by Tiana Laveen
“That’s what they say, baby.” She smiled at him through her own tears, her eyes now glossy and red, breaking his heart. “But I’m going to keep hope alive.” She smiled wide as she kissed his forehead and brushed some wayward strands of his hair back into place. “I don’t see those blessings as lightning, gray clouds and rain, Saint. I’ve convinced myself that you are the storm…”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The following day…
“Mama, you did a good job on my hair.” Xenia sat at the bedroom vanity, checking herself out.
“It looks nice, don’t it? I can’t remember the last time you had a sew in.” Mama smiled as she sat in a chair in front of the television, watching one of those Housewives’ reality shows.
“I just wanted to give my own hair a break for a minute, try something else. I’ve been experimenting with color too but the bit of blond was a temporary rinse out as you know. It’s fun. Thanks for rescheduling with me at the last minute. I know you were supposed to do it last night after your date, but you got in so late that—”
“I got in so late?” Mama’s eyebrow rose. “Don’t try to blame this on me and Gaspar. I walked in the house with a new needle and thread, ready to go to work on you, but all I heard was you ’nd Saint down there in that basement, wailin’ like cats in heat!”
“Oh, Mama! No, see, that was the television and—”
“It wasn’t no damn television. You was callin’ his name and cussin’ and carryin’ on at the top of your lungs so unless you were watchin’ National Geographic matin’ lions, I think I know what the hell I heard. I just went on to my room and closed the door. I’m surprised you didn’t wake the babies.” Mama grinned and shook her head. “All of Manhattan heard you, too!”
Xenia felt an instant flush in her cheeks. That’s right! The basement isn’t soundproof! Damn it!
All she could do was offer a sheepish smile and turn back towards the mirror, admiring her mother’s handiwork once more. Her mother suddenly burst out laughing, the matter dropped as she fell back into her television program. Saint was working late in the office that night, and Osaze and Kyung Mi, her in-laws, had stopped by while he was away. She’d offered to make them dinner and they’d all sat down to a spaghetti and garlic bread meal. They’d had a really good time. She never got tired of hearing stories about Saint as a child. Osaze had horsed around with his grandchildren while she and Kyung Mi caught up. She hadn’t seen Osaze in over a month. He seemed so happy, just as Mama was now.
Xenia grabbed her bottle of clear nail polish and began to place a fresh topcoat over her French manicure. The room smelled of buttery popcorn, chocolate covered strawberries, and wine.
“Mama…” She regarded the woman through her vanity.
“What, baby?”
“When you think back on the time you were active with the Bloods, who are some of the people you think about still? You know, some of the ones that have passed on?”
Xenia reached for her cellphone and clicked on her recording app.
“What made you ask me that all out the blue?” Mama chuckled.
“All out the red?” Xenia joked, causing her mother to giggle from her tipsy state. “I was just thinking about old times is all. I was telling Saint how I remember when I was a little girl, you and Daddy would have parties. Dominoes games, the music, the food … the weed.” She chuckled. Mama nodded and smiled.
“Yeah … I remember that, too. Those were the good times, you know? People just relaxin’. Nobody was hurtin’ nobody. We would just come together and have some laughs. Your father and uncle would barbecue; his brother Richie made some of the best ribs, girl! I miss Richie. You probably barely remember him ’cause he died when you and Porsche were so young.”
“He was shot, right?”
“Yeah, by his girlfriend’s brother. They’d gotten into it.”
“Who else do you think about, Mama?”
“I think about so many of them, Xenia … all the time, actually. My friends, Gloria and Helen. They were like me, had boyfriends and family in the gang. Gloria’s nickname was Gi-Gi, and Helen was, ‘Too High’, because she was always blazed and she was tall for a woman.”
