Because angels and demons weren’t real and neither was God.
The streets were proof of that.
12
MARCUS HAD A HEAVY heart as he arrived at Chairos Youth Center at just after four o’clock and found the paint buckets in the back closet. A twelve-year-old boy had been killed the previous night, one of the EastTown kids. Police had ruled it a gang killing, probably for points. Gang members ranked themselves by the points they accumulated.
The murder made Marcus sick to his stomach.
He carried the paint to a worktable in the room that needed the most help. As he did he smiled at volunteers working throughout the building. More volunteers than before. The community was behind his efforts. They had opened the place at two that afternoon, and now tutors at several tables were helping kids with homework.
The dream was coming true. Just not fast enough.
Before he could brainstorm ways to keep kids like the twelve-year-old murder victim off the streets, Marcus had to finish the work at hand. In the conversion of the old warehouse to a youth center, several rooms still needed painting to cover up a decade of graffiti and desperation. Tyler, Sami, and Mary Catherine planned to show up around five to help, and by seven o’clock kids would start arriving for pickup basketball and pizza.
Given the gang situation, police and a few volunteer high school basketball coaches would be on hand—to keep the teams fair. The pizza was set to arrive around seven thirty and the activities would wrap up a few hours later. Marcus had been looking forward to this Tuesday for weeks.
Yes, it was a school night. But on the streets kids stayed out till far later regardless of school in the morning. This was one way to give them an alternative. A way to say no to the gangs that were ever willing to accept them.
Marcus made a few trips from the closet to the table getting the cans of paint and brushes and buckets set out. All the while Marcus thought about the murdered boy. What if the center had opened sooner? The kid might’ve found his way through the doors and never looked back.
He might be alive today.
Marcus was organizing the paint according to room when he heard the sounds of his friends. Mostly Mary Catherine, her voice, her laugh. She hadn’t been far from his mind since Saturday night. And while he’d fielded dozens of texts from Shelly in that time, he hadn’t heard from Mary Catherine at all.
Another reason why she was special.
They entered the room, dressed in old T-shirts and sweatpants. “A-One Painting Crew at your service!” Tyler had his arm around Sami’s shoulders. “Fastest painters in Los Angeles.” He grinned at Sami and Mary Catherine.
“That’s right. Don’t blink.” Sami laughed. “The whole place’ll be painted.”
Mary Catherine looked happy, relaxed. And when her eyes met his, Marcus could feel the same pull, the same attraction from the other night. The chemistry between them made him dizzy. He gave Tyler and Sami a hug as the three approached but when it came to Mary Catherine, he hesitated, slightly awkward.
She sidestepped him. “I get first dibs on the brushes.” She grinned. “It’s all about the brushes.”
“I’ve heard.” He stepped back. Why hadn’t he hugged her? Not the other night and not now? He tried not to feel frustrated. Of course he hadn’t hugged her. He had a girlfriend and she wasn’t interested. Or she wouldn’t be if she knew his past.
They got busy, filling trays with paint and dividing the work. Before they started covering the walls, Marcus told them about the boy killed last night.
The news hit them hard. Tyler gritted his teeth. “That’s why we gotta get this thing up and running. Kids killing kids. It has to stop.”
“They need another way of living.” Sami took Tyler’s hand. “It’s just so sad. Such a waste.”
Mary Catherine stayed quiet. She looked at her paint, stirring it slowly. Whatever she was thinking, she didn’t say it. Marcus hoped he would have time to ask her later. She cared so much about making a difference. Did the recent violence make her want to do more? Or find somewhere else to serve?
Marcus had a feeling it was the latter.
They started painting, and gradually the mood lightened. Tyler and Sami were amazed by home church at the Waynes’ house a few days ago. “I never thought about the family of Jesus like that.” Tyler seemed like he was really thinking about the teaching that day. “The cost of being connected to Jesus had to be so great. So emotional. I guess it makes the Bible feel a lot more real.”
