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H elen located three medium sized neighborhood stores near the warehouse where the boy Kendrick was found. The inventory in the store didn’t match the neighborhood, which, had it not been there, would have made the area a food desert. As she and Yield walked the sidewalk, the people they encountered didn’t appear to have the type of skin which screamed nourishment of healthy fruits and veggies.

“These people don’t look like the type to consume high end bottled water,” Helen noted. “This is the store they used to bring in food and water for the kids and clients.”

“You might be right,” Yield said, following Helen into the store.

“Baby,” she said to Yield, who looked around to see who she was talking to, realized it was him, and he smiled, a soft smile that came from a place of honesty, making Helen laugh. “See, this is what happens when you’re together too long and take advantage of the other person just being there all the damned time. So, I say again, Baby, can you grab us a case of this water. I sure as heck didn’t expect to find it here.”

The woman behind the counter watched Helen closely. Helen leaned forward whispering, “The man has a GPS, and still won’t take directions from the voice in the box because it’s a woman. Now here we are in the middle of somewhere we don’t need to be, and he is shocked that I called him baby instead of dumbass.”

“I heard that,” Yield said as the woman behind the counter laughed.

She immediately took a liking to Helen, and out of nowhere, began to talk. “Yeah, if you take two cases or more, I will do a buy one-get one kind of sale for you. Anything else in here you want, I will do the same.”

Helen was quick to say, “Yeah, the neighborhood doesn’t look like it can support what you’re stocking on the shelves.”

“We’re moving to a new location,” the lady volunteered. “I got a new store over on Wabash, down in the old district. The more I can sell means the less I need to pack up and take to the new shop.”

“Seems to me,” Helen said, “that the moving might cost you less in boxes and weight but will cost more in having to buy all over again to fill the new shelves. I know, my Granddad, owned a local little corner store back in Jersey. The cost of items in a jar, versus plastic, he nearly went broke when he had to replace it after a drunk ran into the front of his store. He had insurance too.”

The woman was dressed down in jeans and a bulky jacket, which caught Yield’s eye, in the way it hung from her body. The outer garment wasn’t designed for a concealed carry, and the woman had a gun under the jacket. Helen was still chatting away like a bored housewife who had found someone new to hear about her favorite recipe on clam chowder. She turned to where Yield stood in the store, calling out to him.

“Baby, we’re taking two cases of the water, a jar of those peaches, and ooh, those crunchy dill spears. I like that brand,” she said to Yield.

He held up his hand, waving at her as if he’d heard it all before, going to the counter and pulling off everything she said. She’d asked him to grab the brands for a reason. In the vehicle, she’d tell him why; thus far, she’d been on the money with her assessment. However, he nearly dropped the jar of peaches when the woman behind the counter said something he was surprised to hear.

“Our owner, he has three of these stores in town,” the woman said. “The stuff he has us stock is mainly just for him and his friends and the parties he throws. You know, private parties his wife knows nothing about. The store is just a front if you ask me.”

“Shut up!” Helen said, laughing. “Honey, I know what you’re talking about. Mr. Man over there has fishing gear and heads out to “fish” every third weekend but is never smart enough to at least buy some fish when he comes back home. He is either the world’s worst fisher man or he’s just trying to get away from me and the kids. The stuff men do to get away from us...I tell you.”

“Girl, some of these parties, we have delivered champagne, and one time, I kid you not, tins of caviar,” she said, laughing. “Whoever he’s cheating with is eating good. You need anything else?”

“Naw, we’re good. Baby, you want some of these granola bars?”

“The ones with the chocolate,” Yield said as Helen pulled out a few bills to pay for the items in cash.

“Thank you so much for your help, Tana,” Helen said, reading the woman’s name tag.

“Actually, my name is not Tana, but Rochelle. The name tag belongs to the young lady who stocks the shelves,” the woman said.

“Rochelle is a cool name. I always wanted a name like Rochelle or a cool, kick ass name like Rasheeda, but my mom named me Shenita as if her aspirations for me reached only a stripper pole,” Helen said, giving the woman a bit of truth followed by a small lie. “Shenita Brown, how’s that for a messed-up start? I got lucky when I married and got a nearly as anonymous last name. The last name makes all the difference. I am Shenita Johnson now.”

Yield arched his eyebrow at her using his given last name, but it worked. The woman laughed again, giving Helen everything she needed.

“Rochelle Henderson, and my Ma wants me to be a nurse. I’m working on my CNA right now, getting in some practice on the weekend, working for the store owner, but, yeah, with some of the shit I see, I may end up becoming a librarian or something, Nursing is not for the weak at heart,” Rochelle said.

“There are times in life when you are given an opportunity to run and get clear; the smart person understands timing, Rochelle. Thanks for chatting with me,” Helen said. “I know he gets tired of hearing my mouth. Baby, you ready to roll?”

