The Damned

by L. A. Banks

  Yeah, cool. Be thankful for the many blessings. He was alive, she was alive, and his whole squad, except one, had made it through the worst. But the drama with Damali rubbed him the wrong way. What was all that “Baby I need my space” bull about? They needed space. Together. They hadn’t been able to get busy since they’d all moved into the one big happy family vibe—for months. Last time was all quiet—like in a hotel on the sneak tip, all because she didn’t want anybody hearing anything down the damned hall … like they were kids and whatnot. And now girlfriend was talking about being alone the first weekend. Forget her nonsense. If it wasn’t important to her, it damned sure wasn’t important to him.

  Carlos walked up the path with purpose and stood in the unfinished doorframe. The hair on the back of his neck was raised. He didn’t do Navajo art, colors, and whatnot. This wasn’t him at all!

  He needed a place that he could truly funk out—surfaces needed to be solid. Whatever happened to marble, Spanish tile, real stone masonry that might give a man twenty seconds of reaction time before something mad-crazy blew through the room?

  “Huh? What about that, D!” he yelled, his voice echoing through the empty space.

  Living with kids, a band of big brothers, two mommas … he might as well have been back in the barrios of East L.A. A hundred fucking million dollars in the bank, and he was gonna be living in a tiny ranch down a dusty road in no-man’s land. Carlos wiped his palms down his face and tried to regain a sense of calm. He was not gonna lose it out here. Yeah, yeah, yeah, he remembered all the Zen crap that Shabazz had taught him, and the old ones had shown him. “Okay, fine!” This was a new level of hell.

  None of this was what he’d envisioned. A mad joint off the California cliffs, access to the clubs, transpo, real security, the family hooked up in lovely Beverly Hills, far enough away to miss, close enough to get to in a jam; but he and his woman together, under one roof, in the same bed at night—or day. Not this campground bullshit! Driving a bloodred Lamborghini, tricked the fuck out with bulletproof glass, his boy, Yonnie, able to fall by and go hang out at will. Handlin’ their bizness, like men. Training day was about to be over, por favor. What the hell was on D’s mind?

  Carlos pushed off a wall and walked straight through the house to the back deck. Yeah, all right, the mountains were impressive. Beautiful view. Cool. A natural cathedral. So what? After the places he’d been and the things he’d seen, it wasn’t about merely surviving. “If you’re gonna be alive,” he shouted, opening his arms wide toward the canyon, “then, dammit, you might as well live! What is this bullshit!”

  Plus, right around the corner, his ex was pushing up on his house brother—and why that shit disturbed him so much made him question his sanity. Jose was cool, though. Carlos folded his arms and shook his head in disgust. Jose was walking on eggshells—but why was Damali? If girlfriend had acted right, had gotten with him, then Jose coulda hooked up with Juanita without any drama and everything woulda been smooth. But this tiptoeing around the subject at hand about who used to get with whom, was working his nerves.

  It was too much madness under one roof, especially with Mike sighing every time he passed Inez’s big behind and got damned wood every time she put a plate in front of him; and Shabazz all tight in the jaws because Marlene was keeping her distance; plus Berkfield snapping and barking; and goddamned Rider drinking like a fish and all edgy, while J.L.’s ass was so damned horny waiting for Berkfield’s daughter to turn eighteen, he was about to put a bullet in the brother’s skull himself to end it with the quickness before the girl’s daddy did! And Juanita’s crazy ass, hanging on Jose every time he passed them by, trying to stir the jealousy pot that didn’t exist, but making Damali bristle—and why was that?

  Crazy-ass Marj running around like Suzy homemaker, making sure everybody had something green on their plates; her kids following him foot-to-foot all day long; Marlene whispering and praying like a storm was coming, fucking chanting in the kitchen like a crazy, old witch; Dan begging him to tell him stories of the underworld for vicarious thrills … Yeah, next time Yonnie passed through, he was out, and might take Dan to the clubs just to get the newbie laid so he could chill. At least somebody would walk back through that screen door with their head on straight. “Oh, shit—I cannot live with these people another day!”

