“For some reason that I don’t understand and cannot explain, the Lord Jesus Christ has seen fit to give me not one life but two-the first life before I accepted Him as my savior, in which I didn’t do a single thing I am proud of-at least, nothing that comes readily to mind, and the second life after I accepted Him-in which I’ve made it my life’s work to make up for the first one. Maybe God wants this humble servant to be His instrument in my small part of the world-I don’t know. But I know one day, sitting in my cell by myself, that a light went on-figuratively speaking. You may think I’m crazy, but I actually heard a voice-all but commanded me to change my ways. There was a faith-based group within the prison, and I joined. Not long after, I left the gang for good. I took my newfound faith in the Lord, I got my GED, and then I actually used the rest of my time to get a bachelor’s degree in divinity from Lincoln College. When I got out, I became an ordained minister.”
“That’s a pretty incredible success story,” I said.
“I’ll say,” Toni added. “A remarkable turnaround.”
“Could’ve turned out a lot different,” Reverend Art said. “I owe it all to a power bigger than little old Arthur Jenkins. I owe it to the Lord.” He paused, lost in thought. His eyes were closed-perhaps he was praying. I couldn’t tell. Then, he opened his eyes suddenly. “And to some good people who saw something worth salvaging in me. But one thing’s for certain,” he added. “I am left with a pretty thorough knowledge of what makes these young people around here think the way they think and live the way they live. I’ve been there. And I can tell you-it’s real simple. In fact it comes down to two things: money-,” he held up one finger, “-and respect.” He held up another. “These guys think if they get one, the other’s gonna follow.”
“And being a pimp gets them plenty of money.”
“Oh, it sure does. A lot of money. From their perspective, it’s like selling drugs, only better. After you sell the drugs, they’re gone. These guys sell these girls over and over again. Carla tell you how many times she got sold?”
We nodded.
“That’s tragic,” he said. “Another thing. With drugs, you actually have to get your hands a little dirty. You got to make pickups and deliveries. There’s guys with guns all over the place. With pimping, the girls do all the dirty work. The guys stay home and get stoned. All they have to do is keep the girls in line. It’s a perfect gig. That is, long as you don’t care that you’re stealing somebody’s soul.”
“And you think this sounds like it could be Donnie Martin in this case?”
He looked at me and nodded. “Yep,” he said with resolution. “If it’s the North Side Street Boyz who are involved, I’d say it’s almost certain. This is right up Donnie’s alley.”
Great, I thought. Now it’s confirmed. “What can you tell us about this guy?” I asked.
“He’s probably twenty-one now, maybe twenty-two. Tall guy. Good-looking. Turned into a sharp dresser. Spent some time in juvenile detention-a couple of years. I wish I had an exact address for him now, but I don’t-best I can give you is a general area.”
He paused and thought for a second before he continued. “Like I said, I talked to him at the funeral. I can say that he may be a disturbed young man, but he’s smart. Course, he won’t tell me too much, but I remember he did say that he’s living north of the university. Says he’s working in ‘entertainment.’ Yeah, right. So later, I start talking to people, piecing things together, you know what I’m saying?”
We nodded as we both wrote down the information in our notebooks.
“Here’s what I find. You know you got your typical gangbangers all over the south side of Seattle getting into prostitution right and left. But Donnie? No. I find out that Donnie’s gone north, just like he said. Everybody else working south; Donnie’s working north. Smaller market but almost no organized competition. He’s probably got everything north of Lake Union marked as his territory. Apparently, he and some other guys run a string of prostitutes up there.”
“Would one of those other guys be this Mikey character?” Toni said.
“Mikey,” Reverend Art said, slowly. “Yeah. I think that’d most likely be DeMichael Hollins. He’s Donnie’s usual sidekick. He grew up here in the neighborhood, too.”
We wrote this down.
“What’re these guys’ natures?” I asked. “What are they like? Are they dangerous? Psychos? The kind of guys that hurt people for fun?”
He leaned back in his chair. “Wow,” he said. “Let me think about that. I’ve got to try and recall my college psychology classes here.” He pondered the question for a few moments, and then he leaned forward and said, “I wouldn’t say these boys are crazy-not in the clinical sense, anyway. I don’t believe they were born with some sort of physiological deficiency that made them into the guys they are now. That’s the good news. The bad news is, it doesn’t matter. They still show many of the same symptoms. Mostly, I think they’re just fools who grew up without the proper guidance and developed the wrong moral compass. It happens all the time around here. They didn’t start out bad-they just grew into it.”
“You’re right,” I said. “In the end, what’s the difference?”
He smiled. “Maybe something in the nature of reformability, I suppose. Can’t really cure a guy with a loose screw in his brain. But you might be able to reshape someone who grew up bad. Look at me. I was a pretty bad dude, myself. Not like Donnie, but I was no saint. I wasn’t mentally ill, though. So when the calling came, I was able to answer, praise the Lord.” He paused for a moment, and then he said, “But as to your real point-what’s the difference? Ain’t no difference at all if either of ’em’s got the drop on you. Don’t matter if the guy holding the gun is a natural-born psycho or if it’s someone who just grew up mean and stupid. Either way, they don’t care about you, and you’re going to be dead right quick.”
He paused again.
“Just so you understand clearly,” he spoke slowly, “I can flat out guarantee you that Donnie for certain-and that probably means the other guys, too-they’re all armed to the teeth. I know Donnie well enough to say that he’s not afraid to pull out his gun and start shooting if he feels threatened.” Reverend Art leaned forward. “And the thing of it is, he’s likely to feel threatened over almost anything-you can’t tell. He’s like one of them rattlesnakes some of those crazy preachers in the South hold. They pick it up and stroke it twenty-five times. Snake’s cool with it. Flicks his little tongue out at ’em, but he don’t do anything else. Then they pick it up the twenty-sixth time-wham! Snake bites ’em right in the neck for no reason anyone can see. Snake knows-but no one else can tell.” He leaned back and looked at us-first one and then the other. “Case you’re not getting me, don’t take this kid too lightly just because he’s young. Word on the street is that he’s vowed to never go back to jail. He says he’d rather die shooting. He’s a dangerous young man. I agree 100 percent that you need to get in there and rescue Isabel, or else Donnie’s going to consume her like Satan himself. But when you do, understand that Donnie’s not just going to sit back and watch you. He’s going to put up a fight.”
I nodded. “Thanks, Reverend Art. We’ll watch out.”
Chapter 7
I was home by myself later that night. I’d just popped in Songbird by Eva Cassidy. As is my usual custom, I automatically skipped over track one-“Fields of Gold.” Don’t get me wrong, I like the song. I’m not what you’d call a “weeper” (okay, just a little) but to this day, I can’t listen to Eva Cassidy sing “Fields of Gold” without breaking down and becoming a useless, blubbering fool. Doesn’t matter where I’m at or who I’m with-if that song comes on, I have to get out before I lose it. Even if they played it at a friggin’ Seahawks game, I’d still have to bolt for the tunnels (me and probably forty thousand other people). I love all her music, but with that particular song, she reaches into me and touches something, and I’m a goner. I think it probably starts with Eva’s incredible voice. Then I think of her sad story, and then I move to thinking about all the friends I lost in combat, and then I think of lost relatives, and then it just spirals completely out of control altogether. Happens fast, too. It leaves me a wreck. So I generally do the safe thing and skip it.