by Jeremy Mac
Loak Bosman is one of the many people who keep the water fountains and filtering system maintained. He is one of the men who designed and built the water system that branches off the river. He always said that you can live without many things but you’ll end up nowhere real fast without water. And although Loak takes great pride in his job, he will always be an auto-mechanic and body repairman at heart.
James drives the jeep down the street at a slow pace as pedestrians, cyclist, and rickshaws part sides to allow room for the jeep to drive through. As they pass by everyone’s face quirks into sudden surprise and then instant joy to see Lathan riding in the jeep alongside James. They wave and holler their thanks and blow him kisses as if in a parade. It is uncomfortably overwhelming for Lathan but he manages to return a smile and wave.
The water purifier/mechanic/body repairman lives four blocks from James’ building and one block from the main water fountain. He is married with one child, a son named Matthew who is eleven years old. Although The Pinnacle is equipped with a fully operational school and teachers urge parents to have their children attend there are families who choose to homeschool their children. Matthew’s mother, Rolanda, is a parent who homeschools her child. She is a robust woman with long fiery red hair and a welcoming smile. Rolanda excitedly tells her young son to hurry up and go get his daddy from upstairs, Mr. Grant and the man who saved everyone from the Maddick’s is here to see him.
Little Matthew gazes up at Lathan all wide eyed and awestruck; the man he had heard so much about is right here in front of him.
“Go on, now,” his momma pushes him toward the stairs. “Get your daddy. We can’t have these good men waiting.”
Matthew nearly stumbles over his feet as he races up the stairs.
“Good-looking boy you got there,” Lathan says.
The jolly woman’s face turns an even darker hue of red than it had already been within the last few seconds. She giggles and says, “Oh why thank you, Mr. Lathan. He is my pride and joy.”
“I’m sure. But please just call me Lathan.”
“All right then, Lathan. Why don’t y’all have a seat. Can I get y’all a cup of coffee? I’ve got a pot already made. It’ll be no trouble at all.”
“Sure, that’d be great,” James says.
Loak and his son come soaring down the stairs. Loak abruptly stops at the last step, causing his son to run into him. He stares unabashed at Lathan for a moment. He’s never seen the man up close before, only from afar, and now here he is in his home.
“Mr. Grant.” Loak thrusts his hand out and James shakes it. “Good of you to drop by. I’m sorry I look such a mess, we weren’t expecting company.” He wears a grease stained shirt and shorts. A thin man but strong looking with cords of muscle in his arms and legs.
“Nonsense Loak,” James says. “A man should never have to apologize for the way he looks in his own home. If anything, I apologize for our unexpected arrival. I’d like to introduce you to Lathan, who I’m sure you’ve already heard about.”
“Yes, of course,” Loak shakes Lathan’s offered hand. “Who hasn’t heard so much about you. It’s an honor to have you in our home.”
“Thank you, Loak,” Lathan says.
Loak upends his palms and throws them out to his sides, now curious as ever. “So how can I help you fellas?”
“Well, Loak,” James says, “I do believe you are really going to enjoy this . . .”
37
“I’m going to need an unlimited supply of power, a welder, a ton of welding rods, a cutting torch, and unlimited access to the salvage yard.”
“Done,” James says. “Is there a certain place you would like to work? You can use my building’s garage if you’d like. It’s completely secure and you’ll have all the power you’ll need there.”
“All right. I’m going to need a couple of extra hands also. There’s nothing lightweight or easy about a job like this.”
“Whatever and whomever you need is yours.”
Matthew has been sitting quietly by his daddy’s side while the three men discussed the project, and now that there is a break in the conversation he tugs on his daddy’s arm, getting his attention. Matthew whispers into his ear, and his daddy responds by saying, “I think you should ask Lathan first. After all, it is his vehicle.”
The boy’s big blue eyes, the spittin’ image of his father’s, shyly captures Lathan’s. He swallows and takes a good breath, building up the courage, lets the breath out and says, “Can I help out, too?”
Lathan considers Matthew for a moment and then says. “What can a young man such as yourself bring to the table?”
As if time itself is threatened to be snatched away if he doesn’t explain quickly enough he says, “I’m a good helper. I used to help my daddy out all the time when he worked on cars and trucks. I know how to do lots of things.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Lots of things, huh?”
“Yes, sir, lots of things.”
“Well, I tell you what, if your father will cosign for you then I don’t see why not.”
A big toothy smile springs on the boy’s face.
“What’re you cheesin’ so big for?” his daddy says. “I still ain’t approved you yet.”
“Aw, come on, dad.”
Loak wraps his arm around his son’s neck, pulling him into his side, and vigorously knuckle rubs the top of his head, giving his son one hellacious noogie.
“Daaaad,” Matthew protests as he tries to ward off the vicious knuckles.
“You’re not off the hook in doing your studies, mister.” Mother Law says sharply. “I still expect you to do those as well.”
“I know, mom. I can still do my school work and help dad too.”
“Why don’t you go now with your mom and get back to your studies,” Loak says. “We start tomorrow, bright and early. Okay champ.”