  His voice bounced back from the hills as though it were laughing at him. As he stared out at the sky, he knew it was all going to come to a head. Juanita and Damali weren’t feeling each other. Never had. Sooner or later he and Juanita had to really talk. They couldn’t get this raggedy-assed little house built fast enough. But that also meant that, sooner or later, Jose and D were gonna have to have a serious conversation—and that was really getting on his last nerve.

  His head jerked up and he spun to stare toward the direction of Damali’s new home. “Aw, hell no!” He began walking and tore through his half-completed house, making his way to his car. Oh, so she was trying to play him—after all they’d been through? She wanted time and space to have that conversation with his house brother? Alone? Why couldn’t girlfriend just say what she had to say on the back steps or in the yard out of earshot, huh? That’s what he wanted to know!

  Then it hit him, and he stopped short. Oh shit … Jose had been more of a provider than him. This was Jose’s people’s land. Jose was the one going to the tribal council, sealing the deals, getting the permits in order, was handling his business. Carlos spat on the ground as he walked across his front yard, shaking his head.

  He wasn’t having it. The way this shoulda gone down, if nothing was up, he and Damali were supposed to be together this weekend, then get some transpo over to L.A., or Vegas, or whatever, hang out, be where the action was, not solo communing with the freakin’ universe, old flames, or any of that other twisted we-are-the-world bull. He’d had it, had followed all the rules, gotten a second chance, delivered as promised, and was not doing another tour of duty in Hell, whether dictated by the Light or the Darkness!

  If there was a problem, and they needed another Neteru to step up, they had his digits, and could blow up his cell phone. And if the Chairman was topside and wanted to bring it, then he was ready to go. He’d step to his punk ass, too, but on his own terms. Squash the plans to build here. Rider could take this joint—now he was a man who needed and deserved some headspace. He was going to Cali, might crash in Yonnie’s lair until he got a new place and had it funked-out and furnished, security doors and shit put on. If not there, sheeit … Gabrielle had a place to his liking, if she kept her girls outta his face.

  Carlos slammed the Jeep door with such force it made his ears ring as he drove away. By the time he pulled into the driveway of Jose’s grandfather’s house, he was breathing hard. He jumped out of the Jeep, his gaze tearing around the front yard. But when he saw Jose through the screen, he waited a beat, took a few deep breaths, and kicked gravel away from his tires.

  But first, he needed to chill. This didn’t make no sense.

  CHAPTER TWO

  As soon as the sun kissed the horizon, Yonnie’s black transport cloud began to form in the pathway leading to Carlos’s semibuilt house. Carlos leapt up from the steps and almost ran to meet him.

  “Yo, holmes, you ain’t forget about a brother!”

  “Naw, dawg,” Yonnie said, laughing, as the two men pounded fists and returned bear hugs.

  “Get me the fuck outta here, man,” Carlos said, raking his hands through his hair. “You have no idea!”

  “C’mon, now,” Yonnie said, laughing harder. He held Carlos by his arms and surveyed his black T-shirt and leather pants. “This ain’t you, nerves fried and shit, brother.”

  “Stop fucking with me, man,” Carlos said, play-boxing Yonnie. “See, how you gonna do me like that? I thought we was boyz?”

  It felt so good to be in nonhousehold company that tears almost came to Carlos’s eyes. He laughed from deep within his chest as a sense of pure freedom filled him.

  “You know I
gotchure back, man,” Yonnie said, straightening the lapels of his suit jacket. “I was just laying low, trying to stay out of a married man’s way, can’t have D coming for me. The sister might cut my heart out, some of the places I had in mind to take you, boss.”

  Carlos pointed at Yonnie and walked away from him, smiling. “You ain’t right, motherfucker. First of all, I ain’t married.”

  “Like hell,” Yonnie scoffed, teasing Carlos without mercy. “You’re married right here,” he said, slapping his chest. “Y’all mighta had a little spat, but at the end of the night, I’m dragging your ass home. Don’t front.”

  “That’s cold. See, you done got brand new on me and left a brother at the hands of old ladies, broke down Guardians, and a buncha kids. You wrong, man. Damali ain’t the one you gotta worry about, no way.”

