by Amarie Avant
There are two rows of seats, six on each. Smack dab in the front, between a king and queen of the southwest section of Africa, from a country I cannot remember is my Uncle Qaaim. There’s two other sets of monarchs, who I luckily recall from the research Solarin implored me to finish. One is behind them and I start for the back row to the far right of all the people when I notice him.
Dark chocolate with a perfectly constructed goatee, set around full lips. The young, ambitious and smart Djimon Hounsou look-a-like, or also known as Prince Fari of the Zihula nation. His advisor indicated that he was out of the area last night.
I start for the seat on the far left in the back, but the Queen I can’t recall the name of, although she resembles the one from Coming to America, arises.
Royal or not, I’m not sure if I should bow or curtsy, she makes me want to pump a fist into the air and say, “Black girl magic.” But, instead the Queen hugs me.
“You look just like your mother,” she says, squeezing me like my own mother, Joyce, would. I can hear her telling me not to cry, while her own brown gaze is sparkling diamonds from tears.
Qaaim begins to stand up discreetly, and his feet are geared toward the steps. The King beside him places a large hand on his arm.
“Your niece, Princess Mikayla, has arrived. How should you address her, Regent?” He speaks in a deep, James Earl Jones type voice.
Okay, just kidding. I’m a ball of nerves and it’s clear they’re aware of something that Qaaim just caught onto.
My uncle turns toward me. “Why are you here?”
He yanks his arm away from the royal who just addressed him.
Qaaim moves to the podium and slaps at the microphone. A loud static sound grates at our ears. He jumps almost out of his skin as anxious and angry as he is.
I glance to Zane, for confirmation. Qaaim wasn’t supposed to speak now. But Peter winks at me. My friend, Zane, gives a smile while mouthing something about “let him dig his grave.”
Qaaim speaks in his eloquent, powerful voice, “We are all gathered here today to remove the ‘Regent’ portion from my title. To announce to all of South Africa that I will be crowned king!” He whines about the lie the government used to get him here. Little does he know, he’ll be less than King Regent, when all is said and done. “My beautiful niece, Princess Mikayla Mthembu, has washed her hands of our people. I declare that I will continue to rule the nation with–”
“Lies!” People begin to speak up. They’re holding even more newspaper articles about me from California.
I stare in shock until my shoulder is tapped.
“Princess Mikayla, the show has just begun,” a smooth, confident voice says from over my shoulder.
I glance around to see that it belongs to Prince Fari. “Please,” he motions for a chair.
After I sit, he sits next to me. The crowd is a mixture of citizens and news media. I cannot hear my own thoughts as Qaaim is arrested in front of everyone. Then in the crowd, I count five, ten, almost twenty men being handcuffed.
The head of the department steps before the podium and silence ensues, aside from the few angry co-conspirators of my uncle, Qaaim.
“Today, I have news of the King Regent, Qaaim Shaka Mthembu’s heading and organizing a conspiracy to commit murder of none other than Her Royal Highness, Queen Makuachukwa Mthembu Rakoto of the Nivean nation, and the one true king, Bannan Andry Rakoto. Evidence has been submitted as to how their deaths were not by car crash but in fact, trauma due to various stab wounds along their body…”
I can feel myself sinking as the man continues to speak in a systematic tone, explaining how Qaaim and the men who were just apprehended helped orchestrate the plan.
Even in a seated position, my body waivers. I’m almost at the point of fainting when I feel Prince Fari’s hand over mine.
I can almost hear Jagger whispering in my ear that all will be okay. I almost feel a passionate kiss against my forehead. I’ve grown accustomed to those. Jagger does that often when he believes I’m sleep. He’s a man, I know he has to prove that he can kiss me off my feet when his tongue soars into mine. But I just loved it when he kissed my forehead. It’s as if he’d been declaring that he will keep me.
I blink and realize those enduring kisses meant nothing. Then, I turn to Fari and offer the faintest smile of thanks.
