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Before he could finish his sentence, Hazel shouted, "I'm not going to meet you anywhere. You're putting our lives in danger!"

  "Right, I said I was sorry. Okay. Take down this number." She reached for a pad and pencil and wrote down the address he gave her. "Tomorrow, around lunchtime, go to that address. Ask for a man named Foster. Tell him I sent you and hand him the book. I swear I won't ask you for nothing else. You can keep the money."

  After he had hung up, Hazel couldn't get back to sleep. What kind of game was Donald playing? She got up, went into the kitchen, and made a cup of hot chocolate. Retrieving the black book from its hiding place in the cabinet, she opened it and began trying to decipher the entries. Beside each number were two or three letters. The numbers were random. She couldn't figure out the pattern. It must be some sort of code. Shaking her head, she concluded this was some scheme Donald was mixed up in.

  Tomorrow she would follow his instructions and turn everything over to some man named Foster. At least it wasn't too far from where she worked and it was during the day, unlike that late-night excursion. She'd be happy to put it all behind her. Tomorrow. What could happen during the day?

  *****

  Hazel glanced up at the clock. Almost noon. She reached into her desk drawer and checked her purse. Inside was an envelope containing the black book.

  "Where are you going for lunch?" Monica asked. "I know this neat little Indian restaurant over on 12th. The food is delicious and the service is quick."

  Hazel apologized. "I got some errands to do, but I'll catch you tomorrow."

  "There's an important meeting after lunch so don't be late," Monica said as she dashed off to the ladies' room.

  "What are you doing for lunch?" Diane sat down on the edge of Hazel's desk. Hazel told her the same thing she told Monica. Diane's strong perfume quickly engulfed Hazel's space. Swinging her legs back and forth, she leaned over and whispered; "I heard the boss is going to be handing out more pink slips this afternoon."

  "Do you know who's going to be cut?" Hazel asked, her stomach muscles tightened.

  "I know who it's not going to be." Diane tossed her long red hair and hopped to the floor. "Don't worry, darling. It probably won't be anybody in this department."

  Hips swinging from side to side, she strode off down the aisle. "Have a nice lunch."

  Hazel hastily gathered the papers she was working on and stacked them neatly in a pile on the side of her desk. Then she took a quick glance in her compact mirror, she applied a thin layer of makeup and rouge, reapplied her lipstick, and grabbing her purse, she headed for the elevator.

  It was a warm day; spring was everywhere. Trees and shrubs were in bloom, people were seated in various spots outside the buildings, on low retaining walls, on concrete steps, and on the few benches scattered around the complex. A few people even sat on the neatly mowed grass.

  Hazel walked quickly to her car, jumped in and drove over to Olympic and Broadway. She had an hour for lunch and she figured all she had to do was to find the place, give the black book to a man named Foster. At least that part would be over. Donald hadn't said what to do with the money. One thing at a time, she thought.

  It was 12:15 by the time she found the building, parked and went inside. An old structure, it inhabited the lower floors next to garment factories and discount dress shops. There were probably sweat shops in the rear, she thought as she maneuvered passed the workers taking their break outside, some lined up in front of the street vendors selling hot dogs, chips, and sandwiches.

  The elevator looked decrepit and dangerous with its sliding gate and slow, squeaky movements. Hazel hesitated, thought about taking the stairs but decided time was of the essence. Foster's office was on the top floor.

  It wasn't difficult to find his office as there was only one other door and it was a fire exit. Turning the knob, she walked in. The receptionist, an elderly lady with a gray, unkempt look, dressed in a brown cotton dress peered at her over her bifocals. Her thick fingers were poised above the computer keyboard. Noticing the food stains on the bodice of the woman's dress, Hazel's eyes shifted to the wall behind the woman. A poster of a racehorse hung in the center of the wooden panel.

  "I'm here to see Mr. Foster."

  "Do you have an appointment?"

  "Well, no. I was told to deliver something to him."

  "I'm afraid Mr. Foster is out at the moment," she said in a slight southern drawl. "I should hear from him soon. Take a seat if you wanna wait."

