Trial by Fire (11 page)

N
ick Foster was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to the scanner, when the call came through that the Bayou Missionary Baptist Church was on fire. The pastor was a friend of his, and he knew he had probably been called and would be heading to the fire with as much dread and despair as Nick had just days ago.

He got up and decided he had to go and provide whatever support he could. He got dressed as fast as his injuries would allow and headed toward the blaze.

 

T
he boy who'd been found in the fire was still alive, but just barely.

“I will not lose this one,” Issie said through her teeth. She had worked for eight hours already—the three to eleven shift—but when the call came at eleven o'clock, she and Steve had answered it. “He's alive. We've got to stabilize him.”

Steve Winder was busy intubating him since his airway had obviously closed.

“Issie, who is he?” Nick asked.

She cast a glance up at Nick. “I don't know. He's burned so badly he's practically unrecognizable. No identification, no nothing. But he's young, thirteen or fourteen. Pulse rate's dropping, guys!”

“He's gone,” Steve yelled. “No pulse. Come on, get the defibrillator.” They attached the probes to his chest, and as they pulled back to allow the shock to jolt him, Issie prayed to a God that she didn't know that this kid would not slip through their fingers like the last one had. He had a mother and father, as Ben had. He might have brothers and sisters, friends, relatives.

The heart didn't respond. She got down on her knees and began to pump furiously on his chest.

“Clear!” Steve shouted, and she pulled back and waited as he sent the jolt again.

Nothing.

“No!” she shouted. “We can't let him die!” She kept pumping.

“Clear!” Steve shouted again, and she stopped and pulled back. The jolt shook his body again, and she held her breath as she waited one second, two seconds…

“Beat, you stupid thing!” she screamed to his heart. “Don't you give up!” She began compressions again, pumping as if her own heart was connected to his.

“He's gone, Issie,” Steve said. He stopped pumping air into his tube and wilted in defeat.

“No!” she shouted. “We can't stop! Don't stop, Steve.” She kept pushing on his chest, trying to force the heart to beat. Had Jake had anything to do with this? Had that smart aleck Cruz thrown this kid into the fire?

Nick bent down and touched her shoulders. “Issie…”

“No!” she screamed. “I won't let 'em do it!”

“Let who do it?” Nick asked her.

She didn't answer, but the tears rolled down her face and she pumped his chest with fierce urgency, pleading with him to come back to life. “Pray, Nick,” she cried. “Do what you do!”

He was silent behind her, and she wondered if he had closed his eyes, if he was sending up those prayers to God. Prayer was all that could help the boy now, but she wasn't sure that bringing him back was going to do him any good, not with the flesh dissolving on his body in horrible third-degree burns, and months, even years—possibly a lifetime—of excruciating treatments, not to mention the disfigurement that would come upon him if he lived.

She finally gave up and fell back, sobbing. Where was Jake? Was there another carpet rolled up in a bonfire with this boy's bloodstains on it?

She felt hands on her shoulders. She fell back, and strong arms came around her, embraced her, held her.

“It's okay.” She recognized Nick's deep whisper against her ear. “It's okay. You did the best you could.”

“He's dead,” she sobbed. “Another kid is dead just because he's black.”

“You don't know that,” Nick said.

“I
do
know it!” she bit out. “How could they do this? How could they be so cruel? This kid has a mother, just like Susan.” She slapped the tears on her face and got to her feet, pulling out of the security of Nick's arms. She didn't want to feel that security. She didn't want to feel any comfort right now. She just wanted to hang on to that anger and soak in it and wallow in it. She wanted to find her nephew and grab him by the throat and shake him until he told her who was responsible for this and why he was a part of it. But she couldn't leave the scene yet, not until the fire was out and all the firemen were safe. Someone might get hurt like Nick had the other day. Any number of things could go wrong. She had to wait this out.

Meanwhile, she prayed once again to the God she did not know, that the efforts of the kids who had done this thing would be thwarted until she had the chance to stop them herself.

D
ue to lack of evidence, the police were forced to let Cruz go after they'd worked the fire and interviewed his followers at the Viper Pit. Cruz was able to reach Jennifer at the Viper Pit, and she told him she was sending someone to get him. She herself couldn't leave, she said, because there had been some new developments, and one of them needed to be there.