“Okay daddy.”
Matthew gives his daddy a big python hug and then without hesitation runs over to Lathan and gives him a quick hug as well and says, “Thank you.”
The boy’s sudden embrace catches Lathan off guard and for a moment he isn’t sure how to respond. The weird thing is that Lathan is almost able to actually feel the emotional happiness coming from the boy and that unexpectedly stirs something inside himself, momentarily throwing him off.
Lathan pats the boy affectionately on the back and then he runs off with a giddy smile on his face, disappearing somewhere into the back of their home. Rolanda follows behind him.
38
Ever since the day the stranger mysteriously arrived at The Pinnacle he’s been watching him. Anywhere the stranger goes, he follows. It’s been a bore for the last couple of weeks, the stranger being injured from the supposedly selfless act of heroism he so miraculously displayed has kept him secluded for recovery, but now he’s come out and has accompanied James Grant to the Bosman’s home. Very curious. What could they want with the Bosman’s? So he waits, busying himself with cleaning the area, his job as a street sanitation worker, yet keeping an ever watchful eye on the Bosman’s home. Many things run through his mind as to what business they have here but none of them makes any sense. Loak Bosman is a water boy whose wife homeschools their little son, a small family who enjoys their privacy with nothing even remotely interesting about them. Maybe that’s just it, it’s too clean-cut, and something is taking place here that only a select few know anything about and now this stranger is being allowed in on it. But why not himself? Isn’t it he who has been here since the beginning, busting his ass for the Great Mr. James Grant and helping him build his precious Pinnacle? But who gets the glory and adoration? Certainly not him. He’s stewed over it for some time now, and it’s just begun to boil.
It really got to him when the stranger showed up after claiming to have saved Taya Grant, precious niece of James Grant. How convenient. He is probably now laying the pipe to her and he bets that she is only too eager to spread those legs for h
im. The bitch should be his instead. Pretty little thing that she is. She is like all the others though. He can’t stand it. It’s like acid in his brain when he thinks about it and he thinks about it often since this prick showed up.
So the stranger killed many Maddick’s. That’s something they would have done anyway. There may have been many casualties but he’s sure they would have prevailed. If only he was running things . . .
Finally the injured hero and the Great Mr. James Grant step out of the Bosman’s home and get into the jeep. He hops on his bicycle and follows them back to their building where they disappear into the underground parking garage, a place he cannot go. He doesn’t possess authorization to enter the parking area or the building itself but he plans to fix that very soon.
He peddles his way back to his own place; the basement of a small building. Ideal for him since no one seems to want to bother a man who chooses to reside in a basement rather than have a place with a decent view. But he feels safe and secure in this completely private and windowless shelter. One word comes to mind: entombed. That’s just as well, he likes it that way. It’s kept clean and free of varmints so it is far from squalid.
He carries his bike inside the building and down to his domain. He keeps the door to the basement locked; he stands his bike against the wall next to the door inside the basement and relocks the door from the inside with the same master lock. He lights all the candles situated around the room and one kerosene lamp. It’s a simple place; a bed and dresser drawers in one area, a desk surrounded by tables covered with electronics and other equipment in another area, a lone table off to the side serves as his dining area, and neatly stacked boxes full of knickknack’s he’s accumulated over time covers one wall. He’s played with the idea of opening a thrift store but decided against it, there are many of those as it is and he gets by well enough with the trades he makes anyway.
He opens a desk drawer and takes out a small cardboard box and a pleather bag. The batteries are rechargeable but he still only uses them sparingly in his flashlights and what-not’s. Both transmitters work like new. Not much use for them lately or for any of the other things he is about to use until now. He cannot stand for someone to have so much spotlight! He should be the one with it all, not him! But he is about to change all that. Oh yes, he is. First thing’s first though, he needs to find out what they are up to. There may be value in it.
39
The ground is caked with blood. Teeth can be found embedded in the dirt like the one just spat out with a mouthful of blood and saliva. One eye is closed up, the lid so taut and swollen that it appears close to bursting, the skin of his cheekbone is cut, and the fresh punch to the mouth split his bottom lip wide open. The other man is just as thrashed with a busted cauliflower ear, broke nose, and busted mouth. The fight will last until one of them taps out, is knocked out, or is killed. Fights are set up nearly every day and this is the fifth fight today. It has proven to be the best form of entertainment. The crowd cheers, yells, screams, curses, some close to losing their minds with excitement. Violence, the ultimate stimuli, and the place is constantly fueled by it, never seeming to run short of it.
Mongoose comes to the fights often. For the learning experience if anything. He pays close attention to each fighter’s flaws – open areas of missed opportunities, clumsy footwork, checks and balances – just as much as he pays attention to their able fighting abilities. Most of these men only know how to street fight with no real technique. Occasionally someone will show up with experience in boxing or has some type of martial art skill but unless they are exceptionally good their knowledge and know-how still doesn’t amount to much. It all comes down to who has the most will and heart to defeat their opponent. And then again sometimes it depends on just how crazy they are.