“Rolling,” Yield called back, grabbing two cases of water. Helen grabbed the peaches and jar of pickles, giving the woman a slight salute and meeting him at the truck.

He added the water to the floor of the back seat. Helen did the same on the other side with the pickles and peaches. In the front seat, Yield seated himself behind the wheel, and Helen leaned over to him.

“Provide me a peck on the cheek,” she whispered, and he complied, giving her a smile.

Satisfied, Helen gently rubbed his arm, giving off a false laugh, and she tossed her hair back as if he’d said the funniest thing in the world. Rochelle was watching them. From the side mirror of the truck, Yield could see her in the store window as he pulled away from the curb.

“Well, look at you,” he said, not wanting to sound too impressed with the Cranberry, but he was. “Why the peaches and pickles?”

“Both of those jars are over nine bucks,” she said. “In that neighborhood, who do you see coming in to buy those products? She gave us everything we needed to know. The new Field of Flowers is near Wabash, at least one of them. The owner mainly throws his parties on the weekends, and she is the patch up girl who comes in to doctor on the toys when the boys get too rough and pulls off Barbie’s arm.”

“Horrible imagery, but I got you,” he said. “So, what do you think we should do next?”

“Hit the former warehouse where the raid happened where Kendrick—that’s the boy Apple is nursing—escaped from so we can understand the setup,” she said. “The setup will determine the space requirements for the new place, windows, lighting, ventilation, kind of thing. Hopefully, it will narrow the types of building we’re looking for...you know to save time. Maybe we can close this up in less than three days.”

“Tired of my dashing personality and company already?”

“Who said you had a personality, Mr. Yield?” Helen replied, laughing. “Let’s get it done quickly and close the file.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said, heading towards the warehouse.

SHE ALMOST REGRETTED walking into the place. A loose board over a back door would become the entry point. Yield, erring on the side of caution, took a weapon to enter the building. He too, regretted going inside, praying the images of the set up wouldn’t haunt him for the rest of his nights.

“This is...just,” he said, sighing.

The power for the building hadn’t been disconnected, which in this instance, proved helpful to illuminate the mind of a person who thought this to be an ideal playground for the weird and demented. An area, which looked like a romper room, held tons of toys for children. There were monkey bars, swing seats, and a climbing apparatus. To her surprise, there were tiny treadmills and entirely too many stuffed animals.

However, the runway and stage made Helen’s stomach turn. She didn’t speak on the silent understanding when she saw the recliners seated on the side of the runway. Instead, she took note of the two sides of the warehouse. One side was a sleeping area for the children.

Rows of bunk beds with very basic bedding in bright colors adorned the sleeping space. She admitted her shock to Yield when they entered the next room that was set up as a classroom. Cords hung on empty desks where the kids could have used computers for classwork. A chalkboard in the class's front stood silent with faint traces of chalk scribbles on conjugating verbs.

The next two rooms were bathrooms, one for the boys and the other for girls, both with stalls. A shiver ran down Helen’s back as she thought of the other side of the warehouse. Yield was looking at her, and she blinked twice.

“If this is where they lived and learned, the other side of the warehouse is where they went to work,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I don’t want to see it, but we need to know what kind of mind we’re dealing with. Who would conjure some fucked up shit like this?”

“You and I are thinking alike, Cranberry. I don’t want to see it, but we need to know,” he said, leaving the boys’ latrine to head to the other side of the building.

Again, they both wished they hadn’t come into the warehouse. The other side of the warehouse was divided into mini bedroom suites. They only looked at two of the rooms; the second one had plastic sheets on the bed and a hose for rinsing down the residuals, and Helen had seen enough.

“Kitchen,” she said, turning away. “We need to see storage, food prep, and what was left behind.”

Yield didn’t argue, but went along to observe how she would take the information gained from Tana to establish their next course of action. He found himself impressed once more with Helen’s thought process, but her next moves would be a lesson in understanding.

“This is pretty much what I expected,” she told him. “Lots of leafy greens and foods rich in iron. Lots of protein but look here. Someone has been back to clear off the shelves. I doubt cops would be in here taking this food, but we are.”

“You’re taking the food?”

“These canned goods can be used by Apple to feed the boys,” she said, grabbing armloads of goods. Helen spotted a box and added other items from the pantry to it, including rice, oats, and jars of peanut butter.

“Cranberry, this is a crime scene. We can’t take from a crime scene.’

“In this neighborhood, they are going to think these items were stolen by the community, and we’re going to leave the door open so the community can come in, but first, I’m taking this big ass bag of pinto beans,” she told him, adding the items to the box. “Let’s move.”

With the items loaded in the rear of the truck, he sat for a minute just staring at her with his good eye.

