by Tiana Laveen
He suddenly had reservations about showing them the shit… It was a spur of the moment type thing, and he feared they’d look at the run down structure in the Bronx, shrug and say, ‘Big fucking deal.’ He’d already secured their business building; renovations were under way, and they knew from his previous declarations, this wasn’t it. He couldn’t move the Rainbeau Knights to Hunts Point. It wasn’t up to par for such a venture, not close enough to the heart of the city and their potential relocation spots but for Saint to mosey around, talk leisure strolls? Oh yes—it was perfect. Regardless, he didn’t elaborate with the crew. Seeing was believing… But there wasn’t much to see, or was there? Besides, he’d seen the building more times than he could count before moving back home, and it never moved or stirred him in this fashion. Something was different; something had changed.
Here was just another place in H.P. that people forgot about unless they needed to turn a trick, take a piss or shoot up. Besides the Hunts Point Cooperative Market, nothing of monetary value existed in the whole damn area. That didn’t matter to Saint though; this was home, and that damn building was a long, lost relative that wouldn’t shake him loose. Now, the damn thing called to him, like a mother to a lost child. Her weary voice echoed in his mind, haunting him like a ghost within. The ghoulish creep caught like a fish hook in his soul, making him choke like a chicken bone in the throat, preventing him from swallowing or taking another bite of anything else off the plate of life. Yes—this was death. The place was dead, yet so very alive…
He felt captive to the damn thing, and like a rabid crack addiction, he longed for yet another heated hit. Exhaling loudly, he made his way towards the place. It was either now or never. No need in stalling or arguing any longer and besides, Xenia would be up soon and calling him to find out why he was out, yet once again, scouring the land. The fellas had made their opinions clear, and Jagger, though strangely quiet, was not in a different league. Saint caught evil glares coming from the man’s ice blue eyes through the rear view mirror. He simply appeared too sleepy to cause a scene just yet but as the minutes grew older and bolder, he was certain Mr. Military would get in on the action too, and call him everything but an Angel Child of God.
“Alright…we’ll be there in a minute.”
“Good…and you owe everyone in this car breakfast after this. Shit.” Raphael seemed to hack on a sticky globule of phlegm as he cleared his throat, gearing up to go in. “I’m talking steak, well-done like Tyga, mothafucka! And some potatoes…not the cheap pre-frozen kind either. I want the ones that are fresh and loaded with scallions ’nd shit, shredded cheese and bacon…all that good shit! I want sunny side up eggs, too!” Raphael stabbed his thigh with his finger as he made each requirement loud and clear. “And some damn hash browns, crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, sizzling hot. And I want fluffy pancakes big as your damn head with blueberry syrup, the real blueberries, not that shit that comes in a damn can and has been sitting on some warehouse shelf since the days Jesus was walking the Earth! I want the works!” Raphael blurted, not a smile on his shiny brown face as he rattled off his list of culinary demands. The man ran his hand over his smooth baldhead and slumped to the side a bit more, this time closing his eyes.
Saint sighed and turned the radio a little louder. Some smooth early 80’s music was playing—‘Nights Over Egypt’ by The Jones Girls.
Yeah, that’s good…that should help calm everyone down…
“Breakfast, mothafucka!” Raphael yelled suddenly, as if shaken awake from a dream. He refused to be ignored.
Saint looked at him lazily from the corner of his eye. “After what you just did to my fucking floor you’ll be lucky if all you get from me is an invoice,” he muttered. “You know how I am about my cars! You did that shit on purpose. I’m not buying you shit. You can starve for all I care.”
“Let it go.” Raphael crossed his arms. “I know you, man. You are trying to distract us, buy time. Just drive to the damn place, stop stalling. You got us out here now, in fuckin’ Hunts Point during crime season…” He paused and yawned noisily. “So let’s just go…got us out here to see some damn building… This is some bullshit!” he mumbled. “When we pull up, there better diamonds in this damn place. There better be slot machines filled with gold coins like we just flew to damn Las Vegas!” Raphael chuckled.
