by Tiana Laveen
“You were really thirsty, huh? All of that racing around and playing,” Xenia said as she joined them. Saint reached towards the backsplash and pushed an embedded button to turn on a bit of music.
“I’ll Be Good” by Rene and Angela began to play. He giggled, snapped his fingers a few times and looked at her casually from over his shoulder. Xenia shot him a glance, no doubt believing it was planned. He knew she loved this song…took her right back to her childhood at family barbeques and the memories of belligerent, drunk relatives arguing over a craps game with high stakes.
Isis just kept chugging away, her eyes larger than life as she gripped the cup possessively tighter, tilting it back to get the final precious drops.
“So…when did you want to take a trip there, honey?” Xenia offered a warm smile as she sat at the kitchen island and crossed her legs.
“In the next couple of weeks…is that cool?” He put the citrusy beverage back in the refrigerator. The door smacked shut as he faced her once again.
“That’s fine. I’ll make arrangements at work, ask Mama if she can keep the kids for a few days.” She played with the edge of a paper towel, seemingly disappearing into herself. A soft smile lined her face while she slipped into private reflection. Saint stood there for a while, then moved behind her, circling his arms around her warm form. He kissed the top of her head.
“Thank you, baby.”
Xenia patted his arm affectionately, her other hand still on the paper towel as she folded it to and fro.
“You don’t have to thank me. It’s just your turn to shine, baby. It’s just your turn to shine…”
*
Chapter Two
Saint sat at his desk in the L.A. office building with his onyx and shale colored headphones on. At seven in the morning, the last thing he wanted to do was wake the weary world from a sleepy slumber. He, on the other hand, needed some motivation. He tapped his ink pen along the desk, his right hand playing a mean percussion as he sucked his bottom lip and stared at his computer screen. He was checking out the panoramic maps of Brooklyn, New York and wishing he could reach out and actually touch the top of the damn buildings. After his Queen gave the ‘Ok’, he was surprised to discover that only made his hunger for returning to his place of birth all the stronger and more voracious. His stomach literally growled, as if looking at a five-course banquet and he hadn’t dined in weeks. ‘The Strange Fruit’ Project album blasted in his eardrums, and ironically enough, a new, deeply disturbing case had landed on his desk, which he unaffectionately titled the same. A black woman and her Cuban American fiancé had been threatened to receive a modern day lynching, ‘Southern style’ and that was just the tip of the harassment iceberg. Saint ran his palm down the side of his face, catching his sideburn and feeling the silky tresses in need of a trim.
I’ll cut my hair soon, growing out too long again. Let me stop procrastinating and get my ass in there.
He turned off the tunes, shut down his laptop and stood from his seat, causing the chair to swivel as he navigated his way around the wooden maiden. As if they’d just finished making love, he caressed her shoulder before departing and whispered, “You’re coming with me…”
Clearing his throat, he exited his office, pulling at his sky blue shirt with several of the top buttons undone. No doubt his black leather necklace was showing as it lay against his chest hair. He debated buttoning it up, looking a bit more professional, but there was no point in trying to look any different than he did when he’d arrived that morning. No need to tip anyone off, cause alarm…at least not just yet. As he made his way up the hall, without as so much as a word, Jagger approached from the right and Lawrence from the left until all three were walking in unison, their footsteps hard, heavy and reverberating. The men stood shoulder to shoulder, their expressions tight and their arms swinging, as if the shit had been choreographed. Once they reached the large conference room double doors, Saint stood back while Jagger grasped the knob and pushed it open.
Saint immediately entered, nodding and greeting the Knights as he made his way to the front of the meeting room table. He stood there in his black suit clearing his gullet, a sneer on his face while he adjusted his Cote D’Azur sleeves, pulling at them, getting them nice and even. A strand of his hair sprung forward against his forehead. With a cool hand, he smoothed it back into place. Saint leaned against the table, glaring at each and every man, taking in the entire scene. Jagger and Lawrence took their seats towards the middle of the table, clasping their hands together. All that could be heard—the occasional swallow of water and light tickle of a cough.
