Saint And Sinners: The King Angel Child of New York

by Tiana Laveen

  “No, of course not. His name his Stephen Fare, and he is a professional, married man and a great guy! I’ve known him for years.”

  “Oh, I’ve heard of Stephen Fare!” Saint cooled a bit.

  Older white guy with a conservative slant…

  “He has that financial show, right?”

  “Yes, and he has other shows, too and I’d be on one about entertainment news, my specialty of course.” She grinned.

  “Well, why don’t you entertain me and get on your stomach like I asked?”

  “Saint, I think you need to go to that therapist again about your sex addiction. You are completely out of control.” She shook her head, as if shocked by this revelation. The woman had the audacity to be offended. “Here I am, telling you this wonderful information, and all you can think about is getting laid!”

  “Mmmm hmmmm…” He grinned and ignored her, turning her how he wanted—on her belly with her ass in the air. She resisted a bit by hitting his fingers and scratching at his wrists as he finished positioning her just so. It was no use; he soon overpowered her. Resting his weight on her body, he continued to listen to her complaining as her head pressed firmly into the mattress. She kept escalating the situation, even ended up cursing him out, but it all came to a halt once he pushed back inside of her…

  “Ahhhhhh…” she groaned as he seized her body, took it completely over.

  He gripped the back of her neck as he humped her big, cushy ass, making their bodies slap against one another to an illusory beat. Over and over, he forced his cock in and out of her hot wetness.

  “…Now isn’t this the best way to celebrate good news, baby? I sure as hell think so…”

  *

  The upper eastside Manhattan townhouse boasted four bedrooms with the original, exposed brick, originally built in the 1920’s—a seamless backdrop to aerodynamic plush sapphire furniture with satin black throw pillows. The place didn’t seem to have a thing out of place, and the eat-in-kitchen was almost set up to look like a showroom. A crystal bowl of ripe, dark red apples set atop a slate and granite island, equipped with an oven range and vast sink with custom chrome goose-neck faucet. Koki made his way towards his dining area, leaned down, and inhaled the fresh bouquet of crisp, white roses he’d picked up earlier in the day. As he took in their delicious scent, he stepped back and grinned when they turned charcoal black and wilted from his mere touch.

  It was good to be home. He removed his white leather jacket, placed it on a nearby hook then dug in the pocket to remove his wallet and car keys. They jangled in his hands as he made his way back down the long, dark hall. Ushering the door open, he entered his favorite room of the entire house—the grand master suite. Up on the eleventh floor of the building, he could see a fair distance onto the busy street as he walked to his couch and placed his items down on the side table. The sky had drawn deep purple, as the evening pressed through the firmament landscape. He sat down and meticulously removed his spotless, black and white Reeboks, taking special care to not mess up the neatly tied laces.

  “Ahhhh.” he sighed as he slid them off, giving his sock-covered feet a bit of air. He sat there for a moment, taking a deep breath. A rich orange slither of smoke escaped from the side of his lips, like a burning flame doing a horizontal dance in the atmosphere. He looked ahead at the blank, silver plasma television, waved his hand towards the screen and commanded it to come on. Before he could take another breath, his iPhone buzzed against his jeans pocket. He glided his hand inside, retrieved it and answered.

  “Yeah…” Rising from the burgundy couch, he made his way towards his bed, where the minibar was conveniently located on one side.

  “What are you into?” Zoo questioned, the man’s heavy Spanish accent coating each syllable like syrup on a pancake.

  “I’m home. I haven’t been home in three fucking days,” Koki stated, letting Zoo know he wasn’t in the mood for any bullshit and that his call had better be important.

  “Well, there’s a party in Carroll Gardens…I think we should invite ourselves.”

  “There’s no action in Carroll Gardens right now.” Koki gripped the cold neck of a Corona beer and untwisted the cap with his bare teeth. He spit the twisted, metal remains onto the gray silk duvet and took a glorious guzzle.

  “Well, tonight that’s supposed to be different. The Blanco cartel will be in the building. We can put in some work.”