“Wow, I bet you know over a hundred homies who died in the streets, Mama. That’s so sad. It’s gotta be hard on you sometimes.” Xenia put the brush back in the polish bottle and capped it, then swiveled in her chair. She looked at her mother sitting there now with her arms crossed, the glare of the television reflecting on her wide, yet pretty, face. Mama kept her eye on that screen, the volume turned low, and a strange look came over her…
“It is sometimes, baby… I guess I try not to focus on the sad parts though, and to remember their smile, or something they said that I still carry with me instead. My friends… my family… Back then, they were more like family than my real family. I guess that’s why, to me at the time, it made perfect sense. Me and Dusty would hang sometimes, too. Dusty was a cool guy, could fix anything. Paul the preacher was the religious one… He’d smoke somebody then pray over ’em!” Pam chuckled.
Reminds me of the stories Saint tells me about Lawrence…
“It’s interesting how everyone has their own moral code, huh?”
“Pretty much. It’s survival, Xenia. I remember one day, like maybe ten or fifteen years ago, I wrote all their names down on a piece of paper. Everyone who’d left me… people I loved that were killed or somehow lost their lives due to bein’ in the gang. I had to take out another paper, and another one after that. I don’t remember how many names it came up to. But it’s funny you’d ask me this ’cause I at the time wanted to see their names. I wanted to remember them and let them know, ‘Pam remembers you, baby. You were here.’”
“I don’t know, I think for some reason I’d like to see that paper.”
“It’s back home somewhere, Xenia. It’s not the kind of the thing you’d carry around.” She chuckled sadly.
“Yeah, I know. I was reading in a book about grief a few months ago, and it was saying how, sometimes, calling out the names of people we loved is therapeutic. You know, like just saying it and then movin’ on. I feel like with you telling Gaspar about your past, it was liberating to you. I could tell when you told me what happened that you were upset, but relieved at the same time. I’m glad you told me about what Daddy had done, too. He wasn’t shit, just like you tried to warn me about.” Xenia grimaced and shook her head. “So, I can’t say that it surprised me. Anyway, back to what I was saying. It’s like you are paying respect to them is all, letting them know that they still have a place in your heart.”
Mama suddenly got to her feet, her poor knees creaking as she did. She grabbed the remote, and put the television on mute. Clasping her hands together, she closed her eyes, then bowed her head as if about to go into prayer. “If I think about that list in my mind, ain’t no way I can recall them all … but I’ll say the ones that come to mind. I think I’d like to try this.”
“All right, Mama. I’m listening.”
“Penny, always down for the cause! Rita, the half Mexican, half Black one of our group. She was tiny and quiet but deadly. Armando, the pretty playboy; he had skin the color of midnight, teeth straighter than a razor and white as pure cocaine … so damn handsome…” And so, Mama continued. Xenia didn’t fail to notice the tears falling down the woman’s cheeks, the big smile on her face, and the commanding, yet loving, tone of her voice.
That’s right, Mama. Call out their names … like I called Saint’s. Not just because of how good he was making me feel, but because I was missing him already, and he wasn’t even gone…
“It’s time.” Saint breathed heavily into the phone. Every hair on his arm stood on end. He could feel the energy crawling inside him like tiny snakes digging their fangs into his peace of mind. Lawrence went quiet on the other end, for a spell.
“I know. Cruz, Jagger, and I will meet at the airport tonight.” And then he hung up. Saint sat in his study, his jaws tight to the point of pa
in. He checked the time on his computer: 3:33 a.m. Yeah, time seemed to mock him. On a deep sigh, he dialed Bomb.
“You better be half dead to call me this late at night, mothafucka.” The older man laughed in a raspy voice.
“I’m sorry to wake you, Bomb. You know I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important.”
“I could have been over here gettin’ some booty.”
“But you’re not.” Saint chuckled.
“Yeah, but you ain’t know that! Wait, shit … maybe you did. Psychic Mr. Cleo lookin’ ass… Anyway, what do you want?”
“Bomb, what I am about to tell you is going to sound completely insane, but please hear me out.”
“Hold on, I can see I’m going to have to brace myself for this shit. What have you done now, Saint?” His big brother huffed.
“Nothing, this time.”
He heard the man move, then the sound of a lamp string being pulled.
“All right. What is it then?”