He trusted her, and told her he'd meet her back at the Benton house.

Sye Redmon—one of the members of Cruz's inner circle—came to get him. He seemed nervous, and Cruz wondered what was going on.

They were quiet until they got to the car. “Tell me everything,” he said.

He got behind the wheel, even though it was Redmon's car. Graham got in on the passenger side and tossed him the keys. “There was another fire,” Redmon said as they pulled away from the police station. Cruz glanced into the truck bay of the fire department and saw that it was empty. “Another church.”

Cruz frowned. “Copycat?”

“No,” Redmon said. “It was a ploy Jennifer came up with to prove you weren't involved. We were all making a big ruckus at the Viper Pit, so we've got alibis. It ought to throw them off.”

“Like they don't know we could lie for our own?”

“Man, they interviewed us. They talked to dozens of the kids at the Pit, and didn't come up with anything.”

Cruz was quiet for a moment as he drove. “Who did it?” he asked finally.

“Benton, LaSalle, and Decareaux.”

“Why them?”

“Volunteered. Plus, they're expendable. If they have to take the fall, it's no great loss.”

“We don't hardly even know them. What if they talk?”

“And get theirselves thrown in jail?” Redmon asked. “I don't think that'll happen. Besides, Jen has things under control. She has them eating out of her hand.” Redmon chuckled. “She's good at this.”

The comment sent a tide of anger rising up inside him, but Cruz held it back.

By the time they got to the Benton house, everyone seemed to be there. Cruz got out, slammed the car door, and headed into the house. The stragglers, still out at their cars, cheered for Cruz and high-fived him, as if he was MVP of the toughest game of the season. “Everybody inside,” he said, bolting up the porch steps and into the house.

Jake was just inside. “Cruz!”

Cruz shot him a look. “Where's my sister?”

Jake hesitated to answer.

“Where is she?”

“She's in the back with Benton.”

“Benton?” he spat out.

“Yeah,” one of the others piped in. “He's freaking out and threatening to stop letting us use the house. She's trying to calm him down.”

Jake looked as if he realized how dangerous Benton's instability could be. “Benton's all right. He's just worried about his parents finding out, that's all.”

Cruz shoved past him and went into the kitchen, reached up over the cabinet, and pulled down a switchblade he'd hidden there. He engaged the switch, making the blade fly out.

“Cruz, what are you—?”

Cruz's head was beginning to ache, and his stomach burned, just like it had when they were kids and he'd heard Jen crying when her father was in her room…

He stormed back through the house, his angry step shaking the walls. He found the closed door and flung it open.

He saw them standing with their arms around each other, Jen with her back against the wall and Benton with his fingers all tangled in her hair.

Rage like that he'd experienced as a child crashed through him, blinding him to anything but that picture of his father using his sister…

He flew across the room, switchblade flying, but Benton reacted just in time. The blade missed.

“Cruz!” Jennifer screamed. “Stop it!”

He spun around and headed for Benton again and slashed the knife through the air, slicing into his leg. Benton screamed in pain.

Then Jennifer was on his back, crying and screaming that this wasn't their father, that Benton wasn't hurting her, that Cruz was confused…

Slowly, his rage deflated, and he tried to catch his breath. She whispered childhood memories into his ear. “It's okay, Cruz. It's okay. You've always been my rescuer. It's okay.”

He swallowed and turned around and pulled her into a fierce, fraternal embrace. “I'm sorry, Jen,” he whispered, sweating and breathing hard. “I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“No.” She was out of breath too. “But I think Benton is in trouble.”

He turned back to the kid he'd cut and saw him writhing on the floor as the puddle of blood beneath him grew bigger. “Get a towel,” Cruz ordered Jake, who stood at the door, dumbly gaping in.

Jake ran out, then came back with a towel and fell down next to his friend.

“We have to stop the bleeding,” Cruz said, taking charge again. “Put pressure on it.”

“Cruz, he needs a doctor,” Jake said. “We need to call somebody or get him to the hospital.”

“He's okay,” Cruz said. “He'll be okay as soon as the bleeding stops.”

“But you can bleed to death in five minutes!” Jake said. “Cruz, we have to do something.”

“I told you, he's all right!”

