King's Justice kobc-2

by Maurice Broaddus

  King's smirk collapsed into a scowl as he spied the flashes of green light. The pale glimmer from a small hill unsettled him. It turned his stomach, an offense to the surrounding nature. The woods took on an alien quality in the luminescence, a ruin of forest circling the clearing. The trees gnarled, burnished gray like aged stone with an unpleasant quality. Their outlines grotesque, limbs bent at odd angles. Sweat cooled on his forehead. His heart thundered in a measured pace. As if the anticipation of combat calmed him. Tendrils pushed in at the edge of his mind, threatened to worm their way into his thoughts.

  All sound ceased except for the sound of their own footsteps as they crunched along the dead leaves piled along the ground, a thick carpet of brown that crunched under heavy footfalls.

  "Come on in." Colvin barely took notice as he met them, their faces grim and alert.

  The excitement in his eyes wouldn't hesitate to squeeze a trigger and spray his brains along the tree line. They stepped into the clearing. "Something you want to say to me?" The muscles of Colvin's wiry frame nearly danced as he moved. His tan-brown skin, like calf's hide, made King's appear darker in contrast.

  "This is madness. Come on now. You out here on your own. When was the last time you saw folks united? We poised to make a real difference." More of a gauntlet thrown rather than a statement. They glared at one another in established enmity. King's heart saddened that things had to come to this. But it was what it was. King was still somewhat self-conscious of the broadness of his nose and the deepness of his cheekbones. The twists of his hair jutted skyward in defiance, the sides and back of his head freshly shaven. His physique boasted a brawn now tested with regularity in the streets. He got real serious behind shit like that.

  "That the thing: the only difference I aim to make is to my wallet."

  Something about the set-up wasn't right. Rok couldn't remember if he'd ever been surrounded by so much green. He lived in a concrete world. The trees loomed taller and thickened, engorged on the foul emanations. They crowded against them. The muscles along Rok's stomach tightened and cramped. His mouth went dry. His palms slickened with sweat. Men like him, the kind of men he imagined himself to be, never carried fear like this. Their veins pumped ice. Their hearts didn't pound so hard their throats ached. He couldn't remember the last time he had a drink or took a leak, but needed to rectify both scenarios soon.

  "King?" Merle was the first to sense it.

  Dred sniffed the air as if catching a scent which disturbed him. He backed a few steps away from the circle, wary and on edge. Picking up on the tenseness coming from them, Rellik and Rok flanked King. They scanned the trees, not certain what they were watching for.

  Colvin gestured with his fingers. Furtive movements somewhere between flashing gang signals and issuing sign language. His lips moved though King heard no words.

  A green crackle of energy flared to life, a single flame suspended in the air above Colvin. The woods glowed as a few more flickered to life, emerald sparks which danced in an unfelt breeze. The flames mesmerized them, their breath half-held knowing they signaled only the beginning. The flames lengthened, trailing down, four strands of flame in the clearing. The light intensified, a flood of light bathed them. King visored his hand above his eyes, too late realizing that he couldn't see beyond the periphery of the light.

  "King!" Merle yelled.

  Shadows moved between the trees, advancing on them. Their sizes varied slightly, no more than a head's difference among the lot of them. Nearly a dozen of those they could see. A score of red eyes dotted the night and closed in on them.

  Lott's mind raced with dark possibilities. Life had a way of jumping off in a variety of ways. There were so many ways for pain to intrude upon them. Robberies. Beatings. Rape. Death. Try as he might to focus on the task at hand, the possibilities for brutality drove him to distraction. Big Momma let him in and got out of his way as he bounded up the stairs. He surveyed Lady G's room. They already knew the police wouldn't have done anything. Not even Cantrell. To their minds, a teen — a homeless teen at that — threw a fit and ran off. They'd be lucky if a pen even found its way to a report. Yet Lott's next instinct was to call King, but he hesitated and wasn't sure why. Maybe he was too proud to ask for help. Maybe he wanted to be the hero. Lady G's hero. Shaking himself, he made the call anyway. A small part of him was relieved when the call again went to voicemail. Again he left a message. It was now firmly on record that he tried. The mind had a way of shaping circumstances it wanted to happen, as if he could will his desires onto life. Still, he was no detective and had few resources to speak of. He prayed that whatever Providence guided him would lead him to her. Examining the bed — no struggle, no scent of anything beyond hers… and he lingered at her smell — he spied the drawing. It was a hunch, a wild hope more than anything else, but he had nothing else to go on.

