by Tiana Laveen
On either side of his room were two Spiderman nightlights. She crept in, her bare feet on the soft, plush navy-blue rug. As she stood before his sleeping body, she couldn’t help but smile. Troy was lying in the fetal position, his knees drawn up and his little head pressed firmly against his large Spiderman pillow. Blue and red sheets were flung everywhere. He was such a wild sleeper. She bent down and slowly caressed his cheek, then kissed his forehead before tiptoeing back out of his room and closing the door softly. As she made her way to her room, she heard the faint strands of music. She couldn’t quite make out where it was coming from.
She went to the large bedroom window facing the street and pushed the blinds apart to peer out into the street, the sole light coming from a lamppost. Across the way, most of the houses were shrouded in darkness. A porch bulb or garage lantern shined here and there. She drew quiet, even monitoring the sound of her breathing. She could not recognize the tune but the sound was undeniable, like an angel’s whisper. She pushed on the latches and raised the window, opening it. She inhaled the sweet summer air and heard the frogs and crickets. Now, the music was much clearer, too. It was coming from Viper’s home. Her lips curled and then she quietly laughed. Shame on me for not guessing that sooner. I’m tired or I would’ve known. It wasn’t his rap music, nor the Reggaeton he seemed to relish so much. It sounded old, yet new. An earthy sound, smooth with hard guitar riffs blending perfectly into a jazz like tune. She rested her arms on the windowsill, bobbing her head to the beat. She then held up her phone and recorded for a minute or two, trying to capture the sounds…
Placing her phone down, she kept listening, enjoying the melody. After a while, she locked her window, removed her robe, allowing it to flow to the ground, and crawled into bed. The cool sheets felt so good against her skin. She yawned again as she reached for her iPad.
“Siri… what is this song?” She played the recording from her phone and had her tablet listen. ‘Santana, Tales of Kilimanjaro,’ came the automated female voice. She placed her electronics down on her nightstand, and with a smile on her face drifted off to sleep, the song repeating in her head…
CHAPTER EIGHT
A Bill of Goods
You’ve got that good shit… that real shit… that dope shit.
You’ve got that razzle dazzle and gunmetal sunshine
With brilliant diamonds flowing out of your mind.
Your tongue is made of gold and your lips have secrets to hold.
You crawl in my brain, like a memory-to-be told,
But I hope when I’m gone, you still remember me as
Iced out and cold…
“Again!” Viper stood in the stiff, padded bite suit as the crazed Boxer raced towards him, snarling, growling, and in need of blood. The dog jumped on him, just as he had before, and had it not been for his attire, he’d be missing a chunk of flesh. “Again!” he yelled at the dog after the bastard sprinted off, anger and fury in each step. Victor was a four-year-old Boxer who was on the chopping block. He’d been badly abused by his owners and used in illegal dog fighting. A rescue agency retrieved him, but due to his extreme aggression and PTSD, he was believed to be unredeemable. He’d killed two other dogs, not in self-defense or provocation, and had badly injured someone who’d fostered him for a week. Allegedly, that owner was playing too roughly with the dog and waving a wooden spoon in his face, a trigger for the canine.
Dominic knew how that felt. To be antagonized, tested. It was like state prison, the DOC. He’d gotten into trouble for protecting himself and shooting someone in self-defense. He’d ended up serving time, angry about it, and then when someone dropped a kite on him, he wet their asses up as soon as he was released. The killing and flipping never stopped. If he wasn’t shooting or stabbing someone, he was beating the fuck out of them. Then there were the illegal weapon sales and distribution. It was a revolving door…
The PTSD was real. The rage was real.
I can’t be thirty-one doin’ the same shit I did when I was fourteen and fifteen. That’s crazy. Guys in the streets are not growing. They’re stuck. Stagnated. I want to keep moving. A viper always keeps moving forward. I need to live up to my name, my nature. I got this name for a reason. No one knows my next move. It’s too late when I get to them—they never see me coming—and I have the patience of an angel. I can wait to exact my revenge for a damn decade if I have to. I don’t give a fuck. When I say I’m going to get you, I’m going to get you. And that’s on my dead brother… Descansa en paz, Diego.
