Black Queen, Dark Knight

by Amarie Avant

  Though I left my .357 at home, I take my cell phone, turn it off, and place it into the glove compartment before I grab the bag of Koeksisters, a traditional African donut made with honey. It’s the favorite of Senior Traditional Leader, Zane Solarin. The security at the main entrance is easily persuaded, and after that, I bump into an official with a Bluetooth in his ear, and he’s not watching where he’s going.

  “Excuse you,” he says.

  I growl.

  He offers a stiff smile before continuing on his conversation, and I slide his badge beneath the sleeve of my suit jacket, while passing by a desk of secretaries, and head straight to the elevator. We get on at the same time, and the man stutters into his phone, inching to the further side of the small space. Luckily, I get off first, since he’ll soon find out that he is unable to get into his office.

  On the floor where Solarin works, each office is closed. There’s just the faint sound of typing in the background. I open the door to his office and allow myself to enter.

  Zane is in a navy-blue suit and tie, with dark skin. His head is down, he has a short Afro, arguing into the phone in his native language about disagreeing to the latest proposal.

  “Minda, I do not need anything right now, I’m busy!” he glances up at me. His lips tense. Into the phone he says, “Um, I will call you back. Resubmit the proposal once it outlines every single issue that was outlined in the memo. Thank you.”

  For a moment, Zane is silent as he stares at me. “What are you trying to prove, Mr. Johansson, how long it takes my security team to remove you from my office and toss you on your ass?”

  “I’m giving Blue Cove Resorts air rights to their location and I have breakfast.”

  My statement about giving into the request the resort has made a thousand times goes over his head. Air rights will allow the resort to continue building upward and make themselves richer. Unfortunately for them, I’ve stopped them from expanding. “What do you have for breakfast?’

  “Koeksisters.”

  “Not just any koeksisters, eh?” He sits forward in interest. “Are they from that little shanty almost an hour in the opposite direction of your home?”

  I nod.

  “And they're not laced with rat poison?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Toss the bag over.”

  I do as he requests and place my hands into my pocket while waiting for Zane to ruminate over my words. He opens the bag, and grins brightly. “It’s still hot. If I die, there’s security footage of you sneaking in here, you know.”

  “If I wanted to kill you, this wouldn’t be my means to do so.”

  His cheeks are puffed up as he continues to eat, tossing one back before he’s fully swallowed what’s already in his mouth. Then Zane places a hand over his mouth. “My apologies. I got fat off these things,” he pats his belly. “When they closed down the shop a few miles away, I lost fifty pounds if you haven’t noticed. Now, what’s this craziness you’re mentioning?”

  “I’ll sign over the air rights to Blue Cove Resort, Solarin, I can’t fucking say it any other way.” I breath freely. Shit, I expected to blow a blood vessel, based on how long I’ve hated the company that my grandfather sold his land to for pennies. They practically stole the damn resort and surrounding land from him. Fucking robbery, if you ask me, but the moment I took Mikayla’s hand, I determined that I don’t care about tossing my middle finger at the owners any more.

  He gestures with his hands, slowly, “Why?”

  “I need your help.”

  “The stubborn Jagger Johansson that’s pissed, literally fucking pissed on the offers that Blue Cove Resort has provided in the past, is willing to give them what they want, and I can help? They’re the ones with money, Mr. Johansson, I’m afraid you’re in the wrong office. If anything, you could’ve saved yourself a trip and the money to purchase my breakfast with a phone call. I know our officers hound you every once in a while. It’s not right, but hey, you don’t follow the rules around here.”

  “Those fucks could never offer me enough money for me to spit on the land if a fire broke out, let alone for the air rights. What I want you to do is provide me with the investigation files that were conducted on Qaaim Mthembu after his sister, Queen Makuachukwa and King Bannan died.”

  He rubs his fingers on a napkin then waves away my request. “Pft, they were murdered by none other than him, you don’t need paper to tell you that. We hate Qaaim Mthembu here, he is the least respected of the National House of Traditional Leaders,” Zane mentions what I already am aware of. “Her Royal Highness, was pure, beautiful and pure. Jagger. Off the record,” he leans closer to me, “just look up the point of sale for the lands that parallel the southwest and southeast border. Oh, and, the southernmost portion of what was once Nivean, and you’ll see that each piece of land was sold beginning after the queen’s assassination.”

