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  “Oh, Jesus,” said Melissa, creeping to the door. “I wasn’t serious.”

  She watched as Nikki walked to the edge of the group of men and they began to circle like sharks. Marquis stepped out in front of Nikki, his hand over his crotch, a gun in his waistband. Melissa cracked the door a little and fumbled for her cellphone, getting ready to call 911.

  “What you want, bitch?”

  “I’m from the Carrie Mae Center,” said Nikki, speaking at not quite a yell, as if she wanted to make sure everyone would hear.

  “’Scuse me. What you want, Carrie Mae bitch?” He smirked at his friends and they laughed.

  “We would like you to move your little . . . operation down a block to the empty lot and to stop blocking girls from coming into the Center.”

  The group laughed, but Nikki looked unconcerned.

  “And what you gonna do if we don’t?” The man was inches away from Nikki’s face, and Melissa found herself holding her breath.

  “Well, Marquis,” said Nikki. The group went silent at the use of the man’s name. “I’ll have you arrested.”

  “Nu-uh! Cops scared of us!” he said, thumping his chest.

  “We’re giving you one chance to negotiate. I suggest you take it,” said Nikki, scanning the group as if memorizing faces. “It’s the only time I will make the offer.”

  “Oh, I’ll make you an offer,” said Marquis.

  Melissa grabbed her phone; it was about to get ugly. There was no way Nikki would make it back across the street. She dialed 911, and then watched as four police cars and a riot van rounded the corner and came to a screeching halt in front of the group. The gang began to scatter, but it was clear the cops had been expecting it. Blue and red lights flashed farther down the block.

  Nikki walked through the rushing line of cops pouring out of the can and back to the Center.

  “Are you crazy?” yelled Melissa, as Nikki pulled open the door. “Do you want to die? You’re lucky they didn’t just shoot you in the head.”

  “You have to offer them a choice,” said Nikki, with a shrug.

  “I’m done up there, Nikki,” said a soft voice behind them.

  Melissa screeched and spun around to find a middle-aged woman dressed in soft gray clothes; an oblong pack was slung over her shoulder.

  “We’re moving to phase four?” asked the woman.

  “Who the hell are you?” demanded Melissa. “How did you get in here?”

  “Yeah, see you in a bit,” said Nikki.

  “No seriously,” said Melissa. “Who are you?” But the woman just waved at Nikki and headed for the back door. Melissa made a move to follow, but Nikki grabbed her by the arm.

  “That’s Ellen,” she said. “She’s just leaving.”

  “Was she up on the roof? What the hell was she doing up on the roof?”

  “You should relax, Melissa,” said Nikki. “I mean, look: all your drug dealers are gone.” She waved at the swarming cops out in the street.

  “And how long until they’re back out on the streets?” asked Melissa.

  “Probably not that long,” said Nikki with a shrug. “But the cases we handed the DA should keep them busy for a while.”

  “It’s not a solution,” said Melissa, shaking her head. “This isn’t finished.

  “Didn’t say it was,” said Nikki.

  Phase Four:

  The afternoon dragged on. Police came in—some just wanting to use the bathroom, some wanting to ask questions about any illegal activities they’d witnessed. Nikki happily told them she’d just started working there and left Melissa to answer most of the questions. By the time night fell, Melissa was heartily tired of all police everywhere.

  Melissa heard the doorbell jangle and groaned. “Nikki is out there; she can handle it,” she muttered to herself, as she slammed the file door shut. She deliberately went into the break room and ate a granola bar over the sink before finally heading for the front room.

  “So, what’s to stop me from shooting you, bitch?”

  Melissa froze and then scuttled forward to hide behind a potted palm. Her mind raced, trying to remember where she’d left her cell phone.

  In front of her, Nikki tapped her chest with an odd, hard sound. “Bulletproof vest,” she said, perching on the edge of a desk.

  “I will shoot you in the head.” Marquis was standing in the doorway, his gun pointed at Nikki.

  “Meh, I’ll take my chances.”

  “What?” asked Marquis, clearly as confused as Melissa.

  “Well, your gun is filthy, and you’ve got it turned sideways. All of which tells me you’re not the kind of guy who actually does any target practice. You probably couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn if you were standing inside it.”

  Melissa gaped.

  “I will shoot you.” He racked the slide on his gun and pointed it at Nikki.

  “Marquis, you didn’t live this long and become the boss without knowing when to negotiate. I’m serious. I can see you’re serious. Let’s talk.”

  Marquis pursed his lips, as if thinking. “You’re the one that put us all down, right?” Marquis demanded emphasizing his words with his gun.

  “Like I said I would,” said Nikki. “Although may I congratulate you on how quickly you made bail?”

  “I know a guy,” said Marquis, dropping his gun to his side. Melissa breathed a sigh of relief. “What makes you think I won’t go to war up in here?”

  “We’re Carrie Mae, Marquis,” said Nikki pulling out a pack of gum. “War is for the CIA and the menfolk. We’re women; we provide solutions.” She popped a piece of gum in her mouth. “I gave you the opportunity to move yourselves earlier today and you didn’t. But I honestly told you what would happen, didn’t I?”

  “Like I’m supposed to believe white bitches,” he said bluntly.

  “But the point is, when I tell you that if you come back and try to start a war, we will kill you, you’ll know I’m telling the truth, won’t you?”

  “You gonna shoot me? In here?” he gestured to the purple walls.

  “Oh, no. That would get messy. No one wants to clean that up. I’ll wait till you go outside, and then my sniper across the street will put one through your heart. Then that Cadillac will pull over and we’ll put you in the trunk.”

  “You seriously have a sniper?”

  A red dot appeared on floor beside Marquis’s foot and traveled up his body as he turned to look out the window.

