looked like a typical gang member you'd NEVER want to see coming toward you in a dark alley.
"You looking for someone?" he called out to me.
"No, not really," I said hastily, shoving the paper in my pocket. "I was just walking by."
"Looked to me like you were trying to find this house," he said casually as he got up off the step and started to saunter toward me. His chain made a jangling sound as he walked. Seeing a movement behind him, I suddenly realized there was another boy inside the house. No, make that two. Both started to come out onto the porch.
I suddenly started to feel frightened. Why had Mack sent me into gang territory? Did he want me to get mugged? "I was NOT trying to find this house," I said firmly. Then I turned to run.
"Hey, Peter," called out one of the boys as he came out of the house. To my surprise the boy looked nothing like Peter at all, but was plainly dressed and average looking. So was the other boy who came out behind him. They looked like they'd just stepped out of the halls of my old high school. "When are we going? Isn't it time yet?" one of them asked.
Peter didn't answer, but just stood there looking at me. For my part, I just stood there staring back at him. I must have looked kind of silly with my leg twisted around as if I was going to start running like crazy. But I just stood there frozen like a statue. Something about this whole picture didn't quite add up.
"Did someone send you?" asked Peter, his lip piercings wobbling in a bizarre sort of way while he talked. "Was it Shermy or Mrs. Goodhouse or Mack?"
"Mack," I blurted without thinking.
Peter broke into a grin that revealed a broken front tooth. "Good old Mack. Always watching out for me and sending me someone new."
"Peter!" came a girl's voice suddenly from the house. Startled, I looked around to see a girl about my age standing there. Like the two boys next to her, she looked pretty average, as if she had just come from my old high school. She definitely did not look like a gang member. But right now she was looking at Peter with a big frown. "If we don't go now there won't be enough time to finish the job! Let's go, already!"
Peter just shrugged. "Just wanted to wait, to see who else might show up." Then he winked at me, making his eye piercing bob up and down. "And someone did, see?"
"I think I have to be going," I said noncommittally, suddenly not sure what to do.
"What's your name?" asked Peter, hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of his pants, so he could lift up his chains.
"Kate," I responded.
"Want to join us, Kate?" he asked. "We're about to go out and do a little job. Won't take long."
"What kind of job?" I asked, my curiosity getting the best of me.
"Just a little job," he said mysteriously. "Me and the 'J Raiders' here do all kinds of jobs all over. It'll be well worth your while."
The only 'little jobs' I could imagine him doing were all illegal. I turned to go again. But at that moment the girl on the porch yelled out, "Will you cut it out, Peter? Why are you always trying to scare people?" She came rapidly down the steps and out the gate, then took my arm. "Why don't you come along with us?" she asked. "It's not far away, and it shouldn't take long." She started to push me down the sidewalk while Peter and the two boys came along behind us. I stumbled along, still not sure this was a good idea.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"To Mrs. Font's house," said the girl. "She's 92 and can't see well. We're going to work over her house."
I yanked my arm away. "No way!" I yelled. Peter suddenly burst out laughing. "Now who's scaring who, Janell?" he asked the girl through his glee.
She blushed and smiled in embarrassment. "It's not what you think," she said hastily. "We're going to help her. She needs her lawn mowed one last time before the winter snow hits, and inside there'll probably be dishes to wash and some cleaning. She's just too old to do it herself."
I looked quizzically from Janell to Peter, then back to Janell again. "But, didn't he say you guys are the J Raiders or something? Isn't that a gang?"
Janell rolled her eyes. "That's just a name he made up," she said. She glanced back at him with a frown. "Probably just to scare people. But it's not what you think."
Peter smiled in a gawky way and spread his arms wide in a needless dramatic gesture, as if he was hugging the whole world. "We're the 'Jesus Raiders,' sweet Kate!" he said happily. "We swoop in and do stuff and make people sorry they ever laid eyes on us!"
"They are not sorry!" said Janell, reaching out and hitting him on his arm. "They're grateful. All of them. Why do you always have to be so dramatic and stupid?"
Peter just rolled his eyes straight up, and I found myself wondering if he was crazy, or if he'd addled his mind with drugs at some point in the past. "Just acting like I did when I was in a REAL gang!" he said dramatically, looking up at the sky.
