Tyrant

by Tiana Laveen

  “Oh, you went and found you a damn soul now?” his friend said. “You’ve been prayin’ and found religion? Amen!” Noah laughed and rocked about in the bed. He knew his friend was only half-teasing. Noah used to make remarks about him not having any damn feelings whatsoever, certainly not a soul or an ounce of faith. It wasn’t the first time he’d been told such a thing, and he was certain it wouldn’t be the last. Hunter understood that he came across as cold at times. Hell, most times. He couldn’t help it.

  The shit other people cared about, he simply didn’t consider in his life. When people cried after getting bad news, he wished they’d just shut the hell up and suffer in silence. Life wasn’t fair. Suck it up and move the hell on. He knew it wasn’t necessarily normal to feel such things or not feel at all, to be angry at those who needed a moment and space to fall apart, but he couldn’t help himself. Crying didn’t bring the dead back. Praying didn’t either… so he kept quiet.

  “You’re a Catholic now, huh?” his friend ribbed, taking another jab at him.

  “It’s not really about findin’ religion, Noah.”

  “What’s it really about then? We agreed that we were gonna fuck him up when you got out. You’re out now. I’m over here dyin’, but you’re free and healthy as hell. We were going to do this shit together!”

  “How can we do anything together when you’re in here? You want me to have a fuckin’ séance after you pass so you can beat his ass in the afterlife? What tha fuck…”

  “Man, don’t do this. You know exactly what I’m talking about, Hunter. Have you already forgotten what he took us through? ’Cause of him, you got sent to the hole and what about that fight you ’nd Kurtis got into on account of him, huh? You two had been cool before that. Then you got put in a four-piece suit ’cause of that fight ya had and after that, they found that shank in your cell and added on even more time to your sentence. You were in there on a weapons charge that began at two years! You ended up stayin’ four, all because of his ass! You practically tore Drew’s fuckin’ head off when you got out of the hole, hemmed him up at chow, and they made your sentence longer after that, too. We were his victims.”

  “Drew has pissed off a lot of people, Noah. Not just us.”

  “I know. There’s no justice in the justice system, man! You have to make your own fairness. He was rubbin’ a lot of fuckers the wrong way, but it was like a sport to him. They moved that punk ass bitch over to Lincoln Park before I could get my hands on him again. Fuckin’ scumbag, a damn cell warrior; and at that time, I didn’t even know I was up shit’s creek! ’Cause of him, I didn’t find out this shit sooner and now I’m a dead man talkin’! My prognosis was held up because of the extra year in that fuckin’ hellhole on account of him! If my fucked-up liver had been caught in time, I wouldn’t be talking to my best friend about giving my daughter her inheritance! IT’S TOO FUCKIN’ LATE NOW!”

  Noah was right. All of that shit was correct.

  “Drew has it coming, Noah. There’s no denying that. It’s just—”

  “Never mind, all right, forget it. Don’t even say it.” He waved him off.

  “I didn’t find religion and I’m not a pussy. Drew is in protective custody and—”

  “I know you’re not a pussy; that didn’t cross my mind. Look, Hunter, I don’t want you getting into any trouble… maybe it’s the medication talking.” Noah flopped back onto the pillow, looking dejected, glum. He closed his eyes, quiet for a moment before saying, “Before I take my last breath, I wanna help you out, Hunter.” His voice was soft, carrying on a gasp for air.

  “I don’t want anything from you.”

  “Why not? Pride?”

  “I don’t want to have to owe you shit. You can owe the dead stuff, you know? I’m starting to believe that.” Hunter swallowed, looking away. He wished he hadn’t said that. It would be too hard to explain what he meant and it would sound crazy. Maybe he needed to lay off the philosophy books. He read shitloads of them in prison, especially with Leon tossing them his way to help him pass time. Those words had gotten in his head.

