WELCOME TO ATLANTA

A salty-sweet smell smacked Keonna in her broad nose and awakened her. “Mmm…
never smelled anything like that in Brewton,” she whispered as she rubbed her eyes.
Keonna peered out of the dusty window of the Greyhound Bus. “Yang’s Lemon-Pepper
Wings. I’ve gotta try that!”
The Greyhound’s wheels squeaked as it came to an abrupt halt at the Atlanta bus depot.
Keonna slipped her backpack over her smooth shoulders and shuffled towards the front
of the bus. Her pristine, white leather Adidas made a dull thud as Keonna leaped from the bus
and onto the hot Atlanta pavement.
An emaciated man soft-shoed towards Keonna with his crooked fingers outstretched. His
shiny, black skin reminded Keonna of old axle grease. “Welcome to Atlanta, where the playas
play,” the old man rapped. “And we ride on them thangs like ev-ery day.”
Keonna slapped a dollar into the man’s hand as she joined in. “Big beats, hit streets, see
gangstas roamin’. And parties don’t stop ‘til eight in the mo’nin’.”
The old man bowed. Keonna curtsied and then skipped across the street to ‘Yang’s
Lemmon-Pepper Wings’.
A soft “ding-dong” heralded Keonna’s grand entrance into the crowded restaurant. A
tiny Asian woman, who stood behind the counter, waved her hand, gesturing Keonna to come
near. Keonna read the menu on the wall as she approached the counter.
“Can I take your order, ma’am?” The tiny woman asked.
“Umm…I’ll try your ten-piece lemon-pepper wings.”
“You want to make it a combo for one-seventy-five more?”
Keonna squinted at the woman and shook her head. “A combo?”
“Yes. It come with large fry and large drink.”
“Sure, make it a combo and make my drink a sweet-tea.”
“Okay,” the cashier replied, “That’ll be four-ninety.”
Keonna handed the cashier a crisp five-dollar bill.
The cashier placed a tarnished dime in the palm of Keonna’s hand. “Have a seat. I’ll
bring it to you when it’s ready.”
“Thank you,” Keonna said, as she turned towards the booths.
 Keonna slid into a booth and stared out the window. Her hazel eyes narrowed against the
rays of the sun, adding a touch of sultriness to her pretty face.
“May I sit down?”
Keonna snapped her head towards the husky, alto voice. A woman towered over her.
The woman’s athletic body stretched the polyester, navy blue uniform she wore to its limit,
which accentuated her musculature.
Sure, Officer…” Keonna searched the woman’s shirt for a name tag. The woman pointed
to the bronze plate that rested upon the swell of her right breast. “Sergeant Caldwell,” the
woman said, as she slid into the booth and sat across from Keonna. “But you can call me Carla.”
Keonna extended her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Carla. I’m Keonna.”
“Keonna,” Carla began, as she shook Keonna’s hand. “Can you do me a favor?”
“A favor?”
“Yes.”
Carla drew a small knife from her belt, unfolded it and handed it to Keonna. “Please, cut
those tags off your backpack. Muggers and pimps look for girls new to Atlanta to victimize. I
lost a sister to these damned streets. Been looking out for naïve, young women like you ever
since.”
“I’m not all that naïve,” Keonna said. “But…thank you.”
Keonna quickly cut off the Greyhound tags and tore them into tiny pieces.
“So, what brings you to the A-T-L?” Carla asked.
“Well, my grandma passed about six months ago and she left me with a nice sum of
money.” Keonna leaned toward Carla and began to whisper. “It’s over half a million. I decided
to leave Brewton, Alabama – that’s where I grew up – and move here to shop my demo.”
Carla’s eyes widened. “A demo? You sing or rap?”
“I sing,” Keonna replied.
“Do you sing, or do you sang?”
Keonna laughed. “I sang!”
Carla reached into a small pouch on her belt and pulled out a larger than normal business
card. The phone number was printed in large, raised numbers. “Well, call me when you get a
deal. I want to support by buying your CD.”
Keonna touched the large numbers on the card. “Wow! I’ve never seen a business card
like this!”
 “My husband owns a print shop,” Carla replied. “He’s extremely near-sighted, so he
came up with the ingenious idea to make business cards that people with poor vision can see and
feel. I had him make mine like that, so I can market his work.”
Keonna slipped the card into the pocket of her sweatpants. “Thanks. I’ll be sure to call.”
“Carla rose from the booth. “Alright, Keonna. Good luck and be safe.”
“Thank you,” Keonna replied. “Take care.”
Keonna watched Carla as she sauntered out of the restaurant and out onto the sidewalk,
where she resumed walking her beat.
The cashier brought the foam container of steaming, lemon-pepper wings to Keonna’s
booth. “Here you go.”
Keonna bent close to the container and inhaled deeply. “Mmm. Yeah, I think I’m gonna
like it here!”
Welcome to Atlanta, where the playas play,
And we ride on them thangs like ev-ery day.
Big beats,
Hit streets,
See gangstas roamin’.
And parties don’t stop ‘til eight in the mo’nin’.