Jagger
For the past few days, the investigator was out for my blood until I brought up the illegal kill-head Ava Sinclair had authorized.
Now, with that storm behind me, and my privileges as an assassin have been restored, I haven’t the slightest idea of what to do with myself.
My hands are coated with soot from the Chevy Classic in my front yard. The 1977 Silverado is built like a brick. They don’t make them like this anymore. The body has been upgraded and is now bulletproof. Going incognito won’t be a problem. I twirl the wrench between my fingers, not at all interested in my new toy, like I would’ve been in the past.
“C’mon, Jagger. Your baby was…” I try to focus on how I had to blow up my truck in order to get to Mikayla, yet the thing is, all I can do is think of her. Forget about the damn truck.
I’m tossing the wrench on the ground, slamming the hood in seconds. The press conference is today. Solarin has sent me updates periodically. Almost as if he knows how serious I was about Qaaim’s demise.
He’d said the man needed to be brought before justice. Death is too good for the motherfucker. Well, I beg to differ. Solarin just isn’t fully acclimated on how well I murder…
I lean against the side of the truck and glance down the hill. The beachfront, where the Blue Cove resort land begins, is packed with families and couples, playing in the sand. The thought dawns on me that I should’ve just given the air rights to the resort. No money necessary. Just given it all away. Seems like that would’ve made me as weak as my grandfather. He gave up his life, and I’d give up my principles.
Mikayla was right, he was a man in love, drowning over heartbreak. Feels like shit after having known what it’s meant to be loved. I never expected this much from a female.
Of course, I’ve been worshiped in the bedroom. But, loved?
My dick. I snigger at that and then slam my hand against the glass window. The impenetrable defense crushes my knuckles.
All I’ll ever want in the world is twenty miles away. Has been for the last few days, but there’s nothing left for us.
I rub my bloody, dripping knuckles onto my jeans before headings toward the front door. The thing cost a bitch and a half, custom-made and installed in less than 24 hours.
Inside, I head to the sitting room, pick up the remote from the couch and press a button. A flat screen descends from the ceiling while powering on. I don’t even need to turn the channel.
There’s a close-up of Mikayla and she’s smiling meekly at none other than Prince Fari.
I’m a dick that lost the woman of my dreams. The woman I loved and respected, who reminded me of my mom.
***
“How’s she doing?” I cut in as Solarin speaks about Federal Agent Cartwright’s impending arrival at his office.
“Good. The wife and I drove her home last week, right after the press conference.”
Home, I mumble to myself. It meant a whole different thing when I snatched Mikayla from her comfortable life.
“Everyone treating her well?”
“To my knowledge. I’ve given you Chumi’s number.”
I scoff. Chumi is about as rigid as I am. “Yeah, well, I don’t believe he’d appreciate me calling.”
“Wow, I never met a man named Jagger Johansson who gave a damn about what others thought.”
I chuckle, glancing across the street at a row of one story homes in a Nevada neighborhood where every third one is the same. “I’m an asshole.”
“Brooding. Rude. Can’t count how many times the Blue Cove Resorts have complained that you aren’t a good businessman.”
The hot wind burns against my face, I
shove my hair back and re-adjust my sunglasses. “I agree. And shit, I always assumed you took a little off the top while handling political affairs. Solarin, is she okay?”
“You could take a trip and determine that for yourself.”
“No need.” I sit up straight in the driver seat of my new truck. There’s movement in the window of the home I’m watching. “ I just want to ensure all the assholes who believed that Mikayla and her father were an abomination have been dealt with.”
“Again I say, Chumi’s number is still available to you.”
I hang up the phone, the sniper in the Dodger cap steps out of his house. My .357 Magnum is in my lap, my finger on the trigger itching to take out the fucker who almost killed me while Ava harped about her love for me in the Aria suite. But I’ll pick him off just like his ass attempted to do with me.