“I called this very important meeting, at such late notice, for a reason. I am sorry that you all have been inconvenienced this morning, taken away from your important schedules. You are here because you are about to witness history. This organization is about to make a major change.”
He could feel the energy in the room immediately shifting, like volcanic plates beneath the Earth after he unveiled his announcement. He could almost smell the mingled sparks of worry, excitement, and extreme curiosity.
“Our founder, the honorable James Kessler, may he rest in peace, began this secret organization and it was officially launched in 1963. He resided here in California. He knew the people, the clientele, the ideas and the state like the back of his hand due to his life-long career in politics. Should anyone have found out his secret dealings with such a group, one dedicated to the cultivation and protection of non-black men and African American and black women around the globe, it would have come to his vocational detriment and possibly even resulted in his death. However, he felt the risk was more important than what he did in Washington. Well, I feel the same way.” He cleared his throat, and dared himself to look Jagger and Lawrence in the eye. Once he did, it was plain to see that they were confused as fuck, and trying desperately to drill into his damn skull with psychic jackhammers. He effectively blocked them, and carried on.
“I’ve gotten an opportunity to live some of the most important years of my life here.” He clasped his hands together. “I can thank L.A. for many things; most importantly, I found my wife, my queen, my soulmate on Los Angeles soil.” He paused, briefly reflected on his radio interview with the woman, and how their worlds had collided at that pivotal moment.
“My first child was conceived and born here. My second and third as well… So, though I suffered in silence regarding my bouts of discomfort, L.A. has given me precious gifts, not just curses.” He ran his index finger wistfully over his chin. “It allowed me to meet all of you good men, too. No…” He smiled and shook his head, placing one finger in the air. “Great men. Due to a case I was working, it allowed me to also indirectly meet Lawrence.” He pointed to the man, who nodded and offered a faint smile as he tucked his long black hair behind one ear, then clinched his hands together on the glossy, ebony table. “Lawrence and I are very close, like family, and we have the best interest of this company in mind. Through Lawrence, I met Jagger.” Jagger nodded, yet his brows dipped in obvious perplexity and frustration.
Saint hadn’t shared one word of his plans with them. No, he wanted a chance to explain himself without interruption, a chance to lie out what he had in store without the inevitable showdown.
“Both of these men are competent, good people who care about us going higher, better and brighter into the future. With that said, since this is my company…” He stood a bit straighter, ran his fingers along his suit jacket buttons. “I am taking us where I deem appropriate. This location will remain open; however, with only half the staff. I am opening another main branch in New York, gentlemen.”
Mouths immediately dropped open like castle moats, waves of utterances poured fourth, an inundation of unrecognizable comments and jumbled questions amongst the sea of rippled confusion. It was a soft ruckus of sorts, so Saint spoke a bit louder to cut through the noise, bring it to a stop.
“Hold up!” He put his hand in the air, and soon the men quieted. “No one who does
n’t wish to relocate will be given an ultimatum. If I am unable to do a 50/50 split, then I will do the best I can, and we will sort out the rest. If any of you, though, have desires to relocate with me, then the opportunity is there. I don’t know where in New York yet, I just know that is where I will be setting up the new location. You will have all the same privileges that you have here, including snow days.”
A light chuckle carried on the air.
“I want to add that at this location, here in L.A., I will appoint what I refer to as, ‘Landlord officers.’ There will be three of them. I also will be visiting here often, probably at least once a month until the transition is running smoothly, then, it will more than likely drop down to every two months, for a one week stay.”
“When are you leaving, Saint?” one of the men asked, a touch of sorrow in his tone.
