Chapter 45 The Bad Smile And Street-level Threats
Everyone in the neighborhood was outside in nightclothes, phones out, acting like this was prime-time television.
One person in particular Trina, the neighborhood gossiper had taken off her bonnet, straightened her braids with her fingers, and adjusted her pink leggings with the big gray-and-pink shorts. She lifted her phone high, going Live on Facebook, putting on her best fake news-anchor voice:
“This is Trina, your neighborhood reporter. I’m here live on Pinewood Ave where a robbery has just occurred. They’re reporting someone ransacked an older woman’s house. Hmm… sounds like some bum-ass cousin needed money this month. I wonder who the robbers could beeee.”
Lotus rolled her eyes at Trina and at everyone else so eager to record instead of checking if the woman was alive.
“Come on,” Lotus muttered. “Let’s go in and check on her.”
They followed the paramedics inside.
Broken lamp.
Chair knocked over.
Drawers yanked open, like someone had ripped the room’s memory out.
Lotus grabbed a broom and dustpan and began sweeping up the shattered glass.
As they worked
Jason pulled up, asking a bystander what happened.
The neighbor shrugged. “Not sure, man. Lotus and Joy are in there now.”
So Jason crossed the street. The officers let him through because he lied and told them he is family.
When Lotus and Joy stepped inside, the scene punched the air right out of them. The living room looked ransacked drawers pulled out, lamps knocked over, police lights strobing red and blue across the walls.
But what stopped them wasn’t the mess.
It was the older woman sitting on the couch, wrapped in an emergency blanket, trembling.
“Mrs. Anderson?” Lotus breathed.
Joy’s eyes widened. “Wait Mrs. Anderson from the Community Housing board?”
The elderly woman looked up, face pale, eyes glassy with shock. Seeing her ,their board member, a woman who chaired half the neighborhood initiatives, shaking in her own living room made everything feel wrong.
“I… I thought it was my niece at first,” Mrs. Anderson whispered. “She usually checks on me after work. But when I called out to her… someone else answered.”
Lotus felt her stomach twist.
Before she could respond, voices murmured at the door.
“Yeah, they’re in there check with them,” one neighbor whispered.
Then Jason stepped inside, duffle bag over his shoulder the one he brought when he planned to sleep over after work. The second he saw Lotus, the worry snapped across his face.
“Lotus, baby are you alright?”
His voice cracked through the tension like a siren.
Lotus turned toward him, relief washing over her so intensely her knees almost buckled.
“I’m okay,” she said softly.
Jason dropped his bag and moved straight to her, cupping her face, kissing her forehead, checking every inch like he needed proof she was unharmed.
“What happened?” he asked, eyes sweeping the room.
Joy answered, jaw tight. “Robbery. Fifth one this month around here.”
“Damn,” Jason muttered.
They followed the officers back toward Mrs. Anderson. Lotus crouched in front of her—steady, warm, anchored in that way she always became when someone needed grounding.
“No one is coming back here,” Lotus said gently but firmly. “I’ll talk to the officers tonight. And tomorrow, I’ll call the entire Community Housing board. We’ll meet at the center, and we’ll start a neighborhood watch. This ends now.”
Mrs. Anderson finally took a breath that didn’t tremble.
Joy rubbed Mrs. Anderson’s back gently. “Did you see anything at all? Something familiar?”
Mrs. Anderson nodded, voice trembling.
“One of them… he had a busted watch. Brown leather strap. And on the face…”
She swallowed hard.
“An eel engraved into it.”
Lotus and Joy exchanged a sharp, alarmed look.
That wasn’t normal.
Not random.
Not small.
They stayed with Mrs. Anderson until the police finished their report. Afterward, Lotus and Joy rolled up their sleeves and helped her clean the house—picking up broken frames, straightening cushions, restoring order piece by piece until the place didn’t feel like a crime scene anymore.
About an hour later, Mrs. Anderson’s niece rushed in, breathless and worried. “Auntie! Are you okay?”
The old woman nodded, clinging to her niece.
“Thanks to these two,” she said, squeezing Lotus’s and Joy’s hands. “They stayed with me. They helped me.”
Her niece thanked them both repeatedly and guided Mrs. Anderson carefully back down the walkway toward her own house next door.
By then, Jason had already walked Lotus outside, kissed her cheek, and left to wait at her house so she wouldn’t return alone.
“We’ll talk more when you get home,” he’d said before heading off.
Joy and Lotus finally started their walk back, the night air heavy and strangely quiet after all the chaos. Halfway down the block, a silver old-school Lincoln crept toward them, slow enough to feel intentional. Old-school music blared from the speakers—bass humming, windows slightly cracked.
Behind the wheel was Rufus.
Lotus’s stepfather.
Cigar dangling from the corner of his mouth, he gave Lotus a long, mocking smile as he drove by. Not warm. Not curious. Something else. Something that made the air around her feel thick and dirty.
Lotus stopped walking, stomach twisting.
It wasn’t anger.
It was that deeper, spiritual “off” feeling—the kind that made her skin crawl.
Joy glanced at her. “You good?”
Lotus exhaled through her nose. “Yeah… just hate his energy.”
The Lincoln rolled off into the darkness.
They reached their houses just as Filthy was parking his shopping cart beside their garage—his Filthy’s new humble abode for the night wasn’t much, but it was his.
The garage was bare and echoing brick walls, gray cement floors, a thin layer of dust coating the corners. The only furniture inside was an old, sagging sofa pushed up against the back wall and a small round wooden table that had clearly seen better decades. A rusted mop bucket sat beside a leaning ladder, and a single ceiling bulb flickered overhead, casting a warm but tired yellow glow across the room.
Lotus tossed Filthy a keychain with one lonely key. “I’ll bring you pillows and blankets in a minute.”
“Cool,” Filthy said, already unfolding the old sofa like it was a five-star hotel bed. He plopped down, kicked his shoes off, and stretched out with dramatic satisfaction.
Joy leaned against the doorway. “You sure you’re okay sleeping in here?”
Filthy grinned, wide and unbothered. “Beats sleeping by the train tracks.”
He sank deeper into the cushions.
“Facts,” he added with a chuckle.