The Deviant

by Tiana Laveen

  Shane gave him the once over.

  “What? You sure, man? You all right?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” Honestly, it wasn’t the first time he’d been involved in a harrowing altercation. Shane wasn’t immune to it, either. These things happened, and what should’ve been troubling, traumatic even, was something he probably wouldn’t even think about a month or two later. He stood there for a spell, contemplating the incident and how detached he’ll eventually feel from the experience. He took out his earbuds from his pocket to listen to some music, hoping he hadn’t cracked his iPhone in the mayhem. Thankfully, it didn’t suffer a scratch.

  The two friends slapped hands and parted ways. Shane remained on the platform to wait for another train, while he made his way back through the subway, up the steps to now witness the beginning stages of the sun disappearing from the sky. He turned up the music in his headphones. ‘Too Slow,’ by 53 Thieves, played in full volume.

  He returned to the art store he’d been at earlier in the day. He tried to deeply inhale the intoxicating scent he loved, all the art supply odors blending together. The place was more crowded now, but he didn’t see the older Asian woman at the register. Instead, it was her husband, the one he liked, but the man didn’t seem to notice him as he rang up a customer who was purchasing an easel. The music pounded in his ears, the stench of the bastard he’d attacked all over him and his ribs aching from the way he’d tackled him to the ground.

  He reached into the crinkled white bag, undoubtedly now powdered with gun residue on the outside, and removed the two bottles of paint Shane had taken. He placed them near a display of art history books then slipped away, back into the night…

  CHAPTER TWO

  Starting Off on the Wrong Foot

  (You Got Me Fucked Up.)

  The Metric Club on 8th Avenue in NYC boasted two dance floors, popular vegan and vegetarian appetizers, an assortment of imported beers, talented bartenders that could create just about any concoction, live performances, and some of the best local DJs around town. King stood at a tallboy table with his rust-colored satchel containing paintbrushes and a variety of tubes full of acrylic paint, hoping to get his chance at one of the two wall-length canvas boards. He had no idea what he would be painting that evening, but he figured something would hit him should he get the exceptional opportunity. Shane was at the bar getting a drink while he played catch up with Jeremy. It was sure nice to see him again.

  “So yeah, King, it’s been crazy lately. What about you?” Jeremy brought the condensation covered Heineken beer bottle to his thin lips, puckered them just so, and took a sip.

  “As they say, the struggle is real.” Jeremy nodded in understanding. “I’m used to having a steady paycheck, man, while I work extra gigs to fill in the gaps, but now,” he threw up his hands, “I’m relying on this show I have coming up because if I don’t sell most of those pieces, I’m screwed, man.”

  “Do you still have that storage spot you rent? I imagine that costs a lot of money, too.”

  “Yeah, I still have it. I have to have it because all of my work wouldn’t fit in my apartment. I have it paid up for the next few months, so right now, it’s not a problem. I hate not knowing what the future holds, but I’m determined to bust my ass to make sure I’m not out on it. Something has to give, man.”

  “I tell you what, let me give you a loan, okay? It’s no sweat. You were there for me a few years ago, and I—”

  “No, no.” King waved his hand and closed his eyes for a spell. “I’m not taking any handouts. I’ve got to figure this out on my own. I’m a grown ass man.” He swung his bag around and unzipped the front to ensure he had everything he needed. “My mother tried to do that too—offer money. I hadn’t even told her that the clothing store closed and I’m barely squeaking by. Someone must’ve told ’er.” He shrugged. “I’ve got a little saved up, but it’ll be gone soon. I’ll be okay though. I’ll figure this shit out.”

  “Okay, well, since you won’t take a loan and I understand your reasons why, how about I get some of my friends from work to come to your art show and support, all right? Some of them I know are definitely into the whole art scene.”

  “That works for me. I want to earn every dollar. I’ll make sure you get some flyers for the show, okay? That’ll help.”

  “Definitely. I’ll put one in the break room, too.” They bumped fists. “So, are you going to Coney Island anytime soon?”

  “Hold that thought, Jeremy. I’m going to put in a bid for the wall. Be right back.”

