I need more stuff for my breakfast in the mornings…
He located his favorite bread and tossed it in the cart. In the mornings, he stocked up on items for his green smoothies, and lunch would consist of ample fresh fruit, whole grains and vegetables with plenty of protein. He found himself famished and didn’t want to be a victim of those damn work vending machines that only offered high-caloric foods with no nutritional value. In midnight oil sessions and acts of desperation, he’d bought too many candy bars, causing a crash and burn. And he knew better than to eat too much of that shit. His body was a machine, and it needed the best fuel that organic produce had to offer. As he perused the almost vacant grocery isles, his thoughts drifted back to those fragmented, odd dreamscapes. In them, he’d heard muffled screaming and yelling, seen hoards of men racing toward him with balled up pieces of paper and a woman crying in a corner. It all unfolded in a flash, and he couldn’t make heads or tails of it, but it kept reoccurring, night after night. He remembered feeling panicked, cornered and angry as hell, as if something near and dear to him were hemorrhaging.
I don’t know what the hell this is all about. There’s been a lot going on, though. I may need to ask Xenia for one of her sleeping pills tonight. I hate that it has come to this, but I’ve got to get some sleep! Three evenings straight, and up all night like a damn owl… Hootie Hoooo! I need some nocturnal relaxation, mothafucka! Who am I cussing out? No one is here, and I’m talking to myself, inside of my head… See, this is what happens when I’m sleep deprived…in this damn store losing my damned mind!
“Oh damn, I forgot the coconut milk,” Saint whispered aloud, then double backed to the dairy section and placed two cardboard containers of the milk in the cart for his smoothies. He stifled another yawn and walked to the front of the grocery store. He hoped his lethargy was not in vain, that good tidings would soon follow.
“Oh, don’t use any plastic. I brought my wife’s grocery bags.” He smiled at the cashier, a skinny African youngster with ‘Abdul’ on his nametag. The teen looked at him and smiled, nodding in understanding as he placed the bags back down. “She usually does the grocery shopping, but I needed some things and didn’t want her out tonight.” Saint felt like a bit of a chatterbox, and hoped the teenager would say something engaging.
“That was very nice of you,” the boy offered, his English perfect, the words tinted with a slight accent that sounded possibly as if he were from Senegal. Saint tried to not stare at his skin, but found it virtually impossible. Silky smooth, and dark and rich, like fresh coffee grinds. The shade reminded him of someone and it irked him that he would think of her ever again…
Payton…
Saint waited for his groceries to be bagged as he drifted into deep thoughts…
Her skin was one of the first things he’d noticed about her. He’d asked her permission to trace her cheek on their first date, just so he could feel that silky gorgeousness. Her entire body was covered in the black magic and he never got enough of looking at their contrasting bodies during their heated—at times violent—lovemaking sessions. He’d lock his arms and legs around her, pinning her down as if he were a crab and she some sort of prey on a beach, and just stare at their intertwined bodies, almost climaxing from the image alone. He hated that she hated her skin…it made him feel prickly that Payton had problems being dark complexioned. She was beautiful, and she knew it, but she felt she’d be more beautiful if she were a little bit lighter. These horrible feelings were fed to her from her verbally and emotionally abusive father. Payton’s complexion seemed to come out of ‘nowhere’. Her father was very light, damn near white in appearance, a tad lighter than Mama Pam, and her mother was a medium brown, yet here was this child, the color of the sky on a clear night, teeth so white against it, they didn’t look real. She was now in Saint’s mind, one of the most beautiful women he’d ever laid eyes upon. Regardless of being hideous on the inside, she still radiated a special glow. He felt sorry for the woman for he’d known; he was part of her problem, though she tried to make him part of the solution. She’d wreaked havoc on his marriage, almost pulling the plug on the whole shindig—and if it weren’t for his mentor, James, Saint was convinced he’d be sharing joint custody with his Queen for Hassani and Dakarai right that very moment and subsequently, Isis would have never been conceived. He hadn’t thought about that female fiend in eons, and it perplexed him why she’d enter his thoughts at this point in time. Sure, the cashier had a similar complexion, but it was more than that. The sexual violation haunted Saint and at times, he could still hear her removing his shoes in the back of that car. Thud. One shoe falling on the floor, then the other.