Marcus agreed. The Sunday service at the Waynes’ house had been tremendous. He only wished Mary Catherine had come. But her work with kids at her church was important. She wasn’t going to miss that. She cared too much for those kids. And these kids.
Which was the real reason she was here. No matter what attraction Marcus felt between them.
Sometime before seven, Shamika and her little boy, Jalen, showed up to help paint. Jalen wanted to play basketball, but his mom explained that tonight was for the big kids.
“You know what, though, buddy?” Marcus cleaned his hands on a rag and stooped down to the boy’s level. “I bet I can find that other hoop for you. We have room right here for a little pickup game.”
“Really?” Jalen’s eyes lit up. “Can I, Mama?” He turned his bright brown eyes up to Shamika.
She laughed lightly and shook her head. “Marcus, you don’t have to do that. We’re here to help paint. He knows that.”
“Yeah, but a guy has to play hoops.” Marcus winked at Jalen. “Right, buddy?”
“Right!” The boy fist-bumped Marcus.
Hope infused Marcus’s troubled heart. Playing ball with Jalen later would be fun. He found the junior hoop and set it up in the middle of the room so Jalen could play while his mom painted. Marcus was handing a small basketball to Jalen when he felt someone watching him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Mary Catherine looking right at him.
Their eyes met and she smiled. Then without a word she returned to her painting. No, the two of them would never date. But Mary Catherine was becoming his friend. And despite the way his heart skipped when she walked into the room, he welcomed her friendship. At least that.
The teens started arriving before seven, hanging around the gym and talking about the teams. A few minutes later the coaches showed up. Without supervision, a pickup basketball game could easily become a reason to fight.
A reason to kill.
But with it . . . well, Marcus could only hope that this might be a place the kids could get their aggression out, a way they could move and compete and connect without bringing the gangs and guns into it.
As Marcus expected, the kids who showed up that night were young. He looked at the teams as the first game started. He’d have been surprised if any of them were older than fifteen.
“Good turnout.” Marcus was standing next to Tyler, watching the coaches working with the players. “Thirty-three kids.”
Tyler smiled. “Thirty-three boys who won’t be hanging with a gang tonight.”
A dozen or so girls gathered along the sidelines. Two more played with the guys on the floor. By the time the games were under way, it was almost seven thirty. The pizza would be there any minute.
Marcus watched, and deep satisfaction welled within him. God, if you would please bless this youth center. He studied the kids, willing a change for them. Give these kids a reason to believe in life, in people. A reason to believe in You. And help me know how we can really change things here in the—
“Marcus!”
His prayer cut short, Marcus turned around. Officer Charlie Kent looked in a hurry as he walked up. His partner hung back, talking to Tyler, Sami, and Mary Catherine.
Marcus felt his heart sink. “More trouble?” He wiped his brow with the back of his hand. There was no relief around here.
“Always.” The officer folded his arms
and looked squarely at Marcus. His voice was as angry as it was defeated. He was careful to let no one else hear him. “We got a tip yesterday. The WestKnights have a contract on you. They’re planning to take you out tonight.”
“Me?” A partial laugh came from Marcus, but only out of disbelief. “Why would they wanna kill me?”
“Who knows. The WestKnights lost their leader this past week in a drive-by. Gangs do deadly things when a position is at stake. Sounds like that’s what this is.”
“The shooting yesterday, the twelve-year-old kid? Was that a part of this?”
“Probably.” The officer shook his head. “We’re close to making an arrest. A kid named Dwayne Davis. Has a list of robberies and attempted murder charges. We think he’s the shooter from last night.”
“So . . .” Marcus didn’t understand. “Can’t you arrest him?”
“It’s not that easy. These guys don’t have a residence. They’re always moving, living on someone’s floor. Every door we knock on has a bunch of armed kids.”