  She gestured to the chair behind Hazel; dark brown like the woman's dress, stained, worn and uncomfortable looking. Hazel sat gingerly on the edge of the cushion and watched the woman type. From

  time to time, the receptionist peered over her glasses at Hazel. After a few minutes of silence, she offered Hazel a cup of coffee.

  "I just made a fresh pot," she said.

  "Thanks, I've already had my quota for today," Hazel responded. What kind of place is this, she wondered looking around the tiny space. Nothing indicated what type of business Mr. Foster was in. The clock was approaching 12:45.

  "Will Mr. Foster be much longer?" Hazel asked with growing anxiety.

  "Oh, he should have called by now."

  "Called. Isn't he coming in?" Hazel asked.

  The woman laughed. "Here? Mr. Foster coming here?" She looked curiously at Hazel. "Mr. Foster never comes here. This is an answering service. We just take messages. Didn't you see the sign on the door?"

  Hazel didn't remember seeing any sign on the door.

  "Probably not," the woman laughed again. "Probably couldn't read it anyway. I've been here so long, I never noticed whether it's legible or not." She wrote something on a pad. "Next time I see Max, I better remember to tell him to redo the sign."

  Exasperated, Hazel almost exploded. "I thought you said he'd be here soon."

  "No, I said I'd probably hear from him momentarily."

  "Well, where can I reach Mr. Foster? I have a package for him."

  "I can send it to him. We're not allowed to give out his address, sorry." She turned back to her typing. The phone rang. She answered it.

  Hazel waited until she hung up. "Can you tell me Mr. Foster's first name?"

  The woman looked thoughtfully, "Don't you know it?"

  "My boss gave me this address and told me to deliver a package to Mr. Foster and only to Mr. Foster. He didn't tell me anything else." She glanced down at her watch. She had to be back at her desk in five minutes. She knew she'd never make it.

  "His name's Leonard," the woman said peering more intently at Hazel.

  "One more question. What kind of business is Mr. Foster in?"

  "How should I know? Maybe you should ask your boss. Now, if Mr. Foster calls, who should I say was asking about him?"

  Sensing the woman becoming more hostile by the minute, Hazel let out a long sigh and turned towards the door. "Tell him Donald Porter sent me and he can reach me at this number." She wrote her work number down on the back of a receipt she found in her purse. Then she added her home number should he call after five.

  As she rode the rickety elevator to the first floor, she resolved to find Foster and give him this book. "Better yet, I'm gonna find Donald and wring his neck!"

  Hunger pangs reminded Hazel she hadn't eaten since breakfast. The line in front of the vendor's stand was almost empty, but she had no time. She hopped into her car, lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and stepped on the gas. It was 1:15 by the time she pulled into the parking lot of her office building.

  Chapter 30 - Ma'dear

  Sunday morning. I woke up before dawn. It was hard to sleep knowing what I had to do. Suddenly I felt so old, much older than my twenty-three years. I got up, took a quick bath, made some coffee and a piece of toast and waited. I wasn't expected at Sadie's until 3 PM. I thought about going to that little church up the street. I hadn't set foot in a church since before I left Virginia. If there was anything I wasn't, it was a hypocrite. I couldn't go to church and turn around and hurt somebody.


  All night long I tossed and turned, my mind chattering about Willie Joe, Sadie, and whether I was doing the right thing. "'Vengeance is mine,' saith the Lord." That kept going round in my head. Then I remembered what Madame LaFontaine said. The spell couldn't be taken off even though Willie Joe was dead. I didn't care about me, but what if the spell hurt my little son Melvin? What if it was passed on down through the generations to all the males in the family? No. I had to put an end to it. It would serve Sadie right. Nobody should mess with roots. You never know what it'll do.

  Time passed slow that morning. Finally it was nearing time to go to Sadie's. I put on my best outfit-the dress I wore to my wedding to Willie Joe. I smiled at his picture on my dresser.

  "This is for you, honey."

  Even though Sadie lived about ten blocks from me, I could've took the bus. Instead, I decided to walk. By the time I got there I was so nervous, I didn't feel tired after the long walk. I climbed the stairs to their fourth-floor apartment and knocked on the door. Sadie opened it right away.

