by T. Styles
Where was her reaction?
Moments earlier they had returned from burying Arlyndo, on sacred ground, shown to them by Rosa Nunez and so they were still on edge. There was much to do before the sun rose.
First they washed the body, with the help of the Nunez family. The death ceremony was the only time Whoyawanmetabe granted them privacy, respecting culture as he did in his own country. He wouldn’t dare mess with tradition and risk being haunted by ghosts all his Jamaican life. Next he allowed them to go with the Nunez family to the burial ground, but only with an escort.
Now back at the mansion, the Lou family was forced to deal with life without Arlyndo. “Sit down,” Jersey told them, tiring of the agitated energy that surrounded her in the moment.
“Sit down?” Patterson said arms flaring at his sides. “Ma, you act like you don’t even care!” His eyes were bloodshot red, as well as his brothers, due to non-stop crying.
“Yeah, ma, Arlyndo gone,” Howard added as if all weren’t already aware. “He gone! And you not saying nothing! Sitting over there like you dead too! I mean, what’s wrong with you? Say something…anything!”
“Sit the fuck down!” She yelled louder, leaping up. “I will not be disrespected…not one more minute! Not by men I slid out my pussy!”
Hearing the rumble in her voice, a gift given from God to all black mothers, slowly they fumbled as they found available seats on the floor.
“I have sat by and watched as your father’s antics caused two people to be killed in less than a week. One of them being my...” She broke down crying. “My baby boy.”
Her sons got up to comfort her but she extended her hand and they returned to their positions on the floor. She didn’t need their forced embraces.
“From here on out, I don’t want anybody else in this family to make a move without me knowing. And I expect you all to listen, or else you will see another side of me. Don’t believe me? Ask the two dead cops back in Maryland.” She stormed out, reminding them about the recent bodies on her resume.
****
Whoyawanmetabe returned to the locked room in the morning only to see Mason staring directly at him. He hadn’t been asleep since his son died and staying alone, locked down, drove him mad with screen shots in his mind of how Arlyndo desperately pulled for breath, only to learn that none was available.
To add to the misery, Whoyawanmetabe wouldn’t allow any family members or friends to check on him while instead, assuring them, that he was okay in his personal care.
Sliding up to him in a flowing khaki colored linen short set, bare feet, his dreads were neatly tied back and it looked as if they were re-twisted although Mason couldn’t imagine who would have taken on the chore. Of having him sit between their legs while they cared for his mane without killing him dead.
“You know, Banks doesn’t respect you right?” Whoyawanmetabe said, rubbing his hands together like two logs trying to start a fire. “I’m probably telling you what you know already, but still.”
Mason looked away, beyond irritated at this point. There was a spot on the wall that seemed to be separated from the wallpaper. It was a brown smudge that he focused on beyond all else. Besides, nothing he did seemed to make matters easier so he was trying to maintain control of his rage.
“Banks doesn’t respect you because men like him,” he paused and chuckled once. “…or women like him rather, think men like you and I are good for nothing more than muscle. Or goons. To protect them without realizing we want our due in life. We deserve it based on the protection we provide.”
Mason faced him. “You killed my son. And all I wanna do is pay respects wherever he’s buried. Can you let me do that? Please? I need to…I need to pray over his body.”
“He can’t be trusted, Mason,” Whoyawanmetabe continued, ignoring his most basic desire. “Are you a glorified weapon? Or are you in fact dishonest and deserving of his disrespect?”
“Dishonest? Somebody could say the same thing about you.”
“You see, it’s expected for you not to trust me. I guess you can say that’s why you attempted to take my life, even though all I wanted was to document your family. But for you not to be able to trust a friend that you’ve known all your life, well, that’s different don’t you think?”
“He’s not my friend,” Mason said through pinched lips.
Whoyawanmetabe smiled. “I guess you’re smarter than I thought.” He took a heavy breath that hung in his chest a few seconds longer. “I’ll have one of my men release you in a few minutes. And out of respect for your son, no cameras for the next twenty-four hours. Consider this a gift from me to you.”
****
A soft orange glow from the lamps caressed the space.
Mason sat on the couch in the cigar lounge drinking whiskey and smoking weed. He had spent the better part of the day at his son’s grave followed by one of Whoyawanmetabe’s goons, and his mind and heart were emotional wrecks. He hadn’t even spoken to his family since the ordeal took place because the pain was too great. And since he was certain their agony was as grave as his own, he needed a break to be stronger for them.
And then there was the guilt of being the one to come up with such an atrocious plan that failed miserably.
At the end of the day Arlyndo’s death was his fault.
Banks had warned him but he didn’t respect his plea.
And now it was too late.
When Banks walked inside and saw Mason’s face, Mason took a heavy breath. He had thought about him ever since realizing Whoyawanmetabe had taken him somewhat hostage below his house. His hair had grown a little longer than he liked and as a result, he pulled it up into a man’s bun that gave whispers of the woman he used to be.
Pointing at the whiskey canteen Banks said, “You mind if I…”
Mason shrugged and sat back, glass in hand. “It’s your shit.”
