by T. Styles
Taking a deep breath, and not feeling like staying, he walked out and right into Spacey bending the corner.
“You ‘aight, man?” Spacey asked preparing to enter the sauna too. “I saw Cassandra take off a minute ago. Ya’ll have a fight or something?”
“I’m fine,” he sighed, wiping the sweat from his brow. “You know how these females be right?” He slapped his brother with the back of his hand trying to put on as if Cassandra was just another female when she was anything but in his book.
He was starting to really feel her.
“I know.” Spacey sighed. “Arlyndo dying and this nigga in our house is enough to put everything off.” He looked behind himself for a camera. Luckily there wasn’t one in view. “But we gotta move through it you know? I mean, after Harris died anything else…” he took a deep breath and looked back again. “We can deal with anything.”
“No cams today remember,” Joey said wiping additional sweat off his face. “The Jamaican said it’s to honor ‘Lyndo.” He frowned. “Like he knew the nigga.”
“Or gave a fuck.”
Silence spilled between the brothers and Joey was just about to walk off when Spacey said, “I think they raped…I mean, I think they raped Cassandra!” He blurted out.
Joey frowned, his head craning forward. “What you talking about?”
“I came past the bowling alley the other day. The nigga Howard was standing guard at the door and all of a sudden it flew open and Cassandra runs out. Clothes falling all off and shit.”
Joey ran his hands down his face. “What the fuck is you talking about?”
“I just said it. Patterson was fixing his pants.”
Joey’s light skin reddened. “Why didn’t you do something? What the fuck, man? You let these niggas rape a chick and all you do is stand by?”
Spacey’s eyes widened. “What, me?”
“Yeah you, nigga! At the very least say something to me.” He shook his head. “I could’ve did something and now look. Man, move out the way.”
Spacey grabbed his arm and Joey snatched out of his grasp.
“Don’t do nothing crazy,” Spacey warned. “Now ain’t the time to be starting no drama. You heard Pops. The cameras will be back and—”
“Don’t tell me not to do shit.” He pointed at him. “And I don’t know why you scared of Howard after all these years either, but you better toughen the fuck up or else he gonna continue to run all over you, nigga.” He stormed away.
****
She was lying across her bed when Joey stepped into her bedroom doorway. She had showered and was wearing a long white cotton nightgown. It was soft enough to showcase the outline of her body and he felt bad for wanting her sexually due to her grief.
But she was that sexy.
Her back was facing the door and he wasn’t sure if she was awake.
Even though the cameramen rarely showed up in the Nunez’s house, he looked behind him once before walking inside and closing the door behind himself.
She jumped when she heard him enter and sat on the edge of the bed. Clutching the drawstrings of her gown she sighed in relief.
It was just him.
“Joey, what are you…why are you here?”
“Did Patterson or Howard hurt you?”
Her eyes widened before she heaved heavily, falling onto the bed. “Please…just…just go away.”
He sat on the edge of the mattress, so close that the tip of her toes brushed against the side of his leg. “You don’t have to go through this alone. You don’t have to suffer. Just give the word and I—”
“What?” She yelled sitting up. “You’ll fight him? Kill him? I’m tired of all of this shit, Joey. I don’t want any more violence right now. Con el tiempo serás un recuerdo.”
The hairs on the back of Joey’s neck rose. He knew the saying in Spanish meant ‘in time you will be a memory’ because she told him awhile back. What he didn’t understand was why she kept saying it to him.
“Why you keep hitting me with that phrase? You said it to me once before, and your mother said it to me a little while after, when my pops was away. Why?”
“Joey, I’m not as helpless as I look. Leave me alone. It’s not a request. You’d be wise to listen.”
There was a darkness in her energy that changed her from a victim to a predator. He was forced again with the realization that there was a lot about the Nunez family that he didn’t understand.
And that he wanted to stay as far away from pretty Cassandra as possible.