The lights to his Camaro flash as he presses a button. He’s unsuspecting. I frown as he heads to the driver seat.
I put my hands on the steering wheel ready to follow wherever he goes. I’ll learn his routine.
Shit, I have nothing else to do.
This use to be fun. Determining where a mark would take his last breath. But there is no entertainment in the fact that I’ve already determined how he will die.
The door swings open again. A woman in shorts and a shirt, with a kid, maybe two years old or three, on her shoulder calls out. “Not so fast, you promised Tommy ice cream.”
The man in the Dodgers cap brightens up with a smile.
She laughs, “And take the van, Mr. Dad.”
I stare at a family that I never had any time for. Not a single desire for, and a moment later, my tires are skidding over the asphalt.
I want a family. And there’s only one woman I want it with…
Mikayla
“Everything will be okay, Mikayla. The charges brought against your uncle will place him in prison for such an extended period of time his great grandchildren's grandchildren will have the honor of caring for him, he’ll be so old, and that’s if he lives long enough to walk freely again.” Zane encourages in a fatherly tone.
I’m seated in a room with a two-way mirror. It’s the first time I’ve left Nivean in over a week and learning about my nation has consumed every moment of my life.
“Cartwright just needs to jot down your story. Shaka kidnapped you, he’s rotting in jail with his father.”
I sigh heavily. My own older cousin was found to be aware of his father’s plans when we were children. What places him in a cell next to Qaaim’s is the recent kidnapping of myself. Only, the nation believes he abducted me from Long Beach on the first night I went missing. I’ve been told that he will be extradited to the States after completion of the trial here.
There’s a knock at the door, Zane pats my hand before getting up. Federal Agent Cartwright steps into the room. He’s Caucasian. His skin has deep ripples and his pale blue eyes seem to have narrowed somewhat over the years probably from seeing too much. A gulp subconsciously slams through me.
I’ve lied to government officials near and far. All for a man who never really loved me anyway.
Jagger saved my life a time or two. But hell, he’s the sole reason I was in peril in the first place.
I begin to wriggle in my seat and only a nanosecond has passed, Cartwright has only stepped one foot inside. My brain is working overtime. I could get badgered into telling the truth and where is Jagger? Another exotic city! Probably in his new supercar, knowing him, there isn’t a woman in the passenger seat but his duffel bag of guns.
The woman will come later. Women. A harem of them because I never satiated him from the start.
I hate Jagger. I rise abruptly, unable to settle myself with my own lies. I am in love him.
Cartwright has made it to the opposite side of the table. His mouth is moving, lips curved into a smile that sets me at ease. And I extend my hand to his waiting one for a hearty shake.
“I recall reading about you when I worked as a D3 in the LAPD.”
“D3?
“Detective 3. Forgive me, there were so many scenarios surrounding your appearance. In law enforcement the identity of children is never provided on news stations. Newspapers for instance, never divulged. And yet, there you were because Long Beach authorities were attempting to look into the death of your mother. It’s an honor being a part of the team who knows the truth.”
We sit down together. How do I respond to his statement about “the truth.”
“You’re rather resilient, Miss Bryant. And I’d like to finish this interview so that you can continue on with your life.”
I nod, slowly a smile starts on my face.
Jagger is gone, but I’m learning about my people, my culture, and it doesn’t feel like ice is cruising through my veins. The working alongside my people in the marketplace, or visiting the various other business, has helped settle my mind.
By the time we are done, Cartwright’s so called investigation has gone off in a welcoming tangent. He has asked me about the abduction, about my childhood, how I feel about my current duties, he even mentions the drought in South Africa.
Cartwright concludes with, “The road will continue to be hard for a while, just remember you knocked down obstacles as a child, graduated from college with honors, and now, even though the task is different, your tenacity will be the same.” He winks, standing up.
“Thank you, Agent Cartwright.”
He cocks his head while holding the door. “I’ve learned more from you today than I’m even capable of putting into my report. Please know that Qaaim Mthembu will have his comeuppance here and then again in the States.”
