Bury Me When I'm Dead by Cheryl A Head

Defender, Birmingham’s weekly newspaper targeted to the African-American community. It was advertised on a cardboard sign propped against the store window. The first thing Charlie noticed when she entered the store was a bakery case filled with a variety of Lebanese pastries.
    â€œAre those homemade?”
    â€œYes, baked fresh this morning,” the store clerk said.
    Charlie stared into the case wondering if she’d be allowed to eat one of the goodies on the bus.
    â€œYou know this food?” the clerk perked up as he watched Charlie drooling in front of the case.
    â€œYes. I’m from Detroit.” The baked goods made her forget she was trying to blend in. “I used to work at a community center in Dearborn and I ate a lot of Lebanese food.”
    The clerk looked at her with interest and identified himself as the owner’s nephew. He was pleased to report he had several cousins who lived in Dearborn.
    â€œI want one of these but I’m waiting for the bus.”
    â€œOh, it’s always late. Here, try this one, you can eat it right now and I’ll throw in a free cup of coffee.”
    Charlie savored the almond pastry and hot coffee and the two chatted for a while. Charlie lied, telling the young man she was in Birmingham to visit a sick aunt. Twenty minutes later she boarded the 40 Fairmont bus heading south toward downtown. She made her way down the aisle looking briefly at each of her fellow riders and a few smiled when she made eye contact. She took an empty window seat near the middle of the bus with a view of the east side of the street.
    Birmingham was situated within the foothills of the Appalachian Mountain range and the Red Mountains loomed in the distance. At the turn of the twentieth century, Birmingham was known as the Magic City but like Detroit, in the last few decades it had seen declining residents, revenues and reputation. The bus passed numerous red brick buildings, a lot of stray dogs and the steel carcasses of a half-dozenburned cars. The scenery improved as the bus neared the downtown corridor. Colorful banners hung on street posts near the Birmingham Museum, a group of laughing school children picnicked in a beautifully landscaped park, and several gleaming high-rises reflected the energy of commerce.
    At the end of the line, Charlie waited until all the other passengers had disembarked to ask the driver a couple of questions.
    â€œWhat bus should I take to go back uptown?”
    â€œYou riding back to where you got on?” the driver asked with curiosity.
    â€œYeah, later this afternoon.”
    â€œWell, you should probably take the 23 bus. It’ll be a safer ride for a single lady.”
    â€œSo you have a lot of crime here, huh?”
    â€œWhere you from?”
    â€œDetroit.”
    â€œWell then, you know all cities have crime. You just have to know where not to go to avoid it.”
    â€œWhere would I go to find it?”
    The driver squinted at Charlie. He was portly with a freckled face and reddish sideburns which extended well below his cap.
    â€œAs a matter of fact, you can find a whole lot of it, and any kind you want, right where I picked you up.”
    Charlie walked a four-block square around the city’s downtown area. Birmingham had a Woodward Avenue like Detroit but the sidewalks had more tree boxes and green space than Detroit’s downtown. She passed the typical government and office buildings associated with a city’s business district but there was notably little pedestrian traffic. She’d dutifully studied the city maps Judy provided and she should be near the main library. That’s where she’d spend the next couple of hours.
    The library was an elegant building, modern with an abundance of natural light. Just past the main floor information desk was a periodicals reading room with one section reserved for the public’s access to the internet. That area was filled with a diverse group of men,