by Tiana Laveen
“I’d never. I love you all. For real.” He pumped his fist against his heart. “But I’m done sacrificing myself for things that no longer fit in with what I’m trying to do, and where I’m trying to go, and if you know like I know, little cousin, you’ll do the same. I don’t want you going to prison again. I don’t want you dead.” Sting was breathing heavily on the other end, as if he was breaking. A lot of pressure was on his shoulders. “You’re in deep, but this doesn’t mean you can never swim away and get back up to the surface. You’ll be tired and wet. No one enters this life without some battle scars along the way, but at least, you’ll be alive.” Viper disconnected the call and entered the Footlocker.
An employee greeted him and told him to let him know if he needed help. As he checked out the inventory, he thought about his baby. I just want her heaven, her peace, to kill my hell and murder my anguish. I need my baby’s warm thighs wrapped around me as I drill her so deep, she knows my language – not of my tongue, but of my heart. May it be that our souls blend and combine, so that even God can’t tell us apart…
He pulled out his phone and sent Majesty a text.
Viper: Hey baby, I know you’re at work, but answer me if you can. What size shoe did you say Troy wears?
He waited a few minutes, and then his phone buzzed.
Majesty: 5 or 6 depending on how it’s made. Why? What are you up to?
Viper: His birthday is in three days. I’m taking care of something.
Majesty: You’re so sweet.
Viper: No, I’m not.
Majesty: LMAO You hate when I call you sweet! It’s funny. OK. TY anyway. That’s nice. You spoil him. I’ll see you tonight.
Viper: Ok. Te quiero mucho, Mami.
He slid his phone in his pocket and approached the sales guy, a slender, short light-complexioned Black guy with a low Caesar haircut.
“Hey, what’s up?” They slapped hands. “My girlfriend’s son’s birthday is coming up, and I want to get him those new Jordan Retros. He wants a pair like mine. I don’t have them on right now, but you know the ones, right?”
“For sure. Bet. What color? White, Carolina, or Black?”
“White. Size six.”
He followed the man to the display area.
“The display model is gone. I think I have one pair left in that size in the back, though. They’ve been selling out fast. I’ll be right back.”
“All right.”
Viper rubbed his hands together as he waited. D’Angelo’s, ‘Spanish Joint’ drifted from the speakers, a tune he liked. Meanwhile, he picked up a snapback for the kid, and a T-Shirt, too.
“Last pair, man!” The employee emerged from the stock room door, a big smile on his face. “You’re lucky ’cause we’re not getting any more for a while.”
“Cool. I know my little guy will love them.” Viper whipped out his wallet and paid for all the items in cash. After he walked out the store, he strolled around a bit to blow off some steam before his three o’clock appointment with a new canine client, a Labrador puppy prone to accidents in the house.
It felt good to be back in one of his favorite Miami shopping areas, even if only for a few hours. He slowed down by a bridal shop, a store he didn’t recall seeing there before. Perhaps it was new. He looked at the shiny-faced, featureless mannequins in the window display, all donning different wedding dresses, veils, and their stiff hands holding fake bouquets of flowers. He stood there for a minute, and his lips curled in a smile.
One day, ya know? My lady could be coming to a place like this, to meet me down the aisle. I think I found the one though. I really do. Majesty is exactly what I want in a woman. Beautiful. Smart. Funny. Sexy. Nurturing. Truthful. Strong. She fits me well. We get along amazingly. Chemistry off the chain. Majesty makes me feel different from anyone else I’ve ever dated. I’m in love with her. Yeah. I’m definitely in love with that woman.
As he thought about picking up a bite to eat before heading back to Boca Raton, his phone buzzed. It was his cousin again.
“Yeah?”
“Hey, Viper, I had to call you back, man!”
“¿Oye que bola?”
“Did you hear the good news?”
“What?”
“Jagger’s getting out early.”
“Oh, is he now?” He opened the door to Crab De Jour, figuring he’d get one to go and smash it once he got home. It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed some crab legs.
