Skull Island

by T. Styles

  “You underestimate yourselves. You’re very popular in—”

  “I’m serious.” Banks said firmly, fists clenched in his lap.

  Whoyawanmetabe took a large sip and sat back until the butter soft leather cushions imprinted with the weight of his body. “I have my reasons for the footage. And not everything is for everybody.”

  “You have to be showing this to someone. You want it too badly.”

  “You see, that’s the assumption with most Americans. You wear jewelry for other people instead of simply cherishing the precious metals or diamonds that make up these ornaments. You buy cars hoping someone else will see you in them instead of enjoying the comfort they provide while traveling.”

  “What does this mean for me and my family?” Banks asked through clenched teeth, doing his best to keep his composure. “I’m tired of the riddles. The talking around what I’m asking. Speak in specifics. Because I don’t give a fuck about none of that other shit you saying.”

  Whoyawanmetabe nodded. “I am a very rich man. And unfortunately, my violent lifestyle means I’ll never have a family of my own. Which means I won’t be able to see the inner workings of them on a private level. Ever, and I desperately crave to witness real human interactions. I desperately crave to witness real human love. For me the Wales’, Lou’s and even the Nunez’s will provide this.”

  He was lying and Banks was certain.

  “You sure the objective isn’t to destroy us?”

  “Can you be destroyed?” He paused. “You know, I dated a girl in Jamaica who used to read a book called A Course In Miracles. There was one passage she kept quoting. ‘Nothing real can be threatened. Nothing unreal exists.’”

  Banks readjusted and picked up his glass, taking another sip to avoid showing his angry disposition.

  “So if your love is real nothing can threaten it, Mr. Wales.”

  “You talk as if you’re not human.” Banks readjusted in his seat.

  “In most circles, I’ve been labeled a monster.”

  Banks sat back. “Are you?”

  “Mr. Wales, all I can say is that these recordings will not leave my possession. And when I travel or go about, I’ll think of your family, the Lou’s and the Nunez’s while watching them. It’ll be like I’m a part of your family unit.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “Because you’ve learned to distrust early in life. In a sense, you’re like me. Perhaps before I leave, if everything goes well, I’ll give you a copy. Seeing yourself through a lens is an experience most don’t cherish until they can look back on those moments.”

  Banks took a deep breath. “When do we start?”

  “Right now.”

  He squinted. “What that mean?”

  “My cameramen are taping your family members as we speak.” Whoyawanmetabe swallowed all of his liquor. “Shall we begin too?”

  ****

  There were cameras everywhere, and although Whoyawanmetabe was not in the room, all were keenly aware that he was somewhere in the mansion posted up and watching. After all, this was his wish so why would he wait until after the cameras rolled to see the footage?

  The mood was all off.

  This was supposed to be dinner but with the cameras filming, the Lou’s were determined to make it a music video. The first thing they did was come late dripped in gold chains and no shirts. And with the Wales and Nunez families already seated and eating, they used them as cast members in their performance.

  First on the scene was Mason, who held a bottle of champagne to his mouth. Since he’d come to the island he taxed Banks’ bar so hard, it would be dry in a week.

  This was certain.

  Behind Mason were his sons Arlyndo, Howard, Patterson and Derrick who had gotten drunk earlier in the day. Jersey dragged in slowly behind them, embarrassed and concerned for whatever was about to happen due to a Louisville once again.

  “Why ya’ll sitting in here all stiff and shit!” Mason yelled, walking up to Banks as his sons flopped into positions on the right side of the table. “They want a show, lets give them a show.”

  Banks yanked Mason’s wrist and pulled down to whisper in his ear. “Fuck is wrong with you? Huh? Why you tripping?”

  Mason snatched away and dusted off his arm. As if his very touch soiled his ego.

  “What? You wanted me to fall in line right, so this is me falling in line.” He then walked up to one of the cameramen who stepped back to keep him in focus within his lens. “Did I tell ya’ll how I got here? On Wales Island the first time?” Mason said to the cameras, all extra close and shit. “It really is an interesting story to be honest.”