  “I know,” Yonnie said with a wink, offering Carlos a hint of fang. “Rider’s still got an itchy trigger finger, broke-down or not. So, I figured, why rub salt in the wound? We men. Shit happens. I stay on my side of town, he can stay on his.”

  “But meanwhile,” Carlos said, folding his arms over his chest, “you need to get a brother outta here.”

  “Damn, this is smooth,” Carlos said with deep appreciation, running his hand down the side of Yonnie’s black Alfa Romeo 8C. The bloodred interior felt like a kid glove against his palm, but the chrome grill was off da chain.

  “We can’t be rollin’ up to no club raggedy, my brutha,” Yonnie said, pleased that Carlos liked his ride. “Need to get you suited up right, too.” He waited until Carlos nodded and smiled.

  “Hook a brother up, then,” Carlos said, opening his arms wide.

  “Don’t get used to this, though,” Yonnie cautioned, losing his smile. “For real, man. Not like this.”

  “You worry too much.” Carlos let his breath out hard.

  “Yeah, I do,” Yonnie said in a serious tone. “I’m not playing, man. Later on, when I gotta go eat, you gotta go home. Feel me?”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I feel you, man. But that’s later, this is now. Relax.”

  When she heard a Jeep pull into her driveway, Damali ran for the door. She was all prepared to do battle about saying what she meant and meaning what she said, but when Rider staggered out of the vehicle, she stood very still on the porch.

  “Yo, que pasa?” he said, laughing and stumbling once, and holding out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s toward her. “Housewarming present. I forgot to leave it earlier.”

  She smiled through the worry. “How about if I go get two glasses and we—”

  “Glasses?” Rider said, making a face and then grinning. “Sis, why stand on ceremony? This is a new-house party, right?”

  She didn’t answer, but simply walked over to the wicker slider and flopped down. She didn’t know what to say to Rider, hadn’t since Tara went off with Yonnie in a cloud of smoke months ago. Rather than speak, she watched her Guardian brother unscrew the top with care, but declined the first swig from the bottle. This was not how she’d planned to spend the first weekend in her place—dead drunk on the front steps.

  “Aw, c’mon, D,” Rider said in a wistful tone and plopped down beside her. “It’s just me and you here, kiddo.”

  She begrudgingly nodded, accepted a small sip, and handed the bottle back to Rider. “I think you should slow down,” she said gently, watching him turn the bottle up and guzzle almost a pint of its contents.

  “Yeah, maybe you’re right,” he said, wiping his mouth on his jacket sleeve. “I’ve already slowed down in every other way, so, yeah.” He proceeded to take another liberal swig of booze and gave her a jaunty smile. “But not tonight.”

  “What’s on your mind, big brother?” she asked softly.

  He looked out at the stars and nodded in the direction of Carlos’s property a half mile away. “Can’t you smell it?”

  Damali cocked her head to the side and sniffed. The slight hint of burning ash filled her nostrils. She knew Yonnie’s signature blind. “Vamp transport.”

  “Wasn’t Tara’s.”

  Damali fell mute for a moment as Rider took a more careful sip of Jack Daniel’s and set the bottle down on the porch floor. “I know.”

  “Yep.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yep.” Rider’s gaze went back to the horizon.

  “He just probably came to visit Carlos … since Carlos’s spot is almost finished.”

  “Makes sense. Can’t begrudge a man for checking in on his best hombre.”

  “I’m sure that’s all it was.”

  Only the sounds of night responded as strained silence fell between them.

  “Do you know how hard it was for me to come back here after all these years?” Rider said quietly, closing his eyes as he spoke. “This is where I brought her, hoping for a miracle that never happened. I buried my heart here, D. This is sacred ground for me in more ways than one, and the fact that this bastard has access to it, is like him walking over my grave. I gotta get off this land.”

  Rider had spoken so softly but with such intensity that she touched his arm. “I’m so sorry,” she said in a tight whisper. “Listen, I’ll tell Carlos not to—”

  “Only under emergency conditions, D,” Rider said flatly, no emotion in his tone. “We’re in a firefight, then his homeboy crosses the line to save his ass. But just to stop on by and do a pop-call visit, can’t tolerate it.”