  Lott hated walking up High School Road. A couple years back, he was minding his own business on a Saturday night when a group of teenage boys slowed down and hit him with a cup full of Mountain Dew from Taco Bell. Random white punks out doing random hateful shit, though it was dark enough out that they might not have known he was black. Every time he took to the sidewalk, the same edgy anticipation swept over him.

  He hadn't eaten at Taco Bell since, either.

  The church didn't appear disturbed. The boards remained intact. Cracks filigreed the near yellow walls. Scorch marks seared the outlines of doors and windows. A few more gang tags marked it: a spray-painted cross with a six-pointed star on it and two swords crossed behind it; a heart with devil's horns coming out of its lobes; a pair of dice, one with a two facing, the other with a six. Around back, planks of wood, water-damaged furniture, and bits of ruined dry wall filled a dumpster. A stretch of plywood had been pulled from the rear door. Steeped in shadows, the narthex devoured the wan light let in by the loosed board. Upon it falling back into place, the darkness reigned unabated. The room took on a sinister cast, as if befouled by an unwanted presence. Lott crept forward, his feet almost sliding along the granite floor layered in ash. A fine-ground debris. He turned into the main sanctuary. Slits of light filtered through some of the uncovered stain glass windows hear the top of the room. He marveled that no one had hurled rocks to shatter them. The thin light cast the room in gray murk. A couple of columns, more decorative than load-bearing, had fallen on one another.

  Lady G stood next to one of the untoppled columns. Just standing there, not tied up, but with the awkward stance of someone under duress.

  "That's far enough," a voice yelled from nowhere.

  Colvin wasn't plugged into a network, his ego obscuring the reality of his situation. His ambitions drove him to become a player, but he was too independent with no one watching his back. He'd always been that way. It was one of the reasons Omarosa chose to hit him. No trap car, traveling in thin traffic, Broyn was easy pickings. Colvin's entire operation was sloppy, amateurish. It was beneath who they were and he needed to be taken down a peg.

  From her tree-perch vantage point, she watched the final act play out. She had been following Colvin since his rash raid on Rellik. Of all the feelings she could have had, after all he'd done, she still managed to feel sorry for him. He was her brother after all. She knew him, his ways, his weaknesses. Most times she couldn't be around him, not when he raged like this. Simple, brutal, and haphazard, he didn't think, only lashed out in his pain and anger. There were times when he had to bear the consequences of his actions, and she pulled away from him.

  But he was still her brother.

  A few of the tiny creatures stepped into view. Necklace of teeth. Painted bellies. Iron boots. Bracelets of sharpened edges of iron left burn marks where they rubbed against their wrist. Their caps varying shades of red. And they looked hungry.

  To Rok's eyes they were half-naked midgets, more ridiculous than terrifying, and he choked back a snicker. Raising their legs like baseball pitchers, the tiny bulbous bodies tilted back as they sent another volley of elf arrow
s at them. Something whirred past his ear. Rok jerked his head to the side. It impacted against the tree like buckshot. Rellik and Rok opened fire immediately, not certain what their targets were. King took point, his Caliburn drawn but not firing. Dred began to chant to himself, his fingers locking, adjusting their configurations, then locking again. Baylon circled the periphery just outside the light of the hillside clearing. King, Rok, and Rellik took cover behind trees. They returned fire as best they could, pinned down by the advancing horde. Distracted.

  "What the fuck are these ninja dwarfs?" Rok cried out.

  "Red Caps. Feared among the fey folks." Merle squat lower against a tree. He leaned over to shout, but elf arrows ricocheted passed his exposed face and he withdrew. "Think of them as less personable pit bulls. With opposable thumbs."

