Tyrant

by Tiana Laveen

  “How are you doing?” Olive asked as she placed her napkin over her lap.

  “I’m good. You?” He reached for his glass of water and took a sip.

  “I don’t know. I guess I’m okay.” She shrugged. “So um, well, I’ll wait to ask you questions until after we eat I guess.” With a tilted smile, she twirled her fork about between her fingers. “I probably shouldn’t ask a lot of stuff about my dad, or personal stuff, either.”

  “Nah, you can ask me anything you want. I’ll let you know if I can answer or not.” He smiled at her. The first time Nita had caught the man give anything more than a smirk or scowl. It was one of the nicest smiles she’d ever seen, too. Olive’s complexion deepened as she smiled right back at him.

  “Okay… thanks.”

  Nita bowed her head and began grace. She had no idea if Hunter was going along, but she hoped he had.

  “Father, thank you for this dinner before us tonight for the nourishment of our bodies. Thank you for healing our minds, bodies, and souls. May we have a blessed fellowship tonight. Amen.”

  As she opened her eyes, Olive and Tisha said Amen in response to her prayer. Hunter remained quiet, motionless. Tisha passed the rolls and soon, everyone was heaping their plates with food.

  “Would you like some of this for your roll?” Nita offered as she held up a little white dish with pre-sliced pats of butter.

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  Olive took the plate from her and passed it to Tisha, who handed it off to him. He was fairly quiet as he ate, and for a man who felt lasagna was just ‘all right’ he was demolishing everything on his plate. He even sopped up the thick red sauce with another roll then chased it with a glass of water. When he was done, he went for a second serving.

  “On the phone earlier today, you said ‘Janet Jackson’. What were you talking about?”

  He leaned back in his seat, his fork in one hand and a slight grin etched across his face.

  “You look kinda like Janet Jackson. Actually, you look a lot like her. You know, how she looked back in like 2000 or somethin’.” He took another gulp of water then set his glass down, barely looking at her.

  “People tell Mama that all the time,” Tisha said around a mouthful of bread. “Con-troooo-ol!” the girl teased, and she and Olive burst out laughing and elbowed each other. Nita glared at the girls, but neither took the hint to cut it out. When she looked back down the table at Hunter, he was smirking big time. A few minutes passed with minimal small talk. He wasn’t much of a conversationalist.

  “Hunter, um, like, how would you describe my father?” Olive asked.

  He mulled over her question.

  “Noah is… hmmm… a lot of things. Let’s see.” He cracked his knuckles and leaned forward. “Stubborn. Definitely stubborn. Smart. Funny. He loves you, too.”

  The girl smiled a bit brighter.

  “How do you know he loves me? Did he talk about me a lot?”

  “No.”

  Her smile faded. “Then… then like, how would you know how he felt about me?”

  “The things Noah cared about most he wouldn’t discuss but a few times. Kept it close to his heart like a secret treasure.” Nita smiled and crossed her legs. She looked down onto her lap and shook her head. Hunter’s words were so profound. Powerful, even.

  “So, I have question about you now,” Olive continued.

  “All right. What?”

  “Why were you friends with my dad?”

  “Because I had known him from back in the day and I was familiar with his moves.”

  “His moves?”

  “I mean like, I knew what he was about. It’s kind of hard to describe, but your father let me see who he really was, didn’t try to pretty anything up, be someone else, so he was trustworthy. At least to me.” He pointed to himself.

  “That’s what made him a good friend?”

  “Yeah. For me, a friend is someone I can learn something from and someone I can trust. They have my back and I have theirs. You have to meet those two criteria.”

  Olive nodded in understanding. The guy grabbed his glass and downed the last of his water.

  “Would you like some more?”

  “Some more what?”

  “Water,” Nita offered, pointing to the empty pitcher on the table.

  “Oh, yeah. Thanks.”

  She got to her feet, grabbed the empty pitcher, and headed to the kitchen. As she stood in there gathering her thoughts and knitting them together, she couldn’t fight this strange feeling. It seemed like she’d seen him before. Not physically, but someone with a similar energy as his, a similar spirit. She was at a loss for words for how to explain such a thing, even to herself.