Saint shrugged. “I’m not exactly sure. It won’t be for at least a month or two. There is too much that has to be done first. Like, I have to find a new home for my family,” he counted on his fingers, “and getting a bank location in New York is much different than getting one here. There is also the issue of basically getting a sign-up sheet for everyone who wishes to join me, what your new duties may entail, things like that. It’s going to be really busy and a bit stressful, but when I am internally at peace, I thrive better.” He pointed to himself. “As of right now, I’m fighting with only one arm. I’ve been unhappy for quite some time; I just haven’t voiced it until now. The reason being is, I had to make sure my family and you all were happy, while honoring James’ memory—that was imperative. Then, I realized, the best way to honor that man’s memory was to do what he did—to step out on faith and run this company in the manner that he trusted me to do. No one is losing their job; you are simply gaining an opportunity.”
George nodded as he sat silently at the end of the table in a regal chair. Saint had briefed him on his plans ahead of time, as a show of respect for the co-founder of the company, and much to his surprise, George was gracious and understanding. He also had expected it to occur at some point in time, just as Xenia had predicted. Furthermore, James had let him know before his passing that he believed Saint would return to New York, and that the Knights organization would continue to thrive.
“How will we handle events and meetings?” another Knight asked.
“Great question.” Saint pulled out his chair and finally took a seat. He fastened his hands together, and looked briefly down at the table. “Depending on the importance level of the assembly, we will determine if it requires flight plans. If so, then the New York or L.A. location will be chosen for said meeting based on factors that pertain to its specific purpose. However, most meetings will be conducted via teleconference. That way, we can all still see each other and communicate as we normally would. Now, at the beginning of this, I brought up Jagger and Lawrence, and I did so for a reason. I’m taking them with me.”
Lawrence’s eyes bulged while Jagger slumped in his chair, threw his head back and murmured, “Jesus Christ…” as he slapped the table in front of him with both hands.
“I’m sorry that you two had to find out this way, but with your specialized expertise,” Saint gave them a knowing nod, “it has to happen. So, I retract, well, retract isn’t the right word…” He tossed the two men a slight grin. “I rephrase what I said previously. Everyone has a choice in staying or going, with the exception of Jagger and Lawrence.” There was a light chuckle. Jagger glared around the room angrily, trying to find the source of it as he sat straight as a fireplace poker, muscling up with anxiety and anger.
“Alright.” Saint placed his hands flat on the table. “I have nothing further to share at this time. If any of you have any additional questions, feel free to stop by my office or email or call me. Lawrence and Jagger, please stay seated. The rest of you are free to go.”
As if a school bell had rung, the shuffling of chairs and grumbling voices ensued. After a minute or two, the room was cleared…minus Jagger whose chest huffed and puffed as if a blood pressure band was wrapped around his waist. And Lawrence, who looked as if he wanted to psychically slap the taste buds off Saint’s mouth.
“What…the…fuck…is going on!” Jagger roared once the coast was clear.
“I told you.” Saint’s eyes hooded as he leaned far back in his seat and folded his hands atop his head, clearly not giving a flying fuck at the hostility being cast his way. “I already explained that, man. Weren’t you paying attention?”
“Don’t play with me, goddamn it! You’re messing with my life.” Jagger slammed his large fist onto the table, causing the water pitchers to shake, rattle and almost roll. “I asked you two days ago what this damn meeting was about and you blocked my ass. I couldn’t read you. You told me to wait, just sit tight and not worry. I should’ve known you were up to something. What am I going to tell Traci, huh?”
“Alright Jagger, you don’t have to come with me,” Saint uttered, not having the heart to argue right then and there. For some strange reason, he thought maybe Jagger would have been eager for such a venture. The man clung to his New York tales with bated breath, and the man said he’d enjoyed his trip with him and his family, when they travelled for the healing of his father. Since Jagger had a strong taste for fucking up shit, New York could be his virtual playground. But he rejected the notion before the words were even fully formed.
“That’s crap, and you know it!” Jagger pointed at him, growing angrier the calmer Saint became. “You know if you need me, I won’t let you down, I won’t stay here. If it were just me, I’d pack my shit, no questions asked, but I have a wife now, man! Jesus!” Jagger ran his hands down his face then keeled over, his head hitting the table in psychological defeat.
