floor, Laprea caught her breath and started sobbing. Her other eye was swelling now, too. She stared up at D’marco, who glared down at her contemptuously. With effort, she pulled herself up to her feet. She tried to say something, but was so racked with sobs she could barely speak. Finally, she forced out the words between convulsions.
“That’s it, D’marco. We done. I am calling the police and you going to jail this time. I don’t care how much backup time you got. And you ain’t never gonna see the kids again.” She turned and fled down thehall to the stairwell. “Never!”
D’marco set his bottle down on the floor and walked after her, glaring at Ernie. Ernie stepped back, holding up his hands to show he wouldn’t get in the way anymore.
“Wait up, Pree!” D’marco called in a low, rumbling voice. “Come on, shorty! I didn’t mean it.” He jogged down the stairs. His calls echoed through the stairwell for a minute, then faded out.
Ernie pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911.
• • •
The next day, D’montrae ran through the house singing, “We’re going to the zoo-oo! We’re going to the zoo-oo!” He held aloft his drawing of the panda, letting it flap in the breeze he was creating. Dameka sat at the kitchen table with a box of Crayolas, drawing in her coloring book. Rose opened the oven and basted the pot roast she was making for Sunday dinner. Her eyes went to the clock for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. It was 2:00 p.m. Rose hadn’t heard from Laprea since last night. The knot in her stomach twisted tighter.
Dameka looked up from her coloring book. “When are Mommy and Daddy coming to take us to the zoo, Gramma?”
Rose closed the oven and tried to smile reassuringly. “Later, baby. In a little bit.”
She wiped her hands on the dish towel and looked out the window, considering what to do. She had already called Laprea’s friends and checked with Sherry. No one had heard from her. Rose had even tried D’marco’s phone, but he wasn’t answering.
She knew something was wrong.
While the twins played in the kitchen, Rose picked up the cordless again. She walked out onto the front porch and closed the door so the children couldn’t hear her. She dialed 311, the police nonemergency line, and cleared her throat as the operator answered. “I’d like to make a missing person’s report,” Rose said quietly. “It’s my daughter.”
• • •
Later that afternoon, Andre Hicks trotted through the parking lot with his friends, a rowdy bunch of nine-year-old boys. One of them tried to shove him into a parked car, and Andre laughed, punching the kid in the arm. Bored by the scant amusements in their apartment complex, the boys were taking a shortcut to the Circle B to get sodas andwhatever action they could stir up.
They loped up the curb, into a scraggly wooded lot behind their apartment building. This shortcut had the advantage of passing a mountain of garbage heaped several yards back from the parking lot, in the middle of the reedy trees and brush. The garbage pile contained old chairs, broken appliances, worn-out toys, and hundreds of garbage bags. People threw stuff back here if it was too big for the trash chutes or when the chutes got too full to handle more garbage. A few times a year, someone would complain loudly enough, and the city would send the sanitation department to clear the debris. In the meantime, it was a treasure chest for the neighborhood boys. A few months ago, one of Andre’s friends had found a stash of Playboy s in the garbage heap. That boy had been a hero for weeks afterward as they’d all pored over the pictures.
They’d almost passed the trash heap when Andre saw something pink glittering from a hole in a black garbage bag at the bottom of the pile. He slowed his stride, falling behind his friends as visions of Playboy s danced in his head. Andre stooped down to investigate. Was it some inexplicable contraption from
“That’s it, D’marco. We done. I am calling the police and you going to jail this time. I don’t care how much backup time you got. And you ain’t never gonna see the kids again.” She turned and fled down thehall to the stairwell. “Never!”
D’marco set his bottle down on the floor and walked after her, glaring at Ernie. Ernie stepped back, holding up his hands to show he wouldn’t get in the way anymore.
“Wait up, Pree!” D’marco called in a low, rumbling voice. “Come on, shorty! I didn’t mean it.” He jogged down the stairs. His calls echoed through the stairwell for a minute, then faded out.
Ernie pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911.
• • •
The next day, D’montrae ran through the house singing, “We’re going to the zoo-oo! We’re going to the zoo-oo!” He held aloft his drawing of the panda, letting it flap in the breeze he was creating. Dameka sat at the kitchen table with a box of Crayolas, drawing in her coloring book. Rose opened the oven and basted the pot roast she was making for Sunday dinner. Her eyes went to the clock for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. It was 2:00 p.m. Rose hadn’t heard from Laprea since last night. The knot in her stomach twisted tighter.
Dameka looked up from her coloring book. “When are Mommy and Daddy coming to take us to the zoo, Gramma?”
Rose closed the oven and tried to smile reassuringly. “Later, baby. In a little bit.”
She wiped her hands on the dish towel and looked out the window, considering what to do. She had already called Laprea’s friends and checked with Sherry. No one had heard from her. Rose had even tried D’marco’s phone, but he wasn’t answering.
She knew something was wrong.
While the twins played in the kitchen, Rose picked up the cordless again. She walked out onto the front porch and closed the door so the children couldn’t hear her. She dialed 311, the police nonemergency line, and cleared her throat as the operator answered. “I’d like to make a missing person’s report,” Rose said quietly. “It’s my daughter.”
• • •
Later that afternoon, Andre Hicks trotted through the parking lot with his friends, a rowdy bunch of nine-year-old boys. One of them tried to shove him into a parked car, and Andre laughed, punching the kid in the arm. Bored by the scant amusements in their apartment complex, the boys were taking a shortcut to the Circle B to get sodas andwhatever action they could stir up.
They loped up the curb, into a scraggly wooded lot behind their apartment building. This shortcut had the advantage of passing a mountain of garbage heaped several yards back from the parking lot, in the middle of the reedy trees and brush. The garbage pile contained old chairs, broken appliances, worn-out toys, and hundreds of garbage bags. People threw stuff back here if it was too big for the trash chutes or when the chutes got too full to handle more garbage. A few times a year, someone would complain loudly enough, and the city would send the sanitation department to clear the debris. In the meantime, it was a treasure chest for the neighborhood boys. A few months ago, one of Andre’s friends had found a stash of Playboy s in the garbage heap. That boy had been a hero for weeks afterward as they’d all pored over the pictures.
They’d almost passed the trash heap when Andre saw something pink glittering from a hole in a black garbage bag at the bottom of the pile. He slowed his stride, falling behind his friends as visions of Playboy s danced in his head. Andre stooped down to investigate. Was it some inexplicable contraption from
Similar Books