Countless times, he relived the scene: her undoing his belt, him frozen in time as she slid the black leather through the loops of his dress slacks, the metal buckle clinking. He’d wake up in a cold sweat at the point of the nightmare when the woman jerked his pants and underwear down, and the cool night air hit his bare thighs. He remembered the tears that welled up in his eyes as he helplessly watched her wrap her mouth around his penis. The entire time, he was praying to God for a miracle, praying his dear Goddess wouldn’t see what was happening and misunderstand. Sometimes, the whole damn thing would play out as if he were being desecrated all over again, and he’d jump out of the bed, sure he was going to vomit. He could smell her perfume still, after all of these years. The way it filled the car as she bobbed up and down on him, riding him hard and rough, trying to make him ejaculate inside of her. He’d felt nothing. Numb. He was thankful for that. Thankful that the drugs caused him to have very little sensation, but unfortunately still enough to get a damn boner from her oral prowess. After that, he knew firsthand how his female rape victims felt. The violation. The helplessness. The disgust. The self-blame. Then, the fear…
Did I have any precum? If I did, I still could have gotten her pregnant…
Does she have herpes, chlamydia, HIV, or worse yet, full blown AIDS? If so, Xenia will never stay married to me if Payton gave me that shit…
My marriage is over anyway…my woman thinks I willingly fucked another woman…
And so it continued…
Saint left the appalling deliberations behind for the moment, clearing his throat as he became lucid.
“Well, she is a better shopper than me. I usually forget stuff, but as you can see, I needed some more healthy alternatives.” Saint reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet and peered at the amount on the screen. He slid out his debit card and handed it back to the young man. Just that quickly, warning signs dragged him back down the rabbit hole.
Payton…why am I thinking about you? I’m not too fond of you and besides the occasional nightmares you cause me because of your disgusting, vile act upon my body, you are a non-mothafuckin’ factor in my life. I really hope you aren’t up to anything because I meant what the fuck I said to you. Don’t make me do it.
He gritted his teeth as he drifted in thought.
“Sir.” The cashier called out, interrupting Saint’s thoughts. “Here is your receipt.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Saint laughed lightly, took the receipt and picked up the cloth bags.
“No problem. Thank you for shopping at Trader Joe’s.”
Saint nodded at the boy. “Thank you for bagging my groceries. You have a good evening.” Saint sighed as he exited the automatic doors, three bags in each hand. It was now almost eleven o’clock and he felt relieved that his eyes were a bit heavy. He headed toward his silver Lamborghini, and as he approached, he spotted two men, dressed in black, a short distance away. Saint slowed his gait and observed them. The two men glared at him as they stood by a blue Toyota Camry. Only a few cars dotted the parking lot, and the store was set to close soon.
What the fuck are these mothafuckas up to? Are they planning to rob poor Abdul? That boy is in there alone at the register.
Saint swallowed, becoming more defensive. He unlocked his door, keeping his eyes glued to the two men who continued to stand
like statues. He didn’t dare pop his trunk. That would obscure his view. He took notice of their body language…hands clenching and relaxing, ready to get into some shit.
Yeah, these bastards are up to something. Fuck! I can’t go now; I need to find out what’s going on. He slid the bags quickly over to the passenger seat.
Crime is rampant now! Nowhere is safe…
Before Saint could form another thought, the two men charged at him like frenzied bats in the night.
“What the fuck?!” Saint screamed out as a fist landed across his jaw, making him dizzy. His car alarm blared as his body barreled into the side of the vehicle, a loud crash from the impact. “This is pay back, mothafucka!” one of the men said. “You ain’t the king of L.A. Go back to where you came from!”
Saint grunted when a fist pounded into his stomach. As he cradled himself, he felt the heat in his eyes and his body convulse. The change was starting. Slowly, he straightened himself and looked at the men as they attempted to jump him once again. One had a sparkling silver rod showing from the inside of his jacket—a hammer.