  “You’re going to try to paint tonight, aren’t you?” Jeremy said with excitement. King nodded. “Oh, man. I can’t wait to see you in action again. Hopefully Jalal and Tyson will show up soon.” He took a hard chug of his beer.

  “Yeah, I think they might be coming over together.” As he made his way to the hostess area, he noticed a group of women come in.

  “Damn! All the cuties in here tonight!” Shane yelled practically in his ear, making him startle.

  “Why are you creepin’ up on me like that, Shane?” King laughed. “But yeah, I’ve noticed that there are some nice views tonight, if you will. I may have to partake.” He didn’t try to hide his enthusiasm for a prospect as he rubbed his hands together.

  Shane grimaced. “What about that long ass lecture you gave me earlier today about not worrying about any women? You said you weren’t going to chase any ass.”

  “I’m not chasin’ it. I’m walking over to it.” They both burst out laughing. “Hey, I’m about to talk to this guy over here about the wall.”

  “All right, bet. Tyson sent me a text. He’s on his way.” Shane took a sip of something brown in a short glass. Probably his signature drink. Hennessey.

  “Is Jalal with him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Cool. I left Jeremy across the way. Keep him company. He probably feels like a fish out of water since he hasn’t been here in forever.” He stepped away from Shane and took another glance at the women who were now congregated at the bar. One in particular caught his eye. She stood about five-foot-six and had rich deep caramel skin with reddish undertones. A natural sheen made her heart-shaped face glow, accentuating her broad, high cheeks and delicate chin, framed with thick, textured ebony waves that flowed against her shoulders. A golden peacock barrette adorned her hair, and her body was curved in all the right places. Utter perfection. Despite her diminutive stature compared to his own, she had long legs that went on for days.

  Her red jumpsuit crisscrossed across the breasts, showing ample cleavage. Those breasts were more than a spoonful. His mouth watered at the sight of them as they pressed against the material. She possessed a nice round behind, not particularly large but big enough to squeeze, and he liked how the pants gathered at the ankles, accentuated with tiny red bows. Then he noticed her shoes. The pointy-toed red heels matched her outfit and looked expensive.

  He stroked his beard slowly as he took her all in. She didn’t seem to notice him, but he made it his mission that before the end of the night, she sure as hell would. He turned away for a second. There he is. The host I need to speak to.

  “Hey, how you doin’? I wanted to—”

  “Paint the wall?” the man interrupted with a stiff smile.

  “Yeah.”

  “We’re doing it a bit different tonight. Do you have a business card?”

  “Not on me.”

  “Okay, write your name down then on this piece of paper and we’ll put it in this fishbowl. The names will be drawn soon. Pun intended.” That shit was mad corny but I’m going to laugh anyway, just in case he has any say in the matter. King chuckled, trying to make it appear as if he were really titillated by the joke, then the guy ripped off a small yellow square Post-It note and handed him a pen. He quickly jotted his name down on the paper and handed it back to him.

  “Good luck!” the man called out before turning away and looking at his phone.

  “Thanks.”

  King made
a beeline towards the bar.

  “What’s up, King Kong Killa of Manilla?” He spun around to look into Tyson’s dark tan face and deep set, opaque eyes. They immediately grabbed hands, wrapping their fingers around one another’s, formed a fist, then embraced.

  “Hey, man. How are you?” King smiled so hard, his cheeks hurt.

  “Good, man. Good. Shane’s crazy ass said you were over here. We saw Jeremy first, spoke to him a bit, and Jalal went to take a piss. He was holding it in the cab the whole time. Almost didn’t make it.” He chuckled. Tyson was a down-to-earth Puerto Rican cat with an infectious laugh and a smooth, cool demeanor. He was originally from Brooklyn, but he’d moved to Harlem to live with his grandmother when he was in the fourth grade. About five-foot-ten, he was charismatic down to his bones and had gone to a local college to get a degree, then married his high school sweetheart, Jalisa and had three children. He worked a decent nine to five as a phone company manager. In school, Tyson had been known for his singing abilities. He had a phenomenal voice, but unfortunately, it didn’t pay the bills.

  The beat of Rhye’s ‘Taste’ drifted from the speakers. After a couple of minutes of small talk, Jalal joined them and after all the greeting and hand-slapping, the three ordered their drinks and returned to Shane and Jeremy, who were both laughing their heads off.