“Yeah, man! Worked out a deal. He’ll be home in a few months!” His cousin was clearly on cloud nine. Like so many others, Sting saw Jaguar as some superstar, but honestly, it was more out of a notion of an expected way to behave, versus authentic emotions and love for a person. Jaguar caused fear in most around him. He had influence and clout that men dreamed of, and with a snap of his fingers he could make someone disappear, if he so chose. One of the many perks of being high ranking. Viper wasn’t afraid of him in the least. But of course, Jaguar knew that all too well. His cousin rattled out the details, play by play, of how their homeboy, their brother from another mother, was escaping the iron whore, better known as that funky ass jail cell, and rejoining society.
“That’s great news, Sting. Glad to hear it. Keep me updated.”
“Bet.”
Viper disconnected the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
“May I take your order?” a Black woman with a short afro asked.
“Yeah, I want a to-go order. Let me get two lobster tails, shrimp with the head off, a pound of your King crab legs, and half a pound of scallops. I want the original Cajun sauce, hot, along with boiled eggs, potatoes, sausage, and corn on the cob.”
“Would you like anything else with that?”
“No. That’s it.”
“Okay. It’ll be ready in fifteen minutes. You’re more than welcome to wait at the bar.”
He was sitting at the bar, waiting for his carryout order, when he saw another Latin King enter the restaurant. It was clearly a Reye based on the guy’s tattoos. They immediately zoned in on one another and brandished their gang signs discreetly.
“Sir, would you like to order a drink?”
“Yeah. Let me get coffee please. Black. Don’t give it to me until my order arrives, though. I’m going to take it with me on the drive home.” The bartender nodded and walked away.
When he was alone again, his mind went wild. Thinking… thinking… thinking…
I used to keep that old journal in prison. Just like I told Sting, I’d write down all my dreams, my ambitions, and how I was going to get it all. Everything I’ve been wanting, I’m getting. Everything that is happening, good or bad, is coming to pass for a reason. It’s like the tortoise and the hare. I don’t question timing as it doesn’t matter. The result of your efforts matters. That’s why I’m such a good Warlord and businessman. I focus on results, and if I say so myself, I’m good with Majesty, too. The result is, she’s now with me… I said she was going to be mine, and now, she is. Not because she’s easy, but because I know how to get what I want. How to move effectively, if not necessarily fast. She’s been through a lot of shit. So have I. We don’t make things harder for one another; we make things better. That takes patience. Everyone is in such a rush now, but I’m fine with biding my time. Waiting. My father, uncles, and brother taught me well, by their mistakes, more than anything else. I saw an opportunity so long ago, and I seized it. It’s a thing of ugly beauty.
Funny how no one seems to see what’s coming until it’s too late. Maybe because they’re sitting too high up and can only see the crown. I’m situated down low in the grass, slithering about, and I can see everything from the east to the west, the north and south. I see all the flaws of the land and the sky, things that others miss. No one notices the viper until it’s too late. I’m camouflaged in the colors of the grass and earth. I’m lethal, never having to rush to get my point across. Once I see an opportunity to strike, then and only then do I move with haste, injecting venom from my l
ong fangs. Mothafuckas never know what hit ’em…
Soon, it will be time to feast.
“Here’s your order, sir. Enjoy!”
“Oh, trust me, I most certainly will…”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The LIFE of the party
“Stop it, Dominic! Oh my God! See? You play too much!” Majesty giggled and swatted at the crazy man. Viper reached for her arm to yank her back to him in his backyard, but she evaded him and went to claim a lawn chair, a beer in hand and her belly full and hurting from laughter. Viper had moments of silliness, which were amplified when he was in his element, around friends and family. She took a swig of her beer and looked around. She rarely drank beer but had grabbed the first cold thing she’d seen to quench her thirst. Viper’s friends were making a ruckus inside and outside the house with their partying and drinking.
The space was filled with an abundance of guns on hips, yellow, gold, and black bandanas, bold black eyeliner on many of the women’s faces, and tapestries of tattoos on most of them, telling stories she was certain she’d never fully understand.