We exit the room. My feet shuffle one over the other as I enter the hallway. I see bright dimples, a pair that I have loved forever. Cree is here. Brittany, too. What else I see is my mom running full speed at me–never saw that before. My father stands tall, he offers a confident nod. I’ll get a big bear hug once my mom and I have finished crying it out.
“My baby girl,” she engulfs me in an embrace that knocks the air out of my lungs.
Instantly it flashes into my eyes. The moment the judge awarded Mr. and Mrs. Bryant as my adoptive parents. The subsequent times I sleepwalked and was found in the yard or down the street. Though she always tried to get me to confide in her, I never did. I just silently begged the spirits to leave me alone for good.
“Baby girl,” she whispers in my ear while squeezing me still, “You are blessed. When we leave this place, tell me everything.”
“Okay mom.”
“No,” she glances me in the eye, voice hardly above a murmur, yet very serious, “I’ve heard about you learning to lead a country and seen you in the papers, content as ever. Yet, that one call we had a few weeks back. There was something in your voice that’s what set me at ease. You were truly okay, then. Right now, it isn’t there.”
Her wisdom washes over me. “Okay mom,” I reply again, this time I’m serious. I will tell her…everything.
“Will you let my child go so I can hug her, too?” My father says.
“Auntie Joyce, I want to hug my cousin, too!” Brittany adds. She hugs me and I’m crying and laughing. Next my father. When I feel wetness in my coiled hair, I glance up.
“Daddy, why are your eyes leaking?” Shaking my head, I chuckle.
“Hush yourself,” he says and smiles, rubbing the top of my head.
Last, I hug Cree. His hand goes to the back of my neck, fingers rubbing softly as he holds me.
Earl clears his throat.
“It’s not like that, Mr. Bryant. Kayla has a life here, I’ve just missed her as a friend is all.”
***
My family piles into the backseat of the super expensive Maybach Qaaim purchased with some of the money he made from the sale of the land. Much of the money he made, he spent. He also owed people, and therefore the Zihula funding can’t come soon enough, as the South African government doesn’t provide enough of a salary to take care of my c
ountry. Many other royals have businesses, own oil companies and the likes.
Nivean just has its land. And I’m standing at the tip of the mountain. My palace, the home I was born in, is behind me. Cree is to my left and Abayomi won’t stop playing with my hair.
“I could get use to everything, but that,” Cree nudges his chin at the elephant.
“This is my big boy.” I pat Abayomi’s ear. He’s affectionate, and though my father and everyone laughed at me as a child, I believe he was perfectly named.
“So, tell me you’re going to continue with your education here, Mikayla.”
I laugh. Abayomi’s cool, soft snout is rubbing around my shoulder.
“No, I’m serious. I missed out on a lot of time with you. Parties. Rides. Due to you studying when we were supposed to be crazy teens together. Now, I can’t have you.”
I glance at him. “Boy, I was actually laughing on account of the elephant? He loves to tickle me. But I will finish obtaining my education. How much of a walking contradiction would I have been to do tricks on your motorcycle after spending hours reading about blood transfusions, for instance?”
He nods.
“And what do you mean you can’t have me?” I suck in a breath. My mother and I took a walk this morning. I showed her the Ndebele land, with their abstract, colorful homes, at the outskirt of Nivean. She didn’t pull out her phone for taking photos and searching Google about the animals that we saw. And I told her everything.
It was in confidence. But, Cree says he can’t have me? It’s true. My heart might as well calcify in the area that’s strictly for falling in love.
I only love my country, my family, my people.
“You’ve changed. And I…” He glances down before looking at me. The dimples are done. “I met a nurse.”
“Oh….” He met a woman. “CNA, RNA, nurse assistant?”
We chuckle together.
“No seriously, you need a woman to bandage you up after doing something daring.” My laughter over his happiness dies instantly.
