The creek which ran between the two malls was overgrown with foliage and buzzed by dragonflies. Kids sometimes trolled for crawdads or minnows in the silt-filled streams. Budding maple and tulip trees grew so thick no one could see to the southern strip mall from Breton Court. The little bridge which crossed the creek along High School Road was practically sealed off by plants. A trained eye could spot the worn path through the weeds leading down the side of the bridge through the overgrowth and to the sheltering tunnel formed by the overpass. This was where Baylon lived, in the shadow of his former home.
Early morning fog rose from along the creek bed, wispy ghosts along a whispering creek. A plank of plywood formed a makeshift lean-to, shielding a body from easy sight should the curious venture beneath the bridge. Used condoms were scattered on his bedroom floor, drifting in from the trickling current of the creek. Baylon searched among the cardboard and plastic and blankets piled beneath it for clothing, retrieving a pair of frozen socks. The creek was a natural ley line, and the bridge, though not his place of power, resonated like an echo chamber. It might prove to be sufficient. Dred sat on a milk crate, his eyes shut as he concentrated on his spell. His patience wore thin and he had better things to do than traipse through the underbush.
"I hear you were looking for me." Morgana appeared behind him. The sudden sound of her voice caused Baylon to drop the socks and he whirled around. She had a way of making things inconvenient for everyone. She could be like that.
"Mother." Dred rose.
"This better be worth it." Morgana studied the two of them. "The chicken comes home to roost. And you brought a friend."
"I have no friends."
"You are your mother's son."
"And my father's." Dred let his leather half-jacket fall open to reveal the handle of the Caliburn.
"I see that. You've grown into a handsome young man, your eyes filled with that same youthful ambition." Morgan stepped to her side, beginning a wary circling of Dred and not wanting to lose track of his faithful dog.
"I want what's mine."
"What do you think is owed you?"
"Power. It should all be mine. The wealth. The women. The reputation. I should have them. I want to be the king now."
"It's not your time. Not yet."
"Why not?" His voice shot to too high a register, too much of the hint of a whine in its undertone. He waited for an answer. Her silence spoke for her. "King?"
"You know what I mean." She strolled around him, her hand tracing a circle along his chest, around his back, and to his chest again. She placed the flats of both hands on his chest and stepped closer to him. "You should seize what you want."
"I can't."
"A real man wouldn't wait." Her breath ran hot into his ear. "What's stopping you?"
"I need more. One last bit of magic. Then I could step to him proper."
"One last… lesson?"
"For one of us." Dred grabbed her by the back of her head and kissed her. Thrust his tongue deep into her mouth, her tongue finding his in their macabre dance. He reached into his pant waist, brushing away her hands. And withdrew his Caliburn. He pressed the barrel into her side, aimed towards her heart, and squeezed the trigger.
At the report, Morgana's eyes flared open, a cruel smile crossed her lips. They both began to speak in a tongue older than man. As each heard the other, they spoke faster, racing to the end of whatever mystical sentence they had memorized.
To Baylon it seemed like a duel of incantations, each of them racing to see who could complete theirs first. Baylon heard the screams in his head. The scene of enjoined mother and son faded from view as other images filled his mind. Flames leapt up. Babies burned in a fire. A face melted away. The skin of a cat flayed off. A father's belt slapped bare buttocks. A mother ripped her unborn from her belly. Lovers cut each other with blades as the excitement of their love-making increased, each thrust exciting them to deeper wounds. A dagger sliced through his lung. His breath escaped him. He dropped to his knees. Darkness embraced him. And he opened his eyes. Dred stood alone. His mother's clothes still in his hands.
"It is finished," he said. "Now I can begin."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Rhianna took the number three Indy Metro bus to the corner of New York and Rural on the bus pass she'd received from Outreach Inc. Her butt switched as she walked. She had an appointment with Esther to discuss her GED and pick up a few baby things. Her swollen belly peeked from beneath her white shirt. Due any day, she rubbed it as if that might coax the baby to come sooner. She didn't care if it was a boy or a girl. She already had a girl who stayed with her auntie most of the time. It wasn't like she had room for her at her place at the Phoenix Apartments where she stayed most of the time. Percy objected to her staying there after the mess with Night, but the Phoenix was all she knew. Shit could jump off wherever she laid her head. There was no shortage of drama out here.
She remembered when she first came by Outreach Inc. With Lady G, their fingers clasped like long-lost lovers, her arm around her waist, head on her shoulder, a prom date of needles and glass dicks. A lifetime ago. Before the magic. Before the madness. Before King.
A contraction pain rippled through her. Stubbornass baby. Had to be a boy, acting like he didn't want to be born. Probably knew what awaited him. She planned to name him something wonderful. And strong. She just wanted someone to love her unconditionally, who she could love, who would stay with her.