“There is something going on that is difficult to explain. Just imagine my fight with Koki, times one hundred.”
“Demon Children? Lots of them?”
“I wish… It’s them and actual real-life demons. For quite a while now, most of the Angel Children in the city have been dealing with some really messed up shit. Well, it’s coming to a head.”
“Shit…” Bomb could be heard lighting a cigarette. “Now.” He exhaled loudly. “How do I help with this shit? I don’t know anything about this sort of thing, Saint.”
“I know that. We are going to try to do something that is a bit unusual to combat this situation. I want you to make a list of all your deceased Savage Skull friends, Bomb. And I want you to record yourself calling those names out loud. Can you handle that?”
“That’s all you need? How will that help with some damn demons?”
“Too complicated to get into right now. Just go and have something like a private memorial for them, say their names, and tape it.”
“All right, uh, I can do that.”
“I’m heading out of town to L.A. tonight. When I get back, which should be in less than twenty-four hours, have it ready for me. It’s important or I wouldn’t care about the time frame.”
“You don’t have to explain. I trust you, Little Pharoah. Look, you be safe, okay? I ain’t no psychic, but I don’t like how I’m feelin’ right now. I feel mighty protective over you again, like something could happen … just like I used to back in the day. Don’t make me have to fuck somebody up.”
Saint laughed sadly and his eyes glossed over. “I love you, man. I’ll talk to you as soon as I get back home, all right?”
“Okie doke. I’ll check on you later, little brother.”
Saint disconnected the call and gripped the phone so hard, he feared he might break it. After a few minutes, he tidied up his office and made his way up to his bedroom, hoping to not awaken his sleeping bride as he packed for his flight…
His name was Hakim Atkins…
He resided in Los Angeles, and he was the wrong son of a bitch to piss off…
He stood approximately six feet tall, with skin as black as a Halloween cat’s fur. He was clean shaven, with the exception of a thin, salt and pepper billy goat beard, and, his body has blood made of melted barbed wire, bones built from wrapped metal, a heart fashioned from brick, and a soul created from steel. On his head sat a soft, dark fabric hat, a kofi of sorts. He also wore a scowl, or perhaps that was just his natural appearance.
Yeah, Hakim Atkins was his name, the King Angel Child of California, and he was unforgettable. The man bobbed his head to the blaring music and sucked his teeth like he had gristle in between them. His eyes went from bright 24k gold to blood-dripping red. Dark blue swirls of smoke eddied from his nostrils, ears, and the left side of his mouth. Saint sat before the man and regarded his tattoos. The man had been a former
Crip gangbanger and dope pusher, and seemed to laugh in the face of death. Leaning back in the large black chair with silver studs, he crossed his ringed hands and he burst out laughing, showing all of his teeth.
“Saint Aknaten … our first-time meeting, and you come with your hand out.” “Supercrip” by Snoop Dog played on repeat, like some sort of omen. The shit had a catchy beat and witty lyrics, so Saint couldn’t knock it. “I’m glad you came alone so you wouldn’t have to be embarrassed in front of your little entourage,” he stated smugly. “Tellin’ them to stay at the hotel for this meeting was good advice, because I’d hate to have to cut your fuckin’ head off and shove my foot down the bloody stomp in front of your homeboys.”
“You know, Hakim, the picture people painted of you doesn’t match what I’m hearing. They said you were intelligent.” Saint gripped his cigar tighter and glanced at his Rolex. Time was wasting…
“I am intelligent, and who are you to question my mental aptitude? You ambiguous-race-check-the-‘other’-box-lookin’ mothafucka.”
“No.” Saint placed the cigar in the ashtray and crossed his arms over his chest. “You couldn’t be all that bright, because then you’d know whether I’m solo or have the whole damn state of New York standing behind me I will still wreck shop with you sittin’ smack dab in the middle of it. And I want you to make note of something.” Saint pointed at the man, eyes narrowed. “I don’t take threats lightly, especially this late in the game, you arrogant fuck. Do you think I want to be here? I don’t. This was the respectful thing to do. I could’ve just swooped in, did what the fuck I wanted to do, and left, but that’s not how I operate. It’s not how grown ass men are supposed to handle their business.”