“I'll call my aunt,” he said. “She's a paramedic. She could help Benton, and I swear she'll stay quiet. She cares about me and wouldn't want to get me in trouble.”

“She's already been snooping around here,” Cruz said. “We can't trust her.” He got down beside Benton and held the wound. “It's all right, buddy. You're gon' be all right.”

Jake was getting frantic. “He's my friend, man! He needs help!”

“He's my friend too,” Cruz said more calmly now. “All right. I care enough about this man to risk calling your aunt. But only because he's indispensable. He's a courageous foot soldier, and when this is over, I'm goin' ta make him one of my lieutenants.”

In spite of his pain, Benton looked at Cruz with pride in his eyes.

Jake ran out to find a cell phone so he could call Issie.

I
ssie felt defiant enough to return to her apartment that night when she finally turned her shift over to Frenchy and Bob. Earlier today, the manager had painted the wall that was written on, but had tacked an extra hundred bucks onto her rent to cover it. She had dragged the bloody mattress to the street. She didn't know when she'd be able to buy a new one. The four new tires on her car had cleaned out her meager savings. With her gun within reach, she took a shower and washed off the residue of the smoke that soiled her face and uniform. She watched the water swirl down the drain and wished that her anger and fears would go with it.

She got dressed, dried her hair, then sat looking into the mirror. How would she get through to her nephew? Jake thought she was no different than he, and if she was honest, she had to admit she wasn't. At his age she had been following an equally dangerous crowd, except her friends had been threats to their own bodies, not those of others. She'd spent all her nights making and getting into trouble, but no one had ever suggested burning down a church or murdering a kid because of the color of his skin.

But what if they had? she wondered. Would she have followed along blindly like Jake was doing now? Would she have been needy enough to do whatever she was told in the interest of belonging? She hoped not, but she wasn't sure, and she knew Jake wasn't sure, either.

Even now, she teetered on the edge of risk in most of her relationships. Even her job was a risk, a constant jolt of adrenaline. She liked to live dangerously, and she was easily bored. Jake was just like her.

She decided to try talking sense into him again and picked up the phone to call her brother's house. His wife, Lois, answered.

“Hello?”

“Lois, it's Issie. I'm sorry to call at midnight, but it's important. Where's Jake?”

She sighed. “He's out, as usual. You know that boy never stays home.”

Her heart sank. “Any idea where he is?” she asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Lois said. “He doesn't tell us anything.”

“Okay. Maybe I can find him.”

“What's this about?” Lois asked.

Issie thought of telling her what Jake seemed to be involved in, but something told her it was too soon. She needed to give Jake a chance. She needed to talk to him first.

“Nothing,” she said. “I just had a message to give him.”

“There isn't anything wrong, is there?”

Issie hesitated again. “Not that I know of.” She sat there a moment longer, then finally asked, “Lois, what do you know about the kids he's hanging out with?”

“Not much,” her sister-in-law said. “It's not like he brings them home for dinner.”

That made her angry. Her own mother had never demanded to meet her friends. She had never held her accountable. “Then why do you let him hang around with them? I mean, what if they're dangerous or something? What if they're leading him down the wrong path?”

Lois chuckled as if the questions were incompatible with Issie Mattreaux. “I've never heard you talk about the wrong path before. You told me once the only path was the one you paved.”

Issie knew that was true. She wished she could eat those words now. “Well, I used to think that, but I'm starting to wonder.”

“Is there something Jake's doing that I need to know about?” Lois asked.

Again, Issie thought that one over. “I don't know, Lois. I just don't like his friends much. They look like trouble to me.”

“More trouble than the ones you used to go out with?”

“Yeah, even more trouble than that,” Issie said. “Maybe you need to get more involved in his life.”

“Get more involved? How? He's hardly ever home, and he doesn't want to talk about anything when he is.”

“You're his mother. Maybe you need to make him.”

Lois was offended. “Issie, just a few years ago
you
were the one staying out all night and getting into trouble. Mike complained about you all the time. Your mother
never
knew where you were.”

“Mama never cared.”

“Well, maybe that was true,” Lois said. “But Jake knows I do. And now you're telling me that I need to demand that he make me a part of his life?”

“I don't mean like that,” she said. “I just mean, don't take things for granted. Don't assume anything.”

“Anything like what? Jake's a good kid, Issie.”