Lawrence took a quiet sip of his water then caught Saint’s eye. Saint didn’t like his expression. A slow, smoldering anger was building. Lawrence was like a silent viper. You never saw him coming, but once he was upon you, it would be too late. He’d wrap his psychic wares around your temple and squeeze your guts out until he had his fill… The quiet ones…gotta watch them….
“What is it? Just spit it out, Lawrence,” Saint demanded, growing weary of the daggers being tossed in his general direction.
“I do not appreciate how you handled this.” Lawrence briefly looked away from him and lazily circled the rim of his drinking glass with the tip of his right index finger. “You could have told us before this meeting.”
“No, I couldn’t have, Lawrence. I know how you two are, and I know how it would have gone down…and you both are just pissed that I didn’t give you the opportunity to talk me out of it.” No one responded. The two men simply stared at him.
“You and Jagger would have tried to change my mind, and not given me the chance to even explain what the hell is going on.”
“What’s going on, Saint?” Lawrence asked calmly, a slight smirk on his tanned face as he continued to trace the top of the glass, an uncomfortable arrogance in his tone.
“Fuck if I know…”
Lawrence chuckled lightly…but the man clearly wasn’t amused.
“Let me ask you something, man.” Saint glared at him as he tempered his tone, and reclaimed his attention.
Lawrence immediately stopped what he was doing and glowered at Saint, ready to fight.
“Do you think I just woke up one day, shit, this morning even, and said, ‘Let me see how I can mess up two out of my three best friends’ lives?’ Huh?! ‘What the fuck can I do, as their boss and friend’,” he pointed both index fingers at himself as he continued to speak, “‘to make them hate my fucking guts?!’ Hmmm? ‘What can I do to make Donna want to take off her damn shoe and hurl it at my goddamn head?’ ’Cause I really enjoy making trouble, yeah, that’s me! The man that goes around fuckin’ wit’ people for the simple hell of it!” He ran his tongue over his upper teeth, sucking hard. “Donna… of all people! Give her yet another reason to act a damn fool towards me? No thanks!” Now, Saint was angry, too.
“And Jagger, I love Traci, like she is my own damn sister. I meant every word I said at your wedding. You know this shit! I know she has a good job here. I know this is the only place she has lived in. You two are newlyweds, you have no children yet, so the transition should be easier, or so I thought. Lawrence and I will have the most problems, yet you are acting the angriest!”
“I have a right to feel and act however the fuck I want to,” Jagger retorted, the big man chewing his bottom lip like gooey taffy. “You dropped this damn bomb on us, and all because you miss being around muggers and criminals.”
“Muggers are criminals…just say criminals. Let’s not be redundant.” Saint smirked.
“Fuck you and that bullshit you rode in on…asshole.” Jagger turned away, clearly revolted.
Nevertheless, it didn’t sway Saint. He stayed the course.
“Look, I’m sorry you feel that way about New York, Jagger.” He took a deep breath. “That isn’t what I miss.” Saint sighed, his jaw tightening as the pressure mounted. He picked up an ink pen and twirled it around in his hand like a helicopter propeller as he simmered in his thoughts. “I miss the whole damn vibe. I can’t get that anywhere else. I’m admitting that, but there’s more to this. I have to do what is best for my family, this organization and myself.” He tossed the ink pen down and pointed at his chest. “Since I’m not happy, and I’m strugglin’, it would eventually affect my family and this organization. Matter of fact, it already has! I am more withdrawn; you know that’s not like me! When have you known me to be quiet?”
“I wish you’d be quiet right now.” Jagger kept his gaze averted, brooding, and his back arched upward like a cat’s.
“Fine, Jagger. Fine, okay? Keep your ass here, seriously!” Saint rose from his seat and snatched his water up from the table. He took a hearty sip. “And that goes for you too, Lawrence, since you share his sentiments. I’ll just do this by my goddamn self. I was doing me, before either of you mothafuckas entered my life, and I will find a way to continue, with or without you! Born by myself…die by myself. Ride this shit out by my goddamn self! Have a good fuckin’ day.”