  “I told him, man, I’m not taking any kind of advice from a guy without a fuckin’ forehead. His shit go from scalp to eyeballs, nothin’ in between. Got the nerve to be cocky when he got that Paul George forehead situation goin’ on. His shit is set adrift and imbalanced like a boat lost in the middle of the ocean, missing a sail in a storm. Fuck outta here wit’ his Neanderthal, Planet of the Apes lookin’ ass.” Jeremy burst out laughing so hard, it looked like he was going to choke and Jalal lost it, too. “And here’s King… this broke A.J. Styles lookin’ mothafucka we all love.”

  Everyone but Jeremy laughed.

  “Oh, come on, Shane. Don’t kick the man while he’s down,” Jeremy chastised.

  “What you mean, man? I’m just fuckin’ with him. It’s all good. King is my boy!”

  King smirked at him and shook his head.

  “It’s fine, Jeremy. I’m used to Shane doing this shit. He’s broke, too, so that’s a lot of nerve. One thing he’ll never run out of is audacity.” They all laughed.

  “Yeah, I’m broke, but you the type of broke that as soon as you walk into the room, all the lights go out and unpaid bills come raining down from the ceiling.” King shook his head while everyone succumbed to humor at his expense. “The only drawin’ you been doing lately is overdrawing on that bank account of yours. You better paint yo’ ass a paycheck ASAP, mothafucka. A, speaking of checks, check this out. Look, y’all,” He polished off the last of his drink and set it down.

  “I told this Elvis-Presley-haired, pita-bread colored Osama Bin Laden lookin’ mothafucka,” Shane spoke over the laughter, competing with the volume of the music as he hitched his thumb in his direction, “to do some modeling. I’d hook him up with my agent. They still sometimes want old ass niggas like us. Well, old for modeling they say, you get what I’m saying.” They all nodded. “Especially in some advertisements. He’s been stalling on that. Then, I told King, okay, fuck it. Do an Only Fans page, wit’ his exotical lookin’ ass, right? Easy money! He already poses nude sometimes for those art classes ’nd shit.” Shane shrugged. “This time at least he’ll be getting paid. Bitches will pay to look at him, and it’s easy, but he won’t listen.”

  “What are you? King’s business manager, Shane? You probably expect a commission, too,” Tyson chided.

  “Ya damn straight. I ordered my Pimp cup off eBay. It was $3.99. It’s comin’ from China. It’ll be here in five months. Plastic, fake, and made of toxic materials… like my ex’s Brazilian butt lift.”

  Jalil gave Shane the side eye. “Man, I would say no to an Only Fans page, too! That’s one step above a street prostitute.”

  “Exactly,” King concurred. Finally, someone understood. “There are some things I just won’t do.” Shane rolled his eyes. “Karma is undefeated and so am I. I will fix this. No showing my dick online for money required.” He took a sip of his beer. “I will be okay. I don’t have a choice.”

  Suddenly, one of his favorite songs came on. ‘Come see me,’ by Soul IV Real. He took one more swig of his beer, placed it on the table, and began to dance, swaying from left to right, head cocked to the side, feeling good as the all too familiar odor of marijuana and incense wafted past. He snapped his fingers as he moved through the crowd. Vibing. He disappeared into his own world, as he often did when the right song hit him. The lights glowed and spun around in shades of red and blue, creating a purple haze. When he turned to his left, he could spot Shane back at the bar. When he turned to the right, there she was. Their eyes locked.

  His heart beat a hard tattoo in his chest. He smiled at her briefly, then turned his back to her and continued to dance, speaking to himself…

  If she’s interested in me, when I turn back around, she’ll be still looking at me. If she’s not interested, she will have walked away. He had a thing about such stuff. Women who were too easy turned him off. Women who played so hard to get that he was winded after one conversation bored him. He didn’t want to play games, and he didn’t want someone who wasn’t choosy about who she gave her body to, even if just for a one night stand. He enjoyed the healthy medium, whether for a relationship or simply to smash. The rules were the same. He desired an interested party who wasn’t afraid to show it, but one who weighed her options.