  “I’ll let Carlos know,” she said, watching Rider stand slowly and straighten his back.

  Rider thrust his chin up with unwavering dignity, even though he was as drunk as Cooter Brown.

  “You need to have that conversation, as well as the one with Jose—soon.”

  She stared at Rider, and a pair of bloodshot eyes stared back at her without blinking.

  “Soon, D,” he repeated, holding her gaze until she nodded.

  Finally, she looked away. She knew what Rider meant, and that was one of the many things she loved about him, he was always straight, no chaser, about things.

  “I miss you, darlin’,” he murmured. “The house ain’t the same without you … but, can’t stay in the nest forever. We got new chickadees to feed and train, and gotta start this bullshit cycle all over again.” He sighed and hitched up his jeans, then took out a pack of Marlboro reds and tapped the back of it, extracting a butt.

  Damali watched him strike a stick match with his thumbnail and inhale slowly. “You gotta take care of yourself, Rider.”

  “So everybody tells me.” He motioned toward the bottle on the porch with his chin, and lifted an imaginary cowboy hat from his head, saluting her and adding a sad smile. “Ma’am, it’s time for this old gunslinger to go on back to the ponderosa.”

  “Want me to drive you home?” she said, standing, deeply concerned about him getting behind the wheel of a car in his condition. If the alcohol didn’t send him into a tree, his state of mind surely would.

  “Nah, I’ve crawled out of bars on my hands and knees. This is nothing but a little nightcap,” he said, weaving down her front steps, holding on to the rail. “If you don’t smell smoke in the distance, then I made it back just fine.”

  She was down the steps and leaning on his driver’s side door before he even got to the walkway. “Rider, for real, now. Give me your keys. I’ll—”

  “Baby girl, I’ve let go,” he said, kissing her forehead and gently moving her aside. “Now you let go. Okay? We can’t watch you twenty-four–seven anymore, and you can’t be all up in our house drama, either. Fair?”

  Damali nodded and conceded. The man had a point, but still. “I love you,” she said quietly, holding his arm.

  “I love you, too,” he murmured as she filled his arms. He hugged her tightly and laid his cheek on the crown of her head. “Some crew, huh?”

  “Yeah. Some crew.”

  They stood that way in her front yard for a long time, saying nothing, but allowing the comfort of human touch to transmit all that was necessary. When he let her go, she placed her
hand over his heart. He shook his head and covered her hand briefly, but then removed it.

  “You can’t put the healing balm on this man with a supposedly good heart, baby. Not even Marlene could do that.” He tweaked her nose and got into his vehicle. “Only a soul mate can do that for you. But I appreciate the attempt.”

  She folded her arms and stepped away from his Jeep, fighting tears. Damn, damn, damn, it was not supposed to go down like this.

  “You think you oughta slow down on that Remy?” Yonnie said as he watched Carlos pour another drink at the bar. He gave Carlos a glance from the corner of his eye and then sipped his drink to finish it slowly.

  Carlos leaned forward on his forearms, propping himself up. “I’m cool, man. We supposed to be out in the world tonight, right?”

  “True dat,” Yonnie said, pouring himself a splash of Remy Martin from Carlos’s bottle, then adding a bit of color from the gold flask he carried in the breast pocket of his suit.

  “See, that’s what I’m talking ’bout,” Carlos said, referring to Yonnie’s flask. “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.” He weaved a bit on his bar stool and leaned closer to Yonnie. “But you didn’t have to go civilian just for me. We coulda did a vamp club, whateva, man.”

  Yonnie let out a long breath through his nose and studied his drink. “First of all,” he said quietly, “you’re system is so squeaky clean, right about through here, your ass is drunk. You been eating holistic, no red meat and shit, for months. That first bottle of Remy behind several martinis has your ass lit; the second one you’re working on will probably make you pass out. Not advisable to be out of your element and in a zone like that. Sloppy.”

  “Man, I’m—”

  “Second of all,” Yonnie said, not allowing him to finish the slurred comment, “like I told you, there are no more openly vamp joints.”

  “Oh, yeah … you’re right,” Carlos bumped his glass against Yonnie’s and then laughed. “Damn. What has the world come to?”