Wrath of the Siafu- A SIngle Link

by Balogun Ojetade

  Wrath of the Siafu

  (A Single Link, Book 2)

  BALOGUN OJETADE

  Copyright © 2015 Balogun Ojetade

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 0991407330

  ISBN-13: 9780991407330

  DEDICATION

  I dedicate this book to the strong, Afrikan women warriors who hold it down at home, as well as the battlefield. The powerful mothers, wives, daughters, students, teachers and leaders who have made this earth Heaven for me and countless other men and boys. Heaven is, indeed, a woman.

  PRAISE FOR A SINGLE LINK

  “Once again, Balogun gives us a book packed with the action, adventure and bits of historical and martial knowledge we’ve come to know and desire from his books.

  It’s beautiful to see the essence of a woman captured so brilliantly and without the over-the-top dramatics we usually see when a male author takes on a female character. I came away with a feeling I don’t often get, and that was, he understands the female dynamic and the power that exudes from it when a woman has come into the knowledge of herself.”

  -Yolanda Jacobs, Author / Editor

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I would like to acknowledge my readership. You continue to support my work and spread the word about the State of Black Speculative Fiction Movement and the work I do within it. For that, I am eternally grateful!

  I would also like to acknowledge Daniel Flores. Your cover artwork is amazing, brother and I look forward to working with you again, soon!

  ROUND ONE

  Remi circled Eboni, darting from side to side like a mongoose locked in battle with a cobra and seeking an opening in which to strike. They had sparred many times over the past year. Although Remi had retired from professional fighting after defeating Chris Cunningham nearly two years ago, she continued to spar regularly – she had to stay sharp. Her weekly ten rounds with Eboni Ahmed – the undefeated women’s champion for six years – helped with that. Eboni was fast, powerful, experienced and was the best student Remi’s husband, Kundo, had ever coached.

  Well, second best, Remi thought.

  But today, Eboni seemed, somehow… off. Her timing, usually razor-keen, was dull and her gait was a bit off-balance and heavy. Remi lowered her hands.

  “Eboni? Are you okay?”

  Eboni pounded her gloved fists together and nodded her head. “I’m good girl, let’s go!”

  “Eboni,” Remi sighed. “Sit down. Let me look at you.”

  “Girl, you better put your guards up!” Eboni replied. “You were a champion, so I know Kundo taught you better than that. And you know me; you know I’ll rock you, hands up or not.”

  “Whatever,” Remi said, rolling her eyes. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Eboni said, smiling. “Now, I’m gonna…”

  The chiming of the brass bells hanging from the top of the front door to the school interrupted her.

  “You gotta be kiddin’ me!” Eboni sighed.

  A boy of around twelve or thirteen walked through the doorway, a toothy grin spread across his chubby, chestnut-hued face.

  “Welcome to the Afrikan Martial Arts Institute,” Remi said, walking toward him. Ebony sauntered behind her.

  The boy pressed his palms together beneath his chin in the “prayer” position and then bent deeply at the waist.

  “Sank-ah you,” he said, affecting a pseudo-Asian accent that sounded like a cross somewhere between Mr. Miyagi and Jackie Chan. “My name is-ah Mark-uh Gah-reen-uh.”

  “Umm…you did hear her say this is the Afrikan Martial Arts Institute, didn’t you?” Ebony said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Mark replied in his normal scratchy voice.

  “Then, why in the hell do you sound like you fell out of a damned Sonny Chiba flick?”

  “Sonny, who?”

  “That’s before your time,” Remi said. “My name’s Remi and this is Eboni. We’re instructors here. How can we help you?”

  “Actually, I’m here to help you,” Mark replied, drawing a tape measure out of the pocket of his hooded sweatshirt.

  “Is that right?” Remi said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Mark said. “When I walked in, I noticed that your school smells a little funky…like a combination of shampoo, sweaty feet and butt crack.”

  “What?!” Eboni said, taking a step toward Mark. “Little boy…”

  “Let him finish,” Remi snickered.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Mark said. “Now, for a very low price, I can clean the mats and the carpet; keep your school smelling so fresh and so clean-clean.”

  “How low of a price?” Remi inquired.

