You’d just be destroying your own community. This is what I’m talking about, destruction doesn’t get us anywhere.”
“‘Us’?” Corn Rolls grimaced. “What the hell you talking about?”
“He’s right,” Khadija said. “We can’t get confused with why we’re here. But one thing’s for sure, we won’t be ignored. We won’t lie down and we are not leaving until the mayor gets his ass out here!” She jumped. “Hell no! We won’t go!”
The audience took over the chants as Anderson pulled Khadija to the side.
“This isn’t helping these people,” he said. “The mayor’s never gonna come out here if you scare him to death.”
“He deserves to be scared.” She stuck her nose in the air. “Maybe then he’ll see how Presley feels. That little girl didn’t hurt nobody. She was walking to school and because Nate Lancaster drove drunk and ends up hitting her, she’s lying in a coma. How can you defend that?”
“I’m not defending what happened or what Nate Lancaster did. I’m saying that this is not the way. Stomping around has helped nothing. Look at Ferguson and Florida where did the anarchy get everyone there?”
“So people shouldn’t protest?”
“I’m not saying that.” He sighed. “I’m saying that you’ve got to protest with a message other than intimidating the other side. Look at Martin Luther King. When he protested—”
“Please. My daddy marched with Dr. King when he was in high school.” She flashed her palm in his face. “Ain’t nothing you can tell me concerning Dr. King.”
“Listen—”
“You say we’re stirring things up? Well, we’d love to be more peaceful, but that’s gotten us nowhere.”
The people continued chatting.
“You claim you want justice for Presley too?” Khadija asked. “You do things your way and I’ll do things mine because one thing about me baby is I get results.”
Anderson exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You need to listen as much as you talk.”
“Oh trust me I’m listening and—”
“Hey!” Klein Osgood walked out with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and his slacks twisting between his chunky thighs. “Listen! Mayor Bordeaux called the cops.”
They ignored him and chanted louder.
“Brothers and sisters,” Klein said.
“Brothers and sisters?” Khadija laughed. “Now you remember whose side you on? What, the mayor sent his house Negro out here to quiet the yard niggas up?”
“Like we’d listen to you, Klein.” A woman laughed. “Uncle Tom ass.”
The crowd hooted, laughing.
Klein shifted from side to side, scowling. “That’s funny. Yeah call me an Uncle Tom because I got a job most of you couldn’t dream of having.”
“What’s that?” Khadija blew a kiss at him. “Kissing the mayor’s ass?”
Everyone laughed.
“Get out of here!” Klein pointed to the street. “That’s enough! We’re no longer playing games. Miss Moore, if you can do nothing but cause trouble then go back to Detroit. You guys have no right to be here.”
“It’s free speech, fool,” a man said.
“We have every right to be here.” Khadija got in Klein’s face. “And who’ll make us leave?”
Two police cars turned into the parking lot.
“All right, everyone.” The first deputy walked through the crowd, waving. “Wrap it up.”
The people booed, hissed and waved their signs at the officers.
“Let’s go,” the second officer commanded. “If you want to talk to the mayor make an appointment, but you can’t stand out here all day causing a ruckus.”
“A ruckus.” Khadija huffed, gathering her bag and keys. “You think this is the end?” She glared at Anderson and Klein. “It’s just beginning. You should be ashamed of yourself, Osgood. Your fiancée’ is Presley’s aunt.”
Klein clenched his teeth.
“Is Sonjay happy with her soon-to-be-husband protecting the mayor instead of her sister’s kid?” Khadija barked.
“As if you care about anything but publicity.” Klein’s fleshy, sausage lips trembled. “Channing doesn’t want Presley’s situation turned into some media frenzy but you ignore that.”
“What kind of mother is Channing anyway? Her daughter is the reason we’re here and she hasn’t lifted a finger. I don’t get you people.” Khadija tucked her bag under her arm. “Folks who don’t fight for nothing. I can’t understand that.”
“Just because we don’t fight the way you want us to doesn’t mean we don’t fight.” Klein pointed to the side of his fat head, his hair in a simple, close cut. “We fight with this.”
“Hm.” She rolled her eyes. “I guess some people can afford to fight with that. In my world it takes more than thinking to get anything done.”
“Miss Moore, please leave,” the first deputy said.
She bumped into the deputy as she passed. “This ain’t the last of us.”