Banks walked deeper inside and poured himself a drink. The brown liquor dripped into the glass like rich honey. “You remember when Arlyndo snuck them twins in the house that summer?” He took a sip and sat next to him. Mason had been tense for days and suddenly he relaxed in his presence. Just that quickly. Why did he have so much natural power over his heart? “I think he just broke his foot a few months before that. I’m not sure.”
Mason chuckled once and shook his head. “Nah, it was the winter. Don’t you remember? Because he was telling me which presents to take back because he already opened them all. Even the ones without his name on them.”
“Fuck yeah!” Banks laughed heavier as the recollection hit his mind like a movie trailer. “He was carrying shit like a grown ass man. Like he wasn’t eleven. Just destroying Christmas and shit!” Banks’ laughter filled the room and caused Mason’s heart to smile. “I mean he really thought he was gonna bone two girls right after he fucked up the holiday for everybody.”
“He thought he was gonna hit them at the same time too,” Mason said shaking his head. “Like where does he get this shit from?”
“Got mad at me too and everything when you dropped them off at home. I wasn’t even there. Right before their parents called the cops at that!”
“Didn’t speak to me for a week,” Mason said still smiling.
“I was guilty by proxy.” Banks added. They were clearly trying to make the moment last, knowing full well other matters would need to be discussed within the seconds to come. “I ain’t gonna lie, to be young the boy had game.”
They both laughed until it simmered like a teapot being taken off the stove. And for that moment Arlyndo wasn’t dead, but a child somewhere in the world still living his life.
Silence became them a few minutes longer.
“I’m sorry, man,” Banks said taking a deep breath followed by a huge sip.
His eyes rested on Mason who had to look away.
Because it was true.
Every rumor.
Everything Jersey said about his feelings for Banks was real.
At the end of the day
he was still in love with the past after all this time. In fact he loved him more. And he hated Banks for not choosing to be what he was born to be, a woman, so that Banks could console him one more time.
“I can’t get my mind around how it happened,” Banks continued. “And I know you—”
“Like you give a fuck,” Mason said from nowhere. Since Banks didn’t choose to love him in the way he desired, he would rather anger sit between them heavily instead.
Banks frowned and sat his glass on the table. “Why, why you say that?”
“You never liked him.” His nostrils flared. “I saw the look in your eyes when you saw him around Minnie. I felt the hate brewing just with the thought that the two of them could be a couple. He’s gone now, Banks. No more need for the show.”
“That’s not—”
“Nigga, if you were gonna lie why the fuck even come in here? Ain’t no need in being fake now that my son’s gone.”
“I didn’t want him with Minnie but I liked him, Mason. You gotta know that. I fucking loved him like he was my own blood.” A soft hand found it’s way to his own heart.
Mason shook his head softly. He knew Banks cared for him. He cared for all his sons, despite all they’d been through. But it was easier being angry than it was being honest.
“I, I don’t understand how my son is not here no more.” He looked over at him with glassy eyes. “I’m not understanding, how, how I won’t be able to see him again. Help me through this shit, Banks. Please, man. Or I’m gonna die.”
Banks looked down, as if searching the floor for the proper thing to say. He decided he needed him in a different way, so he pulled him in for a deep hug and Mason was relaxed again until Banks said, “I know how you feel.”
“How the fuck you know how I feel?”
Banks glared.
And in that moment, Mason remembered that Harris was killed not so long ago. In his grief, once again, he thought he was the only one. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry…I…I…”
“You don’t have to be sorry. I get it. The shit hurts and it don’t get no easier, Mason. I didn’t even get a chance to deal with my grief because something else is happening. And then I’m wondering if the other shit I’m facing right now is a blessing because without it, I’m left with blaming myself for…for…Harris’ death too.” Banks sighed. “I wouldn’t want that for nobody. Especially not you. And I gotta be—”
“Strong for your wife and kids,” Mason said finishing his sentence. “Even if there ain’t nothing left to give.”
“If you supposed to be strong for me…” Jersey said entering the lounge. “Then why are you in here? Why didn’t you come see me after being gone for two days? Why Mason?” She sniffled. “I don’t get any of this shit right now and it hurts! I begged that nigga to see you and you come here first?”
Mason swallowed all of his whiskey and poured another. “Not now, Jersey. I’m telling you I’m not in the mood.”
“If not now then when?” She asked throwing her hands up in the air. “Tell me that at least!”
“Maybe I should leave,” Banks said, standing up.
“No!” She yelled stopping his motions. “What I have to say you both need to hear.” She took a deep breath.
Banks sat down.
But, Mason knew his wife and figured whatever she had to say would be too heavy for the moment. Or it wouldn’t matter. He felt it best for her to kick rocks allowing her concerns to be voiced another day. “Jersey, I’ll talk to you when I’ve had some time to think. I’ll—”
“No! I, I lost a child too, Mason. And yet here I am, putting my feelings to the side to try and get through to you.” She pointed at the door. “Because I have three other sons left and I want them to remain safe. I need them to stay safe.”
Banks looked at Mason and then Jersey. “Go ahead and tell me what you want me to know.”