  Rok's tree wasn't wide enough to provide much cover. He took careful aim at the nearest Red Caps shooting at him. Swallowing hard, he fired a few rounds. He was pretty sure he hit one, but the creature seemed to shrug off the wound. He concentrated on shooting back at them, he didn't notice the earth rippling toward him.

  The ground surged at their feet. All around them, the thin layer of leaves erupted. Hands clutched at them, like a horde of vengeful demons upon them. Soil sprayed in all directions, a cloud of earthen shrapnel. Bodies pressed against his, dragging them to the ground. Red Caps burst out of the ground.

  Rellik remained quiet. The fey assassins rose up, a rising tide of hands he let wash over him before he began firing. His bullets wouldn't be as effective far away against their tough hide, he knew, but up close, it wasn't as if they were invulnerable. Fending off gnashing maws, he trained his gun on their skulls and squeezed the trigger. A tiny head exploded, spraying the remains of its face across that of its brother faeries. Claws scraped against his back as he scrabbled out of their grasp and fired.

  "Why are you doing this?" King pressed his back to the tree, but leaned around to shout at Colvin.

  "Fortune favors the bold."

  King expected something along the lines of Colvin wanting to draw out his enemies, maybe testing the resolve of the fragile and tentative coalition. A young un bucking to prove himself. Little of that seemed to be in play. Colvin simply did because he had to. Because he didn't know any better. He dreamed big but didn't have the patience and didn't want to put in the work required. He wanted what he wanted. Now. Damn the consequences. Without thought, King's hand reached for his Caliburn. The action felt right and natural, the situation just and warranted.

  Colvin chanted to himself and the air shimmered. A green seam appeared, a surgical scar opening up as another half-dozen Red Caps poured out.

  "Can you do something about that?" King shouted.

  "We're on it." Merle turned and tripped over a branch. Remembering that he hated the woods, especially his fear of snakes, he scrambled out the way of charging Red Caps.

  His gaze flicked from side to side.

  "Cut off the head and the body dies." Dred questioned the strength of King's resolve.

  Panic rose in Rok and settled on him, freezing his legs as he fired wildly. The arms grappled about him. Tiny hands fastened about his ankles. Rok fired at the ground. An explosion of pain ripped across him as an elf arrow glanced against his ribcage. At the searing pain, he dropped his gun to clutch his ribs. More hands appeared, tugging at him like a furious riptide of flesh. As he toppled to the ground, a Red Cap leapt on his back. A feral gleam in its eye, it revealed its shark-like teeth and tore into Rok's neck. The creature bore down in a grim trajectory through muscle and ricocheted off bone, through his carotid artery, channeling through his neck, a cloud of arterial spray spurted.

  "Mama!" the boy cried out, then fell still.

  Scarlet streaks splattered across Rellik's face. Pain drummed behind his eyes in tune with his ragged heartbeat. A talon grazed his temple as pain arced across his skull. Staggering back a few steps, a Red Cap leapt upon him. Teeth tore eagerly into the soft meat of his upper arm. The creature chewed with relish, then bellowed as bullets from the Caliburn ripped through it. Ignoring the pain in his arm, a murderous glint of rage in his eyes, Rellik's balled fist pummeled the sneer from another creature's face. He pivoted to strike another, the bones of its neck snapped in his grasp. Three more pounced on him. Razor-sharp claws drove down toward his snarling face. Drops of spit flew from his mouth as he struggled against the creature.

  Surveying the scene, Colvin grinned with a smile devoid of mirth.

  There was a time when Lott didn't particularly care for Lady G. They had found themselves at Outreach Inc. at about the same time. Outreach was beginning its flirtation with the idea of using arts to have the kids express themselves. Lott entered the room, baggy pair of blue jeans whose cuffs dragged along the ground, white T-shirt, a set of gold grillz, and a light blue hoodie thrown up to cover the earphones plugged in. His head bobbed ever so slightly, his fingers tapped out percussive notes in the air as he let words come to him. Lady G and Rhianna couldn't content themselves with their drawing or inane chatter, nor could they pass up a boy at peace. They threw wadded-up paper at him, driving him to such distraction, he ended up jumping out of his seat, cussing at them then storming off. The girls giggled in delight. Luckily, Wayne was there to smooth things over. It was one of the first times Wayne had really spoken to him. Eventually, he had the three of them sit down and do a poetry exercise. Lady G read a piece about fires and mothers which caused Lott to soften towards her, though he did make fun of her word skills. All it took was seeing her in a new light.

