Christmas in the Hood (4 page)

“Oh, yeah.”

“Said you were in Paris.”

“You must have come about four years ago.”

“Yeah,” she said, and dropped her head. “Do I disappoint you?”

“No. I mean, the world is what it is. I have no expectations for anyone, not even preachers.”

“I’m ashamed.”

She smacked her teeth sassily. “Why, because you’re a man?”

“No, because I was weak.”

“The flesh is always weak,” Shante said.

“So you know the Bible?” He smiled.

“Not exactly, but I’ve heard that before.”

“Do you want to study the Bible?”

“When?”

“Now.”

“Why do you want to study the Bible with me?”

“I don’t know. I think the Lord wants me to help you.”

She smiled a polite smile. “Well, I need five hundred more dollars to get my children’s Christmas toys.”

He chuckled but didn’t respond.

“So, John, are you gonna help me?”

“Do you know what Christmas is all about?”

“Yeah, of course I do. But I need money.”

John looked puzzled. “That’s not what it’s all about. Don’t you want to go to real estate school?”

Shante had thought about getting her real estate license but hadn’t told anybody. “How did you figure that?”

“I have a way of knowing things.”

“Lucky guess.”

“But again, do you know the meaning of Christmas?”

“Yes. Giving—and it’s Jesus’s birthday.”

“Yes, it is the day our Lord and Savior entered the world.”

“We all know this. Are you going to help me now?”

“Shante, if you died tonight, would you go to heaven?”

“I don’t know.”

“Wrong answer.”

She looked confused.

“Shante, you’ve tried everything else; now try Jesus.”

“Is Jesus going to pay my bills?”

“Absolutely!” John took her hand in his. “Trust me.”

His hands were warm, and his demeanor was friendly. She believed him, and at that moment she believed in God.

He held her hand tightly and asked her to pray with him. “God, I know that I’m a sinner, and I know that Jesus died for our sins, and I’m asking you to come into my life and take control over it. I’m asking you to save my soul, Father. Amen.”

Shante repeated the prayer, John kissed her and left the room. As the door closed behind him, tears rolled down her face. She felt new.

*  *  *

On Sunday, the day before Christmas, Shante went to John’s church. A young man was in the pulpit preaching about angels. He read the lesson from Hebrews 13:2: “Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained unawares angels.” Shante wondered where John was as she looked for him after the service was over. Maybe he’d gone on another trip again. Approaching one of the deacons, she asked, “Where is the minister?”

The deacon pointed to the young man who’d just preached the sermon.

“No, I’m talking about John Long.”

“John Long died three years ago,” the deacon said. “A tall man with a gray beard?”

“Yes, he was the preacher here for twenty years.”

“There must be some mistake.”

The deacon led her over to the side of the room and pointed to a picture that hung on the wall. “Is this the man you’re looking for?”

Shante examined the picture. “Yes, that’s him.”

“Yeah, his wife died of lupus more than three years ago, and he died maybe six months later.”

Shante was frightened and confused. Had she been talking to a dead man? How was this possible? How had he come to be in the club? Why had this happened to her?

The man asked kindly, “Would you like to join the church?”

“No, not today.”

“Are you saved, young lady?” the deacon asked. “Yeah … Yes.”

He smiled and nodded. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you,” Shante said. While she still didn’t know what she was going to do about getting Christmas gifts for the kids and paying next month’s rent, she wasn’t going to worry about that now. She felt God was showing her signs and that her life would never be the same.

*  *  *

As Shante was about to unlock the door to her apartment, she noticed a message on the door indicating she had packages at the rental office. She went back down to her car and drove over to the office.

The apartment complex manager, an older white lady, smiled and said, “Hello, Shante. You have about twenty boxes in here.”

Shante was surprised. “Really?”

The manager lit a Camel cigarette. “Yeah, it appears you have a Secret Santa.”

“Oh yeah?”

“None of the boxes have a return address,” the woman said, before blowing out a smoke ring. “I’ll help you carry them to the car.”

“Thanks.”

The manager handed Shante an envelope. “Here, this is for you, too.”

Shante tore into the envelope, which contained a note: “Shante Morgan, you are registered for the next session of the Lawrence Real Estate School. Paid in Full.”

Shante wanted to cry, this time tears of happiness and gratitude. She looked at the manager and gave her a hug. “Have a Merry Christmas!”

“You too, doll,” the manager said with a throaty laugh.

One Year Later

It was the night before Christmas, and Shante and her kids looked around their apartment. It was bare. “Mommy, how big is my room again?” Makayla asked.

“As big as the living room and kitchen in this apartment put together,” Shante said with a smile.

“And I’ll have my own room, too?” her son asked.

“Yes, you will,” she said, hugging them both, tears in her eyes at the thought of moving her children into their own home.

It had been nine months since she graduated from her real estate
program, and even though she was only a sales agent, she had brought her hustling skills to the forefront and had the highest sales of anyone else in her office. High enough to have saved for a down payment on a home and bought a new Mercedes SL500.

“Now hop in the car with me so we can go to the car wash before we go to church tonight.”

Shante and the kids drove to a nearby car wash that serviced many luxury cars. She wanted her new ride to look as shiny and new as she was feeling these days.

As they pulled into the car wash a guy stepped up to the car to take down the details of what she wanted done. Fumbling with her purse, Shante didn’t look at him right away.

“Hey, shortie, what you need today?”

That voice. Shante glanced up and right into Big Mike’s eyes. He looked a far cry from the successful player she once thought he was, in his dirty overalls with his ashy hands. Recognition slowly crept across his face, and he started to look fearful. But as he held her eyes, he couldn’t help but be impressed.

“Damn, shortie, you’ve done well for yourself.”