“I know why he’s here.”
Banks stood up. “You…you do?”
She walked deeper inside and met him halfway. They resembled two lovers with so much to say to each other and so little time. “Yes, he’s a fan.” She looked at her husband. “Of Mason’s.”
Mason rose slowly but remained where he was not believing his ears. “A fan?”
How could that be? The man appeared to hate him.
The confusion was as thick as fog.
“I couldn’t remember where I saw him from at first and then I recalled seeing him at your art show. It was the same night of the shoot out at Banks’ house. The one that started the war.”
Mason and Banks nodded, neither requiring details. The tragic day sat between them always.
“You were supposed to show up to the gallery but you told us to meet you at Banks’ house instead,” she continued. “So I left. We all did.”
Mason ran his hand down his face. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?” He yelled, looking to blame her as usual. “We could’ve dealt with this shit before! Fuck is wrong with you?”
Her face transformed from sad wife to that of a gladiator, ready to strike him dead where he stood. “How many times have I attempted to talk to you? How many times have I begged to be heard?”
“What you talking about now? I—”
“How many times, Mason?” She yelled cutting him off. “Only for you to brush me away like you always do? Like I don’t matter! So don’t come at me about why didn’t I tell you when you never listen! You not even listening now.”
Mason’s chin weighed heavy and his eyes rested on the floor. “But, but this is different.”
“How? You ignore everything I say. And every time you think I’m gonna have one minute of a serious conversation you scatter away like a roach. Not man enough to deal with it I guess. You were going to do it again, tonight, but Banks intervened this time.”
“I can’t believe this shit,” Mason said flopping down. He was under too much stress to handle the moment. It was best to let his wife and the true love of his life work things out.
He went for the bottle instead.
Banks walked closer to Jersey and held the top of her shoulders. Staring down at her he said, “Jersey, are you sure?”
She looked over at Mason who was pouring his feelings into the glass.
“Jersey,” Banks said more forcefully, demanding her eyes rest on him. “Are you positive you saw him at one of Mason’s art showings? I need you to be certain. And it’s okay if you aren’t.”
“I…I think so.” She looked down and then at her husband. “I mean, I know Mason doesn’t believe me but—”
He rattled her again with a soft shake, forcing her eyes on him once more. He wanted facts and all other drama could rest. “I believe you. You hear me? I believe you. And all I want you to tell me right now is if you’re sure or not.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat as she thought about the night she saw him. It was one of Mason’s biggest galleries as word had travelled through the underground that the man responsible for the controversial creations was selling new art. Made from the blood of his past victims.
All of the wicked in the land wanted a piece.
She was afraid to be right. Afraid to be responsible for whatever happened next. And yet there was a peace that came over her. Something told her that Banks would take the information and create the best plan to save her and her children. She was counting on it. She just hoped her husband would stay out of it and let the man work.
Looking into his eyes she said, “Banks, it was him. And I think he’s been a fan for a long time but he looks different now. Maybe his dreads grew longer, I’m not sure. But I’m positive he was there the night of his last exhibition.”
Banks hugged her tightly before quickly separating.
Mason, all the way drunk, on the other hand, wished it were he who Banks had embraced in his arms.
“Thank you, Jersey, that’s all I needed to know.” Banks ran out.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Steam bubbled on the wooden pa
nels in the sauna room as Joey and Cassandra sat inside. Joey wrapped in a towel around his waist and Cassandra’s around her body. With everything going on in the mansion, they realized that the sauna was one of two places, the other being the Nunez’s house, where cameras didn’t roam.
If they did try to film there such high temperatures would destroy the devices.
Since hell broke loose in the house, Joey felt as if Cassandra was ignoring him. He wanted to not think of himself because he was feeling her, but it was hard because he wanted nothing other than to get closer. But where do you start when a person has lost so much?
“Cassandra, what’s going on with you? I noticed lately you been trying to separate from me.” He asked passionately. “Is it because of what happened to Arlyndo? Or that fight we had in your room? I didn’t mean to hurt you again. I swear.”
She sniffled and pat her nose with the balled up tissue in the palm of her hand that she always seemed to be carrying. It was so withered that little tissue balls rested wherever she traipsed.
“It’s everything, Joey. Too much for me to talk about…maybe I…I don’t know…maybe I just want to be left alone.”
“So it’s Arlyndo?” He pressed harder.
Having been born with a silver spoon, he was accustomed to asking questions and getting answers. Certainly he didn’t want silence from a woman he was starting to adore, mainly because she didn’t swoon like the women back home who learned he was rich.
“Yes. If that’s what you want to hear.”
Joey looked away and back into her face. “But you were like this before he died. All moody and stuff. I know we not together or whatever but, I’m here.”
“I know but…”she cried harder. “But…”
“But what?” He asked as he touched her shoulder, causing her to jump. The apprehension she exhibited put him on edge. Something happened but what? “Talk to me. Did someone hurt you?”
She quickly rotated her head in his direction. “Just, just, leave me alone.” She leapt up, grabbed her towel and rushed out crying.
“Fuck!” He said to himself, slamming back into the hot wall.