Percy baffled her though.
The big fool followed her around worse than a faithful puppy nipping at her heels. Never wanting anything, never pushing up on her, never demanding anything, just… there. Around. Taking care of her.
Lott waited on the porch of Outreach Inc., craving a cigarette so badly his hands itched with the muscle memory. He watched her approach, his eyes full of anticipation without recognition, as if hoping she were someone else. Upon realizing who she was, his mouth curled into disappointment before catching itself and twisting into a warm grimace.
"What's up, baby girl?" Lott asked, putting his arm around her in a side embrace.
"You. Up here acting cute. What you here for?"
"Nothing. Drop before work. Maybe catch me some dinner."
"You come all the way out here for dinner?"
"Thought I could get up with Wayne."
"Wayne, huh. I see how you look at her. That can't be healthy." She plopped her backpack on the porch next to him. She decided to stay out of the direct line of sight of the house across the street and stepped behind one of the porch pillars. "The others don't see it, but I do."
"Ain't nothing to see."
"Keep telling yourself that. You might even believe it. But your eyes don't lie. That girl can't sneeze without drawing your full attention. Your heart practically stops till you see her start breathing again. Like I said, that can't be healthy."
"We're just friends." He was probably a little too sensitive where Lady G was concerned.
"See? I didn't even need to say who I was talking about, but you still want to sing that tired old song." Her words more combative, on the brink of a dare.
"In. Sta. Gator."
"Don't be mad cause I'm up here telling truth." Rhianna sighed. She'd said her piece and that was all she could do. She slowly gathered her things as if excused. Or dismissed. Either way, she knew her presence was no longer welcome, a fifth wheel. Bitterness in her smile, without warmth, only the legacy of resentment at never getting anything to call her own. "Fine. It just better stay nice and just friendly."
Rhianna rang the doorbell. Esther answered the door to let her in and held it open for Lott. He waved her off and she closed the door behind Rhianna. There were squeals of being happy to see each other, checking out how big Rhianna's belly was before she was whisked back to get something to eat. Lott didn't care about any of Rhianna's trifling musings. He knew what Lady G would say about her assumptions. That she was coming from a place of jealousy, wanting Lott's attentions for herself. Just like
he knew there was no room for another in his heart. Unrequited love was the stuff of poets, the tortured soul which resonated with truth. It was safer to love one you could not have, his heart protected, locked away. His unrequited love was the purest sort of love. To love from afar without expectation was selfless. He loved her as if she was carved in ice. He lived to serve her, to be there for her, knowing her virtue and beauty and honor. To never sigh, yearn, desire, to touch her, his love was disciplined. But still, he burned for her. Oh, he burned all right. Like a man in fever, he kept her image burning in his brain.
He was a damned fool.
Another Indy Metro bus pulled up along Rural Avenue. Lady G stepped off, smoothed out her clothes, and trundled along the block. Lott straightened, suddenly aware of his slouch, but he couldn't seem to find the proper posture of cool. He really wanted a cigarette now.
"What's the matter with you? Face all sour like someone done took the last of your favorite Kool Aid." Lady G hugged him, a full-frontal embrace that neither seemed quick to break.
"Rhianna was just out here talking crazy about us."
"What about us?"
"Saying that we don't look like we just friends."
"What we look like?"
"I don't know. More, I guess. You know how she is."
"Always meddling."
"Yeah."
"I mean, you cute and all…" Her hand rested on his. Not flirty, but knowing. She enjoyed the effect she had on him. She played the silly games girls play, confusing him one moment, making him jealous the next. The petty cruelties of love. Craving his affections and attentions, she knew that she kept him for herself, held his heart by a dog leash.
The sound of her voice felt too near. "But you with King."
"I know."
What he said about King was true, but she felt like the bride of a war husband, a man divided between mission and family. Living such a split life, carving up bits of himself doled out to everyone who needed him or even just asked, King was his own worst enemy. And no one saw it, no one looked out for him. They simply kept lining up to take from him. And she also respected the image they represented in front of the group and she wanted to be seen as warm, loving, nice, and loyal.
Lott fit her. She loved Lott for his bravery, courtesy, boldness, and lack of guile, but it was more than that. Lott allowed her to be her. Young and silly, not always serious and driven. She didn't have to live up to how he saw her but could just… be. Lott was a simple man with a simple code and who would risk his life, but not his brothers'. He didn't have King's moodiness, darkness, and pent-up secrets. King was a frustrating, closed book while Lott was an open, simple one. At times she wanted to just hold him, stroke his hair. The idea of her and Lott was too costly so she blocked the idea out of her mind. But whenever he was around, whenever it was her and him, it was as if her thoughts and actions shifted into automatic pilot.