  Marquis didn’t move. Melissa had to admit that it seemed kind of ballsy.

  “The thing is, Marquis,” said Nikki. “We’re not asking you to quit dealing drugs. We’re simply asking that you move your hangout spot one block down and quit blocking girls from coming in here.”

  “Why girls?” he asked.

  “Research indicates that if you educate girls, they make more money, have fewer children, and have them later in life. Which means that they spend more time with the children they do have and can reinforce an ethic of education and hard work within the next generation. You want to help a population? Educate girls.”

  Melissa squeaked in outrage. That was her speech—verbatim!

  “It ain’t gonna work,” Marquis was still staring out the window. His face sneered as he spoke.

  “Yes, it will!” yelled Melissa, barging out from behind potted plant. She batted away a last leafy frond as he turned around to stare at her. “All I ever hear is how it will never work. You can’t change people. Just give up. I will not give up, do you hear me?” she demanded, advancing on Marquis.

  “Yeah, got it,” said Marquis, giving her the “crazy bitch” eye roll.

  “No, I don’t think you do!” Melissa was furious. She was tired of being dismissed. She was tired of being ignored. Mostly, she was tired of the lack of faith. “We have a day care on site. We have
tutors. We have a partnership with Planned Parenthood for OB/GYN services and free birth control. We have connections to local food banks, and resources for school supplies and clothes. But mostly, we have people who actually care. We think we can change things. I think I can change things!” She emphasized her last statement by tapping a fierce finger into her chest.

  She could feel her anger ebbing and the creeping realization that she’d just been yelling at a man with a gun. She tried to push that knowledge out of her mind. She squared up her shoulders, remembered her grandmother, and tried to look as nonchalant as Nikki.

  Marquis didn’t seem to notice. His eyes drifted down to the floor, but he didn’t seem to be staring at anything in particular.

  “What if we did move?” he asked at last, looking at Nikki.

  “We would sincerely appreciate it,” said Nikki.

  “What about me?” asked Marquis. “What do I get?”

  “What do you want?” said Nikki. “We will not be paying you money, we won’t launder money, and we won’t hold any merchandise. Just so we’re clear.”

  “I got a eight-year-old daughter,” he said, ignoring her statement. “She’s smart. I want her to go to college. She could be like . . .like . . . Michelle Obama or some shit.”

  “Melissa,” snapped Nikki. Melissa jumped in surprise but managed to contain any exclamations. “Can we guarantee that Mr. D’Shawn’s daughter will go to college?”

  Melissa cleared her throat and tried to look as cool as Nikki. “Will she be coming in every day after school?”

  “Sure,” he said with a shrug. In her head, Melissa started to calculate the feasibility of getting one eight-year-old into college and out of this neighborhood.

  “Yes,” said Melissa, standing up straighter. “We can do it. We’re Carrie Mae.”

  “Deal,” he said, turning back to Nikki. He held out his hand, and Nikki stood up to shake it.

  “You won’t be offended if I hang around for a few days, just to make sure things stick?” asked Nikki.

  “Whatever,” said Marquis. “Just don’t get dealt with. See you Monday,” he said, pointing at Melissa with his gun.

  “Looking forward to it,” chirped Melissa, giving an awkward wave.

  The bell jangled again as he left, and Melissa tottered to the nearest chair and sat down.

  “So . . . we have a deal with the drug dealers?” she looked up at Nikki.

  “Yes,” said Nikki, nodding.

  “We’re against drugs.”

  “Yes,” said Nikki, nodding again.

  “But . . .” Melissa stopped, trying to regain her equilibrium. “I can make this work,” she said after a moment. “It’ll probably only last until I can get his daughter off to college. But he said she was eight? That’s ten years.”

  “Well,” said Nikki, “to be honest, it’ll probably only last until Marquis dies. He’s twenty-one now. That’s already pretty old for the game. On average, only about five percent of gang members are over twenty-four. He’s smart, but people get jealous. I give him another four or five years, tops.”

  “But I bet a lot of the rest of them have daughters,” said Melissa, suddenly. “And sisters. And girlfriends. I can make this work,” she repeated.

  “Yeeeah,” said Nikki. “I don’t think you want to get too heavily skewed towards one gang.”

  Melissa shook her head, her eyes shining. “We will be the fucking demilitarized zone,” she said, smacking her fist into her palm. “I can do this. I can change things. Oh, thank you so much, Nikki. When I took this job, well, honestly, I thought Carrie Mae was just . . . stupid, but it seemed like such an opportunity to actually make a difference, I couldn’t pass it up. But I was getting nowhere! Now, I’ve got a chance. I can change lives!” Melissa’s eyes glowed.

  “Well, that’s what we’re here for,” said Nikki. Melissa’s expression turned questioning. “Helping you help the world—it’s not just a slogan, you know.”

  “I do now,” said Melissa.

  “Anyway, the team and I will be sticking around through next week. But don’t hesitate to contact the home office again if you start having problems.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Melissa, I hope it goes without saying that this is something that needs to stay within the family?”

  “Of course,” said Melissa. “I’m just so happy to finally work for a company that supports me.”

  “Well, that’s the point of a women-only company, isn’t it? We’ve got to be supportive.”

  Melissa giggled unexpectedly. “You’re my sports bra.”

  “Ohhhhkay,” said Nikki, grabbing her by the elbow and lifting her out of the chair. “I think someone’s a bit hysterical. Let’s go get you some water.”

  Melissa continued to giggle as she was led toward the break room. “Carrie Mae: supporting the girls since 1967!”

  The can?

  Copyright Information

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  This short story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictiously. Any resemblence to actual events or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012 by Bethany Maines

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  Cover art by LILT. www.LILTdesign.com