  Through gritted teeth, I reply, “I’m aware, Solarin.”

  “Then again, I ask why? I would be most obliged to help, yet those are highly confidential documents regarding the deaths, I cannot share such information. Although, I could care less about you wanting to offer airways to Triumph, if my job weren’t on the line I’d simply hand over every document tied to the investigation and give you my wishes to do what should’ve been done to that man years ago.”

  I rub the back of my neck and sit back in chair. Can I trust Zane Solarin? I don’t want to mention Mikayla, yet he seems to hate Qaaim. “I’m asking for his niece, Princess Mikayla. She’s been traumatized by what has happened, Solarin, she … actually doesn’t recall what happened. There’s newspaper clippings in Los Angeles Times that indicate she knew of her mother’s death. But somehow, she doesn’t seem to recall anything. I need to jog her memory.”

  He sits back, head cocked. “You know Princess Mikayla?”

  I glare Solarin in the eye. If he’s sworn allegiance to Qaaim, he’s dead. “Yes, sir.”

  His eyes widen. “I have heard just recently that the young woman resurfaced. Let me say, she was supposed to be in the care of Thulz Okeke and his wife as a child; that entire family is born and breed to keep the royals safe for over a century.” He scratches his thick hair in thought, “At least a century, the late King Mthembu had a great ceremony to bless the entire family. Now, Thulz was sent with Qaaim to take Mikayla into hiding. She should’ve taken refuge at St. Helena, which was the same thing King Goodwill of the Zulu nation did when he was a child. She never made it. Qaaim returned. Said he was confused about what happened, mentioning an ambush and that Thulz and Mikayla were taken… most likely murdered–how poetic.”

  I start to tie up the story in my mind, albeit there are a few missing puzzle pieces. “But why would he allow the girl to live, and where is Thulz?”

  “Thulz Okeke and his wife were found dead a few miles away from the international airport in Ethiopia, nowhere near St. Helena. Now, I have heard that Abayomi is dead, and the entire Okeke family is shifted their alliance. Prior to his death, Abayomi received letters from Mikayla. She’d say that she was safe and he could come for her soon.”

  I’m floored by this. Mikayla didn’t appear to know anything about him. “What do you mean?”

  Zane shifts in his seat, apprehensively. So far he’s already crossed the line with regard to what he is able to say. “Qaaim would mention the letters on occasion, Abayomi, too. They thought whoever took care of her had moved her to a monastery, it was some talk that MamLalumi is also against Qaaim. Nobody likes Qaaim, but Abayomi always respected him as King Regent as that was the wishes from the Nivieans elders. But, MamLalumi was Mikayla’s babysitter prior to becoming lead healer. She never trusted Qaaim. She has said the letters were rubbish, that she has a connection to Mikayla and that she can feel her.” He shrugs. “MamLalumi also says that her connection is dwindling recently, that Mikayla has made her tired in her years, you know, I am Christian, I do not believe what she says, but prior to her blessing, she was just Lalumi to me, and a go
od friend of mine. However, it is my job to know these things.”

  “So Qaaim faked letters to Abayomi, and then he prepared for Mikayla to return,” I decipher, figuring that although his reasoning is beyond me, it correlates with the X Member request for her to be married to Prince Fari of the Zihula nation. Qaaim just needed our services to find Mikayla. The Navieans are poor, yet it appears he has a considerable amount of wealth which aligns with the Zihula request.

  “If you ask my opinion, Jagger,” he says, rubbing the wool like stubble along his chin. “Qaaim chose not to murder Mikayla when she was young as she, her father, and mother were the staple of the entire nation. The people were already in an uproar. They begged us, the government,” he gestured, seriously, “to intervene. They don’t want any intervention. It took less than a week to determine Qaaim had something to do with this. By then, Mikayla was gone.”

  "Why didn’t the government take down Qaaim then? Find Mikayla and keep her safe.”

