The Vigilantes (Badge of Honor) - By W.E.B. Griffin Page 0,62
to them. Someone’s even made a page with a map of the world, and every time someone writes one of those notes or posts a photo of them, one of these red pushpins pops up on the map showing where these people are in the world—Africa, Europe, all over. Most of them are in Philly, though, real thick red here, then it gets thinner going out.”
“That’s amazing. All in—what?—just two hours? Amazing, is what that is.”
“I just texted Keesha, and she’s headed over to Sasha’s. I’m going to go over, too. Talk her up, you know? I remember how terrible I felt when we lost our abuela, and even then we had each other to lean on. Sasha’s so very alone now.”
“Yvette, you know Sasha real good?”
“Sort of. Sure. Why?”
“Is she in any kind of trouble that you know of?”
“Sasha? No! Never. Why?”
“While I was there, I heard her answering questions from the police. What she told them wasn’t much. Just that she came home late last night, saw her grandmother was asleep on the couch, then went to bed. When she came down next morning, her grandmother was dead.”
“Yeah? And?”
“Look, I think there’s more. I know there’s more.”
“Like what, Javier?”
“Somebody had tied Principal Bazelon’s hands and wrists—”
He heard Yvette gasp.
He went on: “But when we got there, whatever they’d been tied with was gone. Just bruises left.”
“You think Sasha did something to her? I can’t imagine—”
“No. But I do think something happened that she won’t tell anyone, especially the cops.”
“Nobody talks to the man, Javier. Not if they’re smart and don’t want no trouble. No offense, big bro.”
“I know that. Look, I’m not saying Sasha did anything wrong. But something is not right about those bruises on her grandmother, ones Dr. Mitchell is going to see and question. If he thinks the death wasn’t as simple as just an old lady going to sleep and never waking up, he’ll have to tell the police. And then Sasha might get in real trouble.”
“Oh my God, Javier. That’s terrible!”
“I’m not saying she did anything to hurt her. Just that she’s not telling everything that happened to her grandmother. Sasha is deeply hurt. No question she’s hurt. But there’s more than just sadness in her eyes. There’s . . . fear, is what there is.”
“Fear of what?”
Javier sighed loudly, then said, “I don’t know.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Maybe just keep your eyes and ears open when you go over?”
There was a long silence. Then she said: “Okay. Sure. Anything.”
“I’d like to stop by, too. I didn’t get a chance to tell her how sorry I was.”
“Okay. I’m walking over now.”
“See you shortly.”
Yvette Iglesia ran to intercept her brother in front of the Bazelon row house. Javier glanced at the crowd of tough guys on the sidewalk and saw that they were following his every step. He recognized Paco Ramirez and thought he’d look like the nice kid next door if not for the wannabe gangsta clothing. Javier nodded at him, and Paco nodded back.
As Javier reached the sidewalk, Yvette met him. He saw that her eyes were tearing. As she hugged him, she softly said, “You were right, big bro.”
“About what?”
She took a step back, crossed her arms over her chest, and looked up at Javier.
“She’s only told Keesha,” she said, “and Keesha’s only told me.”
“What?” he asked quietly.
She turned her back to the boys on the sidewalk, then, keeping her voice low, practically spat out: “That fucking shit Xpress—Xavier Smith?” She paused, and after Javier nodded that he knew him, went on. “He was here last night getting revenge on Sasha’s grandmother for calling the cops on him. She saw him stealing a neighbor’s TV. He hid on the porch last night, and when Sasha got home from Keesha’s, he forced his way inside.”
She sniffled, then wiped at her nose and cheek.
Javier said, “What happened then?”
“You were right about Principal Bazelon being tied up. He used the phone cord. Then he . . . then he put a gun to Sasha’s head and made her—”
Javier saw the tears flowing faster.
She angrily wiped them away and finished: “That fucking shit make her blow him and made her abuela watch! That’s what killed her!”
“Jesus Christ!” Javier said softly.
He looked over his baby sister’s head to the porch. Keesha was stroking Sasha’s hair.
Her abuela died of a real broken heart.
Dr. Mitchell told me about those, where stress damages the heart muscle, especially an old, weak one, to the point of triggering a