  “Normally, I’d charge a hundred dollars every week to come in twice a week and clean the carpet alone,” Mark answered. “But, for the price of monthly tuition, I’m willing to clean the carpet and the mats, three days a week. Now, that deal is like a drum with a hole in it…you can’t beat it!”

  “So, you had this planned before you came in here, didn’t you?” Eboni said.

  “Of course, Ms. Ahmed.” Mark replied. “A school ran by Remi Swan, the former WERK Lightweight Champion…the first – and only – woman to fight men in professional mixed martial arts? And Eboni Ahmed, the undefeated Women’s Champion for almost ten years?”

  “Not undefeated,” Remi said, wagging her index finger. “I did defeat her.”

  “But that wasn’t for the title,” Mark said, wagging his index finger.

  “I like this kid,” Eboni said.

  “So, do we have a deal?” Mark asked.

  “We’ll give you a shot,” Remi replied. “But you’d better not miss a day…of cleaning or of training. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Mark answered.

  “Come back this evening,” Eboni said. “Remi is about to treat me to lunch.”

  “I am?” Remi said.

  “Yeah,” Eboni replied. “Since I didn’t get to spar, you owe me.”

  “Well, you heard her,” Remi said. “This evening it is. Seven o’clock. Don’t be late. You can start cleaning tomorrow.”

  “Okay, great!” Mark replied as he shuffled toward the door. “Thanks! I’ll see you at seven, sharp! Thanks!”

  The boy whirled on his heels and dashed out the door.

  “Poor kid,” Remi said, shaking her head. “He doesn’t know what kind of pain he’s gotten himself into.”

  “He gon’ learn, today!” Eboni said, doing her best Kevin Hart impression.

  She and Remi laughed as they removed the wraps from their fists.

  ####

  Remi pulled the cuffs of her jeans over her biker boots and then slipped on her leather jacket. “You ready?” She called out to Eboni, who was getting dressed in her office.

  “Inuh mimnin,” a muffled voice came back.

  “Huh?” Remi replied.

  There was no reply.

  Remi leapt from her chair and strode out of her office. “Eboni?”

  Eboni staggered out of her office, her palm pressed against the wall as if she was afraid she might collapse. “I said ‘in a minute’. Y-you ready?”

  “Eboni, what’s wrong?” Remi asked, searching Eboni’s eyes for the truth.

  “Nothing,” Eboni replied. “I think I might be coming down with the flu or something. I’m good now, though.”

  “Maybe I should just take you home.”

  “Uh-uh,” Eboni replied, shaking her head. “You ain’t getting’ out of buying me lunch that easy!”

  “Ok,” Remi said. “But one more episode and we are getting you checked out.”

  Remi walked out of the school. Eboni followed her. Remi locked the door and the
n pulled the gate across it.

  “Remi!” Eboni shouted, tapping Remi on the shoulder.

  Remi peered over her shoulder. “What’s up?”

  “Look!” Eboni said, pointing at something across the street.

  Remi turned and looked in the direction of Eboni’s finger. Mark Green, the twelve year old entrepreneur who had just negotiated his tuition with them, stood with his hands raised above his shoulders. A police officer stood before him, his pudgy, pink fingers clutching a pistol. The muzzle of the pistol was pointed at Mark’s forehead.

  “Drop the weapon!” The cop demanded.

  “Sir, I don’t have a weapon,” Mark cried. “It’s just…”

  The cool, autumn air was torn asunder by a thunderous din. Red mist rose from the back of Mark’s head and then the boy collapsed.

  “Oh, my God!” Remi gasped. “Oh, no!”

  “He killed him!” Eboni spat. “He murdered that baby!”

  The police officer knelt down beside Mark, his hand slipping inside his police jacket.

  Remi sprinted across the street, her heart racing; tears burning her eyes. Eboni ran beside her.

  The cop slipped a small, .25 caliber pistol into Mark’s palm. He picked up Mark’s tape measure, tucked it into his pants pocket and then stood over the boy’s body. He looked into Remi’s scowling face. “He had a gun,” he said with a shrug.

  “You goddamned pig!” Eboni shouted, taking a step toward the cop.