  “I have the perfect response to that. The Navieans begged us to find out the truth about what happened to their royals, but the truth of the matter is, they wanted us to play polite to the new king regent, too. Read Deuteronomy or check out the book of Samuel. In many instances the Israelites asked for a King, albeit they had God–the one, true King. We have a slave mentality.” Solarin rubs his jaw.

  “In order to keep rule over the country, the government allowed Qaaim to patiently wait years…”

  “Not too patiently, don’t forget the millions he has pocketed. He has blamed it on us, you know. The sales of their land, he has blamed it on us. Just as he has blamed the lack of justice for his sister. But with Mikayla back–we assumed she’d take the throne, and then we could get rid of Qaaim, without scaring people or talk of conspiracy.”

  “Fuck,” I flex my hands, wanting to kill the motherfucker myself. Qaaim tricked Mikayla into forfeiting her right to the throne.

  ***

  An hour later, I haven’t given air rights to Blue Cove Resort. They’ll bemoan, bitch and beg for centuries to come in wishes to expand upward, and build more levels of the resort. I will not allow it. Not because I’m angry any longer, but because it’s the principle.

  Well, I am angry, but it has nothing to do with my grandfather. I’m fucking livid as I get into my vehicle with the manila envelope in the passenger seat.

  Zane Solarin provided me with pictures of the crime scene, the examination of the bodies that proves Queen Makuachukwa was stabbed repeatedly before a branch punctures her already posthumous lungs during the car accident. King Bannan also had inflicted wounds, unrelated to the car crash death.

  I reach into the glove compartment and grab my mobile, ready to call Mikayla and see how she’s done today without me. I lean back against the headrest for a moment and take a deep breath of air. I’m going to break her heart today with the files, but she has to remember everything. Even though this is enough proof to show her people, I need Mikayla stronger and ready to pull the trigger without hesitation.

  My phone vibrates in my hand. I open my eyes and notice a slew of missed calls from Trick. Before I can click on a voicemail he’s calling me again.

  “Juggernaut, mate, I have repeatedly called you,” his voice is contrite. “Ava is not in Sri Lanka, she was last seen traveling through Durban Airport. Tell me that Gorgeous is within arm’s reach!”

  “What?” I growl, sticking the shift into reverse.

  “She had to have known that we’re watching her, Jag–”

  Mikayla

  I woke up this morning alone like I’ve done a million times before. Yet today, my heart raced and I feel as if there’s something important that I need to remember.

  After forcing myself through a few bites of grain cereal and half a glass of orange juice, I did just as Jagger ordered.

  I’m on the second floor of his home, in the shooting gallery. The ceiling is pulled back and birds chirp around me as I shoot at the target about forty yards out. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and listen to the sound of a Song Thrush, a beautiful bird of various shades of brown as it sings while perched in the tree beside me. Jagger can be so gentle when he wants to. I imagine his hard body right behind me, his callused fingers stroking the back of my hand and along my trigger finger as he tells me to breath, to focus on the bird. And when I breathe, I’m more relaxed than I have been since he last held me in his arms. I grip my .38 special and begin my practice.

  ***

  An hour later, I roll up the target paper, with a cocky smile on my face I saunter down the steps. It’s a quarter to twelve, and I head for the kitchen. Since Jagger will be home soon, I’ll start cooking lunch. There’s a heavy drilling sound near the front door. Caught off guard, I almost step into the tiny stream at the end of the landing.

  Confused about what’s going on, I start down the foyer to the front door. I’m ten yards away, when I’m knocked back onto my bottom. Bits of glass and wood cut my cheek, arms, and shoulders. And I’m sitting in a puddle of water!

  I glance down, scurrying to my knees just as the poisonous fish swish around. They attack the paper target. A figure masks the bright sunlight from where the front door just was.

  “Mikayla Bryant, I’ve been waiting to get you alone,” a cold-hearted voice reaches out to me. My hand shields my face, retinas adjusting to the bright day.

  A woman with white-blond hair that’s tied into a severe bun at the top of her head, steps inside. She’s wearing a white pant suit that is perfectly defined against her thin frame and has a plummeting neckline where her tiny tits are hiding. She points a hand at me, her fingers are covered in silver and diamond claws that make me gulp.

