by Tiana Laveen
“Lone wolves end up dead.”
“No, actually lone wolves end up gettin’ more head.” He cackled. “Anyway, I believe in quality over quantity. Jesus had too many mothafuckas around him, and look what happened? I’m not interested in a Judas nor someone hangin’ on my nuts for prosperity. I trust only a few, and when I need more in my camp, I get them, but it’s never written in blood. The men I keep close to me are my brothers. Entourages are for those with low self-esteem.”
“Low self-esteem? I think you can’t handle being around others too long, especially other men who can go toe to toe with you because then you might not be the center of attention. Yeah, I know all about you.” He sneered. “You’re from the ass of the South Bronx—got shit out and dropped like a turd into the world. You survived one of the worst places in America to live at that time. I give you props for that—means you ain’t have no silver spoon, can’t be easily rolled over. But, you are talkin’ to a Long Beach soldier, Dr. Aknaten, so all that East Coast shit you’ve brought with you, you can send it right back.”
“Who are we, man? Tupac and Biggie?!” Saint threw up his hands. “Who gives a fuck about all of that? I’m not here to figure out which one of us has the biggest nuts! There are people dying and that number will quadruple unless I take steps to prevent it!”
“Don’t try to act like an innocent good Samaritan, now. You come in here lookin’ like you just left a Player’s Ball, and then expect me to just bow down. You took all that time to look like this, didn’t you? All that wavy, perfect black hair brushed just so into place…” The man cast an evil smile his way as he patted the sides of his head, pretending to comb it just right. “You give me an expensive present filled with some nice ass cigars that I can’t even fuckin’ pronounce the name of and then you place the cherry on top by offering an invitation to dine with you in your home after you take me on a tour of the Big Apple. After you finish with your little presentation to try ’nd butter me up, you make your true intentions known. That Don Juan slick shit might work on the ladies and a bunch of simps, but it don’t work on me, mothafucka. I tell you ‘No’, end of discussion, and what do you do? You basically tell me, ‘Fuck You.’ You don’t want to go to war with me, Saint. You’ll lose, and if you were an average Joe, I would blow your brains out for the total lack of respect you’ve presented.”
“You’re right. I don’t want to go to war with you, because I’d hate to get all that royal highness blue blood all over my new goddamn suit.” Just then, one of the men lunged at him. Saint snapped to his feet and glared at him, stretched his hand out like a stop sign, and caused the man to pause, slow, and choke. People began to murmur, but Hakim remained silent.
“You thought you were going to do what to me, silly mothafucka?! Don’t you ever try to attack another King Angel Child and interrupt King business! Can’t you see we’re talking?!” Saint chastised the man, who now frothed at the mouth. Releasing his hold on the bastard, Saint let his arm fall back down to his side, forcing the guy to collapse to his feet.
“Jesus … I don’t have time for this shit.” Hakim laughed lightly and shook his head. “Akon, get off the damn floor and go clean yourself up. As for you,” he said, looking Saint up and down with disdain, “sit back down and let’s finish our discussion.” Hakim sighed. “You know what, Saint? You have a serious sense of entitlement. I suggest you arrange a Plan B.”
“I did. It’s called Plan Bloods.”
“Oh, that’s real witty.” The man smirked, then rolled his eyes. “You need Bloods? Go get some of the Bloods in New York!”
“I can’t! They aren’t the originals, Hakim. They don’t have the same heart and art for war. You know it’s true. The same with the Crips!” Saint leaned over in his seat, desperate to plead his case and make the man understand. “I need the ones that recognize their history,” He leaned forward and placed his palms on the table. “The ones that followed the rules or at least respected the rules enough to try and hide when they were breaking them. They had some damn respect for the game! I need the O.G.s, man, the street soldiers from the late 1970s and ’80s. If you won’t do it for me, do it for my mother-in-law. I can’t explain it, but somehow, I know deep down that this would bring some peace to her heart—even if she can’t understand it yet. At times, those people were her only family.”
“I don’t care about Pam, and if she is who I think she is, the same chick that set up my uncle back in ’86, then a part of me would love to gut her ass, too. Redemption or forgiveness or not, we’re King Angel Children, and that means we’re natural born killas, mothafucka, but we have pasts and we have honor!”