  "Girl, you right on time as usual. You ain't changed a bit." She hugged me and took my coat. I followed her into the living room. "Now, you just make yourself at home."

  I sat down on the couch. It was a small room, with beige colored walls; two comfortable looking chairs with crocheted doilies each on the arm, and one larger doily in the center of their coffee table. A couple of wedding photographs of the happy couple hung on one wall, a poster of President Harry Truman on another wall and over the mantle, a picture of Jesus Christ on the cross. Sitting in one of the chairs was her husband Harry. He was listening to the radio, a drink in one hand, a cigarette in the other. He looked at me with a grin on his face. He must've had quite a few, I thought. I started to feel uncomfortable, him looking at me in a unhealthy way.

  "So, how's Willie Joe? Ain't seen him in a long time," he said, after Sadie had gone to the kitchen.

  "Willie Joe's been dead over two years now."

  "No," he said leaning forward in his chair, almost tipping over the glass he was holding. A few drops of liquor dripped onto his pants. "What'd he die from?"

  "The doctor's said something about heart failure?" I looked toward the kitchen hoping Sadie would come back.

  "Sorry to hear. You sure are looking good." He puffed on his cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke my way. "Would you like a drink?" He yelled to Sadie to bring in another glass.

  She came hurrying in with a tray and a glass filled with ice. Harry poured almost a full glass of scotch whiskey and handed it to me though I'd already told him I didn't want nothing. Something about the way his hand touched mine made me shiver. I didn't like it one bit.

  "I gotta run to the store for a minute," Sadie said, pulling on her coat and grabbing her purse. "See if I can scare up a loaf of bread. Thought I had everything, but I forgot the bread. It won't take me long. You make yourself comfortable. Harry, be a good host and entertain Sarah." I offered to come along with her but she waved me off.

  She stood in front of Harry, her hand out. Without saying a word, he reached into his pocket and drew out a hand full of bills. That reminded me. I opened my purse and carefully pulled out the envelope with the tainted money. "Here's the money Willie Joe left for you." I tried to hand it to her. She pushed my hand away.

  "There's plenty of time for that. Now, I'll be right back. You make yourself at home."

  No sooner did the door close when Harry came over and sat down next to me.

  "You look good enough to eat," he said, his hand reaching for mine. I got up and moved to the chair. He followed. Sitting down on the arm once again, he tried to put his arms around my shoulders. "Look here, Harry. If you don't stop, I'm gonna have to leave." I pushed him away.

  "I'm just trying to be friendly." He reached for me again.

  "It ain't right for you to be chasing me around like this. Sadie wouldn't like it."

  I moved back to the sofa. He came after me. "Just one little kiss. Between you and me. Any friend of Sadie's is a friend of mine."

  "You leave me alone, please!"

  He grabbed me and pushed me down, pulling at my clothes. I reached for the nearest thing, which happened to be a bottle of J&B, and swung at him. It hit him on the chin. It stunned him long enough for me to get away. I stood up and was just straightening my clothes when the door opened and Sadie walked in.

  "Sorry I took so long. There wasn't many stores opened on Sunday. How you two been getting along?"

  Harry jumped up and grabbed her package. He kissed her on the cheek. "I'll take this into the kitchen for you."

  "Ain't he the sweetest thing," Sadie said. "He's so good to me."

  I looked around for my coat. "I just remembered. I got to get home. I promised my mother I'd call her at 4 PM." I lied. "She's expecting my call."

  "When did she get a phone?" Sadie eyed me suspiciously.

  "She don't have one. She's waiting for my call at Sam's grocery store. That's why I gotta go."

  "What about dinner? Girl, I slaved all morning long on it."

  "I'm sorry. I just remembered." I edged towards the door.

  "Sarah, that's just like you. I shouldn't be surprised. You always had your head on backwards. Well, at least let me fix you a plate to carry with you."

  I just wanted to get out of there. She fixed me a plate and walked me to the door.

  "I'll let you go this time, but next time, I expect you to stay."