  The police officer took a step back and aimed his pistol at Eboni’s chest. “Get back, or I’ll shoot your ass!”

  Remi’s blood pulsed in her ears. Her flesh grew hot. She exploded forward, grabbing the slide of the police officer’s pistol.

  The cop pulled the trigger, but with the slide held in place within Remi’s fist, the gun could not fire.

  Remi twisted the barrel of the gun upward and toward the police officer. His trigger finger made a popping noise as it bent at a sickening angle.

  The cop screamed in agony. His grip on the pistol weakened.

  Remi snatched the gun out of the cop’s hand and then slapped him across the temple with the butt of the weapon.

  The cop stumbled sideways…right into Eboni’s open arms.

  Eboni wrapped her arms around his soft waist, clasping her hands behind his lower back. She thrust her hips into his, lifting the rotund police officer off his feet. She then twisted her hips to her right as she raised her arms above her head, launching the cop over her right shoulder.

  The cop landed with a loud thud, grunting as his shoulder blades collided with the pavement.

  Eboni proceeded to stomp him. Remi hurled the cop’s gun into the street and then joined in, driving her heels into the cop’s face, belly and groin.

  The police officer whimpered, flailing his arms across his face in a weak attempt to protect himself.

  Sirens blared in the distance, growing louder with each passing second, but the women continued to stomp and kick…stomp and kick.

  Even when other police officers grabbed them, dragging them toward a squad car, they tried to stomp the cop. To trample away what he had done. To make him pay with his life for the young life of Mark Green and all the others who had gone before him by the hand of some murderer in blue and brass.

  ROUND TWO

  Remi walked down a long, dank hall, escorted by two guards. Her flip-flops beat a soft rhythm upon the concrete floor. A chill slithered over her exposed toes, crept up her legs and then clawed at her spine. The walls of the hall were lined with steel doors. When they arrived at the last set of doors on either side of her, one of the guards opened the door to her right, which was marked 19B in black stencil.

  “You’ve got fifteen minutes, Swan,” the guard said.

  Remi stepped inside the room. It was small, about the size of a foyer closet. There was a single steel stool in the room that sat before a shatterproof window. On the other side of the window sat Remi’s husband, Kundo, who looked up at her with a half-smile.

  The door slammed behind her. Remi sat down and leaned forward, bringing her mouth close to the concentric circles of small holes in the center of the window. “Hey baby! How are you? How are Tutu and Ayo?”

  “I’m good, love,” Kundo replied. “The children are fine; missing mama. I’m missing mama, too.”

  “I miss y’all,” Remi sighed. “Any word?”

  “I spoke to Dan,” Kundo said. “He’s hired his lawyer to handle your case. No more public defenders.”

  “Thank him for me,” Remi said. “They’re trying to get me to state that Mark pointed a gun at Ferguson and Ferguson had no choice but to shoot him. If I do, I get aggravated battery. If I don’t, I get attempted murder.”

  “Don’t say another word to those bastards!” Kundo spat. “Dan’s attorney should be seeing you tomorrow. I’m meeting with a reporter from Contraband Classified tomorrow morning and with the Coalition to Combat Police Terrorism tomorrow afternoon; we’re gonna blow the lid off this thing, baby! We’ll get you and Eboni out of here and get some justice for Mark Green and his family.”

  “Be careful, Kundo,” Remi whispered.

  “Always, baby,” Kundo replied. “Any word on when they’re transferring you upstate?”

  “The mayor came by to see me earlier,” Remi replied.

  “All this press has brought his ass out to try to do some damage control, huh?” Kundo said.

  “Yeah,” Remi said. “He said the women’s prison upstate is overcrowded and ill equipped to handle the flood of press that will follow Eboni and me there, so they want to keep us closer to home. They are sending us to Ames.”

  “Ames?”

  “It’s a new women’s facility,” Remi answered. “It’s an experimental medical facility where imprisoned pregnant women can have their babies and raise them there; or women with psychological issues can receive music therapy and herbal treatment.”

  “So, Hell dressed up to look like Heaven,” Kundo said.

  “Basically,” Remi replied.