“You’re a leader of an entire state and you’re worried about street beef from 1986! You can’t be serious! Hakim, man up and put your pride aside, all right?! If you don’t, when he comes for you, you won’t last! Take it from me, this isn’t a game!”
“Oh, I know it’s not a game. I have a bullet hole lodged two centimeters from my spine dealin’ with Envy. And speaking of warfare, you have no idea what your mother-in-law did, Saint, and as for Xenia, she never really did shit that would warrant righting a wrong. She ain’t never kill nobody.” That’s what you think… “I know who she is, too…” He shrugged. “Who doesn’t? She made the community proud. I’ve heard nothin’ but good things about ’er and I met her, too, way back in the day. But trust me, if she had anything to do with any of my BKs taking a fall—be that prison or the graveyard—she’d get dealt with, too.”
“First of all, my mother-in-law gets on my goddamn nerves almost more than anyone else in this world, but that’s my Queen’s mother, so I love and respect her for that alone. Therefore, I suggest you watch your mouth.”
“Fuck yo’ mother-in-law…”
“I’m going to ignore that. You’re tryna show off in front of your dick riders standing in back of you. But what you said about my wife will get your throat sliced in three nanoseconds… Keep my wife’s name out of your fuckin’ mouth. If you mention her in that threatening manner again, suggested or point of fact, you’ll wish you didn’t… Real talk. I will kill anybody walkin’ over her. I have done it before and I’ll do it again without so much as a second thought.” They stared each other down for a moment or two. “You want to sit here and argue with me over some fucked up foolishness like a goddamn street name, I’m trying to discuss with you a world claim! Fuck a street! You never owned it and neither did any of your boys, Cuzz!” Saint taunted. “I am on limited time, and you’re wasting it. This is between you and me, Hakim. Leave everyone else out of it. We are on the same team.”
Hakim kept his gaze on him for what felt like an eternity. Steely dark brown eyes turned burnt orange, then the color of jumping flames. The man ran a slow hand over his mouth and chin, as if contemplating deep thoughts.
“I want you in and out. I will have people watching you, so don’t try any funny shit. I’m going to send ten of my men over to safeguard. You can have one of your guys stand with them if you like. I know how you can get into the graveyards with no issue. The security is pretty high, but you have to move fast.”
“All right, we can do that. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me just yet … I want a favor in return. What that may be, I don’t know,” he said, “but just know that it will be coming.”
“Of course it will. I expected this.” Saint got to his feet and closed his jacket.
“Let me ask you something, Saint.”
“Yeah.” He shot the pain in the ass a glance.
“How did you defeat Lust? I haven’t seen it yet, but I know it’s coming my way. We’ve already been confronted by Gluttony and several others and though it was hard, we made it. But I’ve been hearin’ Lust is a beast, man … ’specially for men like you and me.” Earnestness and some trepidation gleamed in Hakim’s eyes.
“The one you struggle with most is the one you are most likely to perish from. I made it by faith, man… It was nothing I did, trust me on that. I could liter
ally feel my breathing slowing and my heart giving out. I was dying. I wasn’t sure I was going to make it. In fact, in my mind, I was already writing my obituary. That fight is going to haunt me for the rest of my life. The only thing I can tell you that may help is that everything it says is a lie and all of your fears and regrets will be brought to the surface. It is going to pervert the innocent, and dismiss the vile.” The man dropped his head and clasped his hands, looking as if the world had fallen on his shoulders. At that second, Saint connected with him on a deeper level. A bond was formed, despite their rocky start.
“Hakim.” The man slowly looked up at him. “Listen to me, brother. I just wanted forgiveness, and help from up above. I completely humbled myself. I told the Creator that it was a wrap, and I was good as gone without Him. I was compelled to pray like I never had before; and not pray for myself, Hakim, but for the entire state of New York. The Hell with me…” Saint pointed to himself. “Yeah, my wife and children would be devastated, but I knew in my heart I would be seeing them again. Not even death can keep me away from my Queen and my seeds. And I know my son, Hassani, is being well prepared. He doesn’t know it yet, but when the time comes, and he reaches thirty-five, he will have all that I have within me, and then some. But it’s during those years in between that I must remain vigilant for as long as I can… The world needs us until our heirs are mentally, spiritually, and emotionally ready.
