L.A. Blues III (8 page)

The rest of the evening was rather quiet as we watched old reruns of
The Cosby Show.
I wanted to tell Venita and Rachel that I was pregnant, but something held me back. I wanted to share the ultrasound picture, but I didn't feel this was the right time. Our reunion as mother and daughters was brand new, too fragile.

Rachel and I spent the night at Venita's and, as two sisters, we slept in the same king-sized bed in her guest bedroom. I hated the fact we didn't get to grow up together, but with the age difference, we might have never had the bond Chica and I shared anyway. Chica and I used to whisper across the room to each other from our respective twin beds until Shirley would come into our room and call out, “Go to bed.”

The next day, I took Rachel back to the airport by myself since Venita didn't want to say good-bye. Of course, when it was time for her to get off at the airport curb, we both boohooed and kept hugging each other.

I pulled myself together first. I told her, “Let's keep it in the now. We have the present. Let's don't worry about the past.”

We promised each other that we would write, e-mail, friend each other on Facebook, call, and stay in touch.

As soon as I left Rachel at the airport for her return flight to Michigan, I drove out of the airport, found a side street, pulled over, put my head on the steering wheel, and cried some more.

That next week, I think I was still in a state of shock after I left the office of Romero's lawyer, Attorney Stein, in Pasadena. It had been a couple of weeks since I received Romero's posthumous phone message, but, after handling the kidnapping case, I'd elected to see Rachel and Venita first. Now, after visiting the lawyer, I was standing in possession of the deed to Romero's property in Silver Lake and I also had the front door key. I couldn't believe it. I was now the owner of a house that was straight-out paid for. All I would have to pay were the taxes and home owner's insurance.

I couldn't believe my eyes. Romero only asked that I would visit his daughter, Bianca, when possible and establish a relationship with her. When Bianca turned eighteen, he also left money in a trust for his daughter that he wanted me to oversee when Bianca became college aged. I wondered why he didn't leave it for her mother, Jade, but the divorce had been an acrimonious one.

I stopped at a floral shop, picked up a bouquet of tiger lilies, which used to be Romero's favorite, then headed toward the Inglewood Cemetery, which was Romero's final resting place. I drove through the winding streets of the cemetery and, right away, was struck by the hushed quiet. It was as if the dead didn't want to be disturbed. For a moment, the wail of sirens—which, in Inglewood, was as common a musical backdrop as birds twittering or insects chirping—faded. The silence was eerie. I sucked in my breath and pushed forward. This would be my first time coming to the cemetery since Romero's funeral.

As I made it to Romero's headstone, I noticed a graveside ceremony was in progress not more than forty feet away, but I didn't let it stop me. I placed the bouquet of lilies on Romero's grave, kneeled down, and kissed his headstone. I laid my head on the cool grey slab, and the tears started running down my face. I don't know how long I was leaning up against the headstone.

I talked to Romero so I could still feel close to him. “Romero, thank you so much for leaving me your house. I swear I'll take care of it and keep up the taxes. I will make sure that Bianca is done right by me . . . This was perfect timing—your leaving me the house and all. I really need to move from Shirley's. You know, I'm going to have a baby.

“I hope it's our baby because I don't know if I was raped when I was drugged in Rio. I hope I got pregnant that last night we were together. You were amazing. I'll remember that night as long as I live . . . Then, if anything happened in Rio, I was already pregnant so it would definitely be your baby. I almost had an abortion, but something kept holding me back. Oh, Lord, I hope this is your baby.

“Oh, my goodness. I'm so sorry I didn't marry you, babe. There are so many cases I need to consult with you about. For instance, should I go to the police about what happened to Tank's head, or where is his body? I don't know what to do without incriminating myself, and now I'm being blackmailed.

“Anyhow, I was in a bad car accident coming from Haviland's wedding—yes, Trevor married that fool—I can hear you laughing from your grave.” For a moment, I laughed through my tears. “But, anyhow, as bad as this car accident was, I didn't die and I didn't lose the baby. It was like this angel just came forth and held my hand until the emergency crew got there. I wonder what the lady's name was. It reminds me of how you came into my life and kept that gang from raping me when I was eighteen.

“Oh, I miss you so much and I need you.”

Suddenly I noticed a shadow fall across the ground in front of where I was kneeling. Startled, I glanced up to see Reverend Edgar.

“Hey, stranger,” he said softly.

“Are you following me?” Although he'd startled me, for some reason I really was glad to see him. I wiped the tears in my eyes with the back of my hands. I could tell by the look in his eyes he saw that I had been crying.

“No, I just finished officiating over a funeral, for the son of one of my church members. It was so sad. This young man had just gotten out the gangs and given his life to Christ. Sometimes the streets won't let you go. Everyone is leaving the cemetery now, so I've got a minute.” Then he asked me a question. “Your name is Zipporah, right?”