Jesus Christ…
Before they could follow through with their plan, Saint grabbed them both by the neck.
“Who the fuck do you think you’re fuckin’ with?!” Saint yelled between clamped teeth. His voice echoed throughout the parking lot as he banged their skulls together, causing one to scream out in pain while the other fell to the ground. He grabbed the hammer from the guy’s jacket, then paused and looked around. Sweat trickled down his face and the copper tang of blood invaded his mouth. The store cameras were taping the entire fucked up situation.
This is a goddamn set up… Be cool, Saint. Play it cool.
He tossed the hammer in the car and worked his fists over the men, dealing upper and lower cuts, making sure his fists landed in just the right spots—head, stomach and groin… He fought in a controlled, calculating way—simply defending himself.
“Ahhhh! Fuck!” one of the men screamed out when Saint gave him a hard hitting punch to the side of the head.
“Uhhhh! Uhhhhhh! Stooooooop!”
Saint kept on, treating their bodies like meat he was trying to tenderize, until he had them on the ground. Then, a strange sensation washed over him. He geared to investigate his hunch.
“Tryna jump my ass! You two fuckas don’t know who the fuck I am…but you gonna know after tonight!” He grabbed them up by their collars, restrained them with one hand and used the other to check for weapons. Strapped.
“I’m going to let you two keep those damn guns. No sir! You won’t find my fingerprints on them. I’ll let the police find ’em. It will make your sentence all the worse and I doubt either of you dumb fucks are card members and registered.”
He sighed with resentment. He couldn’t do what he really wanted to do to them, not in a public place, for he had eyes on him. By this time, a small crowd had gathered to see the show. Saint looked over at them.
“Quit gawking and call the goddamn police!” He dragged the bloodied and bruised men over to the blue car and smashed their bodies into the side of it, then took a glance at his own car, with the alarm still blaring and a dent in the side.
“Look what the fuck you did to my baby!” He sucker punched one of the men in the mouth, making blood splatter out. Then he sandwiched them beneath him. “Y’all gone pay for this shit before the cops come!” He dug in their pockets, keeping their arms hogtied and all of his weight on their backs as they squealed and wiggled, cursing at him and begging. In a steath move, he removed their wallets, and without checking the contents, pushed them into his own jacket pocket.
“What the fuck?” one of them lisped. “You robbin’ us?!”
“You shut the fuck up!” Saint yelled back. “You fucked up my car, and you’re gonna pay for that shit. You owe me, mothafucka! Runnin’ up on me like two fuckin’ idiots, damn two stooges, not one useful brain between you. You mothafuckas must be high! I should take the pineapples out my bag and shove ’em up your goddamn asses! Now you just wait here until the police come. It’s all on camera so don’t try to play the damn victim when they get here. Fuckin’ up my damn night with some petty robbery bullshit!” Saint was livid and couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t believe he had to fight two men in a damn Trader Joe’s parking lot. All he wanted was some fucking fruit…
Soon the blaring blue and red lights of three police cars approached. Abdul stood at the front of the crowd now. Saint looked at him woefully. After thirty minutes, the police had Saint’s statement and would be reviewing the surveillance tape. A short and stubby white woman with dark sunglasses atop of her white, fluffy hair vouched for his story.
“I saw everything! Those two men ran up on this poor man; he was just putting his groceries away!” she said, gesturing hysterically. “They came out of nowhere and beat on him. I saw it from the car, and locked myself inside.”
She sounded shaken up, frightened. Saint felt bad that she had to witness such a thing. He thanked her. She nodded and smiled weakly.
One of the guys declared that Saint had stolen their wallets. Saint denied it. The police patted him down and found nothing. He knew why the damn man was afraid. Not because of his measly two hundred bucks that was inside of it, but because his I.D. was there and now, Saint would know exactly who they were.