Not wanting to cuss him out with her kids in the car, Shante gripped the wheel and took a deep breath. She closed her eyes briefly and asked God for strength. “Was it worth it, Mike?” Shante asked quietly.

Not expecting her to approach him in that manner, Mike looked confused. He thought she would go off on him.

“Shortie, I was desperate. I did what I had to do.”

“So it was worth stealing from my kids? What’s a man driving a Benz doing stealing?”

“That car wasn’t mine, baby doll. One of our customers was
storing it here while he did a bid, and I borrowed it on occasion. Shit, I usually take the bus,” he admitted.

Shante looked at him again, and, instead of disgust, she started to feel something else. Pity. Any man low enough to steal from a single mother and her kids wasn’t man enough for her.

“Mike, I gotta go. I’ve changed my mind about the wash. Yeah, I recovered, but no thanks to you. You really messed me up, but the good Lord restored my faith. I used to think I needed a man. I felt lonely without one. But I’ve now learned that I’m never truly alone because I’ve got the Lord. I hope you find that same peace.”

Shante backed her car up and drove out of the car wash, leaving Mike stunned.

Me and Grandma

Mo Shines

Chapter One

A
round six on the morning of December 1, nineteen-year-old Gina “Gigi” Lewis was awakened by the sound of feet storming through the apartment. She thought she was dreaming and turned over to go back to sleep, but the sound of a strange male voice yelling “New York Police Department” let her know that this was not a dream.

Bolting straight up in bed, she grabbed the sheet in fright, looking like a deer caught in headlights. She heard her sixteen-year-old cousin Andrew let out a loud “Oh shit” from the front room, right next to the apartment door.

As Gigi and her grandma scrambled out into the hallway, three police officers were quickly tackling Andrew to the floor. More cops poured into the apartment.

“Hands up! Hands up where I can see them!” one shouted as he grabbed Gigi’s grandma by the collar of her nightgown.

Gigi felt a cold metal object on the side of her right temple. The young narc pulled Gigi back into Grandma’s room by her white tee and cocked the hammer on his black .38 revolver, still holding it to her head. Her life seemed to flash in front of her eyes.

Grabbing Gigi by the hair, he turned her head and whispered in her ear, “One wrong move, I’ll blow your fucking top off.” She felt his dry, cracked lips scratch her skin.

The cop jerked Gigi’s arms violently behind her back and enclosed tight plastic flex cuffs around her wrists. Then he dragged her into the living room, where they already had Andrew and his grandma restrained with flex cuffs and on the floor. She looked at Andrew with terror in her dark brown eyes. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion.

Andrew mouthed, Don’t worry, as he watched Gigi fight back her tears.

Gigi nodded and turned her face. Her heart was pounding as if it would jump straight out of her chest. It broke her heart to see tears streaming down her grandma’s wrinkled face as the cop dropped Gigi down on the floor next to her.

Proceeding to ransack the old woman’s nice apartment, the cops flipped over mattresses, threw the dresser drawers on the floor, and tossed clothes everywhere.

“What the fuck is all that P.A.L. shit in the closets?” an angry officer yelled out, searching through the hallway closet.

Andrew replied sarcastically, “That’s my uncle’s shit. He’s a P.A.L. youth counselor.”

“Yeah, well, tell your uncle he’s a fucking thief.”

Andrew looked at him and said, “Whatever, man.”

Two cops went into Grandma’s bedroom to search it. Gigi heard them yelling.

“Oh … shit, oh … shit! What the fuck is that?”

“What do they feed that damn thing? That shit is as big as a small dog.”

Kitty the Siamese cat always jumped out from under the bed whenever the bedroom door opened. At first glance the cat’s glowing green eyes scared anybody who entered the dark room.

A tall, slim black uniformed cop remained in the living room with Gigi, Grandma, and Andrew, badgering them while the rest of the cops searched different areas throughout the apartment, repeatedly asking where the crack was.

Two detectives sporting suits and ties walked into the living room. The black one stared at the trio on the floor. The short, stocky white one turned his attention to the Christmas tree and the wrapped presents resting under it.

“Check the gifts,” the white detective ordered the black cop already in the living room.

The younger cop immediately jumped into action. Crossing the room, he knocked over the tree and sent red ornaments rolling across the living room floor.

“Why you fuckin’ wit’ our tree?” Andrew yelled.

“Shut your trap ’fore I stick my foot in it,” the black detective snapped, shifting all his weight onto one leg.

Realizing the detective wasn’t just making an idle threat, Andrew kept his lips zipped up.

The uniformed cop grabbed one of the gifts and was about to
rip off the wrapping paper when, suddenly, one of the cops in the kitchen shouted, “Bingo! Bingo!”

Gigi’s heart sank as the other cops milling around the house cheered in jubilation. She looked over at Grandma, who just shook her head in despair. A young cop emerged from the kitchen, holding up two ceramic flour canisters he had found sitting on top of the fridge.

“Look what I found,” the cop gloated. His hands were covered in flour as he set the canisters down on the coffee table in full view of the other cops.

The bundles were partly visible underneath the flour. Removing them from the canisters, the cop smacked the flour off before bagging them into evidence.

The same two uniformed cops scared by the cat returned to the living room. “This was in the closet.” The tall white one lifted up both hands and showed everyone in the room the huge stash of crack bundles he had found. He had at least six Ziploc bags in each hand.

The skinny white one held up a thin white plastic bag. “There’s a little over twenty-seven thousand dollars cash in here—mostly tens and twenties.”

Gigi’s breath caught in her throat as she watched the cop confiscate the money Grandma had hustled so hard to save for her kidney transplant. The surgery had already been scheduled for January 4. Tears really started streaming down her face.