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By Root 499 0

later that June had thrown the girl out. Late last night Polie had come to Jada’s door with a paper bag that seemed heavy the way he passed it to her with two hands. She took it and closed the door quickly, but Polie didn’t leave. He rapped on the door until she finally opened it, peering at him over the lock chain. He was still talking when she closed the door again. He left. Halfway down the steps he turned and ran back up. He banged on the door, then kicked it. He went to the window and rapped on the glass, then took something from his back pocket and tried to pop out the storm window. A car pulled up in front of the house then, and Polie hurried down the steps and up the street.

The business Ronnie Feaster ran from Mrs. Jukas’s porch was swelling in volume. Cars parked down the street, while up on the porch Feaster’s cell phone rang with each arrival. After a brief conversation, which would be relayed to Polie, one or another of the boys, some looking as young as nine or ten, would appear from nowhere. After a word from Polie they would swagger along the sidewalk, then pause at the parked car’s window. Each transaction took less than three minutes. The boys would trot past Mrs. Jukas’s porch, then slip into her backyard. So far Gordon had seen no drugs or money pass between the boys and the men on the porch. At Fortley there had been a loose tile in a shower room and behind it a lidded soap dish to contain whatever currency was expected.

Mrs. Jukas had been home for a week. She arrived in a taxi and walked into the house unaided, but for a cane. A visiting nurse stopped by the first few days, but Gordon hadn’t seen her there since Tuesday. He kept wondering if he should go over and see how the old woman was doing, but he didn’t want to upset her. An older woman had brought her a fruit basket yesterday. A little while later the senior center van tried to deliver a hot meal, but Mrs. Jukas wouldn’t take it.

Each day he pinched off more diseased leaves. The first sign of blight had been small black spots on some of the leaves. Every morning before work he sprayed the bushes with baking soda, water, and dishwashing detergent, a concoction recommended in a Better Homes and Gardens magazine he’d been reading free at work, a few pages a day. The soapy froth dripped down the spray bottle onto his sneakers. The roses were drenched, the leaves glistening a brilliant green as his last few sprays sent a stream of bubbles into the air.

“Hey, look!” a boy called, wiping his mouth as the bubbles floated by.

“Yo! Whatcha doin’, mister?” another hollered as four boys strutted around the side of Mrs. Jukas’s house. Feaster and his runners hadn’t been around since the old woman had come home. The last boy out of her yard sported a thick gold chain around his neck and diamond studs piercing both ears. Like those of the other boys, the front of his shirt was wet.

“You shouldn’t be over there,” Gordon said in a low voice. “She’s an old woman and she’s very sick.”

“We’re not doin’ anything,” the biggest boy scoffed. He looked like a young Buddha with his round thick head and small dark eyes. Rolls of fat tubed his midsection.

“That doesn’t matter. You’re not supposed to be there.”

“Feaster said for us to wait here,” the boy said.

Gordon stepped through the bushes. “No. You wait out there. On the sidewalk. Now.”

Their eyes held his. They left the yard, glancing back until they turned the corner.

A few minutes later he thought he heard water running. He followed the sound to the back of Mrs. Jukas’s house, where the outside faucet had been turned on. He turned it off as tightly as he could, but it continued to leak. He mounded some nearby rocks under the drip. A window rattled open. Mrs. Jukas called down to ask what he was doing. He explained about the faucet, then asked if she was feeling better. No, she said. As a matter of fact, she felt terrible, worse than she ever had. But that’s the way it was, and there wasn’t anything anyone could do about it. Before she could shut the window, he asked if she needed anything from the