Chapter One
Queens, New York
May 14, 2012
Once she had passed through terminal B and moved beyond the passenger checkpoint, manned by heavily armed commandoes, the crowd was nearly impenetrable. Her roller bag acted like an anchor dragging across the ocean floor and slowing her course through a sea of bodies. Bracing herself against the tide of the marooned, she moved through the frantic mass like a tiny icebreaker. Her 5’5” frame prevented her from seeing beyond the manacle of compressed frames. She knew that if she was going to find a way through, she needed to climb to higher ground.
Valora had flowered into a beautiful young woman. Her eyes were the color of a lazy autumn afternoon, her skin caramel brown, and her smile as alluring as a cool drink from a mountain brook on a hot summer’s day. Her demured facade contrasted sharply with her fiery spirit and passion for life.
She was nineteen, but the bobbed hairdo caressing her opaline countenance made her appear years younger. Her petite but sturdy frame was wrapped in faded jeans, a white tee shirt, and an olive green Air Force jacket. A white gold necklace adorned her slender neck.
She tried to screen out the disconcerting chatter, the cries of unfed babies, and the blaring PA system. Her face crumpled and her head shook in disbelief at the announcement of flight cancellations. The loud voice overhead made no mention of shuttle buses or transports into the city. Valora retrieved her cell from her pocket, flipped the lid back with a quick motion of her hand, checked for a dial tone, and then shoved it back into her jean pocket.
Valora spotted a row of molded plastic seats occupied by a string of slumbering bodies. There was one seat left, but others were moving to seize it. As in a game of musical chairs, she out raced the other contestants through an obstacle course of luggage and small children to claim her prize. Instead of sitting down, she climbed aboard the section of cushioned plastic to get a better view. An ocean of heads extended out in all directions.
A quick survey of the room allowed Valora to map out the course of her escape. Within seconds, Valora had rejoined her suitcase and was headed down the escalators en route to the front entrance.
As she stepped through the glass doors of the central terminal building, a blast of hot air was there to greet her. “From the frying pan into the fire,” she said to herself as she eyed the chaos out front. Her prospects for getting into the city vanished like the cool air she’d left behind. Seeing a red cap standing with his back to her, she tapped him on his broad shoulder. But, his eyes were fixed on something far off, leading Valora to clutch his arm. He spun around sharply, his eyes piercing downward and his eyebrows kneaded in irritation.
“What is it?” the man asked his tone impatient.
“I just got in from the West Coast and I need to get into the city.”
“Consider yourself lucky that you’ve made it this far. These poor souls aren’t going anywhere. The airport is about to announce a complete shutdown, then all hell is gonna break loose.” He turned away abruptly, back to what had previously held his attention. Valora tapped him again. His face knotted, his eyes rolled back, he turned back to Valora.
“Maybe I haven’t made myself clear. The borough of Manhattan is my destination, not Queens. Now, if you would please be so kind as to tell me how to get there from here, I will be on my way.”
“Like everyone else, the best way that you can, young lady.” The man chuckled, his belly bouncing in place like jelly during an earthquake. Valora’s face remained calm, yet resolute.
“I got a niece about your age. Suppose she was stranded,” he muttered to himself. Let me save you some time. Here’s the picture. The shuttle bus was suspended days ago, the rental companies have no cars left, and the public bus is out of the question. Unless you got a car, there are only two ways in or out of the city. You can walk, but I wouldn’t advise that, things being the way they are, or you can grab a taxi. However, let me warn you. The going rate for a taxi into the city is anywhere between five hundred and one thousand dollars, depending on where it is in the city your headed. But if you’re short on cash, some of them will take jewelry or other valuables. How much money do you have?” Valora left the question unanswered.
“Thanks for the help,” she said. Calmly she pivoted and weaved her way through the crowd of would-be travelers occupying the drop-off zone. The red cap’s advice led Valora in search of a yellow cab. Oddly, there were none in sight. Only official and emergency vehicles were allowed out front. One of the EMS workers directed her to the far end of a long, curled loading strip. After a short walk, knapsack strapped on and toting her suitcase, Valora arrived at a long line of yellow cabs. “How much you charge to the city?” she asked the first cabbie that she came to.
