was a commotion coming from the street outside. She moved to the window, trying to ignore her painful arm. Parting the curtain she saw nothing unusual, but more noise drew her attention to much further along the street. Her head pressed against the window, she struggled to see far enough down the road to find out what was causing the noise.
Then they came into view. Hundreds of them, marching along the main street, waving banners and chanting. She wondered what they were marching for, as this was clearly a protest.
She had seen before on the news people holding signs at such demonstrations that read things like, ‘#icantbreathe’, or ‘Hands Up, Don’t Shoot!’, or ‘Black Lives Matter’, but it had always been an abstract thing. BLM existed in Toronto too, she’d seen them at Gay Pride and other events, but this was something else. This was a reaction to something. What?
As they drew closer and filled the street from side to side, Melissa was able to read some of the signs. Most were as expected, similar to what she’d seen before. She could make out what they were chanting now too.
Her mouth fell open.
“Justice for Howie!” they called. “Howie Do, killed by you!”
Melissa sat at her window and watched the march for some time, tears rolling down her face. It went on for a while, and eventually she could cry no more. Her eyes were growing heavy, and the weariness she felt seeped into her bones.
She stood up and drew the curtain, wondering if she’d be able to sleep with so much noise outside. She stripped down to her underwear and checked herself in the mirror. There was an ugly bruise on her side, which hurt if she touched it but thankfully caused her no discomfort otherwise. Her arm was a different story. Clearly it wasn’t broken or she’d be screaming if she touched it with her other hand. Nevertheless, the bruising on her upper arm was extensive. Her arm bone ached where the officer kicked her. Clearly the damage was deep, but she felt no desire to go to hospital.
She climbed into bed and laid down on her good side. The noisy protest and the pain in her arm kept her awake for a time, as did the images flashing through her head of a day straight from hell. Thankfully the pain was easier to ignore now that the pills had kicked in. She concentrated on saying a prayer, clearing her mind of her troubles one by one. Eventually she fell into a merciful sleep.
“Hey Penny, it’s Tim.”
“Hey Tim.”
“Hey. Sorry to call you so late.”
“Oh that’s okay. I was watching the protests on TV.”
“What protests?”
“Some rapper was shot by police this morning and his girlfriend beaten up. You didn’t hear about it?”
“No, I’ve been in meetings all day. You’re supposed to tell me about this stuff.”
“Sorry, I thought you knew. How was your meeting with Granger?”
“Not great. He wants to me to stall all my bills.”
“Really? Why?”
“I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. I need you to start thinking about who else we can tap for donations and support.”
“Granger’s not paying any more?”
“I can’t do what he wants me to do, Penny. I can’t sabotage all our work because the moneyman says so. I’d be no better than the guys we defeated to get here.”
“No chance of a compromise? Delay some bills and not others?”
“He made it pretty clear I gotta do what he says or no more funding.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. So, anyway, I figured it was time to cut ties. Nothing official or public, just line up alternative backers and quietly ignore Granger.”
“He’s not going to like that.”
“No, he’s not. But other than stop donating, what else can he do?”
“This is one of those, I-can’t-talk-you-out-of-it situations, isn’t it, Tim?”
“’Fraid so.”
“Fine, I’ll think about it. It won’t be easy.”
“If it was easy, it wouldn’t be fun.”
“Uh huh. Well I’m going back to scaring myself shitless with the news okay?”
“Sure, thanks Pen. Have a good night.”
“You too.”
Tim hung up the phone and turned on the local news. Sure enough, a protest was in full swing down East Main Street, a mile or so away from his house and heading his way. He watched the images of rapper Howie Do and his girlfriend, Canadian YouTube star, Melissa Jones, and watched the video of the shooting, his hand over his mouth in shock. He knew immediately he had to get involved. It might piss off Lionel Granger and his ilk, but Tim didn’t give a shit.
He picked up his phone and called the governor, the state’s Attorney General and Virginia’s Senate majority leader. None of them answered – it was getting late that was true, but still, it was annoying. Protestors flooding into Richmond’s streets and the top brass weren’t answering their phones? Perhaps they weren’t answering to him. He tried calling Richmond’s police chief, but as expected, his phone went immediately to voicemail and the mailbox was full. That was no surprise. The guy had his hands full tonight.
Tim stood and went to his front door. Opening it up, he could hear distant sounds of chanting and shouting coming from the direction of East Main Street. He grabbed his jacket, his keys and his phone and headed out to join the protest.
The knock on the door woke Melissa. Bleary-eyed, she stared at the clock. It was 8:00 a.m. The knocking came again, so she dragged herself from the bed.
“Just a minute!” she called.
She wrapped a hotel robe around her and winced at the pain in her arm. The pills had long since worn off and her bruises were agony. She shuffled over to the door and opened it to find a porter with two suitcases.
“Good morning, Madam, I believe these belong to you?”
It was her luggage. It could only have been here thanks to Saint Jasmine.
“Thank you,” she said. She picked up her purse and scrabbled for a generous tip as the porter brought her suitcases into the room.
She closed the door behind him after he left. She stared at them, hardly daring to believe they were real. What a relief! She hadn’t looked forward to returning to the police station this morning to get them.
Images and memories crashed into her mind like baseball bats striking her. She dropped to her knees.
