boarded.
The hypnotic hiss of bus tires on wet pavement, the gray day and drizzling rain, softened the reality of bars and tattoo parlors that replaced groceries and salons.
Falling into a lull, Gaby lost herself in her raucous music—until her unfocused gaze snagged on one particular tattoo parlor. Beautiful swirling colors and font shapes drew her attention to an ornate sign indicating the artwork available inside.
But around that sign, encompassing the façade of the tidy, well-kept building, a thick, dark impression of reality swirled. This aura wasn’t so much a glow as a smoky film in dirty colors of sulfur and mustard, rich with pain and anger.
Gaby pressed a hand to the window and stared. Black boreholes pierced the shades, and through those holes, small white explosions, spurred by artificial stimulation, told Gaby that the tattoo parlor partook of some serious drug use. Shades of grave imbalance indicated a lack of sanity. A crazed sociopath lurked inside.
Gaby’s senses kicked.
This wasn’t a true alarm, but more like sensory awareness of things being out of place. It thrilled her to have found a firm purpose.
Adrenaline rushed through her lax limbs as Gaby stood to make her way to the front of the bus. The second the driver stopped, she got off, removed her earphones, and surveyed her surroundings.
Even the air smelled different here, not as green, crisp, or clean as it did near Luther’s home. Here, she smelled the smoke of factories, the odor of rotting garbage, and the sticky stench of unwashed bodies.
This was her world.
She knew what to do here.
Renewed by familiarity, Gaby started back up the street toward the tattoo parlor, but before she’d gone more than a few steps, the vicious snarling of dogs drew her gaze.
Across the street, three young men with two pit bulls on leashes approached the gated area of an old elementary school. The school’s windows were all shattered or boarded up, but in the yard a ramshackle playground inhabited by an old moldy sofa and a few treadless tires remained.
The men were muscular guys, tall and cocky, and their dogs begged to be unleashed.
A young, dark-skinned woman quickly gathered up three children and left the area. A husky woman yelled something at the men and shook a fist, but quieted when the dogs lunged, trying to get free of their restraints. The men laughed, and the angered woman snatched up a child off the old couch and fled.
More children remained, climbing in and over the old tires, bouncing on the broken springs of the couch, risking hazard on the rusty, ruined playground equipment. Most of them were unattended by adults.
So, Gaby thought. She had children aplenty, and obvious drug dealers claiming real estate. This was a perfect opportunity for her to shake off her introspection.
Alive with anticipation, Gaby started across the street. The tattoo parlor could wait.
She needed this. Oh yes, she did.
Before she could reach the men, someone caught her arm, startling Gaby so that she swung around in a defensive stance.
The petite girl, who looked to be twelve or thirteen, wore a comprehensive expression of worry far beyond her immature years.
“Lady,” she said in a frantic whisper, “what are you going to do?”
Strangers seldom got explanations from her, but the girl’s lyrical accent, long dark hair, and dark eyes softened Gaby. “What I do best—get rid of trouble.”
Putting a delicate hand to her forehead, the girl mumbled in frustration before saying to Gaby, “You should not do that.”
Intrigued by her daring, Gaby crossed her arms and gave the child her full attention. “Why not? You going to tell me those punks aren’t trouble?”
The girl’s eyes darted to the men; fear clouded her expression. “You should not mess with the likes of them. They are very dangerous.”
Gaby leaned down close. “Here’s a secret for you, kiddo. So am I.”
A small, thin hand clamped on to Gaby’s arm. “You do not understand. They do not like interference. They will . . . retaliate.”
Gaby scoffed. “They’ll try.”
The girl rolled her eyes and her whisper went harsh. “Do not be foolish. Please. They will . . . burn you.”
That took her aback, not in fear but in curiosity as to what this child had been through. “Burn me, huh?”
Nodding, the girl again glanced at the men. They were currently harassing a boy close to the girl’s age. The boy strained away, anxious to escape, but they kept him in place with a painful grip on his shoulder and a lot of mean-mugging intimidation.
That in itself, the physical detainment of a young boy who wanted to be free, was reason enough for Gaby to intervene, to execute her own form of devastation. But she wanted details on what the girl meant, and at present, the boy didn’t look to be in immediate danger. Scared, yes, but they wanted something from him, so they wouldn’t hurt him. Yet.
If things changed, well then, Gaby would be on the men in a heartbeat.
“How about you explain to me—real fast—exactly what you’re so afraid of.”
“And then you will go?”
“Then I’ll understand.” No way was Gaby leaving.
The girl nodded. “There are few places for children to play, and they often gather here. Then the men showed up and began selling their drugs. Things were not the same. There were gunshots and loud arguments about who could sell here and who could not. A man was beaten, and another was cut with broken bottles. When they started to bother the children, my aunt asked them to sell their drugs at another block, to leave the children here alone.”
“Other than the obvious danger, how were they bothering the kids?” Gaby already had an idea, but she wouldn’t mind having it spelled out.
The girl looked down at her clasped hands. “They get the children to be lookouts when they sell their drugs. My aunt did not like that.”
Had they tried to force the girl? Oh yeah, she’d bet on it. And now Gaby would make them pay. “Your aunt sounds like a gutsy lady.”
Remembered heartache added pain to her tone. “After my aunt complained, they attacked her. Her house was burned to the ground.” Her stark gaze came back to Gaby’s. “She and my uncle both died.”
Pain as sharp as her blade sliced deep into Gaby’s conscience. Why hadn’t she been called on to help the aunt? God knew she couldn’t be everywhere at once, but for this child to have suffered such a loss . . .
“Damn it.” Gaby looked up at the sky. “You know, You could have let me know.”
The girl backed up a step, and Gaby realized she’d scared her. Around here, few probably talked directly to Him.
Around the tightness in her throat, Gaby asked, “When was this?”
“A few months ago.”
Had the girl been living with her aunt when the fire happened? If so, where did she live now?
Gaby didn’t like the probability of her on the street. “The police did nothing?”
“There is nothing that they can do. They try, but they never catch the men doing things they should not. There is no way to prove that they set the fire.”
“But you know they did?”
She nodded, and a weighty maturity showed in her stiff-shouldered posture. This girl had seen life’s uglier side, and nothing would ever negate the bitter reality.
She looked at the men with angry hatred. “I know.”
“That’s good enough for me.” Gaby straightened with commitment. “What’s your name?”
The girl shrank back. “I am no one important.” New concern crumpled her pretty face. “I . . . I only wanted to warn you.”
“And I appreciate it, I really do.” Because Gaby well understood the need for secrecy, she didn’t push the girl. “Do me a favor, will you? Head on home and leave the creeps to me. I promise you, I can handle them. After today