  Silence.

  “I sat in the storage area of Banks’ plane,” he burped a gaseous bubble of alcohol. It fogged up the lens. “Even stayed in his house the whole time without this nigga knowing.” He looked at Banks as if he pitied him not. “I could’ve killed the nigga and yet, here he is still alive due to my grace. Back in the day he was king but man has he been—”

  “Sit down, Mason,” Banks said softly, although his anger had risen to levels not seen since his son was murdered. “You making a fool of yourself, your wife and your sons.”

  “We good over here,” Howard said. “Worry about yourself, Unc.”

  Banks glared at the fool.

  “I ain’t got a problem with my Pops either,” Patterson said. “We good over here.”

  Derrick and Arlyndo chose to remain silent.

  Besides, Arlyndo was too troubled about Minnie and Tobias.

  Mason looked at Jersey who looked away in embarrassment. In response, the cameras moved in closer to catch her expression. There was no denying how she felt inside. It was literally written all over her face, by way of a wrinkled forehead and a lower gaze.

  Knowing her for over twenty years, Mason read his wife’s body reactions. “You know what, I’m not even surprised,” Mason continued, drinking more liquor. “I’ve always been an embarrassment to my wife.” He sat down in an available seat. “Why should now be any different?”

  Jersey opened her mouth to respond, looked at the camera pointing her way and closed her mouth. Thinking it was best to remain silent.

  Howard, on the other hand, grabbed a chair from one side of the table, picked it up and wedged it between Joey and Cassandra.

  “Fuck is you doing, man?” Joey yelled shoving him with a closed fist on the forearm. “Back the fuck up and sit over there by your own people.”

  “Nigga, shut up,” he responded breath as dank as a dumpster in a city alley.

  “Can you please move?” Cassandra asked Howard calmly.

  “Move for what?” He responded, “You work here don’t you? Ain’t you supposed to be servicing my needs? In the kitchen or something?”

  Cassandra, distraught, ran out of the room. Joey glared at Howard and followed and of course a camera was close behind the duo.

  As the Lou’s continued to put on a show they were clearly enjoying, Banks grew incensed. It was all he could do to remain in place and strong for those he felt needed a firm presence. But there were so many questions and not enough answers. He was playing chess with a stranger and couldn’t decipher his next move. Whoyawanmetabe had always been mysterious but even still he couldn’t imagine what he really wanted.

  And so, he remained seated and silent, studying everyone down to the cameramen, knowing that before long all would be revealed.

  ****

  The next day, Banks and Mason sat in one of the guestrooms off the east end of the property. Their chairs were side by side even though it was obvious there was a lot of tension between them. Whoyawanmetabe sat across from them, facing both men while cameras were aimed at Banks and Mason…interview style.

  It was showtime.

  “So, where did you both meet?” Whoyawanmetabe asked.

  Banks looked away. “I thought you were going to be following us. You ain’t say nothing about interviews. So why we here?”

  Amused in
his question and anger, Mason grabbed the Hennessey bottle, took a swig and burped. “On the block. That’s were we met.”

  Whoyawanmetabe smiled and formed his hands into a steeple. “Allow me to be more specific. Where on the block?”

  Banks shifted in his seat as a warm heat rush coursed up his body, causing his face to redden. This was going to blow up, he was certain. “In Baltimore. Like I said a few days ago. We were friends. No different than any other young niggas growing up in the hood.”

  Mason looked at Banks and chuckled once. “We were way different.”

  Whoyawanmetabe nodded. “I need more, Mr. Wales.”

  Banks sighed. “What you mean?”

  Whoyawanmetabe sat back in his chair. “Were you close?”

  “As close as you can be as kids.” Banks said doing his best to control the narrative. “I mean, we had a lot of growing up to do before a real friendship came along but we made it work. That’s why we still cool now.” He was lying and the room knew it.