“Majesty! Did Viper tell you the time he got locked in a closet with the Bogeyman?” one of Viper’s drunk friends, King Javier, slurred.
“Shut up, Javier.” Viper chortled from across the lawn and tried to shoo the guy away with a wave of his fingers. “Don’t tell her about that shit!”
Majesty shook her head. “No, tell me!”
“All right. Check it. The Bogeyman was this old guy from our neighborhood who was always high. Loaded. Viper was about, I dunno, seventeen or so, and I was probably around thirteen. So, there was a party goin’ on, and the Bogeyman coasts through. He asked to speak to Viper alone, so they went into this big ass closet, right? Like a pantry. He told Viper to get him some weed ’cause his dealer wouldn’t give him anymore for some reason I don’t remember. So…” Javier came to stand right before her, a cigar in one hand and beer in the other. His light brown eyes lit up and he was animated, getting into the story. “They were in the closet of this house, right?”
“Yeah… yeah,” she said, anxiously waiting for the punchline as more people gathered around Javier.
“We’d go to this abandoned house for meetings and shit. Nothing strange with us all being there; we partied there all the time. The music was loud. We had a boom box.” He took a toke of his cigar and continued, “So, he gave Viper the money to get the weed, right, and of course extra to take care of it. But when Viper went to open the closet door after their little talk, the door was locked. Viper starts bangin’ on the door for help, but none of us can hear him. He’s in there goin’ crazy! See, he’s a little claustrophobic and doesn’t like being in tight spaces.” Hmmm… I didn’t know that. “So, he starts panicking ’cause he’s also in there with Bogeyman, of all people. The old guy was talking shit, going crazy, screaming about they needed to get the fuck out of there. At one point, Viper got tired of Bogeyman’s mouth, so he picked this fucker up, turned the guy sideways, and used the dude’s entire fuckin’ body like a police battering ram, the kind they use to fuckin’ kick doors in. He broke through the damn door using Bogeyman’s head!”
Everyone in the backyard erupted in laughter, including Majesty and Viper.
“Bogeyman had to get a few stitches, but he was okay. The fucked-up part is that he still wanted Viper to get him the weed, bloody head and all, and we all partied afterwards like didn’t shit happen. Even Bogeyman.”
Viper stuck out his tongue, showed him both middle fingers, then continued to talk to another guy standing beside him. Majesty was taking it all in. She’d never seen a party like this in her life.
Even though most of Viper’s LK brothers and sisters were speaking Spanish during the party, and she could only understand a little here and there, the women were friendly and welcoming, and spoke in English when addressing her. She did notice that when some of the men said something to her, they seemed a bit flirtatious, yet remained respectful. Majesty figured some of this may have been cultural. She’d never dated a Hispanic man before Viper, but she’d been around enough of them to know that many came across that way, even if they were only being friendly and meant nothing by it. Nevertheless, she more than once would catch Viper glaring if one of the Kings kept a conversation going with her that lasted more than a minute or two. It was always innocent banter, but his potential for jealousy was stark clear.
He never told her to keep away or chastised his Reyes for engaging in sociable conversation, but she couldn’t deny he was a control freak. One wrong look from Viper, and those guys wrapped that conversation up fast. She smiled inwardly at the notion. No one is to flirt with his girl…
It was getting late, but she had to admit, she’d been having a fun time with the boisterous crowd. Marie was the only one in attendance who seemed quieter and wasn’t partying quite as hard, but most notably, damn could that woman cook. Viper had been right. Majesty was a bit embarrassed at how much food she’d wolfed down, many dishes she couldn’t even pronounce the name of, but she just couldn’t help being such a glutton. It was too delicious to let it go to waste.
“…I know, right?!” One of Viper’s friends, King OP spoke in a booming voice, drawing attention. “Motherfucker was in there for being caught with a biscuit while he was on parole. His White ass got locked up with us, called Deuces a jalapeño. They were battlin’ it out. So that night, Deuces got him some shit from the Juice Man as a peace offering, pretending he didn’t want no beef, but the shit was spiked. White boy got fucked up! Officers saw him the next morning talking about he was Spiderman, drooling, and tryna climb up the walls and spin a web from his wrists! They took his ass out of there and he said, ‘Let go of me, villains. Do you know who I am, motherfucker?! I’m Spiderman! Don’t make me call Batman and the Hulk in here, too! We’ll take you all down!” These words were followed by an outburst of laughter from the crowd. The man had been entertaining the masses most of the day.