****
Banks had just gotten into a heated fight with Bet and made a decision that he no longer wanted her in their room. She had been acting strangely and since his mind was on keeping everybody safe, he didn’t have the time. Luckily for them both they still had a half of day left without the cameras following.
They were in the midst of the argument about why he wanted her out when Jersey came running into the bedroom to alert Banks to what Mason was doing in the sunroom. “I’m sorry but I really need to talk to Banks.” Jersey said, hanging in the doorway.
“Now is not a good time,” Bet said, throwing a palm up in her direction.
“Bet, but it’s important. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t.”
Bet threw up her hands and ran out of the room. There was no use in trying, he would leave with her she was certain. “What’s wrong, Jersey?”
“Its Mason,” she looked down. “I think he’s about to do something crazy. Again. I’m so scared.”
Banks hugged her. “Don’t be. I have it.”
When he walked into the den, Mason was painting a portrait of himself using his own blood and mud, a concoction he mastered and created long ago. Tiny cuts covered most of his skin because he hadn’t punctured a vein, for fear too much blood would pour. He had to get creative. To place the painting, he had created a canvas made of wood and tightened bed sheets. Something he often did back at home.
“What are you…you doing, man?” Banks walked behind him as he watched him handle his paintbrushes effortlessly. He knew where this was going and he was so tired of asking him to fall the fuck back.
He was worse than five two year olds in church.
Mason looked back at him and continued to build. He was wearing a white t-shirt that was spackled with blood drops and dirt. The collar was sweaty, like he’d been running. “What it look like?”
Banks took a deep breath. “Mason, I know you think this the move but it’s not.” He inched closer. “And I’m begging you to let me handle this. After everything, you still can’t trust me?”
Mason chuckled once. Thoughts of what Whoyawanmetabe said about Banks using him played in his mind. “You can’t stand it can you?”
Banks frowned. “What you talking about?”
Mason’s body grew rigid. “It bugs you that for once somebody wants something from me instead of you.” He stroked wrinkles in the forehead on the canvas. “It burns you up that this man is a fan and that it’s the only reason he’s here. Not everything is about the great Banks Wales you know.”
Banks looked at the painting and sighed. “Man, if I thought this would work, I would be here giving you my own blood. But it’s not as simple as it may sound. I mean think about it. If he wanted a painting why not just ask? Why go through all of this?”
“Who knows why a nigga does anything.” He shrugged and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a blood smear. “Maybe he wanted to take a vacation too. I mean, you wouldn’t know it with everything going on but we are in paradise remember?”
“Mason, so far every time I’ve warned you not to make a move, and you didn’t heed my warning, shit didn’t go as planned. Don’t let your ego get in the way of facts again.”
“So you blaming me for my son dying?” Mason asked, turning around. He was begging for a fight. “Is that what you saying?” His shoulders squared off and he was ready for battle.
“How come everything gotta be a war with you?”
&n
bsp; “You the one coming in here all wrong. You not offering any useful scenario. Just telling me what I shouldn’t do, even after my wife told you he was my fan. Not yours.”
Fuck is wrong with this guy? Banks thought.
“Mason, listen, the cameras will be back later today. Let’s use this time to make smart decisions together. Please.”
Mason looked at him with hate, remembering all the times Banks broke him down emotionally, simply because he was weak for him. Simply because hew was more in love with him than ever. And in that moment he was starting to resent him in ways he didn’t think were possible.
Picking up his brush he said, “This your house so I’ma say it like this, if you want shit to remain on a calm level between us, maybe you should step the fuck out my face.”
“Mason—”
“Now!”
Banks shook his head slowly and walked out the door.
****
The cameras had returned.
And the Wales’, Lou’s and the Nunez’s were seated around the table for dinner. It had been known as dinner theater because something was always happening. At the ends were Whoyawanmetabe and Banks as usual. Behind Mason was a large canvas covered with a sheet.