"Oh, poo!" replied Janell, hitting him again. "You were never in a real gang. You're no more of a gang member than me!"
Peter looked hurt. "Of course I was in a gang! I was in the Wolverines. We nearly killed three people!"
"Probably from making them laugh to death," Janell said with a frown. She turned and propelled me faster down the sidewalk. "What a nut!" she said under her breath.
"So, who is he?" I asked in a half whisper, my curiosity now thoroughly aroused. To my annoyance Peter came bounding up behind us and hovered a listening ear over our shoulders. "Yes, Janell, who am I?" he asked curiously.
"You're a nut!" cried Janell, turning and punching him again. But she smiled as she did it this time, and I noticed she didn't hit too hard. Then he just bounded away, doing a quirky little jig as he went as if he had completely lost his senses.
That was my introduction to Peter, and his 'gang' of 'J Raiders.' As I soon found out, his gang had almost 100 members in it, and all of them were young people like me. They came from all over, and were referred by pastors, school counselors, parents or friends of Peter's. A few were rough or troubled kids who probably needed therapy, but most of them just wanted to help. All of them were used for one purpose--to provide the manpower to serve people in need all over the Pittsburgh area.
And Peter ALWAYS had a project for his 'gang' to do. That day we completely cleaned up old Mrs. Font's place. The next day we helped tear old shingles off a church roof, so new ones could be installed. The day after that we rolled old fashioned wheel-barrows--yes wheel barrows!--full of donated canned goods to the homeless shelter. Peter's projects never ended, and every one of them helped put someone, or some group, back on their feet.
I soon saw that Peter was every bit the nut Janell said he was. He had a quirky but effective way of keeping the kids who needed therapy in line. But for the rest of us he was just totally quirky, never doing anything like a normal person and often saying and doing some of the most ridiculous things. I saw this the following week when we went to an orphanage and he tied a mop to his head and danced the funky chicken for all the laughing, screaming kids. And I saw it again on our way to paint Mr. McGruder's house, when Peter jumped on top of a police car for no reason and started to sing the Star Spangled Banner. My heart nearly stopped and I thought we'd end up in jail for sure, but the policeman just got out of his car laughing and told Peter to get off his roof.
And I saw it again when we went to the hospital the next Sunday, to a special ward of very sick people. He seemed unusually quiet as he and his 'gang' caught the bus from that dumpy old house where he apparently lived and went out to the hospital. There were seven of us this time, and Janell and the other two boys I'd first seen were not among them. When we got to the hospital Peter was still quiet. He hadn't told us where we were going or what we were going to do there. He'd only asked (the day before, when he asked who could come with him) to bring a handkerchief and a kazoo.
"A kazoo?" I'd asked in surprise, leaving a streak on a window I was washing for Mrs. Shelley at the time.
"Bless you," he responded nonsensically. "But to answer your question, a kazoo is a small musical instrument you can buy at most dollar stores. Bring one," he'd said, smiling at me mysteriously. And yes, when I later went to the dollar store, they did indeed sell kazoos, which make a rather annoying buzzing sound when you blow in them.
So here we were at the hospital. I nearly fainted when Peter led us upstairs and then through a door labeled 'Terminal Illness Ward.' So did the other six kids. We all felt distinctly uncomfortable as we passed through the doors, and were especially unnerved at how quiet it was. You could practically hear your own heartbeat.
The quiet was suddenly shattered by Peter. "Hallooo everyone!" he cried in a horrifyingly loud voice, causing us all to jump. "I know you're all just dying to see us--and we're here!" Nurses came flying out of hallways and doors faster than ants out of an anthill that's just been stepped on. They all 'shushed' Peter of course, but the loony paid no attention.
"The show will start in 5 minutes folks!" he bellowed at the top of his considerable lungs. "So be ready. We know you can't come to us, so we'll come to you."
By now the nurses were grabbing Peter's arms and shirt and chains with the intent of forcibly throwing him out. The seven of us just stood there not knowing what to do. But a laughing doctor suddenly appeared, to Peter's great relief.
"Peter!" he called out in