He’d always be street in his heart, but the streets were tearing him apart…
He focused back on Victor and felt a kinship as soon as he looked into the dog’s crazed eyes. Someone had contacted him anonymously, pleading for him to have a go at the canine before it was too late.
“Again!”
The dog raced towards him once more, his eyes gleaming and his mouth wide open, exposing glistening teeth. With one hand in mid-air, he caught the dog by the throat and glared at him.
“Victor. No! Victor, no attack!” He dropped the dog, and the beast whimpered at his feet. Viper didn’t follow typical dog training protocol. What was the point? That didn’t work on dogs like Victor. The animals that came to him were often mentally ill. He couldn’t understand why some people didn’t comprehend that animals, especially canines, could have the same responses to life as humans: jealousy, rage, relief, elation, sadness… He raised his arm as high as he could and made a fetching motion. The dog raced away, searching. Once the poor guy realized he’d been fooled, he returned to Viper and stood at his feet.
“Do you see what happened? You’ve been tricked. Not everyone is trying to trick and hurt you, Victor. That’s disappointment you feel. I did not give you the command. Now listen this time.” He tossed a treat far in the air, and it landed approximately fifteen feet away. Victor made a motion to run, but then paused to look back at him. Viper smiled. “Fetch!”
As soon as the word left his mouth, Victor took off like a lightning bolt and found the chewy bone-shaped treat and began munching away at it. Viper laughed when he spotted Chance, Sarge, and Belleza with their snouts practically smashed into the patio door glass, observing the session. He had to keep them inside when he had dogs like Victor around. It was far too dangerous. As he continued to work with his four-legged client, he would gradually integrate him into the population with fellow dogs, and then humans; but he had to be patient with Victor, something no one had done previously.
He issued more commands, and time marched on. Slipping out of the suit, sweaty and hot, to his T-shirt and shorts, he raised his arm in the air as Victor made another mad dash towards him, then snapped his tongue and the animal clicker, and the beast sat at his feet, obedient. No attacks. No teeth. No barking. He patted his head, then chained him in the back, giving him fresh water and food. As he entered the house, he noted his phone flashing on the kitchen counter. After washing his face and hands, he checked his messages. Several were from women who wanted a bit of his time, a hello from an old probation officer checking in to see how he was doing, one from his mother asking if he would consider going on a family trip with them to Chicago in a couple of months, another from Jaguar seeing if things had calmed down… and then… one more.
His lips curled in sweet satisfaction.
Majesty… She memorized my number after all.
He hadn’t heard or seen her in days. He hadn’t even seen Troy playing outside. He hated to admit it, but he missed that. He liked looking out of his window every so often and seeing the kid happy, enjoying himself. Perhaps he was busy or spending time with family for the weekend. He wondered where Troy’s father was, too. He hadn’t seen any guys coming over to visit her, except for an elderly Black man named Earl who lived on their street, and whose wife he believed had passed away some time ago. Earl tended to take morning and early evening walks and would slow down to a crawl and watch him if he was out with his dogs from time to time. Is she seeing someone? If she was, he wa
sn’t sure how he’d feel about that. Perhaps jealous. He read the text message from the woman and smirked. She asked if she could stop over and give him two hundred dollars when she got off work at six.
She’s serious about paying this money back. Damn. She wants to make sure I don’t ask her for anything, like expecting she should give it up because I did her a favor. He burst out laughing.
Leaning against his kitchen island, he replied to the message:
I’ll be here. Stop through.