  “Sounds dangerous.” Koki grinned. His stomach quaked in excitement as he took another deep swig from the bottle. “How many will be there?”

  “Twelve, maybe thirteen. It’s on the low, but I’ve confirmed it’s going down.”

  “Well, this may be a good score for us. Why don’t we take care of the guests? Treat them to our own brand of refreshments.” Koki fell limp onto the side of his bed and kicked one leg up, working out a budding Charlie’s Horse. “It wouldn’t take much.”

  “I guess they thought they’d be safe there, you know, let their guard down. That will make this all the more fuckin’ fantastic.” Zoo gloated, a smile in his tone.

  “Well, who can blame them? Carroll Gardens doesn’t typically attract that sort of clientele. Didn’t realize Joey took a day off… I suppose even God had to have a day of rest. Sabbath…” He lightly chortled, triggering Zoo to do the same. “Alright, give me some time. I need to get some shut eye.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “See you later.”

  “Peace.”

  Koki lay across his bed for a spell, his hands behind his head as he looked up at the high ceiling with thick beams running across it. After a few moments, he got up and disrobed, peeling his dark green T-shirt away from his tan flesh and placing his folded jeans neatly beside it. He removed his white boxer briefs and stood in front of his circular ash gray vanity mirror. He peered at his reflection, taking in what he saw. Standing 6’2, with jet-black hair, a small cleft on his chin and a natural smirk, he enjoyed eyeing himself. His assortment of tattoos ran the length of his arms, symbols that most people didn’t dare to understand. He glanced at the inverted cross birthmark on his ankle, then stepped closer to the mirror and tucked his hands under his arms. Grinning, he slicked his tongue over his bottom lip, then bit into it, drawing a bit of blood.

  What is beauty? What is fame? What is fortune and prestige? People die for all of the above, take a life for so much less. I am the last road of destiny. I do not create the path, I just pick up the carcasses up along the way. Fuckin’ vermin, fuckin’ roadkill.

  He turned and waltzed his naked body into his kitchen. Grabbing a bottle of water, he looked back at the wilted black flower and approached it. He cupped the thing, and like magic, it gradually turned back white, the petals fresh and renewed. His smile faded, while his heart beat a bit faster as he danced with his thoughts. He was finally alone, able to think, able to talk it all out. It was short lived. His cell phone rang once again, so he darted to his bedroom, grabbed it then burst into his master suite bathroom to turn on the Indian summer granite shower.

  “What?” he huffed as he tested the water temperature.

  His brother ignored his rude greeting. “Tonight, what is the plan?”

  “Ataru, we will do what we always do…”

  “But this is precarious. If they feel we are suspicious, they will shoot.”

  Koki laughed lightly, albeit dismissively. He ran wet fingers over his face, growing rather weary of Ataru. If the man hadn’t been his brother, he would have tossed him aside years ago; he was certain the fucker was giving him an ulcer. He could not believe they shared the same bloodline. Ataru was full of fear and reservations—an awkward coward, passing himself off as an intellectual with cunning, discriminatory skills. Zoo was more his brother than Ataru could ever be. Zoo knew how to handle himself, how to respect their calling and do what they were destined to do, without a question asked. The man understood sacrifice, loyalty… Ataru only understood worry and then, he’d act too quickly, without thinking things through, and bungle the whole me
ss.

  “You can stay home if you don’t want to play, but then of course, you won’t reap the rewards. I’m aiming for my continued protection from the Creator. Without it, I am prey to others and I will not receive my promotion. We all have a quota, Ataru. You know your number, and I know mine. Now, you do what you wish, but I will be in attendance.” Koki shut the call short, a befitting abrupt disconnection, and placed the cell phone on a small clear curio in his bathroom. Stepping into the shower, he ran his fingers through his hair, saturating the strands, massaging his scalp and relaxing before his big night on the town.

