Someone To Believe In (7 page)

Bailey suggested, “Show him the stars on our
success rate.”

Rob called up numbers on the Face-to-Faces.
Leaning over to get a better look, Clay studied them on the screen.
Finally, he sat back. “That’s impressive. Do you track the
recidivism?”

Sitting forward, Bailey bristled. “Of course!
We don’t fake anything. Of the number that gets out, about a third
go back in.”

“Hmm.”

“And about a third of those get out again,”
Rob said. “And stay out.”

“Not bad.” He thought a minute. “Who conducts
the interviews?”

“Bailey and I share them. Some kids relate
better to her, some to me.”

“How do you decide?”

He cocked his head. “Good question. Sometimes
the kids say who they prefer. Sometimes, girls want Bay, boys want
me. Depends.”

“Still, they sound dangerous.”

“We take precautions,” Rob told him
easily.

Wainwright faced Bailey. “I know you’ve had
some trouble with these. You’ve gotten hurt.”

“Okay, a kid shoved me once and I got a
concussion.”

He shook his head as if she’d just told him
she’d been mortally wounded. “Then it’s crazy that you still do
this.”

Rob intervened. “Hold on. Me and Joe
corralled the boy. He broke down, told us about his two brothers in
the gang.” Rob’s warm brown eyes beamed and he shared a knowing
smile with Bailey. “We got all three kids out. One went on to
college, one works in a film studio.” Here he grinned. “And one’s a
deacon in Father Tim’s church.”

Clayton’s eyes narrowed. The color seemed to
deepen when he was displeased. “You shouldn’t be risking your own
lives.”

Bailey stood. “Let’s go. This is a
stalemate.”

The men rose and Rob put his arm around
Bailey. “We do a lot of good around here, Senator. Remember that
the next time you attack our Street Angel.”

On the way back to her office, Wainwright
said, “I don’t attack you. Both of them said I do, but I
don’t.”

“Well, as
you
said, they’re a protective lot.” She smiled.
“Rob’s a big Meryl Streep fan. Maybe you could...”

“I know—get her address.”

They were chuckling when they entered the
office.

Bailey crossed to the computer and checked
the website, making sure it was set. Then she thought of something
and whirled around. “You can’t read what comes on here,
Senator.”

He arched a brow. “I thought nothing was
secret at ESCAPE.”

“There’s a difference between private and
secret.”

“I see.”

“I want your promise that you won’t be
skulking around and lurking over my shoulder to see what’s going
on. It’ll make me nervous.”

“I do not skulk, or lurk.”

She bit back a smile at his indignation.
“Promise.”

“Fine. I won’t. Just tell me—”

The phone rang and the computer chimed at the
same time. Bailey sat down at the desk. “Our private line. Let the
answering machine get it. I’ve got to make this contact.”

She clicked on and recognized the screen name
immediately.

Hey Street Angel, how ya hangin’?

Hangin’ just fine, Taz. How are you?

Phat, as always.

Bailey was about to comment just as she heard
the answering machine pick up. “Bailey, this is Eric Lawson. I
wondered if we were still on for our date tomorrow night.”

“What the hell?” Clay said.

Just as Taz typed,
I need some help.

THATS WHAT I’M here for, Taz. Let me help
you.

Taz stared hard at the screen, dissing
herself big-time for contacting the broad again. But she was pumped
and edgy from what had gone down.
Something
happened tonight.

Something?

We had to jet out fast.

Why?

The 5-0 came.

The police? Why?

Taz didn’t answer.

Where are you?

My house.

What can I do?

Nothin’.

Talk to me...

Fucking shit. She shouldn’t be doing this.
Everything was going down the tubes. Her set had almost got caught
tonight. For simple shoplifting...jacking beer from the corner
store. The old guy who worked there had gotten royally pissed when
they showed up and started messing around....

“Get outta here, I don’t want no
trouble.”

Mazie cornered him. She’d shifted so he could
feel her blade in her pocket. If the law did come, he’d never be
able to say he saw it. “Shut up, grandpa.” Over her shoulder, she
called out, “Quinny baby, Taz. Do it.”