Marcus nodded. The danger was worse than anything he ever imagined. It made him wonder—just for a moment—if he’d picked the wrong city to build the youth center. He could’ve built this in the suburbs and at least there wouldn’t be bullets flying out front.
Maybe this was a mistake. If someone wanted to kill him for trying to help, then—
No, he told himself. Don’t think like that.
God had given him this idea. The Lord had provided the broken down warehouse, the funds to renovate it, and the volunteers to help staff it. There was a reason he was supposed to be here. He looked out at the action on the basketball court, even as the officer kept talking, warning him about the dynamics between the rival gangs in the area.
But all Marcus could think about were the kids on the court. That’s why he was here. Threats of violence wouldn’t make him give up. He’d simply have to be careful. He turned to the officer. “What should I do?”
“The front of the building will be the most dangerous. We have officers patrolling, looking for Davis. But we think maybe you should call it an early night.”
Marcus hesitated. He hated breaking up the basketball game. Hated letting the gangs win—even for a night. Any minute the pizza would be here. He clenched his jaw, frustrated. He couldn’t put the kids and volunteers at risk. He stared at the officer. “Whatever we need to do.”
The officer studied the teens on the court. “Let’s dismiss them after this game.”
“What about the pizza? It’ll be here any minute.”
“Maybe they can grab a piece on the way out. Then we can shut down.” He pulled his radio from his belt. “I’ll call for additional backup until everyone’s cleared out.”
Marcus studied the kids again. They had no idea their fun tonight was about to come to an abrupt end. Marcus looked across the room at the faces of his friends. The other officer was talking to them and by the look on their faces, they knew about the threat.
A thought occurred to him. Now he wouldn’t get to play with little Jalen, either. Everyone would have to go home. He looked over at the junior hoop, but Shamika and Jalen were nowhere to be seen. Marcus had a strange feeling about the mother and son. He hadn’t seen them in several minutes. “Hold on.” He nodded to the officer. “I have to find someone.”
He turned to jog toward the back room where the water bottles were set up, but then something caught his eye. He turned and watched Shamika and Jalen walk toward the entrance of the center. Shamika saw him and waved. “The pizza’s here! Me and Jalen are gonna help bring it inside.”
“No!” Marcus shouted, but it was too late. Shamika and Jalen were already through the front door.
Marcus ran for the door and tore outside into the night. The pizza guy was out of the car, a stack of boxes in his hands. Cars seemed to be everywhere, cruising down the street, parked across from the center. Marcus could feel the danger, he could sense it to the core of his being.
But where was it coming from?
Suddenly out of the shadows, a woman lunged at him. “Get down!”
Everything happened so fast, the action around Marcus became a blur. He heard gunfire and the sound of squealing tires and felt something burning in his leg. Before he could register any of it, he heard Shamika scream.
“Jalen! No, not my boy! God, please!”
Marcus scrambled to his knees and the pain sliced through his leg. He looked down and saw blood coming from his thigh. Flesh wound, he told himself. But Jalen . . . What had happened to the child?
Volunteers were shouting and sirens sounded in the distance. But what about Jalen? Marcus pulled himself to his feet and pushed through the crowd. “Jalen!”
Shamika was still screaming. “Someone help us! No, God, not my boy! Please not my boy!”
Marcus could see him. There was blood everywhere as he knelt next to Shamika. Jalen wasn’t moving and now Marcus could see where the blood was coming from. The boy had been hit in the back of his head. He had probably turned when he heard Marcus yell and now . . .
Dear God, no . . . not this child, please! “Has someone called nine-one-one?” he shouted, desperate.
“They’re on their way,” one of the parent volunteers answered.
Across from him working on the child was the woman who had knocked him to the ground. It was Aspyn. One of the volunteers. She had her hands on Jalen’s chest, giving him CPR. Then, as if she could sense Marcus looking at her—despite the screaming and crying happening all around—she looked straight at him. “Pray.” She continued her efforts to save Jalen’s life. “Pray for the boy. Pray in Jesus’ name.”