Saint disregarded him and continued his trek, relieved no one said another word, and let him simmer, concentrate on the matter at hand. His soul stirred as he drew closer. Something was happening inside of him, something he couldn’t explain, and it was ripping him to shreds from the inside out. As soon as he approached the place, he could feel the hypnotic pull once again—as if enormous, invisible hands came from the sky and picked the car up like a toy and pulled it along, lining it up with the curb just so.
I feel like I’m fucking floating…
Saint sat for a moment, took a deep breath as he turned to face Lawrence and Jagger. The leather of his seat whispered to his movements as he clutched the headrest with one hand. Much to his surprise, both men’s eyes were so bright, they appeared to be filled with the burning, crushed remnants of lightning bugs as they cast a brilliant glow across the car. It was an uncanny sort of thing; yet, he was relieved to see that they, too, were now in on the action. He was so caught up in the moment, in the beauty of the shit, he’d forgotten about poor ol’ Raphael who now turned sideways to stare back at the guys, too.
“What the fuck is going on back here?! You two look like some goddamn flashlights!”
Lawrence swallowed, as he quietly reached for the car handle and got out. He stood tall, his glowing amber eyes still on the damn building. Jagger followed suit, stiff like a zombie yet determined to get a closer look. His dark brown leather jacket hung open, exposing a white shirt that looked dull compared to the glow in his light blue eyes. The intensity increased…and Saint knew without a shadow of a doubt, these bastards could hear that bitch of a building calling their damn names, making them crawl towards her because they couldn’t resist her damn enchanted ways.
Here we are, gentlemen. Hurry now, she awaits…
*
All four men stood at the entranceway of the large, arched doorway with missing slate gray stones and smudged remnants of spray-painted words long forgotten. The old hotel fought with itself on a daily basis. Every day was a struggle for the structure to stay the fuck together in one, solid piece. It had never been a prime spot, just a pretty piece of something in the wrong damned neighborhood. According to Raphael, over the years he’d seen ‘For Sale’ signs on it in the past, but now, there were no indications the piece of shit was owned, wanted or desired by anyone at all. What a beautiful bitch, birthed and forgotten, ridiculed for looking pretty in a fucked up borough.
Jagger cocked his head to the side, approached it and threw a brutal kick at the bolted dry rotted doors. One slightly splintered; the other stood tall, holding on for dear life. He approached the thing again, this time no doubt determined to bring them tumbling down, but Lawrence placed his hand on the man’s wrist, halting him.
“Hold on, let’s be a bit quieter, gentler.”
Lawrence raised his hands. A reddish-orange flame soon danced in his palms. He then placed them over the sooty knobs, melting them into silver globs until they fell like molten silver onto the concrete. They made their way inside, their feet shuffling about in the dank, musty darkness. Lawrence struck a match for additional lighting, and his glowing eyes also helped guide the way.
“Saint…do you feel that?” Jagger asked as he placed his big hand across his heart, as if falling into some invisible vibe. The man’s voice echoed, causing everyone to pause and listen.
“Yup. That’s why I brought you here. It feels like someone having a party somewhere, doesn’t it? That’s the only way I can describe it.” Saint made his way further inside and realized they were in the lobby of the hotel. He looked down at the floors and took notice of the fine black lines across what he presumed h
ad once been a well-decorated, posh entranceway. The ebony veins were etched across something white and shiny.
Marble. They actually had marble in here…amazing…
Marble was a poor conductor of sound, which made the feeling he got in the place even more of an oddity and mystery. The walls appeared to flourish, throbbing to a throaty drumming that happened right below his feet. Raphael’s eyes darted from one man to another, yet his lips were sealed. He was no doubt confused as to what transpired as he toured the area, but people were mindful of their steps, loath to engage in unnecessary chatter. Several minutes passed before he broke the silence.
“I haven’t been in here in years. This place was a dump, but you know what?” Raphael spun slowly around, doing a three-hundred and sixty-degree turn. “I’m surprised it’s still standing. It was built in the 1950s to help bring more business over here. It was too late; the neighborhood was already starting to go down.”
