Rhythm Of The Streets
When a dozen dancers and three drummers took to the street to accompany some loud and familiar songs, you could tap your foot or sing along, but their plan was to make it as aggressive as possible because that's what the location called for. When their synchronized performance began, coordinated violence stopped, and as if it were some kind of wake up call. Those caught off guard by it were left standing there cluelessly, as if they'd been completely wrong in what they'd been doing. Whatever they'd been doing that was destructive, stopped. Those who'd been involved in the daily street violence were transfixed by an unexpected celebration in music and dance. It wasn’t supposed to look like it had a lot of planning, but it did.
The catalyst behind this idea, was Kris Pearson. He stood safely to the back of a small crowd who waited a block over on thirteenth street watching, the camera on his phone ready to capture any picture.
The street violence that was driving the protest, gradually ceased as the unruly crowd converted to a polite audience, together in watching the street dancers perform and taking a chance to collectively catch their breath. That coordinated effort being performed in the street, gave him hope.
Now, he just wanted to find out where the source of the anger was and so he watched. Even a twitch would give someone away. There were some very angry people after him because of those stories which had appeared with his picture. And so he expected there would be a reward offered for beating up or killing him. So far he'd avoided being too conspicuous.
After the dance, the dancers would disperse into the crowd, and he'd meet them back at the place they'd rehearsed this spontaneous street show: the studio.
"They’re doing the dance of hope,” Carolyn had said, catching Kris’ eye. "It's for peace."
"Thanks for playing it straight with me," Kris said to the dance instructor who'd worked with so many of these disadvantaged youth.
"Likewise Kris. I'm aware you've done a lot for the community. We need information though, so I've asked the dancers to convene back at the studio afterwards. Hopefully, anyone who knows something, will share it."
He’d never seen dancers who commanded so much attention before, but perhaps because so much had been closed for so long, all sense of purpose had been lost. John himself understood that lack of purpose could leave one listless and hopeless. So he’d had his own sense of purpose. In these days of unrest, he struggled to make connections and to understand where this explosive violence had come from and how to quell it.
For a little while he could actually smell the smoke from a BBQ intermingled with fragrant tobacco flavors in the air, and he felt some hope. A vendor had shown up with the camera crews who documented the flash mobs efforts.
As the brightly clothed dancers continue to move to the beat of the drums and chants, people started to be lulled into relaxation.
“I don’t understand yet what I’ve gotten myself into,” Kris said to a dancer beside him but she was already gone and replaced by his friend, who'd come out of the dance for a minute to talk to him.
“You planted a seed of an idea long ago, Friend, thanks,” said Charity Black, his new friend.
And as the drums were beating faster, the dancers responded accordingly and picked it up to a near jog. John had tried to follow one of the twelve dancers who circled, spun and jumped. But underneath all the regalia, was Charity. But then she surprised him and she appeared at John’s side, quickly dropping her outfit to the ground and smiling. Another dancer picked it up, excited for her own chance to join the dance.
"My teacher taught me this one thing: some of the best decisions come while the focus is good," she said.
"So what decision do you need to make?" Kris asked.
"Quick, turn! Let's get the fuck out of here!" she said, quickly shoving Kris down to where he wouldn't be seen. Several others formed a block between the crowd and them.
He gotten only a quick glimpse of the dude, but he looked like a lean and mean in camouflage and had walked like he was a god, with his shoulder length blonde hair streaming out behind him. When he spotted Kris and Charity together, even though they were headed away, he followed, making no effort to avoid the dancers but knocking them out of the way if they got in his path. Seeing this, a big bellied older man who Kris had hired for security, in his t-shirt and dirty slippers, came over to block the way.
"Son, you can't do that," the man said, coming up to the arrogant kid.
But the new arrival just gave him one hateful glare and that one glance caused the security guard to wither and back off.
"That bought us a little time. Let's go Kris," Charity said, pulling the dance choreographer by his arm although it was too late.