“Yes, how do you know my name?”

“When I took the report, I saw the information on your driver's license. Well, I was wondering, who are you here for?”

“I am here visiting a friend—a former fellow officer. I used to be a police officer.”

“Oh, really? Are you still a police officer?”

“No. I'm a private investigator now.”

“That's interesting. That's a different profession for a woman. It must take a special type of woman to do it.”

“I love it.” I assumed he didn't watch our show, and he really sounded as if he didn't know about me, even though the TV cameras were present at Haviland's wedding. “How do you like being a fireman?”

“It can be rewarding. I think I loved the job more when my wife was alive though. Paula was my best friend. I come here often to visit her grave, too. I know how it is to miss someone who meant a lot to you.”

I wondered if he had heard some of my conversation with Romero. “How long ago did she die?”

“She died two years ago in childbirth.”

“Oh, no! I'm so sorry to hear that.” I felt a little afraid, thinking of that. Now I did remember hearing Venita say that when a woman gave birth, she was never so close to death. I said a quick prayer for a safe and healthy delivery. “What happened to the baby?”

A sad look clouded his face. “We had a baby boy. He didn't make it either.”

“Oh, my goodness! How did you make it through all that?”

“My faith. God can sustain you through anything. It was hard, but God has held me up and pulled me through. You know the offer still stands for you to come visit my church. After that car accident you were in, you really have a lot to be thankful for.”

“You're right about that. I thank—”

Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. A round of gunfire blasted in the air, interrupting what I was getting ready to say, which was to thank him for helping cut me out the car when I was in the accident. Birds began to squawk and fly for cover. The remaining mourners in the cemetery scurried and fled to hide behind the parked cars in the circle drive. Fear rippled down my spine.

My heart began to jackhammer and my adrenalin coursed through my veins.
Oh, no!
Was this a gangbanger retaliation shooting at a funeral? They happened all the time. Homeboys showed up for their friend's funeral and ironically would get murdered at the church or the cemetery.

“Get down,” I heard Reverend Edgar bellow.

Instinctively, I pushed the reverend, and, from habit, I stopped, dropped, and rolled onto a grassy knoll with a thud. I pulled out my gat, and started firing back in the direction of the shots. I held my stomach with one hand for protection, and shot back with the other. Now how the heck did I get caught in the crosshairs of a shootout?
I thought the gangs had slowed up shooting out at the funerals. Lord, how is this baby going to make it with all this?

At the same time, I intuitively made sure I fell on my side as I scooted for cover. I noticed that the minister tried to cover my body with his body. But I pushed him to the side as I shot back. The sound of gunfire filled the air.

Fortunately, I'd always been a good shot. The attendees at the funeral were still shouting and running for cover. I made sure I didn't shoot in their direction.

“Oh, Lord, help us!”

“Get Sister Roscoe's walker!”

“Get behind the cars!”

But something in my gut told me that this was no unrelated random shooting.

Finally the cacophony of bullets stopped and I saw someone speed away, burning rubber, in a dark, unmarked car with tinted dark windows.

“Are you all right?” Reverend Edgar asked me, pulling me up from the ground. He brushed the grass off my coat.

“Yes, I'm fine.”

“My, you're a good shot. I think you drove our shooters away.”

Suddenly I heard my iPhone vibrate. I opened my purse and glanced down. A text message flashed on my screen: We're serious. Next time we'll get you.We will send you instructions.

Now I was wondering if that was a car accident I was in, if that had been intentional, or a random accident. Just in case, I decided I'd move to Romero's house since few people knew where he lived.

“Where is your church?” I asked Reverend Edgar.

“We're on Manchester Boulevard. Here's another card. Fellowship Baptist meets at eleven
A.M.
on Sunday and we have Bible Study on Wednesday evenings at seven
P.M.
”

—Hebrews 13:2

 

That next Sunday I attended Fellowship Church in Inglewood. I was really shaken up by the shootout from the gangs. Something wasn't sitting right in my spirit. The police came out and took a report, but I knew nothing was going to be done. This was just another day in the life of the hood, as far as they were concerned. Fortunately, there were no casualties. Something in my gut let me know things were going to get worse and that there was something going on, but what, I didn't know.

I was beginning to miss church. I had gone to AA meetings, but that connection wasn't enough. Now I really wanted to go to church for the first time in my life. I felt like something was missing in my life.

I also wanted to go to church to thank God for sparing my life and my unborn child's life. I needed spiritual direction as to how to deal with my newfound sister, as well as how to deal with my pregnancy.

As soon as I walked in, I was surprised at how friendly the ushers were and how warm the congregation seemed. The congregation was no larger than about 150 people. People spoke to me in the atrium and were very friendly.

“Welcome,” the usher said, handing me a program.

