"We've gotta get out of here. This is your old turf, man . . . where to?"
"We're like a half mile from Second Baptist," Shabazz said, raking his locks. "Solid energy up in that joint. . . . It's over on Monroe Street in the Greektown historic district, but was the first African American congregation here. Sojourner Truth, John Brown, Douglass, you know . . . everybody pulled people through the system using that church as a way station."
J.L. punched in the name of the church on his iPhone and then put the address of the current location in to get directions. "It's 441 Monroe. Two minutes' jog-head east on Cadillac Square toward Bates, left on Randolph, right on Monroe."
"Dressed like this, though, holmes?" Jose said, opening his arms. "And strapped? Gonna cause a stir. We gotta find somewhere we can drop this gear and go camouflage, yo, to blend in with normal civilians."
"Set us down in the mouth of an alley, C," Mike said, "and we'll do like we always do-make it up as we go along."
Too disgusted to debate anything, Carlos simply whirled the team inan energy fold-away to the address. But when they stepped out of it, they were looking out of a small gap between buildings and scaffolding toward a busy intersection, and the church was gone.
"Oh, shit," Shabazz said, turning around in a circle. "They demolished Second Baptist for a freaking casino?A historic landmark? Now that's sacrilege if ever I saw it!"
J.L. glanced up, confused. "Dude," he said to Carlos, his brows knit. "This isn't 441 Monroe."
"Whatduya mean, this ain't Monroe!"Shabazz shouted, practically stuttering as fury lifted his locks off his shoulders with static charge.
"I homed to the damned location you had in your mind, man," Carlos said defensively, glaring at Shabazz. He rubbed his palms down his face, tension making him ready to drop fang.
"Bigger problem," Mike said, positioning his rocket-propelled grenade launcher higher onto his shoulder. "People is walking by staring, we causing a scene, we in the middle of a doggone shopping district looking like a bomb squad, and we needs to be real cool . . . like fall back deeper into this alley so C can get us inside somewhere. This is real uncool."
"Ya think?" Rider said, glaring at Carlos. "Later me and you need to talk about you getting your head together, but now isn't the time."
"Just be cool, look at the building foundation, and follow me back into the alley," Berkfield said, leading the way.
Dan glimpsed Carlos. "You okay, man?"
"I'm fine," Carlos snarled. "We cool."
"Good.Just checking. No disrespect intended, back at the other location." Dan held Carlos's arm as the others caught up with Berkfield. "It's just that Heather can't take a lot of energy jostling right now . . . you know what I'm saying?"
Carlos blinked twice. Dan nodded and looked away.
"She can't go through another loss. I know the timing is really bad . . . but I just wanted you to know, if anything happens in a firefight, let me go, make sure she makes it."
Carlos rubbed his hands down his face again. "Oh . . . shit."
"I'm sorry, man," Dan said, and then lifted his chin. "But regardless of how f**ked up the timing is, be happy for me, man."
"Yeah, yeah, I gotchure back.Congrats, we'll smoke a cigar later," Carlos said, moving out. The alley wasn't big enough. It felt like all the air was being forced out of his lungs by a hard blow. He glanced at Shabazz, now getting a clearer image of Second Baptist Church. "We couldn't go to the sanctuary on Monroe, anyway," he muttered. "It's crawling with tourists right about now-so I need a solid church, temple, mosque, whatever, in your old zone, 'Bazz . . . a joint without major population issues."
The team gathered around Shabazz for a moment, everyone seeming disoriented. "The onlyplace I know of that is real cool that can feed us, house us, has clothes on the rack, and has the Black Holocaust Museum up in there, is the Shrine."
"What Shrine, man?" Yonnie asked, nervously chewing on a toothpick." 'Cause we're batting a thousand on churches right now."
"Where I'm feeling we should go has platinum ancestor energy and every obscure text you can want . . . plus meeting space and serious real estate . . . where if we're legit we can also go in there packing like revolutionaries-'cause they used to it." Shabazz folded his arms over his chest. "They were around back in the day before I could really appreciate them for being a community treasure."
"No offense, 'Bazz," Jose said. "But you were away for ten years, then add another twenty or so . . . like, all I'm saying is, a lot can change in thirty years, brother."
"If the Shrine is gone, then black Detroit might as well be gone," Shabazz said in a surly tone. "It's still here-I can feel it in my bones."
"Then let's do the damned thing," Carlos said, looking at Shabazz and waiting for a location."Where?"
"The Shrine of the Black Madonna is over on Livernois Avenue. Ex-Panthers, Angela Davis . . . the who's who of countermainstream rolled through there and the energy is solid." Shabazz glared at Jose and then Carlos."It's there."
"'Bazz, not trying to be funny but, Second Baptist was supposed to be solid," Rider argued. "So don't get all salty, as you call it, with Jose and Carlos, man."
"Carlos missed the drop, not me-don't get it twisted. So I ain't salty, period." Shabazz relaxed a little and gave Rider a hard half smile when his Guardian brother held up his hands and gave him a quizzical "what's up" look. "Rider, if the Shrine ain't where I say it is-then my bad. But if the great lady is still there, then I'll have you in a dashiki and wearing a kufi before it's all over, brother-which is perfect for the jazz festival . . . also better than SWAT riot gear for stashing weapons."