Saint nodded in agreement as he moved closer to the hotel lobby counter. An assortment of grotesque debris sat upon it. The collection of discarded junkie needles lying about didn’t go unnoticed, either…
“Alright,” he said upon a sigh. He couldn’t take it anymore. Lawrence and Jagger’s silence was killing him. “What are you two thinking?” Saint crossed his arms as he surveyed the men who were casing the place, looking at boarded up windows and odds and ends, no doubt left from the people who had illegally crashed there a time or two.
“Saint, I can see why you were drawn here. There is an electrifying energy,” Lawrence began as he put his hands in the air. “How do we get downstairs?”
Saint shrugged. “I have no idea. I see that old elevator over there. I’m sure it doesn’t work so I wouldn’t take the chance.” He pointed to the golden-framed door, now covered in soot and cobwebs. “There are the stairs.” He pointed to the other side of the room. They could barely be seen with the naked eye. “We’d probably fall right through…and they only seem to lead upward, versus down.”
“But it’s down here.” Jagger stomped his feet against the floor. “It’s in the walls, too.”
“This place is creepy. Let’s get the hell outta here,” Raphael protested. He zipped his jacket up as if in a gesture of self-protection from the cold. And he probably had felt something—the temperature had dropped but even more notably, a heavy base, like a subwoofer, began to vibrate under their feet.
“Whoa!” Jagger called out as Saint fell to his knees. He placed his ear to the dirty ground, uncaring that he’d be soiled from head to toe, covered in the dusty fragments of hideous scenes from yesteryear.
“It’s music! It’s fucking music! We have to get downstairs!” Saint jerked himself up from the floor, his legs carrying him away but not fast enough for his own liking. He had no idea where the fuck he was running off to, but he went like a lightning streak across the damn sky to the staircase, disturbing the dust along the way. He squeezed the rail so hard, it stung his palm.
“I need to figure this out; it’s like a puzzle, a riddle!” he screamed out, his voice echoing as he spoke. Soon, Jagger, Lawrence and Raphael were by his side. He felt his face grow increasingly wetter as sweat poured down it, like he’d been running a marathon of thirty miles, not three hundred feet. “None of this is real!” He looked up at the ceiling, noting the peeling lead-filled paint that promised to fall upon their faces, threatening to bring with it cobwebbed rubble and asbestos flakes for their choking displeasure.
“Saint…I’m not sure I follow you, but whatever is going on here, you have to do it.” Lawrence slicked his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels, as if waiting for a simple solution. It was so damn hard to explain. The heart and soul of the place had been corrupted somehow. Something was going on behind and beneath the veneer.
I’m complicating this…
Maybe that was true; maybe this was easier than it looked. Then, a thought returned to him. Jagger had stomped on the floor. The way Jagger clomped his foot against the marble flooded his mind. He was knocking…knocking…knocking…
Saint fell back to the ground and pounded it with both fists.
“Let me in! Let me in, goddamn it!”
Suddenly, a dark hole appeared in the middle of the floor and spread faster than any of them could escape. The floor seemed to turn to liquid silver and gold right before their eyes, yet they stayed on their feet, slightly steady but rocking, as if the ground had transformed into gel-coated metallic waves.
“Oh shit!” Raphael screamed out. “What’s happening?!”
He gripped Saint’s arm as his legs gave way underneath him. Jagger grinned from ear to ear like a sneaky cat that had happened upon an injured bird while Lawrence moved his arms outward, like an airplane, a smirk engraved on his face while he expertly kept his balance.
“Raphael, hold on!” Saint laughed raucously. “We’re falling through! We’re moving!!! We’re really moving!” And with that, as if being pulled by a strong, seductive current, they all tumbled back, falling down, down, down…lower and lower, passing crud covered green and brown piping rusted with stagnant water. They continued to fall, Raphael’s screams almost muted by the dripping sludge that cried down the basement walls while a smoggy greenish light illuminated their forms, making them appear radioactive.