  “You don’t owe me shit now, not ever. If anything, I owe you. You had my back more than a few times. This isn’t even up for discussion, Hunter. I’m not going to lie back and bargain with you. You’re going to take what I have, and that’s final. Now listen, I’ve got a car. It’s in storage. It’s a China red ’67 Firebird. I’m leaving it to you. It needs some work but I bet you can fix it. It’s a classic. Collectors want it bad. In that same storage facility, I’ve got some nice leather furniture, a couple of big screen TVs, diamond dog collars my Pitbulls used to wear, shit like that. When you get your own spot, you’re set.”

  “I can’t take all of that, man. You’ve got family that probably needs it.”

  “Family?!” Noah roared. Hunter slowly lifted his head as they glared at one another. “My family don’t give uh shit about me, man! I told you that. Kylie is the only one who cares. You see who’s here, don’t you?” He pointed to the door. “But I already got her set up, put some shit aside for her. She knows about all of this. My fuckin’ mother is in denial. Too riddled with guilt to see her boy die, and my fuckin’ blood brother, Joshua, has got life in prison in Maryland. He isn’t going no damn where. Family… what a joke. My family only came around when they needed something, to try and use me. When I had money and was flyin’ high, I was the best thing since sliced bread. When my luck had run dry, you could hear crickets. Nobody came to visit my ass in jail ’cept Kylie and my mother every now and again. So, fuck family. You’re my family! You, Kylie, Mom and Olive… that’s it!”

  “All right… I got it.”

  “Now, you take that shit. It’s yours. There are a lot of things in that storage unit. Games, bikes, clothes, brand new sneakers, liquor, some guns ’nd shit, too. They don’t have any bodies on ’em. I got rid of those. The guns you’ll see are free and clear. Got the bullets, too. What you don’t want, sell it. So, those were the three things I was going to ask of you… Get my funds out of that P.O. Box, get in contact with my kid and give it all to her. Secondly, you were supposed to take out you know who but we’ve decided against that because you’ve suddenly become righteous.”

  “You’re not even close.”

  “Well, whatever, I’m gonna call you Nun, the fucker that’s scared of a few armed guards protecting a backstabbing dickhead in protective custody.” Hunter shook his head and smirked. “Third,” Noah smiled, “take your piece of the pie. Go to that storage unit and use the shit any way you see fit. Oh, one more thing. When you attend my funeral, put on something decent and sit with my mother. As fucked up as our relationship is, I love ’er and want her to have some support.”

  “You’re afraid someone may roll in there startin’ some shit and you want me by her side in case shit pops off.”

  Noah glared at him then burst out laughing. Hunter followed suit, then got to his feet.

  “You know me well, see? Can see through my lies… but I meant what I said. She’s going to need someone there, someone strong.”

  Hunter looked into his dying friend’s eyes and grinned. It was all he could muster; anything more would’ve been like a shovel digging up old skeletons he wasn’t in the mood to see.

  “You look like shit, Noah.” The man seemed highly amused at his boorish words. “Smell like it, too.”

  “Thank you. That means a lot comin’ from a mentally deranged, psychotic Amazon-Prime-box-built son of a bitch like you!” They burst out laughing and Hunter grabbed the man’s hand and squeezed tight. His heart did this thing… not quite a fast beat, but a skip and flip of dull pain. “I love you, Tyrant… I don’t have any catchy words of wisdom, hypocritical bullshit like that to say. Turn on some fuckin’ Mac Miller. We used to rock out to that.” Hunter grabbed his phone and turned on Mac Miller’s ‘Donald Trump.’ They both enjoyed the sound while smiling at one another… He hated the man for lying there dying, for lying there crying, for lying there flying away to someplace he
couldn’t follow him to…

  “All I can say, Hunter, is that, uh, you’re a hell of a man, motherfucker. We’re going to keep on talking until I can’t no more. When I pass, remember this: I was lucky to know ya. If there’s a Hell, you cruel bastard, I’m sure I’ll see you there. We’ll be riding out those hot ass flames in our snow-white Cadillacs and blue-black Porsches, smashin’ all the hot bitches and living like rockstars.”

  “You know it, Noah…”

  Feeling generous, Hunter slid his hand in his pocket and took out a cigarette. He lit it, puffed on it a couple of times, then handed it to his brother in crime. What was Hell without a bit of fire?

