Chapter Four

It seemed like a regular late-August morning on Ninth Street as Robin and Miz Paige stepped outside to go to church. Robin took in a Ninth Street scene bathed in bright, warm sunshine. Regular Sunday. The Ninth Street Ranger lookouts were on both corners waiting for the white kids who drove in from the suburbs to buy drugs. Some folks were walking their dogs. The little liquor store that Mr. Burress ran just down from the Shrimp Shack was doing a brisk business in Lotto tickets.

Like any regular Sunday morning. Robin and Miz Paige were on their way to the ten o’clock service at Ironwood Baptist Church. Miz Paige was big on church, and big on taking Robin to church. She sang in the choir and always wore a long black skirt and a short-sleeve flower-print top. A choir robe went over all this. Robin wore what he called his regular church suit—a black jacket and pants, green collared shirt, and a black tie.

Robin was hot and cold on church. He liked it because Kaykay was always there. Sometimes, though, after a week with lots of gunshots and sirens? All he wanted to do on Sunday morning was sleep.

Robin and his grandmother stepped in front of the Shrimp Shack, and the regular morning stopped being regular.

“Robinson Paige, my word! Is that door ajar?”

Miz Paige stood on the sidewalk with hands on her hips and real concern in her voice. His grandmother only called him “Robinson Paige” when something was wrong. He’d been named for the baseball great Jackie Robinson. His grandmother also claimed that the Hall of Fame pitcher Leroy “Satchel” Paige had actually been a distant relative.

Robin peered at the Shrimp Shack front door, which was behind a pull-down metal gate designed to keep out anyone who might even think about robbing them. Oh no. The door to the place was cracked open behind the gate.

“I think so, Gramma,” Robin told her. “You locked it last night, right? And the gate?! Did you lock the gate?”

“Help me, Jesus,” Miz Paige muttered as she opened the now unlocked gate. “Help me, help me, help me.”

She rolled up the gate; the front door was definitely open. They opened it all the way and stepped inside.

“Sweet Jesus!” Miz Paige exclaimed. “Robinson Paige, call the police!”

Robin’s heart beat harshly as he took out his cell and called 911. The Shrimp Shack was trashed. Tables upside down. Chairs broken. Cards and letters that had once been on the wall were now on the floor. Robin winced. Someone had found Miz Paige’s giant jar of tartar sauce and hurled it against the photo of his dead parents. It was now covered in scuzzy, green-specked sauce.

“Hello?” he said when the 911 operator answered. “This is Robin Paige at the Shrimp Shack on Ninth Street. We got broken into last night. There’s a lot of damage.”

Miz Paige hustled over to look in her cash register. “They took ’zactly a hundred dollars!” she wailed.

The operator asked Robin if he and his grandmother were in any danger. When Robin said he didn’t think so, the 911 lady said they’d send a patrol car over as soon as one got free.

“Call the church and tell Reverend Thomas what’s goin’ on,” Miz Paige instructed when the call was over. Her voice was steadier. “Lemme check out the freezer and make sure there’s no dead bodies.”

“Why didn’t the alarm go off?” he asked.

Miz Paige made a face. “Didn’t pay the bill. Tryin’ to save some money for your college.”

That made Robin mad. “I don’t go to college for four years! We live on a bad street! We got gang guys shakin’ us down!” He was so upset his speech was turning street. “Come on, Gramma. Pay your damn alarm bill!”

Miz Paige just looked at him, then went to the back. Meanwhile, Robin called the church and told the choir director what had happened.

“Everything’s still there,” Miz Paige announced when she returned. “Strange.”

“No it ain’t.” Robin had it figured out. “It’s not strange. The Rangers are sending you a message. They took a hundred dollars. That’s what they wanted you to pay them.”

Miz Paige bit her lower lip, nodded, and looked up toward the sky. “God, forgive me for what I’m about to do.” Then she stared hard at Robin. “We’re gonna spruce this place up. And we’re not gonna say a word to the police.”

“What?!”

“The cops’ll take a report and leave,” his grandmother told him. “Meanwhile, we gots to live here. No, Robin. You do not say a word. Do you understand?”

Robin understood. He didn’t like it, but he understood. His grandmother was afraid of the Rangers like he was afraid of Tyrone.

“I understand.”

Miz Paige managed a little smile. “Good. Now, you start in front, an’ I’ll start in back. This mess ain’t gonna clean itself.”

Robin couldn’t help himself. He had to ask. “You gonna pay off the Rangers, Gramma?”

Her answer was lightning quick. “To keep you safe, Robin? I’ll give them anything.”

She went to the back. Robin took off his jacket and tie, rolled up his sleeves, and found the push broom. He’d just finished his first pass when he heard loud knocking on the front door.

He froze. Too quick to be the cops, he was sure it was the Rangers coming for their money. He steadied his hands as he opened the wooden door.

It wasn’t the Rangers. It was Reverend Thomas. Right behind him were Sly and Kaykay, and behind them were a bunch of people in their Sunday best.

“Robin, Robin!” Reverend Thomas was a big man, and he had a booming, friendly voice. “We hear you had a little problem last night. We’re here to help you clean this ungodly mess, and maybe I’ll do a little preachin’ when we’re done. Sometimes the best place to have church is not in a church at all.” He got a twinkle in his eye. “That is, if Miz Paige promises to cook up some of her real fine shrimp!”

Everyone laughed.

Then a voice rang out from behind Robin. His grandmother’s.

“Praise the Lord and find yo’selves some paper towels,” Miz Paige announced. “There’s work to do … and then there’ll be shrimp to eat!”

Just after nightfall, Robin leaned back against his pillows and thought about the strange day. The trashing of the Shrimp Shack. What his grandmother had said about the Rangers. And especially the way two dozen people working together made the place look good as new in a couple of hours. Someone even managed to clean up the pictures of his parents.

Of course, the police weren’t happy.

The cops had shown up around noon. They took a report and even asked questions at the liquor store. The owner, Mr. Burress, said he hadn’t heard a thing. Whether that was true, or whether Mr. Burress was also afraid of the Rangers, Robin didn’t know.

He got up from his bed, went to his single window, and looked out. Ninth Street was deserted except for the usual lookouts. His grandmother had gone to see a sick friend. He was home by himself. Tomorrow was the first real day of school. He had homework to do. Not for himself. For Tyrone.

Robin’s room wasn’t much. Just a single bed, a desk, a lamp, a chair, and a bookcase. But he had an old computer and printer that Miz Paige used to run her business. He knew he was lucky to have a computer. A lot of kids had to use the ones at the library or the Center. Tonight’s homework, though, couldn’t be done on the computer. It had to be handwritten.

Robin sighed, then found a binder and tore out some sheets of paper. Writing another essay about Bud, Not Buddy was a snap. It only took about forty-five minutes. He made sure to mess up some of the grammar and spell some words wrong so the teacher would believe it was Tyrone’s. Then he put Tyrone’s name and the date at the top.

I can’t believe I’m doing this, Robin mused. Actually? After today? I can believe it.

The thought didn’t make him feel any better. Not at all.