“What?” she said. “We’re headed to Wabash, wherever the hell that is, but on the way, I saw a bunch of teens on the corner; slow down as we pass them.

“Why?”

“Trust me,” she said, offering a smile.

Yield, for some odd reason, didn’t question her but did as he was instructed, coming up on the teens. He slowed for a second, allowing Helen to roll down the window. Goosebumps ran up his arms, waiting in anticipation of what she would say or do. She didn’t disappoint.

“Hey!” she said to whom she assumed was the ringleader. “I left the back door open on that warehouse. Inside, there’s lots of food and toys. Help those items get to people in your neighborhood who need to stretch funds until the end of the month. Get the toys to kids who might not have any and dolls to girls in the neighborhood.”

“Who the fuck are you?” the young man asked.

“Your Fairy Fucking Godmother, that’s who! Make it happen before dark, or all the goodies go away,” she said, “and don’t try to sell shit to make money on the side; give it away fairly.”

Helen tapped Yield on the arm, and they drove towards Wabash, which they tracked on the GPS. There were six buildings. All looked like shit on the outside. The one dead center looked the worst as if it were falling in, but it had lights.

“That one,” she said.

“Okay, how do you want to play this?”

“Smart,” she said. “Pull over. What’s in your cache under the back seat? You have any smoke bombs or tear gas?”

“Yeah, both,” he said, looking at her with concern. She knew about the cache under the back seat of the F-150. All Technicians had a small arsenal and items for hairy situations.

“The ringleader, more than likely is not here in the daytime hours on a Wednesday. I’m also not coming back here this weekend with Apple,” she said. “He is needed at the house to get those kids settled for school. We can make quick work of this and kill the invasive species of caterpillars without burning down the entire field.”

“I have no idea what the hell any of that has to do with any of this,” Yield said. “Speak clearly for those of us who are slower thinkers.”

She smiled at him. “The last thing you are is slow, Mr. Yield, no pun intended” she told him.

Helen took a pause, looking at the building. There were a few facts she knew. One, the kids from the last Field of Flowers were taken and placed in foster care. If this new Field was stocked with pupas, then they would be fresh inventory.

“Listen, if we tell Apple what we found, he will need to come here and maybe shoot a few people,” she said. “Today, in this moment, we can save a life and some time. We throw in the grenade, run them out of the building, and have a team in place to sweep up the fallout.”

“Okay,” he said, opening his hands for her to show him how she planned to accomplish this task.

Helen took out her phone and dialed one. She waited for Azrael, her handler, to answer. This was her first official call as a Fruit, and she found herself slightly nervous when her boss answered the call with hostility in her voice.

“Giving up already?” Azrael said into the line.

“On the contrary, Boss. I’ve got some intel. Are you ready to receive or do you need two more minutes to be arrogant and attempt to intimidate me?” she asked. Yield turned in the seat, admiring her spunk.

Azrael replied, “State your need.”

“Tracking with a Direction named Yield,” she said, pausing to let Azrael process the information she’d provided. “Apple wanted the Field of Flowers in Milwaukee found. We’re on Wabash and Delhound, based on information provided by a Rochelle Henderson who works supply chain for the Field of Flowers. She works at Wilkins Bodega on Califax.”

“Okay,” Azrael said.

“The old Field on Mullins is still pretty stocked with food if the locals haven’t taken it all, and the new location, will more than likely have more,” Helen said. “Send everything you have, rolling in silently, no lights or noise once I send conformation. We’re tossing in a couple of canisters of tear gas if I’m right.”

“Why this approach, Cranberry?”

“Simple; I don’t feel like killing any one today, but it’s early,” she said, hanging up the phone.

Yield had completely turned in the seat to watch her. “You are fucking scary.”

“Baby, you have no idea,” Helen said, getting out of the truck. She held the jar of peaches and pickles under her arm as she went towards the door of the building she suspected.

Yield wanted her to wait and explain what she was doing, but he was having too much fun watching the crazy woman work. As bright as an orange jacket in the woods, Helen walked up to the door. She knocked, and to his amazement, a woman answered. Helen showed the woman the jars and passed them to her. The lady accepted them with a head nod and Helen pointed down the street away from Yield’s truck. Empty-handed, she returned to the truck. She took her phone and sent a text.

“In five, we go back to the door and toss in two and pull the door wide to let the kids run out first,” she said.

“We have the right place?”

“We have the right place.”

“The peaches and pickles?”

“I told her Rochelle was in the truck ready to make a delivery of the rest of it, but she sent me to make sure we had the right place,” Helen said. “She is headed to the rear door to accept the delivery of the invisible truck I told her was coming around back.”

“Dear Lord,” Yield said.

“Yeah, say another prayer, Preacher’s Boy, because things are about to get hot. Let’s do this,” she said.