"You OK?" Lott asked. "You drifted off."
"But I was going to say that you're, I don't know, my best friend."
"Yeah." Lott rose, his body too aware of her presence. That was his way: rather than be tempted or mentally toy with things he shouldn't, he'd leave. "Anyway, I gotta bounce. Gonna meet King."
"Be careful."
"I will. Uh, could I borrow your scarf?" the chill of the air didn't bother him, he simply wanted to have something of hers close to his heart.
"Yeah." She handed her knight errant her slight blue veil.
Their shadows held hands.
There were wars and there were wars, and Naptown Red was a soldier to the bone. The idea of a war on drugs amused him. Wasn't no president launched troops into the hood searching for crack pipes of mass destruction. Nor were any planes deployed to bomb coca fields. No, there were police sent in to lock niggas up for trying to earn, the government mad too little of these dollars were lining its pockets. The money was out there, steady flowing, and where money went, so went power and interest.
All the wars did was turn police into frontline troops on the opposing side of the community. No one talked to the police. Police no longer talked to the community, trained to eye them with suspicion and dread, fomenting a spirit of distrust and uncooperation. They turned innocent bystanders, hard-working citizens not in the game, into enemy non-combatants. And Red into a freelance mercenary, because in times of war, soldiers were at a premium. He couldn't think of anyone he knew that didn't have someone who'd been locked up, was locked up, or was on paper.
The midnight air cool and crisp, he felt no pain beneath the sodium glare of the street lights. A bottle of Crown Royal wrapped in a paper bag, he held court at the Rural Inn on the corner of Rural and Michigan Street. He took a healthy sip and it bit into him real nice. Close to drunk, the low warm got his head up in a nice way. Roger's "I Want to be Your Man" was stuck in his head so he hummed along.
"What's up, nukka?" Mulysa's hands remained in his pockets.
"You come see about me?" Red offered him a taste. They danced the dance of street cordiality, through tightened jaws and forced smiles.
"You still looking?"
"I was just thinking that soldiers are at a premium out here."
"Who you down with?"
"I got no set," Red said.
"Everyone works for someone."
"I got my man, but he lets me be. Sets me up, lets me do my thing. I break him off." Mulysa stared down the block. "Like you want to do for me."
"Exactly." Red pointed with the bag-wrapped bottle and winked a bloodshot yellow eye.
"What I got to do?"
"See? A well-trained dog ain't used to being off
leash. What you want to do? I could set you up on a package. You could run girls."
"Yeah. All of that."
"You a Renaissance nigga. I like that. Why don't you round up a girl or two and get started. Got someone in mind?" Red asked through the haze of a knowing leer.
"Yeah."
"Good. The sooner you get on that, the sooner you on your path to complete independence."
Hot Trimz closed at 6pm most days. Wasn't open at all on Sundays. However, they kept special hours for "appointments." Some clients kept discreet hours or otherwise demanded special treatment. If the price was right, the entire staff stayed over.
Omarosa leaned back in the chair as Bunny threaded one of her eyebrows. A short, stout woman, with red and purple hair crowning her head – the lone white woman on staff – Bunny's glasses pushed low on her nose. Her eyes held to grim slits giving her face a pinched expression as she concentrated. The cow bell at the front door clanged. Omarosa drew her sawed-off shotgun into her lap.
"Relax," Bunny assured her. "The boys got this."
Omarosa listened with lethal intent.
"How many you got?" Broyn asked.
"My book's full up," Old School said.
"Yeah. I can see that." Broyn eyed the row of empty benches. "How about later?"
"Tomorrow." Old School pulled out his appointment book.
"Name a time."
"7.30, 8pm. After-shop hours."
"A-ight."
D watched him until he slow-dipped out of sight. Omarosa relaxed her grip on her weapon, but didn't lower it back to her side.
"Let's have a Halloween party then go streaking out in the Quads," Bunny yelled over the top of the partition.
"How bout I just get buck nekkid right here," Old School said.
"Aw naw. Not buck nekkid."
"You'll have to take that out back," D said from his office as he tallied the day's receipts.
"I could do it up in the front window," Old School said.
"Not in the front window!" Bunny yelled.
"Some of them cougars might come in here to see what's poppin'."
"A cougar ain't looking for another cougar."
"Dag, Bunny, I thought you and me was cool."
"We cool. Just don't call me Bunny."
The cowbell clanged again. D made a note to get a real door chime. Again. King st
rode in.
"She in?" King stuck his head into D's office.
"Don't you have an office?" D asked.
"Yeah, yours." The pair bumped fists.
King's Justice: The Knights of Breton Court, Volume 2 Page 22