Everyone was afraid. Two people had died around dinnertime so not many were willing to speak or make a move.
Not only that, but the meal had been served and most did not eat, with the exception of Whoyawanmetabe and his men who always seemed to be hungry. After Arlyndo died due to poisoning, not many were willing to take another chance choosing instead to make their own prepared meals.
Since everyone was mostly silent, Whoyawanmetabe decided to be the first to speak. “So are you going to tell me what’s under the sheet?” He asked Mason, wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin.
Mason looked at Banks who looked away, and back at Whoyawanmetabe. Taking a deep breath, he stood up. The chair scraped against the marble floor. “I know why you’re here, man. Stop playing games and keep it one hundred.”
“What does that mean?”
“You know what it means.” Mason shrugged, before dropping his shoulders abruptly. “Had I known before who you were I could’ve ended all of this earlier.”
“I still don’t follow.”
“Come on, man,” Mason said arrogantly. “My son died because of you. Spare me the fake shit. Once. Please!” He slapped his hands together and the sound popped loudly.
Whoyawanmetabe repositioned himself on the other side of the chair, his elbow sitting on the armrest. If nothing else Mason was entertaining. “Your son died because I was made aware of a plan to kill me. And in turn I counterattacked and he was murdered. In war, there are many casualties. Your son was one.”
Mason’s jaw twitched.
“What Mason is trying to say is—”
“Why do you do that?” Whoyawanmetabe snapped at Banks. “Why do you treat him as a child? In front of his family?”
“Treat him as a child?” Banks smirked. “I’m trying to tell you what he’s saying.”
“Why? He’s cocky enough to say exactly what he feels.” Whoyawanmetabe continued. “Besides, I sent two requests for you to talk to me privately and you’ve found a reason to deny me each time.”
“I’ve been sick after the boy died.” Banks said. “Not much in the mood.”
“We will have a proper conversation soon, or things will get worse, Mr. Wales. I mean, you call yourself a man right? So what’s the problem?”
Banks and everyone present caught the reference. In one sentence, he put on display Banks’ primary insecurity. That people would look at him as anything other than the man he worked hard to become.
“I can speak for myself,” Mason said to Banks. Taking a deep breath he focused back on Whoyawanmetabe. “I made something for you, something I’m sure you’ll love. I remember where I saw you now. I know you’re a fan so there’s no need to lie. Consider it a gift.”
When Mason whipped the sheet off, it exposed a painting of a portrait of his own face. He was in anguish and he’d even made tears coming down his cheek. Had it not been for the inspiration which everyone was certain was Arlyndo’s death it would be a masterpiece.
“So, what do you think?” Mason asked Whoyawanmetabe, tucking his hands into his front pockets. “You like it or what?” He shrugged. “Are you gonna leave now?”
Whoyawanmetabe laughed. “What is it with you?”
Mason folded his arms across his chest, and then dropped them at his sides. “What you…what you talking about?”
“You thought this would do what for me?” Whoyawanmetabe got up and walked toward the other side of the table, closest to Mason. He ran his fingers over the painting, as if trying to determine if it were real. “You thought this would be strong enough to get me to go away?”
“I thought it would…I mean…give you…” Mason’s words were lost in his throat where they should’ve stayed the entire time.
The man was so close to him that it was hard to maintain his emotions. He wanted to lay hands on him and was certain he could kill him with ease. But he heard Banks’ voice playing on repeat in his mind. Don’t make any brash moves. Besides, they were out gunned and if something kicked off, his family could grow even shorter in seconds.
“Maybe Banks was right,” Whoyawanmetabe said looking back at Banks and then at Mason. “Maybe he is needed to help you get your processes together, seeing as how you are clearly off without him.”
Embarrassed, Mason looked at his family who looked away, unable to hold his gaze. “Listen, you want the painting or not?”