“We were born to take care of the world.”
“You’re damn right, and this world is what I was pleading for. I know I’m a bad mothafucka.” Hakim nodded and laughed lightly. “But I ain’t shit without the Man upstairs.” He pointed towards the sky. “God came through. He got that monster up off me, and I’m not just speaking of the Demon…” Hakim seemed to understand what he was saying on a visceral level. Yes, he did. “You know they say God’s favorite color is purple. So is my wife’s… I worship her, too. I think it’s beautiful that she loves that color. It blends what she was born into, the Bloods, with her enemy, the Crips, and turns that ugliness into something beautiful. Red and blue make purple. That’s what the Creator does if we let him, Hakim… He turns the hostility inside us into pure gold. As I was lying there dying by a stinkin’ ass dumpster at an off-the-road gas station, I screamed out for Him. I thought He was late, but He was right on time.”
“God’s always on time, right? My grandmother used to say that to me. Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved an old Crip like me. I once was lost, but now I’m found. I was Crip blue, but now I can see…” The man’s eyes glassed over. “Do ya thang, man.” He waved his hand at him as if to say, ‘go on and go.’ “You have my full support. I’ll be in touch.”
Saint smiled at the man, gave a quick wave, and walked away…
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Hollywood Forever Cemetery on Santa Monica Boulevard was a labyrinth to navigate. The place was humongous. An old graveyard filled with the remains of those that had crossed over decades ago, to those who’d perished a mere day or two prior, their wreaths not yet touched by the wilting kiss of time. Cruz felt like a kid in a candy store. Cemeteries were his home away from home, a place he went to relax, clear his mind. He found this one particularly beautiful. With Erika now being in the third trimester of her pregnancy, his wife didn’t join him on this trip despite having family members who lived less than ten minutes away. Besides, under the circumstances, it would have been ill-advised.
Saint stood a good ten feet away, looking as if the color had been drained from him. In the darkness, he leaned toward the Earth, as if trying to communicate with the mud and debris, while Jagger kept watch near the entrance with ten big, black Angel Children that were trained as bodyguards and human wrecking balls. Breaking and entering into graveyards wasn’t exactly what his boss was into, but this had proved necessary to perform a feat neither of them was quite prepared for.
“So,” Saint finally said, breaking his wall of long held silence. A curl of white smoke slipped from between his lips. “Are we ready?”
“Yes. The invitation needs to be sent first, so you will send it while Lawrence and I work the land.”
Lawrence peered from the darkness, wearing only his jeans. He’d removed his shirt and placed his shoes off to the side, stating he wanted to feel the coolness of the soil under his bare feet and begin to commune with the departed.
“Xenia sent me the recording of her mother speaking. I made an mp3 of it.” Saint handed his iPad to Lawrence.
“What about Pam’s blood? Did you get it?” Cruz asked. He needed that in order to offer his sacrifice, something Saint was forbidden to do under these circumstances.
Saint closed his eyes and caught the bridge of his nose as if battling a headache.
“Yeah … didn’t get much though. Xenia had to do something ridiculous to obtain it. She sharpened a bobby pin end, placed it in her hair, and asked her mother to fix an area of her weave that she said was lifting.” He didn’t miss how Cruz fought a bout of laughter at the announcement. “Let’s just say Xenia hasn’t heard the end of it, but she gave me the Band-Aid after Pam tossed it in the trashcan later on.”
Cruz took the bandage from Saint’s grasp and regarded the bloodstain.
“This isn’t much. I’ll have to keep unburying it after each session. It’s not ideal, but we’ll try nevertheless. If they accept your invitation and this blood sacrifice, we’re in. They know I’m here. You can say the words. I will silently summon them. Lawrence will pray for them.”
On a deep breath, Cruz began to walk amongst the tombs, weaving in and out from between them, feeling his way around until he got to an area that felt good and right.
“We better get started. We must hit up the other graveyards back-to-back before the sun rises.”