  “You need some help?” She jumped practically through the roof when a deep, rumbling voice raced through her, a mere few inches away from her ear. “Sorry.” He chuckled. “I scared you.”

  “Yeah, you did.” She smiled. “It’s okay though. I have it under control. It’s just water.” She opened the refrigerator door and felt eyes boring into her back as she bent over to grab a gallon of water from inside.

  “Why didn’t you just put the gallon of water on the table?” he said.

  Now she could hear the girls whispering amongst themselves.

  “Because it’s not as attractive. Plus, I squirted a little lemon juice in it.”

  “You didn’t have to do all of that for me. Just plain, natural water is fine.”

  “Well, in that case, grab your glass from the table and come fill it up from this tap.” She pointed at the faucet. He laughed lightly, and she fought a smile herself, surprised he took her jab so well. “You can go back to the table. I’ll be there in a bit.”

  “What if I don’t want to? What if I came in here and used the water as an excuse to talk to you alone?” She swallowed. Stared at him. Stood a bit straighter. “Well?”

  She shrugged, then grabbed two lemons and began to cut them into wedges.

  “What did you want to talk about?”

  He drew closer to her. “You scared of me?”

  “I am not. Is that really what you wanted to talk to me about?” Slice, slice, slice… Juice squirted, spraying her fingers as she gouged out a couple of seeds with her fingertips. She resisted the urge to lick it off.

  “It wasn’t a statement. It was a question.” He drew even closer, so close that if she moved more than three inches in either direction, she’d bump right into him.

  “I’m not scared of you.”

  “I can’t tell. I must intimidate you for some reason… I’m not tryin’ to. You’re shaking a little.”

  “Just tired. I do that when I’m tired. It’s just my nerves. I’ve got some mess going on at my job. But what else is new?” She shook her head.

  “I’d love to be able to have some mess goin’ on at a job. I’m tryna find a job actually.” He leaned on the counter and she picked up the scent of cigarettes from his clothing. “It’s hard though. Nobody wants to pay shit, but it is what it is.” He shrugged. “I hope to get one soon.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  “Maybe then I can ask you out. And just maybe your sexy ass will say ‘yes.’” He tapped her on the butt as he moved past her. Before she could cuss him out for touching her behind, the bastard marched back out of the kitchen and returned to his seat in the dining room as if not a damn thing had happened. He and Olive began to chat almost immediately. The girl asked everything from what type of fights had her father had in prison, to what was his favorite food.

  “Noah used to get into a lotta fights when he was first getting locked up but then he learned to not get wrapped up as much in that sort of thing. I mean, he still had some, we all did because sometimes it’s just not avoidable, but he learned to pick his battles, I guess you could say. As far as food, well shit, I mean, uh, shoot.” He smirked and the girls burst out laughing. “Let’s see, he likes tacos a hell of a lot. Beef, hard shell.”

  “Me too! I love Taco Bell. It’s my
favorite,” Nisha piped up, as if it were some bonding moment.

  “Yeah? Taco Bell is good. Noah never wants to see ramen noodles again though.” All three of them had a good chuckle at that.

  Nita joined them after a while, and filled up everyone’s glass before taking her seat. The three of them seemed heavily involved in the discussion, and at times when it was just Olive and Hunter going back and forth, Tisha soaked it all in, laughing and adding her own questions, too. Noah did in fact sound like an interesting man… complicated though, that was for certain. Perhaps most men who chose a life of crime or felt they had no choice but to go in that direction were inherently hard to understand. Nita had some relatives and friends that had gotten locked up, but she always found it a bit curious when White people ended up living their life behind bars. Most of the people she knew that were incarcerated were there on either drug related charges or for simply hustling to survive in a racist country. But grown ass White men going back and forth to jail like a revolving door? With all the White privilege going around, it seemed rather unnecessary in her eyes.