“Maybe that's exactly what you don't need to assume.”

She heard Lois breathe her surprise, and realized she might have gone too far.

“Issie, if you have something to tell me about Jake, then go ahead and tell me.”

Issie closed her eyes. She knew her sister-in-law was right. She needed to either spit it out or shut up. “I'm sorry. I'm just worried about him.”

“Well, if you want to let me in on what you're worried about, I'll worry with you. I am his mother.”

“It's nothing, really. Just a feeling.”

“A feeling about his friends?”

“Yeah.”

“Which ones?”

She shook her head. “I don't know for sure, Lois. That guy Cruz kind of gives me the creeps.”

“Cruz? Is that his first name or last name?”

“I don't know. Last, I think.”

Her sister-in-law was quiet, and Issie imagined the wheels turning in her head as she tried to figure out what she could do as a mother. She knew that her brother and his wife were both good parents. They had just abdicated their power.

“Believe it or not,” Lois said, “I love him. Just because we're not real close right now doesn't mean I don't care about him. I'm just trying to give him a little more space as he gets older.”

“Maybe space is the wrong thing to give him,” Issie said. “Maybe you need to ride him…just stay on his back.”

“And if anybody had told your mother to do that just a few years ago,” Lois said, “you would have packed your bags and disappeared, never to be heard from again.”

“Maybe,” Issie said.

“I have certain parameters I have to work in as a mother,” Lois said. “I have to give him his space and let him go and hope that maybe by doing that, I'll be able to hold on to him a little longer.”

Issie was suddenly glad that she wasn't a mother herself. As she hung up the phone she told herself that she wasn't thrilled about being an aunt right now, either.

She went to the window and peered out on the parking lot, looking for a sign of anyone who shouldn't be there. She had found the key to her apartment hanging back on the hook in her brother's kitchen this morning, and she had taken it in case Jake tried to get into her apartment again. Still, she felt uneasy.

Though she was exhausted, she was afraid to sleep, so she lay down on her couch with the gun on her coffee table and turned on some mindless infomercial about skin care. Slowly, she drifted off to sleep.

She didn't know how long she had been asleep when the phone shrilled, waking her. She grabbed the gun and sat up. Her stomach tightened as she went to the caller ID and looked to see who it was. It looked like a cell phone number. Slowly, she answered, “Hello?”

“Issie?” It was her nephew's voice.

“Jake, it's you! Did you have anything to do with—”

“An emergency,” he cut in. “Issie, we need your help.”

“We?” she asked. “Who's we?”

“Me and some of my buddies,” he said. “Look, we're in a lot of trouble. Benton got hurt, and we can't take him to the hospital. I need you to come over and see what you can do for him.”

“I'm a paramedic, not a doctor,” she said. “Jake, what's going on? How did Benton get hurt?”

“He cut himself,” he said. “Can't you come look at it, try to stop the bleeding?”

“He's still bleeding?” she asked.

“Yeah, and it's bad.”

“Where are you?” she asked.

“We're at the house. You know, Benton's grandmother's house?”

Issie closed her eyes. “Jake, I don't want any part of this. I've already told you.”

“He cut himself, Issie. That's all. It's not illegal to cut yourself.”

“I don't trust your friends,” “she said. “How do I know that if I come over there I'm not walking into a trap?”

“Because
I'm
here,” Jake said. “I wouldn't let anything happen to you. Issie, I wouldn't have called you if you weren't the only one who could help us. Come on. The guy's bleeding.”

She recognized the panic in Jake's voice. He wasn't faking, and the last thing she needed on her conscience was another death. “All right,” she said. “Where is the wound?”

“On his thigh,” he said.

“Well, then you need to wrap it and apply pressure to it. Have you done that?”

“Yeah, we wrapped a towel around it, pretty tight.”

“That should help the bleeding to slow down until I get there. Jake, how did he get the cut?”

“It's a long story,” he said. “I'll tell you when you get here.”

She knew it was a story that she was better off not hearing, but quickly she got dressed, grabbed some dental floss and scissors, a bottle of alcohol, and a few other makeshift supplies from around the apartment. She threw them into a bag and lit out as fast as she could to her car, still clutching her gun, just in case anyone lurked around waiting to jump out and ambush her.