  I just make it easier for people to do what they do…and it feels fuckin’ fantastic…

  *

  Chapter Four

  Osaze stood on the corner of Riverdale Avenue in the Bronx. The older man kept arms tightly crossed, his shiny, thick glasses tilted down the long bridge of his nose, and his graying temples a bit wiry and unkempt. Saint glared at the man as he and Xenia pulled up with the real estate agent, a well-dressed but plain Polish woman named Anne. This was not his choice. He wanted to see the new listing over in Pelham. Pelham was much closer to the city, but Xenia insisted they take a gander. He didn’t want to appear rigid and unyielding, so he didn’t make much of a fuss. Also, he could see why the woman was so damn excited. The property was a sight to behold—an eight bedroom, Normandy Estate over one and a half acres of land. The fucker even had two swimming pools, a large library, and double balconies overlooking a garden chock full of pale pink tulips.

  Shit. I’ll be damned…

  “This is nice,” he murmured as he got out of the car, pissed that he had to do the honorable thing and admit the truth. He glanced at the listing in his hand, reading word for word and previewing the photos once again. “…wood beam ceilings, too. For eight million dollars, I’d expect as much.” He scratched his ear as he kept his eye keenly on the structure. “A, pops! Where are ya goin’?” Saint called out. The older man had already made his way to the front of the house as soon as the car had pulled up the curb.

  “Saint!” Xenia chastised before her father-in-law had a chance to respond. “Why are you so loud? We are in a quiet community, can’t you tell?” She softened. “You can even hear the birds.” She spun around in a half circle, a big smile on her face as she reached towards the sky, looking every bit like a happy woman in some tampon commercial.

  “Look, don’t start creamin’ and gettin’ all wet over this house, Xenia. I agreed to look, not make an offer.”

  “Hold up!” She pointed her finger in his face. “You said originally that if I agreed to let us move to New York, I could have any house I wanted. Therefore—”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. Now come on.” She yanked him by the wrist, ushering him forward.

  Goddamn it!

  He huffed, suppressing an urge to stomp his foot in resignation as he made his way up the cobblestone driveway. She released him and carried on about her way, forcing him to trail behind the agent and his high-paced wife. He observed Xenia’s ass swinging to and fro in her form-fitting black slacks and her sling-back heels could barely stay level on the uneven pavement.

  “Look!” Saint pointed from behind, laughing and carrying on. “You can’t even walk up the damn driveway, baby! This isn’t the place for us.” He grinned wide and raised his arms as if surrendering. “Let’s not waste Anne’s time.” He was desperate to derail what was happening, to pull his pants down and shit on the entire operation. He knew what he’d said, what he’d agreed to, but he had to follow his gut. He didn’t want to end up like Raphael. The man got himself a nice nest egg and moved out of the city and ended up hating every damn day of it. He got the hell out of dodge as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

  I should be grateful that I’m even back in the state. She could have said ‘No’, but shit, we can’t live here. What if she likes it? What if she falls in love with this damn house? Doesn’t matter…just have to try to keep her happy for now. She could pull the plug on the whole damn thing if I get too upset.

  And with that, especially after an angry glare from Xenia, he kept quiet.

  Osaze reached out and shook the realtor’s hand, then gave a hug to Xenia, a tight one, causing Saint’s brow to upswing. The man then added insult to injury—he smiled brightly and kissed Xenia’s cheek…the perfect cherry on top.

  “Nice to see you again, Xenia,” his father said proudly as he took a look at Saint standing directly behind her.

  “Come here, boy!” Osaze navigated past his daughter-in-law and took Saint into his long arms. Saint smiled faintly and hugged his father back, a bit startled at his outpouring of affection. He glanced down at the old man’s wedding band, still a bit pissed that the son of a bitch had taken his bride to the Justice of the Peace, instead of allowing a full-fledged wedding to take place. Osaze had refused, stating the marriage was far more important than the nuptials. That was true, but Saint knew the real reason for this was that his father was a damn cheapskate. The man didn’t want to purchase a Twinkie, let alone an entire wedding cake. He probably even grumbled about the filing fees.

  “And here we are!” Anne unlocked the door, leading them inside.

  Shit. This place is incredible. Fuck! There is no way Xenia isn’t going to try to talk me into buying.