Jalapeño? Juiceman? Biscuit? What are they talking about?
She shrugged her shoulders and took another sip of her beer.
“Gotcha!”
She screamed when Viper snuck up from behind and put her in a bear squeeze, then kissed her cheek and lips. She longed for him. Every fiber of her being desired his touch. As if picking up on her excitement, he kissed her again, then whispered in her ear. “As soon as they leave, I’m going to fuck you… tear your beautiful ass to pieces…”
“Make sure that you do.” She winked at him and he winked back. “You know, your friend, King OP, seems to be quite the comedian. I wish I could understand what he was talking about though.” She’d noticed that every time the stocky Cuban LK told a story, the entire place would laugh their heads off.
“He’s hilarious. A clown. But don’t get it twisted. He’s sharp. Smart as hell.” Viper knelt beside her. “I don’t really think about it, you know, the words he uses. We just understand it. It’s prison slang.” She nodded in understanding. “Like, that last story was about a White guy who was in prison with us for drug possession and gun charges. He got in there tryna act big and bad, ya know, called our boy Deuces a racial slur when they’d gotten into it. A jalapeño is what the guy called him, so Deuces went and got some prison wine with drugs mixed in, gave it to the White boy, and the guy was hallucinating ’nd shit all night and morning long.”
“Ohhh! So, a biscuit is a gun? The Juice Man is the guy who makes the illegal wine in jail, I mean, prison?”
“Yeah, now you’ve got it. Should I make you like a little prison pamphlet or something so you can understand the lingo and follow along?” he teased. She rolled her eyes at the man. “I mean, I can. You’ve never been inside a prison, but a little bit of prison, via me, has been inside of you.”
She swatted at him and the fucker backed up just in time, laughing. Getting to his feet, he kissed the top of her head then disappeared inside the house.
The music blared all night long, song after song and she was ce
rtain she had a second-hand high from occasional whiffs of marijuana smoke. Troy was with his friends for a playdate, which also included him spending the night at his friend’s house. She glanced at her watch. He’d be at a restaurant at that moment, then head to a ball game. She had the entire day and night to herself.
“Majesty, do you want something else to drink, cariña?” one of the Latin Queens offered.
“No, I’ve got a beer, Tia. Thank you though.”
She was impressed by how nice everyone was to her. Every time she tried to go and do something herself, like serving her own plate, someone would jump in and help. The hospitality was over the top, but she wasn’t a fool. Viper had it like that. People would be damned if they’d pissed him off, and as one King stated, any friend of Viper’s was a friend of theirs, too. When Viper approached, people would move out of the way. They offered him things, wanted his opinions, and showed the utmost respect to him, all while having a good time. It was evident who was running shit and in charge.
A new song thumped from the speakers. Another Latin rap tune with a catchy beat and ample curse words in Spanish. The sliding patio door opened once more, and out came Viper’s three Pit Bulls. The three furry amigos. They raced right toward her, practically tackling her in excitement.
“Hey! No! Leave Majesty alone,” Viper yelled, then whistled, following the dogs into the backyard.
“They’re okay, Viper!” She smiled at them as they tried to lick her face. Placing her beer under the seat of the lawn chair, she began to shower them with affection. She loved them all, each one with its unique, special personality. Especially Sarge who was a big, overgrown baby and demanded nonstop belly and head rubs. Viper and three other men now stood close to the grill, some holding cigars or cigarettes while they all spoke in Spanish, sometimes in hushed tones. Suddenly, the vibe seemed to change. She could tell from Viper’s facial expression; he wasn’t happy with whatever was going down. Moments later, the small crowd dispersed, and Viper came on the hammock close to her. As he typed texts on his phone, his brows furrowed, and he looked mad as hell.