Not to the Swift

Chapter 20

George got home after a full day at Emmanuel, ready for one of LaTasha's special dinners. She planned meals out for the week with what they could budget for food, but she always made Friday night the highlight of the menu.

He stepped in the door and kicked off his shoes, then undid his tie. The phone rang and he checked the contacts. Unknown number? More like unanswered number.

George flopped into his chair and kicked up his feet. Phone been ringin' off the hook with all the media attention, requests for interviews, photo opportunities, and protest organizers.

His stubborn streak had become well-known. Ain't nobody called before Chris died. I don't see why I should suddenly dance for all of 'em whenever they call now.

The bishop tried to reason with George when the protests began, and again when the various leaders across Stapleton started organizing and coordinating. Each time, Simms went away disappointed, like many other callers.

Seen enough of these things play out to know I don't want to be the guy on TV all the time. Seen enough to know nothin's gonna change whether I do all that or not.

LaTasha rattled some dishes getting the table set for two.

"Where's Ray-Ray at?" George asked.

"Dinner over at the Barnetts," she said. "She's workin' a school project with Mikeyla."

"All right, all right. So what we got in the pot tonight?"

The phone buzzed again, and George groaned. "Do they ever stop?"

He picked up the phone and checked the last caller. "Oh, dangit, honey, it's the hospital. Well, it's Our Mother of Mercy so at least it's local. Let me see what they need."

He called back and wandered around the small living room while waiting to connect. Every so often he'd glance LaTasha's way. She's none too happy about this.

The voice on the other end belonged to an emergency room nurse. "George, how fast can you get down here? Something's keeping the patient monitors from communicating to the nurses' station."

"It's Friday night, Terri. I just got home from my other shift." George noted some extra noise from the kitchen. "And 'Tasha got dinner on the stove right now about to go on plates."

"This is urgent, George," Terri said. "We're swamped already with several gunshot wounds and a few early encounters with police. The protests are picking up steam tonight, and on our best day we can't handle the workload we're anticipating. Throw in a disconnect in our systems, and everything falls apart. C'mon, tell 'Tasha I'm sorry, but we need you."

George peeked in on LaTasha and met an icy glare. He raised his hands as if helpless.

"Terri, I think you're gonna owe 'Tasha one of your infamous red velvet cakes for this one," George said into the phone. "I'm on my way."

LaTasha grumbled over her shoulder, "Tell her I want a bottle of red wine to go with that cake and then maybe I'll forgive her."

Terri laughed on the other end. "I could go for that too right now. George, hurry please."

He clicked the button to end the call and hugged LaTasha. "Sorry baby, I'm off to save some lives. Superman's job is never done."

* * * * *

Candida watched the feed from multiple body cameras on officers throughout the city.

At a protest near Precinct Headquarters, a protester leaned forward over the police barricade, his face inches from the camera behind the officer's clear plexiglass riot shield. He waved his hands in the air in front of him. "See these? You see 'em? I got my hands up, man. Don't shoot me, 'kay? Can you manage that?"