**TWO**

“Help!” Someone Help me! Please!”

Keonna tried, frantically, to free herself from the ropes that gnawed at her wrists and
ankles. She strained to open her eyes, but a bolt of pain stabbed her in the temples and radiated
across her face. “My eyes,” she screamed. “What’s happened to my eyes?!”
Keonna stopped struggling and tried to calm herself. “Gotta think. Where am I? Think,
Keonna!”
The last thing Keonna remembered was checking in to the Super-8 Motel on Peachtree
Street and lying down for a nap. She had felt so sleepy after her meal at ‘Yang’s’.
“Is this still the Super-Eight,” Keonna whispered. “It can’t be. The bed didn’t have
anything to tie me to. Wait? Who…who tied me to this bed? Oh, God. Help me!”
 Keonna took a deep breath to fight back the panic that was trying to claw its way back
into her head and her heart.
Suddenly, a loud, creaking noise broke the silence in the room.
“Hello? Is someone there?” Keonna asked.
Silence.
Keonna felt the bed sink. Someone was sitting at the end of the bed. Someone big.
Tears welled up in Keonna’s eyes, but could not escape her eyelids, which were tightly
shut and beyond Keonna’s control. “Why me,” she asked. “Why are you doing this to me?”
Silence.
Keonna was shocked to feel hands suddenly fumbling with the bonds around her wrists.
Perhaps someone had come to rescue her and were just keeping quiet so as not to disturb her
kidnapper. Once her hands were free, her savior began freeing her legs. After she was
completely free, she felt the bed rise, followed by a few quick steps on a wooden floor and then
the closing of a door.
Keonna brought her quivering hands to her face and gingerly touched her eyelids. “Oh,
God,” she gasped. “Help me, Lord Jesus.”
Her eyelids had been stitched shut with something that felt like fishing line.
“Help!”
Keonna rose out of the bed. The hardwood floor was cold. She felt her way around the
room – which was bare, other than the bed – until she found the door, which was unlocked.
She opened the door, took a deep breath and ventured out of the room. “Hello? Is
anyone here?”
Keonna was, once again, answered with silence.
“He must be gone,” she whispered. “He’ll probably come back to kill me soon.”
A wave of panic slammed into her chest and Keonna began to stumble around the large
room. Her thigh slammed into the corner of a table. She reached out to catch herself and her
hands touched…
“A phone!” Keonna turned her stitched eyes skyward. “Thank you, Jesus! Thank you!”
Keonna picked up the telephone and tried to dial 9-1-1, but there was no number one-
button. She quickly felt for the zero-button, but it was nonexistent also. “No,” Keonna
screamed. “This cannot be happening…I…wait a minute!”
She thrust her hand into her pocket and withdrew the large business card. “Carla!”
 Keonna slowly traced the numbers on the card with her fingers. “Six…seven…eight…
four…five…four …five –four…two –three.”
Keonna typed the numbers into the phone.
She jumped as a telephone rang somewhere close behind her. “What the hell? How…?”
Keonna shook her head in disbelief and dialed Carla’s number again.
Again, a telephone rang behind her.
Keonna hurled the phone across the room. “No!”
Someone snickered in the darkness.
“It…it’s you. Carla.”
Keonna sobbed as she sank into despair.
Strong arms wrapped around Keonna and held her in a crushing bear-hug.
A husky, alto voice slithered up the back of Keonna’s neck and into her ear. “Welcome
to Atlanta.”
Welcome to Atlanta, where the playas play,
And we ride on them thangs like ev-ery day.
Big beats,
Hit streets,
See gangstas roamin’.
And parties don’t stop ‘til eight in the mo’nin’.