Quinn had lifted the beer and they booked.
Just as they got around the corner, they heard the sirens.

Taz, you there?
The Street Angel had been typing all this time.
Talk to me.

Yeah, I’m here.
Shit, she was sick of this. Sick of life.

You want to talk about getting out, Taz?

Don’t court out of no gang, lady. I told
you.

Yes, yes you do. ESCAPE has programs. We have
people trained to help. We can protect you.

She looked around the seedy room with
its dingy walls, filmy windows, and constant stench of old garbage
from the alley below.
Nobody can protect
me.
From herself. From the old man. From Mazie and the
girls.

As if to confirm that, she heard a
knock on the window. She looked over to see her homier on the fire
escape.
Gotta go. Ciao.

Taz wait ...

But she signed off.

Crossing to the window, she yanked it open.
Tall and limber, Mazie climbed inside, with Quinn behind her. Mazie
shook long blond locks out of her face and socked Taz’s arm. “Why’d
you come home, girl? We were supposed to meet at the crib.”

“Felt sick,” Taz said, not glancing at the
computer.

Still, Mazie wandered over to it. Taz hoped
like hell it didn’t show the ESCAPE logo. She’d signed off fast and
couldn’t remember if she’d exited the site. Suddenly, the screen
went dark.

Mazie crossed to the bed and plunked down.
“Got just the thing for what ails ya.” She yanked a joint from her
pocket, lit up with a gold-plated lighter she’d stolen from her
stepfather. After he’d fucked her, she said.

Taz hesitated.

Quinn took the second drag.

“Tazzie, baby? Here.”

Mazie held out the blunt.

Taz waited again, then shrugged.

Street Angel versus getting stoned? No
question who won.

“FUCK!”

Clayton sat on the far side of the room,
watching her. He was still trying to process all he’d seen so far
tonight. He glanced at the clock. And it was only nine. “What
happened?”

“I lost her.”

“Lost who?”

“A girl who’s new. She wants out of her gang,
I think. But she signed off halfway through.” Bailey swiveled
around and laid her head against the back of the chair; she was off
somewhere, thinking about something other than her
surroundings.

He waited, wondering about the girl online.
“What do you do when they tell you’ve they’ve committed
crimes?”

Bailey’s head shot up, her eyes snapping blue
fire. “They don’t tell me that. Besides, it’s all anonymous. What
can be done?”

“When they come in for a Face-to-Face, they
could be questioned for what they told you online.”

“And just how many kids would take us up on
our services once the first arrest was made? The street is a small
world.”

“You’d stop impending crimes that way.”

“No, it would only be a Band-Aid. You need to
go to the root.”

“You can’t stop gangs by getting out all
their members.”

“We can save kids from them. That’s
enough.”

Clay stood, because she was impossible to
argue with, and because he really did think this was a dangerous
place. To quell his pique, he walked around the room, checking out
the books.

A Guide to Understanding
Street Gangs; Sugar Creek Gang Books; Gangs and Their Tattoos:
Identifying Gangbangers; How to Save Our Children from the
Street.
There were several more, all on the same
theme.

Pivoting, he gestured to the shelf. “You
really believe all this, don’t you?”

“Of course, we all do here.”

“I don’t.”

Sitting forward in her seat, she gripped the
arms. “Senator, why can’t we just agree to disagree?”

“I don’t see how we can peacefully coexist.
And since I’m the official representative for this state, I have to
make the best decisions for it. Especially if it’s funding for
social agencies like this one.”

She hit the chair arm with her palm. “You’re
not God. You can’t control everything. Anyway, are you so sure
you’re right?”

“Yes.”

She rolled her eyes. “What was I thinking,
letting you come here? It hasn’t helped.”

“No, it has. I see dedicated, smart people
working hard. I just think your talents should be put to better
use. Something controlled by the government.”

“Oh, yeah. You guys have done a great job
stopping gangs so far.”

He glanced at the phone where the light
blinked. “Is that why you’re hooking up with Lawson?”

She actually blushed; the crimson flush rose
from the scoop of her white shirt to her face. “I think Eric Lawson
would make a good senator.”