“I’m glad you didn’t do something so damn stupid. This is my territory.”
“This is your territory, while back in mine,” he said, pointing behind him in the rough direction of New York, “I’ve almost drowned fighting these mothafuckas! I accidentally infected my whole crew after that fun little swim lesson! I was practically suffocated by a big, burly beast known as Lust. The bastard was literally sucking the life out of me. And then, I had to shove my fist through one of the most repugnant, nauseous demons I’d ever seen and if I showed even one ounce of fear, I would have been dead on contact! This demon pimpin’ ain’t for free!
“So, if you think me sitting here before you, of all people, means that you are capable of somehow invoking fear in me … well, then,” Saint threw up his hands, “you’re shit out of luck. I ain’t strokin’ no egos today, sir. I fear no man, you hear me?” His brow rose as his temper grew muscles and hulked up. “Go find you a flunky, ’cause I’m not it.”
Hakim grinned wide at him, then raised his hands and applauded.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Saint. You’re very good at speaking, aren’t you? That was well done. You almost had me interested in what the fuck you were rambling about. If I were an ordinary mothafucka, you would have nearly made me blink. I can see why some cower at your feet, though. See, pretty boys like you usually don’t elicit that kind of reverence, but you’ve got something special, right? And you use it to your advantage. You’re highly respected, but I don’t give respect freely. It has to be earned.”
Saint had already known where this was going before it began. “Hakim, listen. I have a full schedule ahead of me and I’m short on time. We’re in the middle of a world war and you wanna sit there and argue with me. I just need an answer. So, do we have a deal? Yay or Nay? I don’t have time for the bullshit.”
“You better make time, Mr. Wax On, Wax Off, ‘Karate Kid’ meets ‘The Last Dragon’ son of a bitch. This ain’t Hong Kong Phooey! You have a lot of fuckin’ nerve coming to me for this spur-of-the-moment meeting, stating you need my help for some half-baked scheme you and some blond-haired devil boy from Hell’s Kitchen have cooked up! And then, come to find out, you’re here to take an army of my enemies to New York with you so you can work a different angle with these sons of bitches we are dealin’ with right now—some shit I’ve never heard of that sounds ridiculous as hell. For the sake
of optimism, let’s say it does take flight.” The man tapped his fingertips together. “Why would I want them to have that? I want those Bloods to stay dead in the ground where we put ’em!” His voice echoed throughout the large living room of his estate as he pounded his fist onto the table. “I’m the head mothafucka in charge, Cuzz, and don’t you forget it! Nobody can wipe their ass up in here without me knowing about it!”
“I lived here and was running business in L.A. before you were kinged, before you were even thought of in any way.” Saint met eyes with the man, and they stared into each other’s soul. “But this wasn’t my domain, so I took my family and left once I got that call to my spirit. I don’t think it’s too much to ask for me to—”
“I don’t care if you were born and bred here, mothafucka. It’s a no-go, all right? There’s your answer.” The man tossed himself back in his seat and crossed his arms.
Mutual fury heated the room like a sauna.
“I can’t take ‘no’ for an answer. I suggest you rethink it.” Just then, several Angel Children, just as brawny as Hakim, surrounded him and cast death glares in Saint’s direction. He glared back, eyes hooded, unmoved. After a couple of seconds, the man threw up his hand, a silent gesture for them to stand back. They faded back into the shadows, yet he could see their glowing ice blue eyes upon him.
“Look, bitch ass nigga, this ain’t no vineyard where you can bring your refined ass down here and pick my grapes for free. I’ve heard all about you, man. I know how you roll.”
“Do you, now? You see me rollin’… ya hatin’… tryna catch me ridin’ dirrrrtay!” Saint snickered, but the man was far from amused. “I don’t need an entire football team behind me.” He pointed to the big men standing behind Hakim, mean mugging him like he gave a damn.
