that section, as the heavier volumes were toward the back. Titles called out about revolution, the foundation of democracy, the spiritual essence of humankind, every conceivable eclectic mix; it was a thinking person's paradise. Thick incense residue hung in the air, frankincense and myrrh. The store needed a paint job and the rug was well worn, but it welcomed like a grandmother's house, nonetheless. Shabazz inhaled deeply as Marlene turned to look at him.
"Feels good to be back home, doesn't it?"
He nodded and swallowed hard. "I never got a chance to come back after I got locked up." He stared at her and she came close to hug him. "Back there with the others, I didn't know if this place would still be here . . . but it was. Allah is merciful."
Marlene stroked his back and looked up. "C'mon, baby . . . let's learn these young folks some old-school ways, huh?"
Her comment made him smile and he stepped around her to take the lead, walking them through a passageway that led into the main section of the store. But he stopped to take in the grandeur of it all that was hidden within a seemingly humble community structure. Majestically carved masks and statues from the motherland graced the walls, and ornately carved statues from West Africa created a stunning gallery. Glass cases filled with silver jewelry and beautiful ethnic beadwork dotted the store, and a full section of clothing made of gorgeous silks, embroidered cottons, and the most exquisite hand-loomed textiles made his breath catch. Aisles and aisles of books and a large meeting space caught his eye, until he was forced to blink back moisture.
"I'd forgotten," he said quietly and reverently to Marlene. "The old corner philosophers and revolutionaries used to try to tell me aboutthe people andthe culture when I was slinging on the corner . . . they couldn't tell me shit, though, because I knew it all." He glanced around at the masks and then touched the edge of a tall giraffe carving that was made from one solid piece of mahogany. "This is why they want to destroy the motherland . . . the cradle of civilization. Don't you see how beautiful she is?" He turned to Marlene, eyes pained. "We can't let Africa, or the diaspora, or any land be made into cannon fodder . . . can't let them overrun food-producing nations and people in the so-called underdeveloped areas for greed and blood sport."
"Can I help you?" an older woman challenged.
Her glare was keen as she flung mixed, gray dreadlocks over her shoulder with much attitude. She wore royal purple African robes covering her thick build and her many silver bangles sounded as she promptly folded her arms over her ample chest. She had swept out of the back room with a customer, handing the man his order before taking a challenging pose. With open hostility, she looked Marlene and Shabazz up and down and sucked her teeth.
The few straggling customers had edged away from Marlene and Shabazz, and one of them had obviously gone in the back to alert the disgruntled manager that cops were in the house. One look at the manager's expression told them that everyone in the store was hostile.
"Yes, ma'am," Shabazz said after a moment. "You can definitely help us."
"Why you people come in here harassing us, huh? You think jus' 'cause they got new laws that let's y'all run amuck on people's rights you can come into our place and just do anything you want? This is ahouse of worship , if you haven't noticed. This here downstairs is our bookstore and Shrine shop-but we're legal, legit, and our holocaust museum is listed-"
"We're not five-o," Shabazz said.
"Cops, Homeland Security, FBI, what I care?" the woman said in a huff. "You think you can come in the community and treat folk any ole kinda way-and you oughta be shame wearing dreadlocks . . . whatchu do, use that while you were undercover and then-"
"Ma'am . . . can we talk to you without an audience?"
The woman looked at the patrons around her."Oh, hell no you can't! Just 'cause you my color don't mean you my kind! This New World Order got folks hoodwinked, bamboozled, scallywagged, and lied to, my so-called brutha! I know my rights. I ain't gotta say nothing to you without an attorney-or you planning on kidnapping me like you do all those folks and throw me in some prison offshore? These people seen