  The door behind Remi slid open. A guard poked his head in and shouted “Two minutes!” The door slammed again.

  “Well, baby, I gotta go,” Remi sighed as she rose from her seat.

  “Stay strong, love,” Kundo said. “We’ll have you back home soon.”

  “I know you will, baby.”

  Kundo kissed his palm and then blew the kiss toward Remi. “I love you.”

  Remi pretended to catch the kiss in her fist and then pressed it to her chest. “I love you, too.”

  She turned on her heels and walked out of the room, refusing to allow herself to cry and give the guards something to sell to the press.

  ####

  Remi sat, cross-legged, in her bunk, listening to Eboni cry her confession. “Are you sure, Eboni?”

  “Dementia Pugilistica…Chronic Boxer’s Encephalopathy…punch-drunk; whatever you wanna call it, I got it,” Eboni replied.

  “We’re going to get out of here, Eboni,” Remi said. “And then, we’ll…”

  “Mmm…y’all about to make love? Can we watch?”

  Remi snapped her head toward the raspy, nasal voice. Standing in the doorway of her cell was an athletically built woman with leathery, alabaster skin and hungry, blue eyes. The woman licked her thin lips, leaving a patch of spittle under her nose. Looming behind the woman in the doorway stood a mountain of thick, bisque flesh that reminded Remi of a great, white whale. Moby Dick with ratty, blond hair, she thought.

  “I’m P.J.,” the woman in the doorway said. “And this here’s Katya. She’s Russian.”

  Katya grunted.

  Eboni wiped her eyes with her sleeve and then rose from the bed. “Nobody invited you to this party, so beat it!”

  A smile crept across P.J.’s face, revealing straight, white teeth. “Oh, I don’t need an invitation. This is my pod. Everything – and everyone – in it belongs to me.”

  Eboni laughed. “A white girl running things in jail? Since when?” />
  “Since I was transferred here three months ago from up the road to stand trial for three more niggers they found that I hung in Dacula.”

  Eboni leapt from the bed and pointed her finger over P.J.’s shoulder. “Get your ass out of our room before you get hurt, redneck!”

  “Look, the only reason I even bothered to pay you this visit is because I know who you two are,” P.J. said, taking a step into the room. “I know what you can do with your hands and I respect that. I also know you’ll be transferred to Ames in a couple of days.”

  “So?” Remi replied.

  “My girl, here, believes she can beat you in a fight,” P.J. said thrusting her finger toward Eboni.

  “Please,” Eboni grunted.

  “You, we’re not so sure of,” P.J. said to Remi. “That’s why you are going to let her.”

  “Take a dive?” Remi inquired.

  “It’ll do wonders for the Aryan Sisterhood’s morale,” P.J. answered.

  “This chick must have inhaled too much smoke from those burnin’ crosses,” Eboni said. “Girl, you out yo’ rabbit-ass mind!”

  “For real,” Remi said. “And what are you offering for this favor? A carton of cigarettes? A pack of cookies?

  “Your womanhood,” P.J. said. “If you don’t do this, you’ll be giving Katya full body massages…with your tongue…every day until you leave here.”

  “Now see…now, I’m gonna beat that ass,” Eboni said.

  Katya took a giant step backward into the common area.

  P.J. licked her lips again. “Ain’t nothin’ between us but space and opportunity out here. My girls already have the guards distracted.

  “I got Goliath,” Eboni whispered.

  “Eboni, let me take her,” Remi replied. “You get the redneck.”

  “Nah, she said that big broad could beat me,” Eboni said. “I gotta prove her wrong.”

  “Okay,” Remi said. “Watch out for shanks.”

  “Yes, mommy!” Eboni said as she sauntered into the common area.

  Remi followed Eboni into the common area – a capacious room, peppered with stainless steel tables with matching benches bolted into the concrete floor – where the inmates ate, played chess, socialized and, occasionally, fought. Tonight, however, it was strangely void of any inmates and quiet as the grave. She perused the room – all the cell doors were closed, but eyes peered out of every tiny window near the top of them. This was planned, she thought. She gazed up at the tower – the room that sat above the pod, from where the guards monitored the common area and controlled the doors and lights. It, too, was empty.