“Aha!” yells the dusty old man standing next to Mongoose after the fighter with the broken nose falls on his ass from another punch to the nose. “I told ya he was going down! Didn’t I tell ya that in the beginning? He’s going down!”
Mongoose grins to himself. He and the old man bet a cup of bootleg on who will win, something the two have been doing ever since they met at a fight almost two weeks ago. So far Mongoose has won nearly every bet, but even so, he still buys the old man a cup afterwards.
The fighter is bleeding profusely from the nose; his whole face is a mask of gore. The other fighter faces the crowd, arms held high, growling and parading around, prematurely celebrating victory. The one on the ground touches the mangled mush that is his nose, understands the damage done, and then lumbers to his feet by the force of sheer madness. He charges and tackles the other man to the ground and follows through with a rapid succession of punches to the face. First the nose breaks. Next, the swollen eye busts open. After that he is too overwhelmed to even try to fight back so he does his best to ward off and block the punches the best he can. Soon he is knocked out but the winner isn’t finished. He drags the fallen fighter to the center of the ring, takes one of his arms, and snaps it with a fall. The crowd goes wild. He does the same to the other arm and then throws his own arms up into the air and the crowd roars with excitement.
“Bah!” the old man grumbles, waving the back of his hand toward the ring. “I tell ya, back in my day I would’ve –”
“Torn both of them apart, limb by limb,” Mongoose says, being quicker on the uptake. He’s heard it several times already.
The old man casts a leer at the kid that says, Okay, smartass.
Mongoose snickers, taking the old man by the shoulder, and says, “Come on, Tank, let’s go have that drink.”
Max follows as they weave themselves through the crowd. Being in large groups is something new to Max and at first he was timid but is now getting used to it.
There are a few outside bars to choose from but the one they frequent most is run by a big black Jamaican who is so black that he makes most black folks look light-skinned. His bar tends to have the best bootleg, which still isn’t saying much.
They seat themselves at the bar and Tank hollers, “Yo, Gorilla Black! I need two!”
The barkeep cuts his conversation off short and goes over to Tank and Mongoose, placing two cups on the bar. He brings up a large jug from under the bar and pours each a cup of brown liquid.
“Mmm,” Mongoose says, “what’s it made out of today?”
“You don’t want to know, mon.” Gorilla Black’s Jamaican accent is thick.
“And I don’t care, so long as it gets me to where I want to be,” Tank replies, taking up his cup and making half of it disappear in a single gulp.
“I take it you be payin’ again, uh, Mongoose?” Gorilla Black says jocularly.
“Don’t I always?”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Tank says, indignance written all over his deeply lined face as he stares at one and then the other. “You don’t think I can pay? Or you don’t think I can call a winning fight?”
Gorilla Black hunches his massive shoulders and says, “Both.”
Mongoose laughs and Gorilla Black follows suit.
“To hell with the both of you.” Tank kills his cup, slaps it down on the bar, and says, “Now pour me another, damn Puerto Rican.”
“Jamaican,” Gorilla Black corrects.
“Whatever the hell you are, pour me another.”
Tank is poured another and this time he takes a smaller gulp, wanting this one to last since it may be the last cup he gets today. Well, and possibly the one the kid is sipping on, he hardly ever finishes his, not much of a drinker, bless his heart, he just enjoys the scene.
Gorilla Black shoots the bull with the two for a few minutes then leaves to another customer. He gives everyone a bit of his time, it keeps him well informed on the town’s gossip.
Once alone, Tank says, “So have you figured out what you’re going to do?”
“I already told you.”
“No, you told Vincent what he wanted to hear, which is completely different than what you’re going t
o do. Just like what you’re going to do may be completely different than what you really want to do or even should do. And wants and shoulds can be two completely different things as well.”
“I know what I should do.”
“Okay. And while you are undoubtedly considering what you should do as being beneficial for yourself, are you also considering it being beneficial for the greater good of others?”
Mongoose stares unseeingly into his drink, displaying no emotion.
“You know, Mongoose, it’s a known fact that I hate that son of a bitch, Vincent, and the things he does. There’s nothing but a bunch of haters here hating on the next man for what he is or for what little he’s got and Vincent is the worst hater there is. And this place may be screwed up to all hell because of him but for most of us it’s all we’ve got. There’s nowhere else for us to go. The Pinnacle sure as hell ain’t going to welcome us with open arms. They’ve allowed all they’re going to allow, with a few exceptions, but other than that they’ve closed their gates on the rest of the world. Can you blame them? Hell, look what’s out here. Sheesh.”
“So what are you saying exactly?”
“Look, all I’m saying is keep everybody in mind. The people here, plus those at The Pinnacle, because there’s plenty good people in both places. Just like I’m sure there’s still some bad folks at The Pinnacle. They’re obviously a lot more inhibited than those here but they’re there. The main thing is to watch your back. Don’t think for a minute that just because you’re under Vincent’s protection you won’t be stabbed in the back because Vincent is just the one who’ll do it.” Tank takes another gulp of his drink. He sighs with quenched satisfaction, then says, “Hell, I don’t know. Maybe we’ll all just end up killing each other. Who knows?”