“Whaaaat tha fuuuuck!” Raphael kept screaming as he wrapped his body tighter around Saint’s, causing him and the others to break out into laughter during that hard, fast ride—the ride of their Angel Child lives. Saint somehow felt no fear upon such an odd and jarring occurrence. It felt to him as if the Creator himself had reached inside of him, and was bringing him into the fold of glory. The touch was warm, inviting, addicting, delightful, whimsical, and all that anyone would ever need and want. Like falling in love over and over again, and there was no end to the good sensations in sight. And then, the heart-pounding music swallowed them whole while they fell into a deep trench of shimmering emerald clouds…
“Oh yes…this is some goooood shit.” Saint felt it immediately, reminded of the days when he would get high off weed or alcohol, as a teenager. He felt light and airy, and the music was carrying his ass away into a place that stroked the side of his face while napping on his mama’s lap. She had been a small woman, but her thighs were always warm and he’d cried himself to sleep upon her many a night. The music stole his peace as it grew even louder, yet even in that, he found additional comfort. Sleep Party People, ‘I’m Not Human at All’ played so loud, his body felt every damn beat and percussion making his insides melt with delight as he loosened his grip on Raphael, and fell further into his own concocted, perfect world chock full of marijuana smoke; hot, tight pussy from the Goddess that owned his heart; Rainbeaus cheering his name as they fell the fuck in love; Empresses following their hearts; Black Queens wearing rings and genuine smiles; and the love of the children he’d created with his Bride….
“Ahhhh, shit….yes…” Saint’s eyes slowly hooded as purple smoke drifted out from the corners of his partially opened mouth. The scent of thick, copious fragrant incense hit him, and his heart slowed; the damn beat mellowed in his own body as it began to match the timing of the rhythm of the song.
…And then they landed softly, on their damn feet.
The music continued to play. Long crystals hung from thin strings all around them, like the curtains that used to be in his home as a child. They reminded Saint of the ones his mother would walk through while bringing delectable food to the table and he’d sit there, waiting for her, wearing his favorite shirt that was too damn small. Yes, he’d sit there, listening to the crystals clash together over and over, sparkling, as that gorgeous Korean woman with the raven hair and porcelain skin winked at him, her only son, and asked if he’d washed his hands for dinner…
“Where tha…” Raphael rubbed his head as if he’d had a bad trip. “…fuck are we?”
They all looked around and the music grew quieter and quieter until it was only a faint whisper. Then, an unknown v
oice called out, breaking the soft, cushy trance. Gruff, thick and masculine—slightly foreign and almost threatening…
“It’s about goddamn time!” the man spat as he threw a pool table cue ball across the room with brisk force, knocking over a pyramid of empty beer cans. “Welcome home, you son of a bitch!”
*
Chapter Ten
“Everyone is a target, me and you included. I’ve got nothing against the man. It’s only a matter of time before he meets the others, if he hasn’t already. No one has seen him.” Koki grinned, an all-knowing grin as he sank his teeth into his lower lip. “But I know his scent, I know him. Honestly, I wish we could coexist, but that’s just not how it works.” He shrugged. “You see, now I’m considered too powerful, taking over. It happens. People choose me,” Koki explained as he looked down at the thick, black towel wrapped around his waist. The cool shower proved to be refreshing, and gave him new insight into the bullshit on the horizon. He had several strategies in place, ones so simplistically beautiful, he had to bow down to his damn self. His brother sat across from him in his home, holding tightly to a cigarette as he thumped his foot against the floor to a nonexistent beat.
“So what’s next?” Ataru questioned. “What do we do with Saint?”
“I’ve got some ideas.” Koki smirked, leaned against his vanity and picked up his nail clipper, casually going over his nails as light gray ether slithered out the side of his mouth. “I know who I’m dealing with. Actually, this should be fun. Just you wait ’nd see. Remember, we must do all things with proper planning and dignity.”
Ataru grinned and leaned back in his seat, this time, not offering any protests, just complete trust for a change.
“Okay, I’m eager to see. There’s a lot riding on this, Koki…a hell of a lot.”
“I know, but the key, Ataru, is simply to do what we do best. Truly, nothing else is required.” He sealed his words with a sly smile and a wink…