Marcus stared at the boy. Someone had to stop the bleeding. He took off his shirt and put it against the child’s head. He didn’t know CPR, but Aspyn seemed capable.
Pressing the shirt against the boy’s skull, Marcus tuned out the wailing and shouting and took hold of Shamika’s hand. “Let’s pray.”
“I can’t lose him!” Her words were a panicked scream. “He’s all I have. Please . . . God, please!”
Marcus had never been in a situation like this. He wanted to rewind the clock and have this moment over again. If only he could’ve stopped Shamika before she walked outside. The bullet intended for him had hit Jalen instead. It was more than he could bear.
But even with all of that, even desperate for Jalen to survive, Marcus knew Aspyn was right. They had to pray. The blood was spreading. He couldn’t watch. Marcus closed his eyes and raised his voice, raised it above the crying and shouting and sounds of the approaching sirens. “We need a miracle, Lord. Please, don’t let him die. Please . . . save his life. Please, help us! God, I beg you!”
Shamika was sobbing now, but she managed to say, “Amen. Jesus, please, amen.”
The ambulance pulled up and paramedics rushed through the crowd. Marcus sat back on the grass and watched as Jalen was whisked onto a stretcher. Shamika stayed with him, running alongside the men as they took her baby to the ambulance.
He should’ve taken that bullet. Not Jalen.
Behind him he heard Tyler’s voice. But at the same time another set of paramedics rushed up and surrounded him. “Marcus, you’ve been hit. You need to get to the hospital.”
His leg? He wanted to tell them he’d be fine. “Go find the shooter. Someone find him!” That’s all that mattered now.
Tyler was at his side. “Man, it’s a nasty wound. You gotta get in.”
“The boy . . .” Marcus stared at the place where the ambulance carrying Jalen had disappeared. “Pray for the boy.”
“We will.” Tyler squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll bring Sami and Mary Catherine. We’ll meet you at the hospital.”
The paramedics lifted him onto the stretcher. Marcus looked back as they carried him toward a second ambulance and a sudden thought hit him. What about Aspyn? How had the woman kn
own Marcus was about to be hit? She had shoved him to the ground and then just as quickly she was at Jalen’s side doing CPR. As if she’d known all this was about to happen. Was she someone connected to the gang? Did she have inside information?
Marcus would tell the police to talk to her. Just in case she knew something. In case she could lead them to the shooter. He scanned the crowd looking for her. Aspyn had volunteered at the center Saturday night. She was a pretty woman, thin with long, straightened hair and green eyes. She must’ve gone back inside the building.
Because she was nowhere in sight.
The paramedics loaded Marcus into the waiting ambulance and he closed his eyes. How could this have happened? It was supposed to be a fun night for the kids. This was supposed to help the gang problem here on the streets of LA. Everything they’d done, the time and money and prayers for this place. It was supposed to make a difference.
Instead, little Jalen was fighting for his life.
13
JAG WAS FURIOUS.
He knew Angels Walking were required to stay in control emotionally, but he was seriously struggling. He exhaled and replayed the truth in his mind. Angels on earth could feel human emotions. Anger. Fear. Sorrow—all were possible, especially when angels took on human form. By the power of God, an angel walking on earth had to control himself.
That had never been a problem before. Jag had been on many missions over time. The successful mission he and Aspyn had done during World War II, for instance. They had rescued a pilot shot down over Germany. Destruction, hate, violence.
None of it had moved Jag the way this had.
The futility of kids shooting kids. The same gang violence that had killed Terrance Williams.
Jag steadied his breathing. He waited with Aspyn across the street from the youth center. How could this have happened again? The entire mission was in jeopardy. They had known the shooting was possible. He and Aspyn were both on site, ready to intervene, and Jag had done what he could to delay Dwayne. He had disabled the kid’s vehicle. But apparently not well enough. Because the shooting had still happened.