Dr. Reischtal began to tell the president exactly what was necessary.
Qween insisted on bringing a bowling ball bag that she had pulled from under the cart. She left her cart on Monroe, taking only the wheels and the bag. God knew what was inside. Ed didn’t think she could physically carry an actual bowling ball, but damned if he could figure it out; whatever it was, it was heavy.
She put her bag on the floor, stretched out in the backseat of the car, and made herself at home. She said, “Go south. Stop when you get to Roosevelt.”
The bag made Ed nervous. He said, “If there’s something you ain’t telling us, I will not appreciate it. I will take you in and make sure they put you in a hole for a long time. If this a wild goose chase, I will make it my purpose in life to make you unhappy.”
“You need to relax, Ed Jones.”
“What’s in the bag, Qween?”
“Stop when you get to Roosevelt.”
“Okay. Have it your way.” Ed didn’t say a word until they passed Eleventh Street. “Left or right.”
“Right. We heading west.”
Ed got into the right lane. They rode in silence for a while. Qween said slowly, “It used to be my mother’s. We spent a lot of time at Providence Hospital when I was young. Had some problems. ’Course, we didn’t start out there. Mama took me to the closest hospital first. Bunch of white doctors. Mama said that they took me in, but wouldn’t tell her the name of the disease. A white doctor prescribed a bunch of pills. She never did like to admit it, but years later, Mama told me I came outta there worse off. Said she tried to take me back, but they wouldn’t readmit me. I had been in there one night. That’s all Mama would say.
“Had to hear the rest from my aunt, who went with us. She said we first tried to get in to see the doctor through the front entrance. The whites acted as though we oughta be embarrassed for making the white folks actually come out and say that the hospital was filled, and that we should try Provident, down on Fifty-first.” She was quiet for a long time.
Sam and Ed didn’t say anything. They knew that Provident Hospital had been established to care for black folks in the late 1800s, since none of the other hospitals would.
Qween said, “So we waited for the doctor to leave his hospital. Mama saw him on the sidewalk. Confronted him right there in front of all the other people, other doctors, nurses, everybody. She said, ‘My girl hasn’t been right since. Something is wrong, doctor.’ Well, he just looked at her and said, ‘I saved your daughter’s life. Good day.’ And that was that. I’ll never forget Mama. He’s walking away, and she screamed at him, ‘You should have let her die.’
“I think she always felt bad for saying that. At least, saying it in front of me. So after we were done at Provident, we had to go back, over and over I remember, and so afterwards, she always took me bowling, down on Sixty-third Street. They had special hours for us black folks. We’d throw this nine-pound ball down the lane, praying it wouldn’t end up in the gutter, you know. I remember it real clear. Like it was last week. Mama had this look on her face, flinging this big old heavy black ball at the white pins.”
Qween gave a sly grin. “That’s how I got the bag, Ed Jones.” She gave him a few more directions, and they worked their way a few blocks south. Pretty soon they pulled past a big neon cross at the center of a long two-story building. HIS NAME BE PRAISED HOLY MISSION was spelled out below the cross in white neon letters. Ed pulled into the alley behind the mission.
“You better not be yanking our chain, Qween. This place—you know damn well what’s really going on here. Last chance to tell us the truth.”
“Yeah, yeah. You done warned me.” She got a solid hold on the handle of her bag. “We here ’cause of the spacemen.”
“The spacemen, Qween?” Ed asked and killed the engine.
“Spacemen. This place, they be selling people to the spacemen.”
“Good enough for me,” Sam said and got out.
He slammed his door to find three young black gentlemen in sharp suits and close-cropped hair. They all carried Bibles and gave him tight-lipped smiles. One of them said, “Evening, brother.”
Sam grinned right back and flashed his star and his handgun. The three gentlemen faded back to the front of the building, joining a couple of others in shouting upbeat slogans at passing cars. Sam shook his head and spit his nicotine gum on the sidewalk.
Anybody who had spent any time at all on the streets knew this place was as crooked as the day was long. Like a lot of other nonprofit organizations, this place wore a mask. Out front, and on paper, this place looked like a god-fearing Christian charity, spreading the good word while they clothed and fed and sheltered the less fortunate. They paid the local cops and their alderman good money to make sure that mask stayed in place.
Under the mask, they used the homeless men as drug mules, carrying small shipments to the various gangs across the South and West sides. Nobody who knew said anything. You throw a wrench into the Machine, and no matter how strong the wrench, the Machine would chew it up and spit out shards of steel. If you were lucky, you lost an eye. If you weren’t, your family would find what was left after you swallowed the business end of a twelve-gauge shotgun.
Ed helped Qween out of the backseat. She always walked a little bit like a movie cowboy, as if only her head and feet had received the original instructions, thanks to whatever childhood disease she had endured. When she carried the bag, the effect was more pronounced. She carried it close to her hip, back straight, bearing the weight with her entire body.
Ed opened the side door of the mission and waited for Qween and Sam to go inside.
Qween waited in the hallway for Sam, then followed him deeper though the next set of doors. Ed followed. Sam knew the assholes out front would be calling the office inside, and knew that he had only a minute. He moved fast, and Qween kept up. He had to give her credit; when she had to, the old girl moved fast and quiet. He avoided the chapel straight ahead and turned left in the next hallway, away from the music and candles. He guessed that the cafeteria tables and cots were to the right. He wanted the administration offices.
Sam didn’t bother to knock. He twisted the door handle and slammed his shoulder into the door, hoping it was unlocked. It was. He burst into the room, one hand holding up his star, one hand on his holster. “Evening, brothers.”
He was in luck. This was the main office. Four men. Two were busy trying to sweep cash off a desk. One of them had a desk phone wedged between his ear and shoulder. Sam ignored them and concentrated on the two guys sitting on either side of the door. They were halfway up, reaching inside their suits.
Ed was immediately behind him, and he wasn’t fucking around. He already had his .357 out. “You sit right the fuck down.” The two big guys eyeballed each other and decided their cut wasn’t worth taking on some pissed-off cop with a giant handgun. They sat.
While Sam angled toward the two guys trying to hide all the cash, Ed focused on the muscle. “That’s right, fuckheads. Sit still. Don’t give me an excuse, you got me?”
“Easy, easy,” Sam told the accountants. “This isn’t a raid. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass what y’all are up to in here. We’re only here for some information. So take a deep breath. Leave that cash alone. It’s not going anywhere.”
Ed told the muscle, “I got an itch to put some holes in your heads, so do yourselves a favor and listen carefully. I don’t give a fuck who is supposedly protecting you. He here now?” He showed them his handgun. “I am. Ain’t no secret you packing. So here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna take those guns out, nice and slow, and put ’em on the floor. One at a time. You do it the right way and I don’t paint the wall with your brains.”
“Amen, brother,” Sam said.
The two men didn’t want to die. One at a time, they took out their handguns, holding them gingerly by the handles, and left them on the floor. Ed kicked them over to Sam. “Now then, since I don’t feel like searching you, y’all are gonna lie down with your hands behind your head. We’ll be out of your hair soon.