That angered him, though he didn’t know why,
because he knew she felt that way. “He’s not experienced enough for
my position.”

“He’s the age you were when you were elected.
He’ll learn.” She raised that cute little chin and now her blue
eyes sparked with challenge. “And maybe he won’t cop out like you
did.”

Clay felt his hand fist. “We’ve been over
this before.”

“You’re right. “ She swiveled to the
computer, away from him, trying to shut him out, he guessed. “We’re
spinning our wheels. It’s probably best you leave.”

“Probably.” He jammed his hands into his
pockets. “Tell me one last thing.”

“What?”

Though he ordered himself not to go there, he
asked nastily, “Are you involved with Lawson?”

“What?”

“The date, on the phone message. Is it his
politics you support or are you sleeping with him?”

She came off her chair like a shot. “You
bastard. How dare you...” She sputtered. “Get out of here right
now, Senator. This little experiment is over.”

FOUR

JON WAINWRIGHT SAT in the back of the
crowded, stuffy room and stared at the man who hoped to put Jon’s
father out of a job. This preliminary meeting was to start
mobilizing workers for Eric Lawson’s bid for the next Democratic
primary. Lawson was just finishing his speech and things were
winding down.

Thank God, because Jon felt like a shit being
here. True, he and his father were eons apart on everything these
last few years, but when Jon called him, his dad had agreed to
speak at Bard, then asked to spend the day with him. His totally
indestructible father had seemed—what was it?—vulnerable. So Jon
had changed his mind about working on Lawson’s campaign. Then his
mother had called him this morning and whined about his father. It
resurrected a lot of old baggage, and Jon found himself heading
here despite his decision not to work against his dad. Not to do
what he knew would wound Clayton Wainwright big-time.

It had been a stupid idea all around. He
hoped nobody saw him. There was no official sign-up yet so maybe he
could claim that he was a spy if anybody found out he’d shown up
here.

With old anger at his father fading, Jon
clinked back into the shadows when the socializing began. Damn it,
how did he keep getting into these positions with his family? He
remembered when Clayton Wainwright had been his hero, when he’d do
anything to please the man. He remembered when he’d really
believed in his father. Now, sometimes his resentment at his dad
was so great he wanted to howl at the moon. And sometimes, it just
evaporated.

“Hey, Jon, nice to see you.” Lawson had
approached him; the guy was always so friendly. Of course getting
the son of your opponent to work for you would be a coup. Jon’s
insides twisted at the thought.

“Hi, Mr. Lawson.”

He had a pretty, dark-haired woman with him.
“I’ve got somebody I want you to meet.”

The woman studied Jon intently. “You look
familiar.”

Lawson chuckled. “Probably because he’s the
son of your nemesis.”

Her brows arched and there were questions in
her nice blue eyes. “My nemesis?”

Lawson continued, “Jon Wainwright, meet
Bailey O’Neil, the Street Angel.”

Jon shook his head; he knew the stories. “You
sure give my old man a run for his money.”

Her face blanked. She said nothing. Her lips
parted slightly but she just stared at him, making him shift on his
feet and jam his hands in his pockets.

Someone called out, “Eric, we need you over
here.”

“Oops, excuse me.” He squeezed the Street
Angel’s shoulder. “I’m sure you two have a lot to discuss.”

Lawson left and the woman still watched
him.

Jon asked, “Have I grown two heads?”

“Two faces, I’d say, like Janus.”

“Who?”

“The Roman god who had two faces. He’s the
archetype of hypocrisy.” Her blue eyes had become steely. “And
betrayal.”

Damn, his stomach flip-flopped now. “I, um,
thought you hated my father.”

“No, I don’t. In some ways I respect
him. But obviously,
you
hate
him.”

“Me? Of course I don’t. You don’t hate your
parents.” Jon scowled at her. “Didn’t he put you in jail?”

“Well, he was the prosecutor in my trial. But
I did break the law.”

This was out of focus, like a camera with a
lens you couldn’t quite get right. “I can’t believe you’re
defending him.”