The police asked if he wanted a ride home, and he graciously refused. Once they were out of sight, he slid under the blue car and retrieved the two worn wallets he’d discretely dropped and hidden right as the police pulled up. He winced as he rubbed his hands along his bruised rib and sat in his car, still in a state of shock at the evening’s events. He looked at his cell phone and saw he’d missed a call from Xenia. Not wasting time playing her voicemail back, he called her.
“Baby…yeah,” he said breathlessly. “I know I was taking a long time. Two guys tried to attack me out here at Trader Joe’s.”
“What?!” Her voice rang so loud through the phone, he had to hold it away from his ear.
“Yes…,” he talked back into it as a headache the size of Mt. Rushmore took over his temples and scalp. “I guess they were trying to rob me…but, I’m okay and the police took ’em away.”
“Saint, Jesus! Are you okay to drive? I can grab the kids and come get you. Matter of fact, stay put, I’m on my way.”
“No, baby. I can drive. I’m fine. Don’t go waking them up and plus, I’ve got blood all over me. They’ve seen enough stuff. I don’t want them to see this, too. I’ll be home in about twenty. I love you…”
“I love you, too. Hurry, but take your time…well, you know what I mean.”
“Yeah.” He smiled then patted his cracked and bleeding lips gingerly with his fingertips. “See you in a minute.” He disconnected the call. Just then a polite, timid tap came at his car window. He looked up and he saw Abdul standing there, smiling. Saint pushed the button and rolled down the window.
“You see why it was a good idea I didn’t let my wife do the shopping tonight?” Saint joked, causing the young man to laugh.
“Yes, I do. You forgot one of your bags in the store…your bread.” He handed it to Saint through the window.
“Ahhh, thank you so much, man. See? I’m always forgetting groceries one way or another. You be safe tonight, alright?”
Abdul nodded, waved and walked away. Saint sat there for a while, his eyes closed. He felt unnerved, his muscles tense. He opened up each wallet and flipped through them.
“Felipe Lopez…twenty-three.” Saint shook his head in disgust. “Just a damn kid.”
He looked at the other I.D.
“Todd Jackson…twenty-five…makes no fuckin’ sense.” He tossed the wallets on the passenger seat and then, like a lightning bolt, it hit him. He grabbed his cell phone.
“What is it?” came a groggy voice.
“Jagger, man, wake the fuck up. I just got jumped.” He waited a couple of seconds for Jagger to come alive, and then heard a faint, feminine voice in the back.
“Baby, it’s just Saint…go back to sleep.” He heard shuffling as Jagger got to his feet, walked to another room and closed a door behind him.
“Who the fuck did it?”
“Some funky ass bastards, some damn young bucks, novices. The one cat, some dude named Felipe, hits hard as fuck, like he is a damn professional boxer. Knocked the damn wind out of me, I wasn’t prepared. I think you trying to kick my ass in that ring a few months ago, Jagger, saved me from some embarrassing shit.”
“What do you mean?”
“I remembered what you and Lawrence said about surveillance tapes, and how I can’t fight with my powers out in public. Of course I wouldn’t have anyway, but this guy could really fight, and if I had fought the way I did in the streets, as a youth, you’re right…I would have tired out because his shit was almost worse than yours. He is definitely trained. There is no way someone could hit that strong and properly otherwise.”
“Someone sent his ass…” they both said at the exact same time.
Jagger chuckled. “You’re right. See, I told you, Saint. It was only a matter of time. People like us attract this type of shit. Even Lawrence has had to fight off these sorts of bastards. Now, as far as you, you still would’ve won, I can feel that…”
“You’re damn straight!” Saint said, cockiness in his tone, but he didn’t care. “Felipe could punch, but I still would’ve fucked him up, Bronx style.”
Jagger laughed. “Yeah, but you would’ve been in worse shape and tempted to do some freaky shit just to get it over with, and it would have been caught on tape. You don’t need that sort of press, and you are too much in the limelight for it to just go away.”
“True, and no I don’t need that sort of attention. Not to mention, it could be devastating for my family. Agreed. Look, I’m calling an emergency meeting with you and Lawrence tomorrow first thing in the morning, and then you and I will head to the airport to take care of my dad.”
Saint's Sacrament - Sins of the Father Page 40