  “…And that’s when Noah decided to get the frog tattoo.” The room erupted in laughter, Hunter snickering right along with the girls. Just then, his cellphone rang. He slid it out of his pocket, and checked out the screen before answering it right there at the table.

  “Yeah, what’s up? Mmmm hmmm, okay… Not really… And did you ask him why I said that in the first place? … If he said that, then he’s a liar… Yeah… He’s being a baby about it, I see… Nah, that’s not how it went down… Mmm hmm… He knows he’s wrong, that’s why… Shit, I don’t care. He’s not hurting me, that’s his choice… No… mmm hmmm… So what? … He doesn’t get a free pass; he has to play by the same rules as the rest of us… Look, I don’t give uh fu—” He paused, looked at the girls, then got to his feet. “Let me take this somewhere else,” he mumbled.

  They all watched as he made his way to the front door and exited, the screen door slamming behind him. Outside, he continued to talk, though he was much harder to understand. The three of them remained quiet, trying to eavesdrop. Why? Perhaps they’d hear something juicy? Something important? The screen door slammed once more and they all quickly shifted in their seats, pretending to be in the throes of talking.

  The man walked in the dining room, opened the closet door, and removed his coat. Nita got to her feet, confused.

  “Oh, you’re leaving so soon?”

  “Nope. Just taking a smoke break.” She sighed with relief. “3… 2…1,” he murmured. Suddenly, Olive’s cell phone rang. Nita turned to her as she dug the device out of her jeans pocket.

  “Hello? Oh my God, Dad!” she called out tearfully. “Yes, I did! … Mmmm hmmm… Dad, your friend is here and he… yeah!”

  Nita turned back towards Hunter, who was walking back out the front door. She looked through the window and watched him light his cigarette, lean over the small railing, and smoke. All she could see was his back as he moved. Olive got up from her seat and went to the kitchen, talking a mile per minute.

  This guy is something else. There’s something special about him though. He’s troubled, too. Very troubled. Why do I even care? I was just trying to help Olive.

  There was a fire in the man’s eyes, a malice in his smile, and wisdom in him beyond his years. As she glared at the man, thinking about all of those things, her daughter broke her concentration.

  “Mama, looks like he is not only fine, he’s influential, too. He got Noah to call.”

  “Yeah, seems that way.”

  “He thinks you look like Janet Jackson too… Ms. Percy if ya nasty!”

  “Girl! Get outta here!” She laughed. Tickled to death, her daughter got up from the table and joined Olive in the kitchen. When Nita looked back out the window, Hunter was staring right at her. He tossed the cigarette down on her front step, stomped on it, then made his way back inside. A curl of smoke escaped his lips.

  “Dinner was good, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” His attention went in the direction of the kitchen.

  “Since she’s on the phone with Noah, I can take this time to run a quick errand. Is that cool?”

  “Oh. Uh, yeah. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Let Olive know I’ll be right back.” She nodded. “She might still wanna talk.” He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Okay, I’m sure she does. You two were just getting started. By the way, I made dessert, too.” She felt a bit silly after the words came out because it seemed as though she was trying to string time along, make certain he’d come back. Is it for me or for Olive?

  “I won’t be gone long.” Within seconds, he was in his car and driving away.

  She pondered what had just happened, smiling. His scent lingered, blending in with the aroma of food, though thanks to Hunter, there was hardly any left. There was comfort in that, though she hated to admit this to herself. Something felt right… calm. As if he was meant to be there…

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Coin Toss

  The Pawn Shop looked like a miniature Las Vegas with its flashing rainbow neon lights and kitsch Indian chief statue positioned right outside the front door. When Hunter entered the place, a little bell chimed. He studied all the guitars hanging on the wall, the sparkling ice skates, signed record albums and even a case full of secondhand diamonds and gold. As he made his way past some large stereos, a couple of blinking bar signs caught his eye, one saying, ‘Pussy Palace.’ He drew closer to the back of the store and noted a short guy behind the counter, cleaning his glasses.