  They were anything but cool.

  Mason laughed and took another sip.

  “You want to say something?” Whoyawanmetabe asked him.

  Still on joke time, Mason covered his mouth with a fist and spoke through the hole. “Nah. Not really. I’ma let him direct the show as usual.”

  “The sooner you both tell me the truth and I get what I need, the sooner I’ll be gone.” He leaned in, hands on both knees. “We can do this easy or slow. Your choice.”

  Mason faced Banks. “Banks and I were lovers and—”

  “Mason!” Banks yelled, hoping to stop him where they sat.

  “I know already, Banks,” Whoyawanmetabe said. “Everybody in Baltimore does by now. There’s no need in trying to hide.”

  “So that’s what all this shits about?” Banks said through clenched teeth. “To expose my personal business? To expose my life?”

  Whoyawanmetabe grinned. “All I’m saying is we all know.”

  “You see, he knows already.” Mason grinned harder and ran his hand down his mouth before stopping at his chin. “She was my first bitch.” He looked over at Banks as he leveled disrespectful insult after insult. “I mean, she was my girl since this shit being televised and all.” He waved at the camera. “I fucked her and everything.”

  The world paused.

  Banks was so heated his body swayed a little to the right. The level of anger he felt in the moment couldn’t be measured. It was as if his body floated and he was certain of one thing, even if they survived this situation, their bond would be destroyed-destroyed.

  Unable to continue with the interview, Banks rose and moved toward the exit.

  “Mr. Wales, shall we tape your family instead?” Whoyawanmetabe said. “Since you are unwilling to continue? Maybe your wife? Or children?”

  Banks turned around but slowly. His nostrils flared.

  “I find that young people always do better with these types of things anyway. They think its like social media.” He continued. “Now I’d prefer to get to know you more instead of them. Either way it’s your call.”

  Upon hearing the threat, even Mason sobered up a little.

  Banks ran both hands down his face, breathed into his palms and returned to his seat. He leveled a sinister glare at Whoyawanmetabe. “What you want to know?”

  “Is what Mason said true? Were you two a couple?”

  “You said you knew the story.”

  “Not the details, Mr. Wales. I’m here for the details.”

  Banks looked over at Mason and back at him. “Mason was something to do when I was a kid. I didn’t take anything going on between us as genuine. Even then I had a girl but he couldn’t understand. Couldn’t let go. I basically used the nigga for money and pizza. But he always wanted more. I wouldn’t be surprised if the same rings true today. He would drop to his knees right now if I let him.”

  Now it was Mason who grew enraged, while Whoyawanmetabe sat back and loved every bit of it. “So he looked into the relationship a little deeper than you wanted.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Banks nodded. “He always has a way of pushing toward what doesn’t want him. He the type of nigga who thinks you can push a square peg into a circle. And he’ll always be that type. As I’m sure you can see by now.”

  Mason sat back, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He was assassinating his character with each blow.

  Whoyawanmetabe smiled as if he’d just taken a hit of cocaine. “Well, we have enough for now.” He rose. “Get used to this type of thing. And who knows, maybe it’ll help you two work out whatever you have going on. Because by the looks of it, something is still there. Brewing under the surface.”

  Whoyawanmetabe left but one cameraman remained to cover whatever argument blew up after his exit. At this point the cameras were with them so much, that nobody gave a fuck anymore Besides, emotions were too high to conceal their feelings and so they unleashed no matter how many lenses sparkled their way.

  “So you really used me when we was younger?”

  “Fuck is wrong with you?” Banks growled, ignoring his question.

  Mason smiled. “What you barking ‘bout now?”

  “Is this really a game for you? Do you really treat everything seriously in life like it’s a joke?” Banks continued, jumping up from his seat.

  “I always push to what I want?” He said sarcastically. “Remember?”