Saint got to his feet from his kneeling position. Lawrence was humming so low, the sound vibrated through his body. Cruz removed his shoes and dug in the ground until he’d brought up a good bit of dirt. He placed the bloodied bandage inside the dugout, then got back to his feet.
“Saint, you can start now.” He nodded in his direction.
“We’re here to call the soldiers… the street warriors… Piru. Crab killas… Vice Lords…” Lawrence began to play the music Saint had placed on the iPad for the special occasion. “My Flag” by the Game carried on high volume.
“We have an invitation for you. One you can accept or refuse. Blood is shed in this soil, years after the last day you drew your final breath. We come on behalf of the angels, asking if any of you are afraid to cross over, due to any mistakes that you made in your life. If so, we have an opportunity right here, right now, to help you redeem yourselves. This is a war worth fighting. It’s not over a street you do not own, in a neighborhood that does not cater to your well-being. This is to fight the very thing that landed you here—the demonic, evil deeds that influenced you and others. You were not bad people. You were a product of your environment, but life does not end at the tombstone. For you, it can begin!” Saint’s eyes glowed like yellow lanterns as he dropped to his knees, staring straight up into the starry sky while Lawrence began to chant. Cruz sliced open his finger with a blade. Blood dripped into the soil as he paced slowly about.
“Drink my blood,” he whispered. “You have permission to dine on my sins.”
“Piru!” Saint screamed. “We’re asking that you rise and accept our challenge. If you hear your name, rise! If you hear a name that you recognize, rise!” Saint bellowed, his arms high in the air as Lawrence paused and tinkered with the iPad until Mama Pam’s voice began to pour out crystal clear…
Tasha “T” Mendell!
Big Mike Smith!
Sylvester Scott!
Kevin ‘Brother’ Everest!
Leroy ‘Ant’ Tucker!
Cynthia ‘Bazooka’ Glass!
Angie Flowers
Dre ‘Man’ Dicer!
…and the list went on.
“I had to come to the womb, the cradle of this Blood civili
zation! Just as I had to go to Egypt to establish myself, show my worthiness to the place that birthed all of civilization and Angel Children—Africa—I am humbly coming before you, the birthplace of the Bloods, and asking you to join us! Brims! Bounty Hunters! Swans! The Family! Piru, do you hear me, though?! All Bloods up in this mothafucka, wake up! SLEEP NO MORE! Raise the dead! Raise the dead! Raise the dead! I COMMAND YOU TO ANSWER ME!” Saint’s voice blended in with his mother-in-law’s, as if it had been choreographed. She sounded as if she were in a trance, rattling name after name after name, almost singing, while Saint thundered at the top of his lungs. Lawrence chanted quietly, moving and waving his hands right above the soil. The man breathed blue smoke out, and red smoke in.
“I represent the half dead, and the whole living…” Cruz touched various tombstones, and twisted, thorny black roses sprung from them at his mere touch. “This is your chance to be complete. My mother was the light, my father the darkness. And I am the gray clouds that float above the storm. This is your darkness. May it end. Accept the blood sacrifices. Step into the light. Answer Saint’s invitation. I summon you to come!” Cruz’s jaw tensed at the realization that the idea was novel, but their audience didn’t appear interested. Things had gotten cold, as if the North Pole was blowing in their general direction. He’d spoken too soon…
“Wait! Did you feel that?” He dropped down to his knees and placed his shaking palms against the cool, moist soil. Mama Pam’s voice kept shouting names as all three were now on the ground, feeling the vibration of the Earth. It crawled and rolled and protruded, as if pregnant with revenge, bursting at the seams with a need to kill. Bright red blood began to seep out from the ground and pour, zigzagging around their bodies. Cruz gave Saint and Lawrence a wicked smile.
“They’re here!”
Seconds later, the terrain beneath them began to shake so violently, the sound was almost deafening. Several tombstones cracked straight down the middle, and the three could barely maintain their stance, as if they’d found themselves in the middle of an earthquake. Saint struggled to get to his feet, wobbling as he did. Lawrence followed suit, but Cruz stayed low to the ground, amazed at the vibrant energy springing forth.