“No, a better question is this,” Whoyawanmetabe said loudly looking at everyone. “Do you want to survive by participating in this film, or do you want to die right here and now?” His goons sat their cameras on the floor and closed in on the table. Removing weapons, guns were now drawn. “Because from here on out, if I get anything except for complete cooperation, there will be more casualties. I promise. Do I make myself clear?”
****
It was well after midnight in the dark kitchen. However a clear night and a bright moon provided just enough glow.
Banks was sitting on the kitchen table in the Nunez’s servant quarters and within minutes, Jersey, Rosa and Tobias followed. The women looked afraid and confused on why the head of household chose to invite them without their spouses.
Tobias was suspicious too.
But since tensions had flared, they thought it best to trust him.
At least for now.
Besides, there was a common enemy.
“Banks, what is it?” Jersey whispered, looking behind him at the door for fear the cameramen were near.
“Yeah, this feels off,” Tobias said.
“Don’t worry. They never come in here plus it’s after midnight.” He sighed and ran a hand down his stressed face. “So I figure we have some time to talk before others get up in the middle of the night.”
“So what is this about?” Rosa asked, moving closer. In the short period since she returned, she aged greatly after losing two daughters. So meetings like this did nothing for her cortisol levels.
“I know what he really wants and I need your help.”
The women unknowingly held on to one another, sensing the worst.
“I guess it’s not the painting after all,” Jersey said, feeling sad she’d given him short news. “So sorry, Banks.”
“Don’t blame yourself. And I’m glad you told me who he was, Jersey. It helped. But now it’s time for the next move. And I don’t want you to be afraid, but you have to understand this is our only chance. And you’ll have to keep this plan between us.”
Jersey looked at Rosa. “We listening.”
“If it’s gonna get rid of him, I’m with you,” Tobias added.
He had a different reason for complying.
He just learned from Cassandra the night before that she was the one who told Whoyawanmetabe about the sangria. Her plan was to kill everyone but for no
w she was happy that at least one Lou was gone. She overheard the plan from her mother. As a result, he agreed to help, not because of Banks Wales, but for Emetine.
“Alright, here’s what we’re going to do,” Banks started.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
This was another unusually warm and strange January day.
Her mouth tasted like a steamed seafood basket when Blakeslee kissed her lips. And her body was built like a woman much older than her fourteen-year-old age. At the end of the day, Blakeslee was disgusted. Still, as she sat on the step in front of her apartment building with the girl sitting on her lap, Blakeslee also felt more like a boy than ever.
When the building’s door opened, Mason came out with sodas, sandwiches and chips on a plate. Since she hadn’t eaten in hours, Cora jumped off of her lap and snatched a sandwich from his grasp before he could put everything down.
“Dang! Fuck is wrong with you?”
“Sorry, Mason. I was hungry.” She sat on the step and spread her legs a little too wide as she continued to tear into the meal. “This turkey sandmich is so good!”
“Sandmich?” Mason shook his head and tapped Blakeslee on the shoulder. “Walk with me right quick.”
Blakeslee followed him to the far end of the fence.
“So how’s it going?” Mason grinned, rubbing his hands together. “You like her?” He knew she wouldn’t but still.
“I don’t know, man,” she looked back at Cora and then Mason. “You sure your plan will work this time?”
“My plans always work.”
Blakeslee considered all the trouble he caused her over her young life and quietly disagreed. Including how he tried to suborn her to steal a car, by bribing her with pizza. “Not really,” she said shaking her head. “Remember the plan you had with having Hector mess with that girl at your party and then—”
“I know that one didn’t go right but at least Nikki know how he is now.” He shrugged. “Even if they still together, my plan kind of worked.”
“I don’t know, man.” She rubbed the loose curls unraveling from her braids out of her face. “What if, what if Nikki see me with her and think we together?” She looked back at Cora who was eating another sandwich. “What if, what if she wanna get back with me but change her mind when she see that shit? That might make stuff worse right?”