  CHAPTER THREE

  Child’s Play

  Hunter’s leather jacket wasn’t enough to protect him from the brutal wind, hitting him with a firm, harsh stroke. He’d contemplated putting on the bomber coat that Saturday morning, but it was a bit too snug in the shoulders. He stood outside the post office with a tin tool box in one hand and a cigarette in the other. After leaving the hospital the night prior, he slept in the car in a Meijer grocery store parking lot and decided that morning to get to the post office bright and early.

  Justin was pissed because he still had his car. Hunter had promised to drive back home that afternoon, but things had changed. Tossing the cigarette on the ground, he crushed it and made his way back to the Honda. It had been drizzling on and off all day. He ran his hand over his wet hair, then set his tin toolbox down on the empty passenger seat. Starting the car to warm it up, he grabbed his phone and logged the address Noah had provided for where his daughter was residing in his GPS app.

  Gunston Street…

  Noah believed the address to be correct, but in case it wasn’t, he gave him the girl’s maternal grandmother’s number. Hunter turned up the music as he traveled. Eminem rapped, ‘Godzilla.’ He turned it up as high as the volume would go. On his way, he sipped from the bottle of Sprite he’d picked up from a gas station. The beverage was warm and flat now. As he looked around the streets of the gloomy city, he realized even in the midst all that grayness, he felt good. This was home.

  His cell phone rang. He placed it on the holder, turned the music down then answered it.

  “What’s up?”

  “When are you bringing my car back?”

  “Damn, I told you this afternoon.”

  “Well shit, you didn’t text me back. How the hell should I know what’s going on?”

  “You act like I’m out here joyriding. Why in the fuck would I be in Detroit? You think I want any problems? I have enough as it is. Look, man, I thought I was just coming here to see a sick friend. Noah is dying, Justin.”

  “What? Are you serious? What the fuck is going on?”

  “His liver is trashed. Anyway, he wanted me to take care of some things for him so I’m trying to get one of those taken care of now before I drive back up. It shouldn’t take me too long, just a drop off. I’ll come back soon though, rent a car, and come back down to finish this shit on my own, all right?”

  “Yeah… My fault, bro. I didn’t know all the details. Why didn’t you tell me when I initially asked your ass what was taking so long, Hunter?”

  “I didn’t have time to talk about it right then.”

  “How are you? You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

  “Why? Why?! Man, you just told me your best friend is dying.”

  “People die all the time. That’s just how this shit goes. That’s how I look at it. Nothin’ we do can to stop it. Life don’t give a shit if it’s a friend that’s sick, a family member, hell, even if it’s you standing in line to be touched by the Grim Reaper. I mean, yeah, this sucks… I’m not happy about it, but that’s just how it goes. We’re born. We live. We die. The fuckin’ end.”

  He shrugged. Justin went quiet. His brother knew of Noah, and although he had never met him, he’d heard a lot about him. Justin was a far more emotional person than Hunter. He’d seen the bastard cry a couple of times over the silliest shit, so he probably figured he should be feeling all broken up, inconsolable. But he was all right. At least for right now.

  “Hunter, I worry about you sometimes.”

  “I worry about you, too. Like, why the fuck are you Vanilla Ice reincarnated.”

  “Vanilla Ice isn’t dead so he can’t be reincarnated but I’m serious, man. I’m not talkin’ about me right now. Something real fucked up will be going on and it’s like… it’s like you’re kinda just… there. I mean, you’re there, but there are no lights on. Something bad will happen and you will be the only one in the room not upset. Others in the family had told me this about you, but I had to see it for myself.”

  “The same family members that tried to pit us against one another because of Dad? I don’t give a shit what they think about me.”

  “Yeah, people have tried to keep us apart for so long. That’s true. I love ya, glad we finally got to talk and get close, but Hunter, that’s cold how you just act like it’s a regular ol’ day. Now I see why you got the nickname Tyrant back in the day. Jesus Christ.”