“Eight-hundred dollar,” he replied in a Middle Eastern accent, without bothering to look up from his overseas newspaper. Valora pressed on. The next driver was out of the cab before she could say a word, snatching her suitcase and flinging it into the trunk.
“How much is this going to cost me?”
“Not much, only six-hundred dollars. The others are thieves. Mohammed’s rates, on the other hand, are very fair.”
“I am able to pay three hundred, which I believe to be a fair price for such a short drive,” Valora said, standing firm.
“I will say what is fair.” The cabby grumbled something in his native perhaps Pakistani or East Indian tongue. His face registered mild disappointment as he started to turn away. She delayed him by gently seizing his lower arm.
“I don’t have that kind of cash on me. But, if you take me home, I can get you the rest. You have my word, said Valora, releasing her grip. The driver appeared unsympathetic and turned and headed to the front of the cab. “I have a ring that’s very valuable.” The driver froze, and then quickly retraced his steps. Back face to face with Valora, he took the ring from her outstretched hand. He drew the ring close to his eye like a jeweler exploring a diamond for the slightest flaw. After chomping down on the ring, a rapacious smile flashed on his sand colored face. It had passed the test.
“This will do.” The cabby tucked the ring neatly into his shirt pocket, giving the pocket a jiggle to assure that the ring had settled to the bottom. Displaying a dull yellow smile, he opened the back door and ceremoniously waved her aboard. She knew that she had been cheated, but what else could she do? Valora entered the cab trying to erase thoughts of being conned and focused instead on thoughts of reuniting with her family. The cabby came and slid behind the wheel, but instead of pulling off, he just sat there, motionless.
“Why are we not moving? The ring is worth five times your asking price.”
“I will leave when I dam well please. His close-set eyes nestled under dark wooly eyebrows stared back at her in the rear view mirror. Valora had a few choice words in mind for the little man, but decided to bite her tongue.
A half hour passed before the driver managed to fill his cab with human cargo, all paying the same exorbitant fee. Valora had to assume that because the wily hack was careful to negotiate his deals outside the ear range of his other pigeons. The cab’s back seat held three passengers with a fourth occupying the seat along side the driver. Satisfied with his haul, the driver instructed his passengers to buckle up as he swerved into traffic, following a stream of cars exiting LaGuardia.
Chapter Two
The eastbound lane of the Grand Central Parkway wasn’t half as bad as the traffic headed in the opposite direction. The exodus brought to mind rats deserting a sinking ship. “Everyone’s fleeing the Big Apple,” the driver said letting loose a high pitched and nasal snicker that was beginning to grate on her. Valora’s only consolation was the thought that he’d get his in the end. Greasy, foul mouthed, avaricious cads like him always do, she thought.
Valora tried to black out the cabby’s repulsive smirk and contemptible odor by conjuring up images of hearth and home. The last time she spoke to her mother, her mother had sounded strange. The cellular connection had failed leaving Valora with a growing uneasiness. Valora gazed out the window at the traffic on the Long Island Expressway, which was thick as flies on a discarded candy apple in summer. They dredged along bumper to bumper for the better part of two hours. No one spoke until Mohammed broke the silence.
“You see, this is why Mohammed charges his rates. First, I must sit in this blasted traffic for hours, and then I must scrounge up some petrol before fighting my way back to the airport.”
Valora couldn’t let it go. “Gee Mohammed, I wonder if the Taxi and Limousine Commission would be interested in hearing about your logistical concerns. Maybe they could offer a solution or two.”
“I’m sure that they could if they were still in business. Oh, I forgot. You haven’t heard the city is shut down, owner gone fishing.” The annoying snicker returned with all the jollity of a root canal. “But, thanks for the suggestion.” Up ahead was the mouth of the Midtown Tunnel. It was crawling with security. The National Guard and the NYPD were out in force. A cold chill came over Valora.