  The man continued to clean the lens with a small purple cloth. He put it down then went to work using his shirt. Sporting a long-sleeved white shirt with a stretched-out collar, his stomach jetted out in a fashion that made him look nine months pregnant. Loose jeans hung off his waist. The guy with the thinning, long blond hair faced him as he placed his glasses on. He scanned him from head to toe, as if he were placing himself up for pawning, too.

  “What can I do for ya?” he asked.

  “I want to see about gettin’ some money for this coin collection I have.” The man nodded as Hunter placed the album on the glass counter. Hank Williams Jr. crooned, ‘If Heaven Ain’t a Lot Like Dixie,’ over the store speakers. Nudging his eyeglasses up the bridge of his nose, the man opened to the first display and turned it right side up. The page featured a nice selection, all of the coins sitting snug in their individual slots. He kept on browsing through them. Grunting, his eyes darted to Hunter’s in a shifty sort of way, then he turned to another page.

  “Some of these are oxidized, but that’s to be expected,” he stated gruffly, running his thumb along his lower lip.

  “How much you think they’re worth?”

  “Some of ’em ain’t worth much, but I see a couple I might be able to use… do a bit of somethin’ with. Hold tight.”

  Hunter nodded as the man picked up the book and began to make his way to a back room.

  “Wait a minute. Where are you going?”

  “To look at these in better light.” The guy shrugged, as if it were a given.

  “Nah, man. You can keep the book right here.” Hunter pointed to the counter. “Bring whatever lights and gadgets you have this way. You can move them. I’m sure they’re not cemented to the ground.” A funny feeling came over him when the man glared at him, and his intuition never lied. Head cocked to the side, he stared back. On a sigh, the bastard returned the book to the counter.

  “I’ll be right back. I’ll get some magnification equipment, too.” The man disappeared behind some thick, flamboyant red curtains. As the country music played and the seconds ticked by, Hunter felt a sense of dread, like something was off about this situation. He checked the time on his phone. He wanted to get back to Janet Jackson’s house so he could finish speaking to Olive, then be on his way. He inched closer to the curtain, feeling the need to find out what was taking the guy so long. There was a thin parting between the drapes,
just enough to denote movement. The guy was talking in a hushed tone. Hunter’s hearing was damn good, so he held his breath and listened intently.

  “Nah, he doesn’t look like a drug addict or anything like that. Big dude… Yeah, so he has at least nine of those in the collection. They’ve gotta be worth at least nine hundred bucks a piece and that’s not including the two dimes from 1965 that have a minting error – they’re worth thousands.” Hunter’s heart started to beat a wild rhythm. “He’s got a vintage Susan B. Anthony, hardly any wear. I’ve never seen one so pristine. That’ll bring in close to three thousand if not more for the right buyer… So yeah… yeah… I’ll offer him like two thousand for the whole collection and then bring ’em over to ya… Right… yeah… okay…”

  Hunter returned to the counter and prepared himself for the bullshit show about to be unleashed. While he waited, he wondered how in the hell did Noah’s ass get his hands on such a collection in the first place? Sure, Noah had been a coin collector since childhood. Although he’d kept that passion under wraps, Hunter had known about this nerdy side of the man for years. But for the collection to be worth that much? He’d had no idea.

  The fella finally appeared from behind the curtain, a big smile on his face along with some fancy flashlight that had a scope of sorts on the end of it. Hunter twisted his lips and crossed his arms, watching the crook go through an elaborate song and dance while pretending to take his sweet time to analyze the money, using a keen eye, of course.

  “All right, I’m only interested in about sixteen of these.”

  “But there’s over seventy in the book.”

  “Yeah, and I’ll take them all, but see, only sixteen of ’em are worth something. The others are pocket change,” he said with a chuckle. Hunter nodded, playing along. “May I ask where you got these?”

  “A friend of mine who’s been a collector since he was a kid. He asked me to bring them in.”

  “All right, I see.” The man placed his flashlight down, leaned on the counter with both hands and crossed his ankles, as if he were really trying to summon an offer demon. “Okay, so I can give you nine hundred for the entire book.”