  “How is it cold? It’s real. People show irritation in different ways, Justin.” He huffed. “I can be annoyed, offended or sad about something and not fall the fuck apart about it. You haven’t been around me much, so I guess it’s surprising to you, but people know that I’m not an emotional person. I’ve been through too much shit to be easily triggered so don’t sit over there judging me. All you need to be worried about is yourself… about how you’ll end up back in jail if you keep on with this shit, Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch. Talk about some good vibrations.” The man sighed.

  “All right, I’m not tryna argue with you right now. Just bring the car when you can. I’ll see you when you get back in town.”

  “Cool.” Hunter ended the call and turned the music up again. As he drove along the interstate, his thoughts drew blank with bits of gray, just like the sky. The automated female voice on his map app spoke: ‘In one mile, take exit 219.’ He exited the highway and made his way to Gratiot Avenue.

  It became quite clear that this part of town was not the place to simply wander about. People hung about on the corners, and many of the houses were dilapidated, boarded up, or torn down to the frame. As he drew closer to his destination, he did notice a few homes still in good standing – mostly small brick Cape Cods. He spotted a corner store, flickering lights drawing attention to it, along with a big Powerball sign. He passed countless churches, an outdated school, and a small playground. ‘Turn right on Gunston Street.’ After a right turn, he made his way up the street.

  ‘You’ve arrived at your destination,’ the GPS voice said.

  He pulled up to a tan painted home with uneven cement steps. It was rather small, but appeared to be two stories. The front door had black iron bars and the windows were covered with lacy white curtains, one of the panes showcasing an alarm system sticker. Pulling into the driveway, he sat there for a moment, then turned the car off. It rattled a bit then settled at ease.

  A black Toyota Camry was parked ahead in the long driveway. He reached for an envelope, the tin box, and his phone, then got out of the car and locked it. As he made his way closer to the house, he could see it was equipped with a doorbell camera. Clearing his throat, he rang the doorbell and waited. No one arrived. He peered inside the window, but the thick curtains were drawn so he saw nothing. He rapped on the door.

  I know someone has to be home. There’s a light on and a car in the driveway. Maybe they’re still asleep?

  Looking down at his shoes, he waited and waited.

  I don’t want to leave this in the mailbox. What if there’s cash inside? Someone could be watchin’ me from another house or something and see me leave it. I guess I’ll just have to come back later in the week. Wait a minute… let me go back to the car and try to call the grandmother. Maybe I can drop it off there instead. I’ll ask Noah first though if it’s okay.

  As he turned to leave, a female voice c
alled out, “Who is it?”

  He quickly spun around to face the doorbell camera.

  “Hey… I uh, I’m here to see Olive. I have something for her.” He was met with silence, so he continued. “I’m a friend of her father’s, Noah… He’s sick in the hospital and wanted me to drop something off for her.” He raised the pail up in front of the camera.

  “Okay. Give me a second.”

  He nodded and looked around. The greenery lined the treelined street, yet the foliage looked tired and barely alive. The sidewalk was covered with cracks and the road’s asphalt colored in shades of misery. He’d seen it so many times. When it rained or snowed in Detroit, a dark magic came over the city. It was a place that made you feel excited, in danger, and yet content all at once. Perhaps only natives understood the feeling, and even though he’d been born in Saginaw, he spent far too much time in Detroit, too. Suddenly the door opened, snatching him out of his deliberations. Chain still attached, one of the prettiest women he’d ever laid eyes on stood with her body partially blocked by the door.

  She was wearing light blue silky pajamas with matching top and bottom, and her feet were covered with pink fuzzy socks. Her hair was thick, jet black, and appeared to be long, though he couldn’t see all of it. With no makeup on, he saw every beauty mark, mole, and imperfection upon her brown face, her skin about the shade of fresh pecans. She looks a lot like Janet Jackson… Long lashes and perfectly arched eyebrows framed her eyes. The woman’s lips were full and naturally pink, reminding him of a baby doll’s, and she had high set cheekbones that made her almost appear to be smiling even though she wasn’t.

  “Damn…”

  “Excuse me?” she stated, a bit of an attitude in her tone.

  “Oh… uh, yeah, Noah asked me to give this to Olive. My name is Hunter Wolfe.”

  “Olive says she doesn’t know you.”