The church was held in a small building. It didn't have the humongous stained-glass windows of the larger mega churches but it truly had the spirit. The choir was rocking the building and making the rafters shake.

As I sat alone, near the back of the church, I wondered,
Lord, can I have redemption for the murders I've committed, even if they were in self-defense?
I thought I'd been thinking about it more since I'd been pregnant. My mind tuned into Reverend Edgar's sermon.

“Sometimes we go through what we feel are unthinkable experiences, tragedies that we think we will never recover from. But I'm here to tell you: with God's help, you can make it.”

Reverend Edgar gazed up and saw me sitting in the back of the church, and it seemed like his tone became more dynamic. “I know there are times we feel like Job. Job lost everything. His wife even told him to curse God and die. I know I felt that way when I lost my wife and my newborn son. I said, ‘God, why have you abandoned me? How can I go on?' But, I prayed, and through it all, between the help from the brothers and sisters here at Fellowship Baptist, God carried me through. I can't take the credit for coming through this storm.

“I often think of David, the young shepherd boy, and how he went up against the giant. Philistines were giants compared to the average height back then. Their army was mighty. David said in 1 Samuel 17:45 and 46, ‘You come before me with a spear, a sword and a javelin, but I am coming to you with the name of Jehovah of armies, the God of the battle lines of Israel whom you have taunted.'

“But David took five smooth stones and was able to go up against the giant and kill him. So we can all go up against the Goliaths of our problems. There is no problem too big that God can't handle.”

Awhile later in the sermon, Reverend Edgar said, “If there is anyone in need of prayer, please come to the altar.”

I was surprised that I answered the call and went up to the altar for prayer. Reverend Edgar looked pleased to see me come up. I didn't join the church, but I gratefully received the prayers. After church, as I was leaving, Reverend Edgar strolled up to me.

“Would you like to go to coffee or tea?”

I started to tell him that I was pregnant and couldn't drink either beverage right now, but I changed my mind. “Sure . . .”

Afterward, we drove in our separate cars to the Starbucks in Inglewood on Century Boulevard. The place had a nice ambiance, cool jazz flowing through the sound system, a mixture of cultures and races typing away on their laptops, or iPads. I ordered a bottle of water.

“I was happy to see you at church, Zipporah. I like that name. That was Moses' wife's name.”

“Yes, my mother told me that's why she picked the name.” I took a sip of water. I started to tell him to call me Z, but I decided Zipporah sounded more dignified. “Thank you for inviting me. I really enjoyed the service. Yes, my mother named all of her children out of the Bible.”

I often thought of the irony of my mother naming us out of the Bible when she was a Crip, but maybe these names had been blessings to us. Names meant a lot in the hood. They called out your characteristics. I think our names were so colorful because we were a flamboyant people. Besides, these names made so many of us rise above our circumstances. President Barack Obama. Oprah. Beyoncé.

“Please come back. Don't be no stranger.”

“I will.”

“I have a question for you,” Reverend Edgar said.

“Shoot.”

“Do you believe in angels?”

I shrugged. “I'm not sure.”

“I don't mean to sound preachy, but I'm a firm believer sometimes angels come into our lives and we don't even know it. Like the scripture says at Hebrews 13:2, ‘Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it.'”

“Well, I know I appreciate you being the one on duty when I was in my car accident. Thank you for staying at the hospital with me until I got stable.”

“No problem. That's my job and my Christian duty. I'm not an angel, though.”

For a while, a lull fell over our conversation. “Did you remarry since your wife died?”

“No . . . Haven't found the right woman.”

“It seems like there are plenty of single women in your congregation.”

“That's true. But it would take a special woman to fill Paula's shoes. I haven't felt like that since she died.”

“Oh, well, maybe you'll find someone like her.”

Reverend Edgar walked me to my car and opened my door. “May I call you sometime, just to talk, to just make sure you're okay?” he asked.

I hesitated. I started to tell him, “Look, I'm pregnant,” but something held me back. “Sure.”

I checked my back seat to make sure no one was in my car. As I drove home, I kept checking my rearview mirror, to make sure no one was following me. I thought about Reverend Edgar and became curious. I wondered was he trying to hit on me. He seemed interested, but, he was a minister! I couldn't see myself with a minister. No, I decided, he was just being friendly. After all, he did help save my life and cut me out the car.

Later that night, after I got home, I checked my e-mail. I noticed a strange e-mail addy from a government service branch. Not knowing what to expect, I opened it. The e-mail read:

My name is Daniel de la Croix. I think you might be my older sister. I understand you've been looking for me. Although the war is over, I am currently deployed in Iraq. I'm a sergeant. I won't be home for six more months.

“Thank you, Lord!” I said. I wrote him an e-mail back, but I didn't get an answer, but I was still hopeful.
Who knows?
He could have been out on a mission.

I thought about Reverend Edgar's words: “Sometimes angels come into our lives and we don't even know it.”