  "You OK?" Lott asked Lady G.

  "I'm fine. Lott, he got a gun."

  "Who does?"

  "Me," the voice said from the air.

  It was near enough for Lott to whir about. He stared in the direction of the sound. "What you want?"

  "Where's King?" The voice had the slightest of southern drawls. Probably from Kentucky originally.

  "He ain't here."

  "I thought he'd be the one to come. She not important enough for him?"

  "She…" Lott preferred to not think about her and King. Compartmentalizing his thoughts and feelings no matter the circumstance had become reflex. "No one can get through to him. You got me instead."

  "That ain't the way this was supposed to go down."

  "So what you want?" Lott backed up a few steps, beginning to circle around, triangulating on the sound of the boy's voice.

  "Let me think." Garlan hoped his voice didn't sound weak. He hadn't been told what to do in the event King didn't show. Maybe this was distraction enough to see the other half of his money. He needed to make sure a clear message had been sent.

  "Lott!" Lady G cried out.

  Her scream pierced his heart. His attention immediately went to her, all of his fighting instincts focused on protecting her. A board broke over his back. Its force drove him to his knees. Lott wasn't one for chess-like maneuverings. For him, the best path was the straight line. Even if that meant going through someone. Lott stretched out his arms in a sweeping tackle, not knowing when or if he'd hit his target. He smacked into someone after only a few steps into his charge.

  "What the-?"

  Lott wrapped his arms low around Garlan, digging his fingers into his back as if a more secure purchase made him real. Garlan threw a flurry of punches. Lott stepped in closer. Covered up as best he could, his head ducked from side to side. He took the punches with no more than a grimace. Flexing his jaw, a fresh wave of pain jammed needles into his brain. The pain was there, but the boy had no steel behind them. He didn't know how to throw punches well though he could land them with abandon. The volley of blows caused Lott to release his grip on him. He raised his fists, prepared for another assault. Holding his ground proved difficult. The fine layer of dust and ash mixed on the floor left little traction to be found.

  The ash smeared in a spot. The impression of a shoe. As if the weight had shifted to another foot. An impression formed and then another in rapid succession. Garlan circ
led him, preparing to launch another attack from a different vantage point. Lott gave no indication that he knew from which direction Garlan chose to come at him, his gaze firmly affixed on the dirt of the floor.

  Lott charged him again, receiving a few blows thrown while off balance which bounced off his shoulders and back. The punches to the side were more swats than anything with power. Lott jabbed into the boy's gut. Garlan growled and launched himself at him then snapped his head up to catch the underside of Lott's jaw with his skull. He slammed through Lott's defensive stance. His eyes watered, Garlan staggered back and knocked over the round spindle the group of friends had once used as a table. Breathing hard, he could taste blood on the inside of his lip.

  The tension left his body.

  "We done?" Lott asked.

  "We done."

  "You mind telling me what this was all about?"

  "Just a job. Nothing personal."

  "Who hired you?"

  Silence was his only answer followed by the sounds of retreating footfalls scooting across the floor in rapid succession.

  "This was weird," Lady G said. "It was like watching you wrestle with yourself. Like you was wrestling your imaginary friend."

  "Who you tellin'? Let's get you home." Lott allowed himself a moment just to take her all in. Without make-up, without a brush run through her hair, without clothes carefully coordinated, she was still the most beautiful person he'd ever known.

  "Not just yet. Can we just… go somewhere?"

  "Need to walk it off? Come down from the adrenaline rush."

  He took her hand and she rested her weary head on him.

  "Let's end this," King yelled. His Caliburn in hand, he ran toward Colvin. With each squeeze of his trigger, a Red Cap exploded, hit dead center or in the head. The gun was an extension of him; he didn't have to think or aim, he wielded it with the skill born of years of use. He cut a swath heading directly to Colvin. A tide of people lunged at him. Hurling Red Caps leapt like surprised children, their lashing claws swiped at the air.