  It would be an uphill battle to get Xenia to turn her affections away from the house. She looked like she was going to cum on herself, and they’d only been inside for a minute or two. The bodacious brick and magnificent mortar were seducing her right before his eyes. The house’s pimp game was tight.

  “How’s Kyung Mi?” Saint asked, trying to distract the process, though he really did want the answer.

  Osaze lit up with delight. “She is doing well! That reminds me, she made lunch.” He turned towards Xenia.” Would it be okay if after you and Saint look at the properties today, you swing by and humor her with a much wanted visit?”

  “Of course!” Xenia responded. “I need to congratulate her in person, anyway. She is such a sweet woman, Osaze.”

  Nobody asked me shit. Maybe I have something I need to do, Dad. I guess zero fucks are given…

  The man nodded proudly. “Yes, she is…we are very happy.” The old guy couldn’t get the silly grin off of his face.

  Dad is in love. Man, I still can’t believe it. That’s what’s up. Amazing.

  “…I will let you all take a look at this first floor on your own, but if you have any additional questions, let me know. When you’re finished, we can take a look at the backyard. It has an amazing garden.”

  “Yeah.” Saint casually looked back down at the now crinkled listing balled up in his hand. “I saw the pictures. Can I grow marijuana in it?” Saint asked, looking quite seriously at the real estate agent who now had turned tomato red right before his eyes. He stifled a snicker, but his mischievousness etched on his face quickly erased once he felt a slap across his back. Xenia’s brows dunked lower than a greasy donut in hot coffee and her lips tightened into a scowl fit for a sea hag.

  “You are getting a little carried away with this hitting business, Xenia!” he chastised, as if he were on his way to calling a domestic hotline and reporting the little woman to the authorities.

  “Stop…playin’!” she said between gritted teeth, clearly having her fill of his buffoonery and hostile antics.

  Saint rolled his eyes, shoved his hands in his pockets, and kept walking, hunching ever so slightly.

  “Just ignore him…” Osaze whispered to Xenia, giving her a friendly tap on the shoulder as if a grungy puppy nipped at her heels on her way to deliver the damn mail.

  “Don’t treat me like I’m some idiot you all have to simply deal with, like I’m some nuisance!”

  And yet, he was still ignored as the two went on their way.

  His father knew that was one of his pet peeves, being spoken about as if he weren’t in the room, third person with a face-lift. So what. He was acting childish and that’s
just the way it was. Damn it, he was allowed to act up a little, right? This wasn’t what he had in mind and closed mouths don’t get fed. He had to demonstrate his displeasure somehow, even if it had to be in a passive aggressive way. It was a rough internal battle. On one hand, he was grateful his wife even allowed this; on the other, he had to have it go down a certain way… but how could he go back on his promise? Well, he wouldn’t. He was so certain the woman would shoot him down, he rolled out the red carpet, making it as appealing as possible but he hadn’t thought out all the details. Now he’d run smack dab into a sticky snafu. He had to downgrade the situation, make the house look less wonderful. Yes…that’s what he’d do. Rubbing his hands together like a fiendish fly about to land of a plate full of hot shit, he lulled behind them, concocting devious deeds to deliver. They were now surveying the expansive library, which boasted of wall-to-wall shelving, making his current book collection look like child’s play.

  Shit. This is spectacular.

  But, oh no, he refused to acknowledge it. He needed this house to be elsewhere. But it could not be, so plan B was put into action.

  It’s prime time baby…

  “Hey, Anne, how old is this house again?” he shouted out to the agent as he peeped out the doorway of the library, his fingers clutched around the frame of the humongous, arched double doors. The woman loitered in the quiet vestibule, the sunlight shining through a window upon her, giving her an instant halo-effect as it crowned her golden hair.

  “It was built in 1932,” she said proudly.

  “Oh, Saint!” Xenia called out excitedly. “You ought to see this fireplace in here.”

  A fireplace—right up Xenia’s alley. The woman’s panties must be really soaked now. He rolled his eyes, making sure to keep his back towards her.

  “It’s probably haunted in here,” he said crossly. “The children would be frightened.”