  “You’re Ava Sinclair…” I mumble in horror. The only thought in my head is that this woman has murdered hundreds of people, with knives! All the confidence Jagger instilled in me while we practiced is dashed.

  “That’s right, sweetheart.” She pulls two silver sticks from her hair. I hardly have time to blink before one is spearing me in the shoulder.

  “Oh, shit!” I gasp. The damn thing is sticking out of my trapezius.

  “Next one goes into the heart, or do you still wanna make this easy on me, doll? I’d rather you try out the few self-defense techniques Jagger has taught you these past few days, because really, I don’t want to just stab you in the fucking heart, I want to fight and then cut you up into tiny little pieces.”

  I snatch the stick from my shoulder, with a harsh gulp. Adrenaline masked as anger rising by the second. “How dare you? Lady, I’ve never done a thing to you!” I want to kill her. Instantly I’m thinking defense mode. But she’s not stepping toward me, and clearly she doesn’t need to come close to kill me!

  “Oh, on the contrary, Mikayla, you were the toy that Jagger just had to have.”

  My hands are into fists at my side. And yet, I need a logical explanation to her malfunction. “Okay, so then I’m not your enemy! If Jagger made promises to love and adore you, then you need to fight him. I cannot stand a woman who wants to fight the other woman. Unless that woman so happens to be a willing and aware home wrecker, then women like you need to address your man and yourselves for accepting a man who would cheat on you in the first place!”

  “Are you done?” She positions the next hair sticker in her hand. I don’t even flinch as I say, “Hell, no. I’m not done! You tell me what kinda fucking games you’re playing, and then I’m going to beat your ass the good old fashion way. None of this upscale crazy shit, okay?”

  Ava bites her bottom lip and bobbles her head in thought for a moment. “Alright, I have wanted to test Jagger’s faithfulness for a while now. I reviewed X Member requests and most of the female ones were for old ladies, or ugly women, then I found a request indicating that the Zihula nation wanted you brought to them. But after a little digging, I found one that was put in by your Uncle Qaaim. Took a little convincing but he told me about letters that you wrote to–”

  “Letters?” My balled fist unti
ghten for a moment.

  “I’m being sarcastic, Mikayla. I can hear your heartbeat all the way from here. Are you sure you won’t have a heart attack and be unable to make good on your threat to try and beat me to death?”

  “No, tell me.” I growl through gritted teeth.

  “Qaaim was writing letters. He had Abayomi, an easily manipulated, broken hearted man, believe those letters were from you, his best friend, who disappeared years ago. Abayomi was no great fighter like the remainder of his family. After some talking, we both determined that making the Okeke’s further their alliance with him would be best by orchestrating Abayomi’s death. And who would be easier to kill him then Jagger.”

  “You’re despicable.”

  She bows. “Thank you. So, Jagger offed Abayomi, brought you home, and you, with your American ways, weren’t the same person who left as a child. Look this sounds like a movie, and I’m not much for fiction. Can we continue with me killing you now?”

  I charge…

  … It seems to take forever for me to get to Ava, who is standing, less than twenty feet away now, but in my defense, anger got the best of me, despite Jagger’s attempt to make me comfortable when practicing. He’d said no emotion was best. She slashes across my cheek, but I drop just as her silver nail sinks into my skin. And I can just bet that’ll need stitches. Lucky me.

  In a squatted position, I kick out my leg, toppling Ava over. Thank the Lord that my mama owns a Southern Comfort restaurant, because I straddle Ava Sinclair and jab her square in the mouth before she finally begins to block.

  Neither of us were expecting me to have such skills.

  “Shit,” I pant as Ava punches my ribs. I toss my elbow into the side of her jaw, feeling momentary triumph at the sound of her jaw clicking.

  Then Ava clasps my chin with her diamond studded nails and I freeze.

  “I could slit your throat, Mikayla, right now, and then drink that sweet blood of yours.” Her fingers clamp into my cheeks, the steel of her nails biting into me harshly. “You took Jagger from me. This death of yours is inevitable. So would you like to keep fighting? I’ll forgo slicing your neck, and we can fight until I’ve beaten you into a tenderized mess, and then… of course, I’ll slit your fucking throat! So what do you say, give up and die pretty, or …”