Sierra Santiago and the Invisible City

Chapter 10 - The Search

"They find him yet?" Bennie asked.

"I don't think so," Sierra said. Her mind was already racing ahead of her, down the block, into the Coltrane houses. "Listen, I'm gonna run, Bennie, I'll catch you later on."

"Alright," Bennie said, and Sierra could almost hear her eyes rolling. "Stay outta trouble."

The Coltrane projects sprawled in thick, concrete slabs up and down Gates Avenue. A cadre of young hip hoppers sat perpetually outside and they usually had a few choice words about Sierra's butt when she passed. Either that or there'd be some drama going on, a curse out in progress or a game of dice. Today, Sierra was so focused she barely noticed when one of them asked her to come on over to his house for a minute. She brushed past him but the front door was locked tight

"Whatsa matter, Dracula? You can't get in?" The guy was tall and dressed in an oversized hoodie and big black gym shorts. He actually wasn't bad looking, Sierra realized, regarding his gentle eyes and carefully trimmed goatee, too bad he was a stoopgoon. He flashed a smile and an ungainly set of braces appeared.

"Whatsyer name?" she asked him accusingly.

"Terrance." He said, looking a little put out to not be the one asking the questions.

"You know Treme?"

"A little yeah."

"Which apartment he lives in?"

"3A. But he's gone missing."

"Really?" Sierra says. "I didn't notice all the signs, thank you. You got a key?"

"You got a number?"

"Yep. You got a key?"

Terrance frowned at her and then produced a key ring from his hoodie pocket and opened the door with an exaggerated bow. "You highness, Count Sarcastula," he said reverently.

"Ha ha," said Sierra without smiling.

"What about my number?" yelled Terrance just before the heavy door slammed shut in his face.

Apartment 3A was at the end of a dingy, litter-strewn hallway. Sierra stepped gingerly around Chinese food cartons and cigarette butts and pressed in the black dinger on the door. A middle-aged black woman appeared, her face a perfect likeness to her son's gravely serious glare. She wore a beautiful dress that was a shade of blue so deep Sierra could get lost in it. A throng of brightly colored beads peeked out around her neck. Her eyebrows rose questioningly at Sierra, who suddenly felt at a complete loss for words.

"Yes?"

"I'm..." Sierra stuttered. "I'm, uh, Sierra Santiago. I'm a friend of Treme's friend, Robbie. And I heard about your, about Treme. And...uh...."

"Come in," said the woman, whose expression had softened some. She swung open the door and stood to the side to let Sierra pass. The apartment emitted a warm glow and carried that same nostalgic church smell that Robbie had on at the party. Sierra was immediately struck by the sharp contrast between the messy, uninviting hallway outside and the ornate peacefulness of the sitting room that she stepped into. The floors were a shiny dark mahogany. Bookcases stood at attention behind comfortable-looking burgundy easy chairs and a marble coffee table. In the far corner of the room, an ancient looking piano sat amidst piles of music papers and open books. Vibrantly colored paintings of black men and women playing instruments covered the walls.

"Would you like some coffee?" Magenta Lowery asked.

"No, thank you, ma'am. I just came by, well, I saw your signs up, and..."

"Why don't you come in the kitchen, sweety," Magenta said, sparing Sierra the trouble of trying to finish another sentence. A ferocious inner strength glowed from her that Sierra felt only barely able to grasp. It wasn't the forced calm that Sierra'd seen kids in her class try to show right before a fight. The sheer exhaustion from worrying sat clear as day in the little wrinkles that forked out from her tired eyes, but somewhere deep inside, Magenta seemed to be quietly trying to get her son back by sheer force of will.

A saxophone moaned sorrowfully from a speaker somewhere, and Sierra lost herself momentarily in its hymn. Voices spoke in hushed, reverent tones in the next room. "You comin'?" asked Magenta, and Sierra followed her into the kitchen. Three middle-aged men sat at a table scattered with maps and loose papers. They were each dressed in their Sunday bests, perfectly cut and creased suites and slick Stetson hats. The tallest one smoked an unfiltered cigarette and leaned forward over the papers, ticking a ballpoint pen against his coffee mug absent-mindedly. All three looked up when Sierra walked in.

"This is Sierra," Magenta said. "She's a friend of Treme's friend Robbie."

"That little drawin'-all-the-time Haitian kid with the locks Treme always runnin' with?" The tall one asked.

"That's right, Neville." Magenta put on a sad smile.

"Nice to meet you, sweety," Neville said, doffing his hat politely.

"You too, sir," said Sierra.

He turned his attention back to Magenta, stubbed out his cigarette and stood: "We out, Maggie." The other two men rose, placed their empty coffee cups in the sink and took turns embracing Magenta before shuffling out. Neville was the last to leave. He nodded down at Sierra and then wrapped his two big arms tightly around Magenta and puts his lips up to her ear. "We gonna send some cats over to Garvey and Lex," he whispered like it was a love poem, "see what they can find out. Got Li'l Jimmy workin' the wire. Ricky's uptown. Everything's movin', Maggie. We gonna get your boy back, you hear?"

Magenta nodded and looked like she was about to break into a thousand pieces in Neville's arms. The quivering beginnings of tears formed in her closed eyes but she sniffled her nose and held them back. He squeezed her again and followed his men out into the dingy hallway.

"You want some salmon or mac and cheese?" Magenta asked Sierra as they sat facing each other across the kitchen table. "I cooked way too much."

"I'm alright," said Sierra. "I had a big breakfast."

"The boys," began Magenta, but then she paused and took a deep breath. "They were working on something together before he, before he disappeared. I mean, they were always into some project or another, but I never seen the two of them so immersed before."

"They didn't say what it was?" asked Sierra, trying to remember what they were always doing in their little corner of the cafeteria.

"All I know is it had something to do with bridges. They were going to all the bridges around the city. That's all Treme tol' me." Sierra couldn't line this clue up with anything else she's heard so far. She'd have to mull it over some more on her walk. "Neville gonna go around with his guys all day today and tonight, you know, scout around and see if anyone knows anything. The bridges mean anything to you? Robbie never said nothing to you 'bout it?"

How to explain that Robbie was just a fantasy crush that Sierra'd barely spoken to all year but thought about every day? Perhaps another time. "He never mentioned bridges, no," Sierra said, scrunching up her face as if searching through vast memories of staying up all night talking to Robbie about every little thing. Magenta looked down at the tablecloth.

"I'm gonna look for him too, Ms. Lowery," Sierra said, and their eyes locked. "Robbie's been going missing as well. I'm gonna try'n find 'em both."

"Okay, Sierra," Magenta said. "You let me know what you come up with."