  He spun back around and there she was, just as he’d last seen her. Big, gorgeous dark brown eyes staring holes into his very soul that made him feel warm all over. The corners of her luscious mouth curled and if he didn’t know any better, he’d bet she was blushing. Standing with her ankles crossed, she held onto a cocktail glass filled with something that reminded him of an electric blue slushy. Everything about her screamed ‘Beautifully intoxicating.’ He wouldn’t mind sampling her, getting drunk off whatever lustful thoughts she shared with him. It was either her or burping the snake later on when he got home. She was a far better choice.

  He moved closer to her, inching his way on over, neither of them blinking. Hooked. Over the music, he heard one of her friends lean over to her and say, “Oh, shit, girl! His fine ass is checking you out. He’s comin’ right your way!”

  Oh, shit. He’s coming this way. Gallant’s, ‘Gentleman’ started to play as the tall, broad-shouldered man with a fucking satchel crossed along his body danced over to her. Black hair that was tapered on the sides but long at the top… paired with a thick black beard that looked so soft and plush, she imagined it felt like silk. He mouthed the lyrics to one of the sexiest songs in the universe, knowing the words line by line. She couldn’t hear his voice just yet, but could read the words dripping out of his mouth like whispers from a dying angel. Or maybe a conniving demon. Only time would tell.

  Her girl, Mandi, had noticed him, too. In fact, she’d seen him as soon as they’d walked in, pointed him out and said a few nasty words that she completely agreed with. He was pierced and tattooed, wearing all black. A long-sleeved V-neck shirt, black jeans, black boots. A couple black chokers were wrapped around his thick neck and from the look of him, he appeared muscular beneath those threads. Tattoos covered several of his fingers.

  I imagine there are far more…

  His height and shoe size denoted that he was possibly packin’, but she’d found out far too often that was a myth. A disappointing myth. I like big dicks, okay? I’ll take a medium one, too, but I don’t mind screaming. Maybe he did have a bit of something-something. The motherfucker has some big ass hands… Promising.

  Regardless of how good this motherfucker looked, she’d told herself she wasn’t interested in messing with any men tonight.

  Even the ones that looked and moved like gods.

  Seems he has some rhythm. Nice smile. But I’m just not in the mood
tonight. I’m tired. This week wore me out. I came out tonight just to dance my ass off, drink and have fun, but now I’m distracted. Okay, now he’s talking to someone. Good. Oh, no. That conversation was short. Here he comes my way again.

  God, you are so wrong for this. You knew when You made whoever this guy is, he’d tempt me. He’s my type times one hundred. I know what he’s going to do though. He’ll offer me another drink, say something mad corny, then try to exchange numbers so he can fuck me sometime in the near future. This wouldn’t be happening if I could have just stopped myself from smiling back at him…

  Suri sighed and shook her head before wrapping her lips around her straw and drawing in the sweet blue alcohol. When she looked up, she was startled. He was right upon her. He looks even better up close.

  HE. IS. BEAUTIFUL.

  FUCK.

  He leaned in close to her ear, towering so much over her he had to bend down quite a bit. Her damn eyes fluttered as he drew so close, his beard brushed ever so slightly against her cheek. It’s soft! It’s soft like cotton, just like I thought it would be. The man smelled like fresh cologne, incense, and soap. Her pussy throbbed, the lips clenching like a fist.

  “Hi, my name is King. How are you doing tonight?” He cocked his head to the side and grinned. His smile was borderline arrogant. But the star of the show?

  HIS. FUCKING. VOICE.

  Oh my God, he sounds just like Chace Crawford. Wait a minute, did he say his name was King? That’s got to be a nickname.

  “Hello, King. My name is Suri.”

  His lips kinked into a sexy smirk.

  “Siri? Like the automated virtual assistant for Apple products?”

  “Kind of. Mine is spelled S.U.R.I. Common mistake. I’m far cooler than her though, decidedly less helpful, more charismatic and less robotic. Well, some may disagree with the last one.” He chuckled at that. “King. Interesting name. Is that an epithet?” She took another sip of her drink. The cold flavor flooded her mouth. The alcohol would undoubtedly loosen her tongue.