  “Am I tripping or didn’t you see that nigga snap the Nunez girl’s neck? Were you—”

  “Yeah, I saw it!” Mason leapt up from his chair. “Stop saying the same shit over and over.”

  “So fuck is you playing for?” Banks continued.

  Mason walked a few feet away. “You asked me to participate in this shit, and I have a plan.”

  Banks stepped back. This couldn’t be happening. After all of his pleas for his oldest friend to fall the fuck back, he just couldn’t bring himself to follow basic instructions. “Why are you like this?”

  Silence.

  “It’s not enough for you to let shit play out, you still think you can control the situation even if it’s not working.”

  “When you see what I have planned I want you to talk that shit then. Because it’s going to be me who saves our families.”

  Banks approached him slowly. He wanted to appeal to that space in him that resonated with the Mason and Blakeslee days. When they were two kids, sitting on top of the steps in front of their building wanting it all.

  Taking a deep breath he said, “Mason, please, I’m begging, if you ever gave a fuck about me or my family, please, man, don’t do anything right now. The shit will backfire in your face, I promise you. Let shit play how it got to play for a minute. At least for a couple of days.”

  Mason looked at the camera and back at Banks. “I gotta do what I gotta do. And I’ma leave it at that.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Like a young child doing a dance routine for attention, the sun did all it could to get Minnie, who sat below on the beach, to notice her extraordinary rays. But Minnie’s heart was broken and not even the warmth of the sun’s love could help.

  Sitting yoga style on the sand, although she wanted things back to normal, where Harris was alive and well, she thanked God that at least for the moment she had her memories.

  Despite the cameraman being near by, she was just about to take a nap, which meant he would have to follow someone else. Lately she enjoyed rest so much because when she was sleeping she didn’t have to worry about the looming danger on the island.

  Lying back, she was dozing off when Arlyndo walked up, wanting to talk. The one thing she was certain of after remembering how Arlyndo kidnapped her against her will was that their relationship had run its course. She also knew that telling him was not worth the trouble because she had other things to worry about.

  “You know what I was thinking?” Arlyndo asked as he took a seat next to her flesh. He was as close as he could be without touching her, something she told
him repeatedly she didn’t want.

  She took a deep breath, not up for conversation. “Arlyndo, please stop.” She sat up.

  “You remember me crawling into your window that night…That everything kicked off?”

  Minnie burst out in laughter and her reaction shocked herself. It was at that moment that she realized that somewhere deep, she still had a place in her heart that belonged exclusively to him. “Do I remember?” She giggled. “You almost got me in trouble that night.”

  He shook his head as he recalled his life flashing before his eyes. “What the fuck was I thinking?”

  “You asking me?” She said with a smile.

  “I could’ve fucking broke my neck or something if I fell back trying to get into your bedroom window.” He chuckled and shook his head softly. “I guess I would do anything for you though.” His voice grew softer. “Even now. Even now.” He repeated. “Minnie I would…I mean…” He moved closer and their skin merged until she pushed him back.

  “Arlyndo, please don’t.”

  “I’m serious! I’m so fucking serious,” he yelled, slamming a fist to palm.

  There he go again. She thought. Losing his temper.

  “Minnie, I know you’ve been avoiding me, okay? I...I know you don’t want me around and its ripping me up, baby. You hear me? It’s ripping me up. Please don’t do this to us. We been through too much. The rest should be easy.”

  “Not avoiding you.”

  “But you are though. I mean, will you hate me forever?” His voice resembled nails screeching down a chalkboard.

  She turned her body to look into his eyes. Brushing sand off her toes she said, “I need you to understand something very serious. No place in my heart do I have your name and hate in the same area.” She touched his hand. “No place, Arlyndo. I’m just; I’m just trying to get myself together. To, to be better for—”

  “You sure you don’t hate me though?” His mind was on one track and he couldn’t receive her words. “Even after I tried to take you to Mexico when you didn’t want to go? And you hurt your head because—”

  “No place, Arlyndo.” She repeated softly.