  She called for Harry to say goodbye, but he had disappeared. I didn't remember the envelope until I was on the bus. It'll just have to wait until another time, I thought. Looking down at the paper bag with the food in it, I wondered if I should eat it. As soon as I got home, I dumped the food in the garbage and washed out the dish.

  Chapter 31 - Shanell

  Shanell felt a wave of relief spread over her. Tricia had called the doctor and he told her Shanell wasn't pregnant, that she should see her regular doctor because her adrenal gland wasn't secreting enough hormones. Shanell didn't understand the rest of what Tricia said; she was too happy. Hugging her big sister, she couldn't think of anything to say other than, "I didn't want to be a mother yet. I wish I hadn't done it at all."

  Tricia smiled at her. "How about going to see a movie with me tonight. There's a new Spike Lee picture playing at the Baldwin Theater."

  "What about Ma'dear? Who's gonna look after her?"

  "Momma said she'll be home early, after finals. Ma'dear'll be all right till then."

  They peeked in on their grandmother and saw she was asleep.

  "Are you sure?" Shanell hesitated. "You know Momma said not to leave Ma'dear alone."

  "Don't worry. I called her at work and told her we were going to the movies. She said it would be okay. She should be home in a half hour."

  They caught the bus over to the Baldwin Hills Plaza and got to the theater just in time for the 5:00 PM show. When the movie was over, it was still light outside. Tricia called home to tell Hazel where they were. "The mall will be open until 9 PM. There's a new dress shop I want to check out."

  "Make sure you're home by 8 PM," Hazel said.

  Shanell felt happy walking along with her big sister. It had been years since they spent any time together. And after her recent experience, she felt close to Tricia. They went from one dress shop to another, trying on dresses and modeling for each other. It was fun. Before they realized it, stores were closing, heavy metal blinds were being drawn down and lights were being turned out. Tricia looked at her watch. It was 8:45

  "We'd better hurry before we get locked in." They hurried toward the main entrance. The security guard nodded to them as they rushed past.

  "He sure is cute," Shanell grinned, glancing back over her shoulder.

  "Sure is," Tricia agreed. "But right now, we'd better catch the bus and get home. I didn't realize how late it was."

  The bus was just pulling away from the curb as they approached the stop. They yelled and waved, but it was too late. At the now empty bus stop,
they sat down to wait for the next bus. "May as well get comfortable. The next bus won't be here for another hour." She looked around for a phone booth. Seeing none, she hoped their mother wouldn't be too upset and worried. They forgot the time, she reasoned in her head. She'd take the blame.

  "I had fun tonight," Shanell said.

  "I did too," Tricia nodded. They giggled at nothing in particular. Shanell looked up at the star-filled sky. It was a warm night yet few people were in the street as it was a week- night.

  A car drove by slowly. Shanell barely noticed it. Tricia chatted away about her career and about what she wanted to do after graduation. When the car passed again, it caught Shanell's eye. It was a late model black Chrysler with gold rims.

  "Did you see that car?" She asked.

  "What car?"

  "That shiny black car with the gold rims that just went by."

  Tricia looked, but by that time, it was gone.

  Suddenly Shanell felt cold. "I wish the bus would come."

  "It'll be here soon." Tricia said.

  About 10 minutes later, Shanell looked up and saw the Chrysler parked across the street from them and the man inside staring at them. This time Tricia saw the car and the man. She didn't know why she felt uneasy.

  "Come on, Shanell. Let's walk to the next bus stop." Tricia rose and started walking.

  "Can we make it before the bus comes?" Shanell followed.

  "I think so." They began to walk quickly to the next bus stop, two blocks away. However, before they reached it, the Chrysler pulled up alongside them.

  "You girls want a lift?" The white man inside asked.

  "No," Tricia said, grabbing Shanell's hand and pulling her along faster.

  "Hop in. I'm going your way," he said.

  "How do you know where we're going?" Shanell asked.

  "Don't say anything to him," Tricia scolded.

  "You're the Porter girls, aren't you? I'm a friend of your father."

  This time Shanell stopped. "Our last name's not Porter. It's Johnson."