Catherine Palmer - Stranger In The Night

“What’s the gangs’ focus?” he asked. “Territory? Violence?”

“Those are part of it. Arms and drugs play a big role. Just like everywhere, gangbangers worship the idols of the modern world—money, power and sex.”

Sam leaned against the edge of Terell’s old steel desk and studied the youngsters playing basketball on the large court just beyond the office window. “Our black gangs deal in crack and powder cocaine, marijuana, black tar heroin, powder heroin and heroin capsules. The Hispanics used to handle mostly commercial-grade marijuana. When Missouri clamped down on local methamphetamine producers, Mexican ice exploded. We’re doing all we can to keep tabs on what’s moving through the city.”

“Who’s we? ”

“Haven. But there are others.” He held up a hand and began ticking off the groups. “The St. Louis County Gang Task Force. The Metropolitan Police Department Gang/Drug Division’s gang unit. GREAT, the Gang Resistance Education and Training program set up by the mayor, works in elementary and middle schools. REJIS is an agency that notifies parents of a child’s gang affiliation. Cease Fire is a coalition of law enforcement, school and government officials, clergy and crime prevention specialists. We’ve got citizens’ groups, too—INTERACT, African-American Churches in Dialogue, the St. Louis Gang Outreach Program, you name it. But no one’s winning this war.”

Leaning one shoulder against a post, Joshua unfolded the T-shirt. “African-Americans, Latinos—sounds like the gangs run along racial lines.”

“Typically. A new gang showed up this summer, though. Hypes. They’re unusual—racially mixed.”

“So what binds them?”

“As near as we can figure, it’s their leader. Fellow goes by the name Mo Ded.”

“Sounds more like the definition of a cult to me—a group focused around a single charismatic person.”

“Maybe, but they operate like a gang. Nothing religious about them. We’re guessing Mo Ded is a newcomer to St. Louis. He was smart enough to pull together all the ‘losers’—the gang rejects. You don’t find anyone more loyal than the disenfranchised.”

“Exactly how cults get started.”

“Cult, gang, whatever. Mo Ded has been recruiting, organizing and training people all summer, carving out his turf and building his weapons cache.”

“What race is this guy?”

Sam shrugged. “Anyone’s guess. He’s not black or white. But he’s not Hispanic, either. Some say he’s got Oriental eyes, but I hear they’re a weird green color. Definitely not Asian.”

“You haven’t met him?” Joshua’s recon experience had fine-tuned his ability to sniff out bad guys, and he knew Sam had similar training. “Don’t you want to know who’s sharing your territory?”

“Nobody shares turf, Duff. This block, including our building, belonged to the 51 MOB. Terell and I knew that when we bought it. We had to push them out and set up defenses.”

“Like when we took streets in Baghdad or Mosul.”

“This is war, man. Same thing—only without the manpower or arms on our side. Haven has a dog, a metal detector and Raydell and his crew to guard the door.”

“You sure Raydell is clean?”

“When I first met the kid, he had a baby Uzi tucked in his pants and a juvie record that would have put an older man inside the walls—exactly where Raydell’s father is right now. But our boy is working on his GED and planning to join the police force.”

“Big change.”

“One of Haven’s few success stories. If a kid wants to spend time here, he’s got to pull up his britches, leave his do-rag and grill at home, cover his gang tattoos, go through the metal detector and let Duke give him a sniff. The police keep a close watch on our place. We even have a few snitches. Terell and I realized we could let Haven become a staging area—a place where gangs congregate for retaliation and violence. Or we could essentially become gang leaders ourselves and make Haven our turf.”

“Haven’s homeboys. Does your woman know about this?”

“Ana knows and worries. But I remind her I’ve got unseen forces on my side. You may have noticed that sign in my office—If God is for us, who can be against us? God is really the leader of Haven. No one stronger than Him. The gangs know our focus on faith, and that helps some. But they’ve learned we’ll do whatever it takes to protect our kids. We had to earn their respect, and we did.”

Joshua was impressed. On first sight, the old building didn’t look like much. Now he understood it was hard-won property.

“How about the 51 MOB?” he asked as he stripped off the shirt he had worn all day. “Did they ever surrender Haven?”

“Yeah, but it took a while. Haven used to get marked with graffiti all the time. I would paint over it, knowing that targeted me for death. You don’t strip gang signs without getting killed. They’d spray my name on a wall and X it out. Essentially, that meant I was dead. They came after me a few times, but we worked it out.”

“What about Terell?”

“He’s an ex-offender. That gives him a lot of street cred. They know he can take care of himself. He uses his past to relate to the kids, but he doesn’t want to get mixed up in the gang thing. I’ve got the military training, so I mostly handle it.”

“Do the Hypes respect you, too?”

“Mo Ded doesn’t give a rip about anyone. He’s had his people loitering right outside Haven, inviting some of my best boys to jump off the porch.”

“Join up?”

“That’s right. Most gangs require a kid to join by beating in—walking between two lines or standing inside a circle of gang members who beat him to a pulp. But to get into the Hypes, you have to go on a mission.”

“Military term.”

“Worse. Mo Ded’s favorite technique—he makes a boy put a blue rag on his head, dress all in blue and walk through a Blood neighborhood. Or wear red and walk through Crips turf. If the kid survives, he’s a Hype.”

“What age are we talking about?” Joshua asked.

“Around here, any boy over twelve either owns or shares a gun. Mo Ded starts them out at eleven.”

Joshua shook his head as he unfolded the white T-shirt Sam had given him. “Reminds me of child soldiers in Africa. Sudan and Rwanda.”

“Don’t forget Paganda. As bad as he’s had it, Pastor Stephen thanks God his sons weren’t forced to fight for the rebels.”

“The ones who were killed?”

“They end up dead either way. At least with a massacre, the suffering is short. In these African countries or in the kind of war you and I fought against terrorists, the only way to win is to eliminate the enemy. That or be eliminated yourself. You know what I’m saying, Duff. There’s no middle ground. It’s the same here in St. Louis. According to gang code, the only way to get rid of another gang is to kill all the members.”

“That’s genocide.”

“Welcome to my world.”

Joshua let out a breath. “Hatred. It’s a grown man’s game. Why are these gangs recruiting kids so young?”

“Same reason al-Qaeda straps explosives to children and sends them into marketplaces on suicide missions. Talk to your new friend at the refugee agency about child soldiers in Africa.”

Uncomfortable at the mention of the woman, Joshua began putting on the T-shirt. He tried to work his arms through the sleeves. “Do you know Liz?”

“Pastor Stephen told me about your encounter at Refugee Hope. He and I had a long talk this afternoon. Stephen Rudi may be Pagandan, but he understands St. Louis.”

“Yo, Hawke. This shirt’s too small.”

“One size fits all.” Sam studied his friend for a moment. “Still got the six-pack abs, I see. I’d better not let you get too close to Ana.”