The threat was suddenly upon them and he grabbed Charity by the arm, tossing her to the ground and confronting Kris with a knife.
"You thought you were getting away killer?!" the crazed attacker shouted.
“You don't know what you are doing! Stop!” Charity protested, leaving Kris to try to defend her. Holding out an arm he quickly grabbed and got the attacker in a vice grip of a headlock, thereby choking him unexpectedly.
“I’ll bet you didn’t expect to see me defend myself,” Kris grunted, as the kid fell away with a dismissive look on his face.
I could see that Charity was torn between fight and flight. She glanced at Kris hopefully, and right now it appeared that he was prevailing.
Without another word, Kris let go of the kid just long enough to swing his left hook at the attackers pretty face and knock him to the ground, but it didn't quite go as planned. Unbelievably, the crazed man saw it coming and blocked, getting Kris with a jab to the right side of his face which hurt like hell, just before Kris countered and knocked him down with another lower blow.
“You still want to play?” Kris asked, his face twisted with a cruel joy, but the would be bully had been neutralized.
When he tried to get up, Kris then put a foot on his head and pushed him back down. It was all for show. Charity watched, not knowing he was capable of such violence.
But her attention shifted to two women at first and then a third, this one a dancer who she recognized as Jam, who came up to his side and they were soon all crossing the street together, leaving a few behind to make certain the attacker never got up.
Their dance of peace was over and they wouldn't even run although they wanted to. They walked and as they did, spotted others behind a high chain link fence between some bushes and trees, about fifty yards away. Here was someone dressed in all in black with a camera that had a lens on it about three feet long, the word paparazzi came to him.
“It can't all be fun,” Charity observed. “Someone has got to take responsibility.”
“But aren't you having fun? I handled the last attacker,” Kris said.
“Yes. Now someome wants to make us social media heroes,” she said, appearing to be more than slightly concerned about him.
“Understandable. But I'm no hero,” Kris said. "I'm a dance choreographer."
“You will look like one on camera,” she blurted. “Or whoever you punched should give you an advantage.”
“But their only playing games with me. I've already lost everything.”
"Then the truth will come, proved by someone you know. Where is he,” she said, swallowing.
“My friend, the cop? I’m going to meet him tonight, down by the river.”
As Kris walked down the exit ramp to the river, he was well aware of how alone he was.
He had expectations that he'd soon be meeting up with a friend who would deliver to him the truth. He could only imagine it, but fear played tricks on him. At times he'd had no hope of coming out of this alive.
It was no accident that the cop Derek Johnson was waiting for him when he arrived at the river bank. It was a construction area and so fenced off. Johnson had been first on the scene, three long days ago. Since then he’d been watching John White from afar, like a guardian angel.
Six months ago the black police officer been called into Kris' small Old Market business for supposed racism.
Now, because he knew John better than most, he knew exactly what he was going to have to do.
"Can you tell me what happened?” Derek asked, calmly.
“Well friend. I was first a small business owner and that always means I took a risk. It means I'm a man worth defending just as anyone's private property is worth defending."
Something in his eyes, suggested a man who'd traveled all over the world and faced many difficulties and so was seasoned. But who knew or cared for his real story. That was: over the years – he'd made an effort to give back.
"There are those who’ve benefited from my efforts who would remind the world of it. I just don't want it to happen too late."
“Here are the files of our investigation. As lot is still speculation. I thought maybe you could ask your new friends what is real.”
“What is real? I should have a few character witnesses because the whole attack and my reaction happened suddenly and tragically. For that I'm sorry.”
“Don't be sorry. Take these files and use them well.”
“Thanks. It isn't often one gets to learn the truth,” Kris said. He looked kind of beaten up and disheveled and he was clearly desperate to have someone on his side who truly agreed with him.
There was a moment of clarity about what was right and wrong, but then it passed.
“You’re not going to like what we’ve found, but the trail leads to instigators outside the country,” Derek the Cop said, his face firm and grim.