Points of entry into the city were being closely screened since the first truck bombs demolished parts of Wall Street, just shy of the Stock Exchange, and another in front of the Empire State Building during afternoon rush hour.
A soldier, protected by a bulky black suit of body armor, usually reserve ed for the bomb detail, cautiously approached the cab. Valora smiled as the soldier reminded her of Timothy, the turtle, a gift from her father when she was five. The pimples on the soldier’s face and the peach fuzz carpeting his broad chin, belied his tender age.
“What’s your business in Manhattan?” he asked coldly. Valora noticed for the first time a second soldier approaching from the passenger side, his lethal M-16 rifle with mounted optics pointed at the cab. The cabby stated his business coolly, thumbing back to his well-dressed fares.
“Let me see you driver’s license.” Mohammed had anticipated the soldier’s request, and quickly retrieved the document from the visor. After giving the document the once-over, the soldier tossed the cabby his license, and waved them through.
The tunnel was their longest stretch of uninterrupted driving since leaving the airport. The air in the tunnel was dank and the exhaust fumes forced Valora to shorten her breaths. The dimness momentarily blinded her as the blaring car engines battered her eardrums. As they sped along, the speckle of light ahead gradually broadened into the greatest city in the world. At the sight of her city, she felt a surge of emotion. It was just as she remembered it except it seemed less in a hurry.
Traffic was as expected, yet the sidewalks were nearly empty even with rush hour approaching. 34th Street should have been bustling. The thinned herds of tight-faced New Yorkers continued to display the total indifference for which they were famous. However, there was a hint of despair in their eyes that wasn’t there when she left for Berkley. Fear permeated the air and a thin shroud of doom covered the city. Police barricades cordoned off Madison Avenue, which Mohammed pointed out was for emergency vehicles only.
The cabby announced their arrival. “Alright, we’re here. Everybody get out.” Before Valora could shake the stiffness from her legs, the driver had unloaded the luggage from the trunk and dumped it onto the sidewalk. Without giving his fares a second look, the little man jumped back behind the wheel and prepared to peel off.
“Wait a minute,” Valora cried out, appearing beside him. “I need to get uptown.”
Not bothering to roll down the window. “No way!” wagging his finger in the air like it was a wiper blade, “that was not part of the bargain. I distinctly said midtown Manhattan. You agreed. A deal is a deal. Besides, I don’t go anywhere near those people. They are…,” he stopped rambling, appearing to have remembered to whom he was speaking.
“Hold on, I think I know your price.” Valora slid an antique Egyptian cartouche from around her neck and dangled it in front of the greedy little man.
The cabby lowered the window, snatched the necklace, and examined it closely. “Okay, but I’m only going as far as 110th Street and Fifth. I won’t venture into that…that…place no matter the price. I have heard the stories.” As Central Park was closed to traffic, the cabby took Park Avenue uptown, and in less than a half hour pulled his cab over to the curb in a screeching halt.
This time he didn’t bother to leave the cab as Valora had thrown her suitcase beside her in the back. Valora watched as the driver made a sharp U-turn, leaving a black arc in the center of the street and a trail of white smoke as he raced off.
Out on the street, there wasn’t a cab or bus in sight so she started east, on foot, to Seventh Avenue. From there, it was about twenty blocks uptown to home, the Strivers Row section of Harlem. The streets were oddly deserted, but she hardly noticed. Her thoughts were elsewhere. The closer she got to home, the more she reflected on the last conversation she’d had with her mother. Her mother’s voice had sounded hurried and strained. She thought little of it at the time, what with so much going on. But, the closer she got to home, the more she sensed that something was dreadfully wrong.
Strivers Row had lost much of the luster of its heyday. Once, ownership of one of the stylish brownstones announced one’s arrival into Negro high society. Anyone who was anyone lived on either Sugar Hill or Strivers Row sometime called ‘The Row’. With the arrival of hard times, most of the owners were forced to take in boarders and many of splendid old three-story buildings fell into disrepair. Nonetheless, the two square blocks that occupied Central Harlem were still the jewel of the area and a sight for Valora’s homesick eyes.