He grabbed a beer from his refrigerator, gulped it down, and turned on some music. While Kid Frost rapped the old classic, ‘La Raza,’ he stepped back outside to find Victor relaxing under a shady tree. It was then that he heard more music, a vibrating, booming sound coming from up the street. He wondered if someone was having a party, but it was a bit early in the day for that. Nevertheless, he soon made out the song: ‘Atomic Dog,’ by George Clinton. He wondered who could be playing that song? Most of his neighbors didn’t seem to be the type to enjoy such a tune. He liked the beat as it blended in with his own. He also appreciated what his life was bringing. He was breaking through with a dog everyone else had given up on. The lady across the street that he’d been feeling was stopping over, and he had plans for her, knowing he would no longer take ‘no’ for an answer. His mother was doing well, his father was still alive, his stepbrothers were still breathing, too, and he hadn’t had to take anyone out to pasture in months.
Today is a good day…
Majesty stared at the house for a second, then turned off the car radio. One of her favorite recording artists, Doja Cat’s, ‘Juicy’ had been playing but she’d zoned out long ago. She took a deep breath, knowing the house cameras were on her. They flickered in the distance. She sat a little longer in her car in that big driveway, then grabbed her purse off the passenger’s seat and exited, making her way to the large red front door. The cameras began to glow bright and rotate, and the motion detector came on. As usual, she could hear music coming from Viper’s home, only this time, it wasn’t nearly as loud. After waiting for what felt like an infinity, he opened the door. Shirtless, except for a gold chain around his heavily tattooed neck and chest. His muscles glistened, as if he’d just taken a shower, and his long legs were encased in a pair of dark loose-fitting jeans. Farther down, white socks covered his feet. He opened the door wider and stepped to the side.
“Come in,” he offered.
She mustered a smile, stepped over the threshold, and heard the music a bit clearer now: ‘Exchange,’ by Bryson Tiller. The smell of incense hung in the air, mingling with the distinct odor of food that had been cooked perhaps earlier in the day, and what smelled like cleaning products. She waited as he disappeared into a back room, leaving her there without an explanation. She could hear the scampering of dogs, barking, and doors closing. From her vantage point, she had a view of the marble and granite kitchen and living room. The man’s home was absolutely gorgeous. He seemed to avoid clutter. Not quite minimalistic; he had his fair share of paintings, furniture, and mirrors, but all the pieces made sense. They fit well. She could see her reflection in his floors.
He has all these damn dogs but I can’t smell them really, and his house is so clean…
She hadn’t expected this, not from him, considering his occupation. She enjoyed dogs, too, but knew they had a distinct scent, one many deemed unpleasant. And then, she got a whiff of a delectably sexy musk cologne. She sniffed the air, cleared her throat, and straightened up as he approached, hearing his heavy gait first. He held a long silver chain in his hands, possibly a dog leash. Stopping about six feet away from her, he waited for her to say something.
“Were you busy?” She crossed her arms.
“I’m always busy, but willing to make time for important things.” He mirrored her stance, and the chain rattled in his grip. Silence stretched between them while she studied his face. The way his light hazel eyes, with hints of green, amber, and gray glowed when the kitchen lights hit them. They were narrow, slightly slanted, and piercing, like hell bound bullets headed straight for one’s soul. Slightly unruly black eyebrows dipped naturally, making him look as if he were always concentrating on something important. Concerned about an outcome. His high cheekbones gave him an almost regal appearance. The bridge of his nose was long with a slight bump in the middle, as if perhaps at one point it had been broken and healed. It gave him more character.
His succulent pink lips were framed by a black mustache and nicely trimmed, short beard. He was a beautiful man, from his crucifix-marked forehead, down to his toes. She swallowed, then stuck her hand into her purse, pulling out an envelope.
“Here. That’s two hundred twenty. Now, that’s three-twenty paid back thus far, if you include the hundred I already gave you. I still owe four hundred twenty and will have that repaid in the next few weeks.”
The man cocked his head to the side, put the chain down on the counter, then took the envelope from her hand. He opened it but kept his eyes on her. She noticed that whenever they were in each other’s company, he would look at her hands first, then go up to her eyes. He’d done the same thing when he’d answered the door, and then, again, just at that moment. She wasn’t certain what that was about, not even sure she should ask. Maybe it was all in her mind. He briefly glanced down into the envelope and counted the money, or at least appeared to be doing such, then slapped it onto the counter beside him.
