by J.R. Bowles
* * *
“Follow that truck.” Jamal told the taxi driver, and the taxi sped away. Jamal leaned back in the seat, trying to convince himself of what he was doing here.
He had been headed for the block but he just had this feeling he should change direction. That was when he saw him. He was the one. He was the one from last night. The one called Billy. He didn't know how he knew it; he just had this feeling he knew him, but he was just a boy. Then a man and woman came out and he knew immediately that the man was the promised one: Never had he seen anyone like him. It seemed like everyone on the street turned to stare at him. Even they knew something was different about him. At least he hadn't been the only one to notice the man was different.
He followed them to the Castleton near Madison Square Garden. The man and woman got out and went into the hotel but the boy sat in the truck. Jamal paid the taxi driver and waited across the street. Several minutes passed; the man came out and handed something to the boy, then the boy entered the parking garage. It must have been a parking ticket. So they are staying here. Jamal shook his head. He had to get some money, he had to check into the hotel, but how was he going to come up with the money it would cost him?
Jamal stood there in a daze thinking about the man. He had never seen anyone like him before. Messiah? Was it possible? Then he remembered his mother dragging him to the holiness church and the talk of the beast. The beast, the Anti-Christ, was it possible? Which was he?
The man seemed so unassuming. Yet his power could be felt. Was it possible? He had to get himself into the hotel.
Jamal was startled from his thoughts as he heard someone asking him something. “What? What did you say? “
”Got a light?”
Jamal appraised the bold woman, asking him, a stranger, for a light for the cigarette she held up to her lips. At first he thought she was black, but then with additional scrutiny he guessed she was an Indian―Native American, he corrected himself. She was a foot shorter than him, with hair of raven blue-black.
Jamal was immediately attracted, forgetting about everything but drifting into her velvet soft brown eyes. “Sure,” he said reaching into his pocket, hoping he had the lighter he used for lighting candles and incense. He didn't smoke; cigarettes were just another of the white man's way of exploiting.
“I'm Jamal,” he introduced himself as he lit her cigarette.
“Thank you.” She inhaled deeply from the non-filtered Camel and then watched the glow sparkle. A sliver of tobacco stuck to her tongue and she made a soft spitting sound.
“I really should quit, but it's one of the few things of my heritage which still exists.” She laughed at Jamal's expression. “I'm Cherokee actually. You probably thought the whites came up with the idea of tobacco. Afraid not; my people get the blame.”
Jamal stood there a moment, mesmerized by her smile. “Could I buy you a cup of coffee?” He asked in his richest bass voice, not knowing quite what to say but not wanting to scare her away.
“I would love one,” she smiled again. “My name is Mediceskia. It means 'song bird' in my language. My folks were still into that kind of thing when I was born; but please call me Mindy.” Her eyes danced merrily as she offered him her hand.
Over coffee, Jamal learned she was staying at the Castleton; after several hours of wooing he managed to get an invitation to her room―or had he been the one wooed.
* * *
Azid had managed to follow Jamal, as he followed the truck. He stayed in the background, making sure Jamal hadn't seen him. He just couldn't figure what Jamal was up to. When Jamal and the girl went back to the hotel together, he felt angry and betrayed. What was wrong with Jamal?
Azid sat down across from the hotel and waited, even though he wasn't sure why.