“How can we speed up the inevitable?” he finally said as he leisurely adjusted his watch. The damn thing was loaded with big diamonds and gold.
“Speed up the inevitable? What are you talking about?”
“You’re going to be mine.”
“Oh, really?” she quipped.
“This can happen now or later. Though I’m laid back, I don’t like wastin’ time, so let’s just stop the bullshit and get on with it.”
She chuckled at his words and shook her head.
“You really don’t give up. I came over here to give you your money and—”
“You could’ve CashApp’ed me, or sent via Apple Pay, online bank transfer, money order, PayPal, shit, gone old school and wrote a check and tossed it in my mailbox. Instead, you asked me if you could come by. You wanted to see me. Up close and personal.”
“Don’t get it twisted, Viper. That’s because I want a receipt.” They glared at one another, and she hated the way his lips curled in a smirk.
“That may be true, but it doesn’t explain why you sat in your car for so long, fixing your hair, takin’ deep breaths, playing with the collar of your shirt to make sure it wasn’t too low, or too high… but just right. Just enough to let me see a bit of a show, but not too much to make me think you’re a ho.” He sneered. She felt warm all over. “Yeah… you didn’t think I could see all of that, did you? Or maybe,” he tapped on his lower lip, “just maybe, you were aware that the cameras were on you, and you put on a little show anyway… Yeah, that’s probably more like it. You’re too smart and perceptive for it to be anything else.”
“Can I get a receipt please? I’m sure even you have some professional receipt stationery because you run your own business.” She refused to elevate her voice, to let the man see her struggle, buckle, or react. That’s what he wanted after all. At that moment, it felt like it was the last thing she controlled that he could not have…
She cleared her throat once again as he turned away, then disappeared again. She assumed he was honoring her request and getting receipt slips. That gave her time to look around some more. She noticed a picture stuck to the stainless-steel refrigerator with a margarita glass magnet. It was an older Polaroid of two boys with wild black hair, hanging onto one another, smiling. One boy looked much like him. She drew closer and looked harder, then smiled. It was definitely Viper. He looked to be about thirteen or so, was thin, his limbs long and lanky, sporting a prominent cleft chin, and grinning from ear to ear. Soon, the man returned. Pulling out a drawer, he picked up a pen and began to scribble down so
me words onto a receipt pad. He ripped it out and handed it to her. Everything appeared in order; he’d even included her earlier payment without her asking, and put the date, too.
“Thank you.” She folded it, then slipped it into her purse. “One time I accepted money from a friend. That friend turned around and said I owed them money, when I’d never asked for a loan, but they volunteered to help me because I’d fallen on hard times. When this friend of mine decided she needed some money, she asked for it back. I reminded her that it hadn’t been a loan. She said it was. After all of that and a few other issues I’ve faced, I promised myself I’d never accept money without documentation again. I don’t ask for loans, and I don’t take so-called monetary gifts anymore, either. I do thank you for your generosity though. It bought me some time while allowing me to get my car back sooner rather than later.”
Viper stared at her, his expression hard to read. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look happy. He looked perhaps somewhere in the middle. She turned to walk away.
“It’s me and my brother.” She stopped and turned towards him again. He tapped the counter a few times, then pointed to the picture on the refrigerator. “My big brother and I… Diego.”
“How’d you know I was looking at it? Were you spying on me? Camera or something?”
“I could hear you. I have very good hearing. I heard you walking, and this area of the kitchen sounds different from over there.” He gestured to the table in the nook by a bay window. “The floor is different in the kitchen versus the eating area. You can hear it and see it. It’s subtle, but there’s a difference.” She looked down. He was right. “You stopped in front of the refrigerator. I know the sound because it dips slightly right here. There’s a small hollow to help collect water if the freezer leaks.” Sure enough, there was a slight dip in the floor right in front of the refrigerator. “I don’t have anything else interesting over here, so I safely assumed you were lookin’ at the picture.”
