Saint And Sinners: The King Angel Child of New York

by Tiana Laveen

  That don’t smell like no cigarette…

  Hassani stared at it a bit longer, then his thoughts were cut in half when Angel pointed to the subway station up ahead.

  “Yo, let’s take the train. It’ll be faster. I don’t want you gettin’ in trouble or nothin’ like that. Now look, make sure that when you get back to school, you stay away from them front doors. The teachers will be hanging around. Keep your back to ’em. Just wait up front, close to the street so it look like you been there all day, aiight?”

  “Yeah, I got it…”

  They arrived at the subway. Angel tossed his tiny cigarette to the ground and grounded it with the heel of his shoe. One last puff of smoke escaped from the side of his mouth. As they sat close together, Hassani’s burning question could no longer wait.

  “Hey, Angel, can I ask you something?”

  “Yeah.” Angel sat a bit taller, as if he were some scholar. Hell, maybe he was…

  “You ever do it with a girl before?”

  Daddy had talked to Hassani several times about the birds and the bees. After all, Daddy had some fancy papers saying he was a sex doctor…but, still. Stuff like that comin’ from Daddy sometimes sounded strange, even though Daddy was real laid back about it, and told him he could ask him anything he wanted. He wanted to hear it from Angel though… Yeah, he bet Angel had gone all the way.

  “Ahhhhahaha!” Angel cracked up, his head tilted slightly to the side as if surprised Hassani would ask such a thing. “What type of question is that, man? I’m fourteen, what you think?!”

  “I…I don’t know.” Hassani felt suddenly self-conscious, like he’d asked something dripping in extreme stupidity…once again!

  “Yeah, I fucked plenty of girls, plenty of times. Why?”

  “I had a girlfriend back in L.A.,” Hassani chimed in, trying to save his reputation right quick and in a hurry as Grandma would say.

  “Did you, huh?” he asked with a grin. “I bet you was salty when you moved then, right?”

  “Yeah. I never got the chance to do that with her. We kissed though.” Hassani smiled with pleasure upon recalling her pressing her soft lips against his the day before he left for the airport to fly to New York.

  “That’s nice,” Angel said dismissively. “Look, don’t worry about it. With the type of magnetism you have, you’ll be drownin’ in pussy before you know it. And no homo, but you a good lookin’ cat, too. Hopefully you’ll stay that way.” He chuckled. “Girls ain’t gonna be a problem for you, trust me.”

  Hassani smiled with delight. He didn’t know what ‘no homo’ meant, but he refused to ask and show his lack of knowledge, play himself for an ignorant fool.

  “I’m just usin’ you to get favor, you know that, right?” Angel shot him a silly grin.

  The guy was talking mess, Hassani could feel it. Angel really did like him, and he liked him, too.

  “Yeah, I know,” Hassani lied again, just playing along.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t like hanging around little ass kids like you. I wish you was a bit older, but you’re not. Regardless, I gotta do what I gotta do. So, here is how we’re goin’ to spin it. You’re my cousin from L.A., okay? We just found out we’re related, you got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “You could pass for Puerto Rican.” He looked Hassani up and down, as if he were a pair of shoes he was considering buying.

  “How’d you know I’m not?”

  “’Cause your last name is Aknaten, dumbo!” Angel teased. “You never told me what that is by the way. What nationality is that last name? What is your race?”

  “Daddy said ain’t no such thing as race…that is a made up con and luck.”

  Angel burst out laughing and slapped his knee. “You mean construct.”

  “Yeah, construct.”

  “Well, humor me. Tell me anyway. What’s Aknaten?”

  “It’s Egyptian.”

  “You Egyptian, man?” His brow rose high. “I never would have guessed that.” He looked him up and down in a discriminatory way. “You a little dark to be Egyptian. I thought all Egyptians were A-rabs? You got good hair, though… Shit, maybe you are.” He nodded as if the possibility was now on his radar.

  “Mama said ain’t no such thing as good hair.”

  Angel rolled his light eyes.

  “You gonna repeat everything your folks say, huh? Like everything they say is tha truth?” He winked at him and grinned. “Black girls always say that. You don’t hear no white or Asian women sayin’ that stupid shit. You only hear nappy-headed hos sayin’ that dumb crap. I bet yo’ mama got an afro, don’t she? Power to the people,” Angel teased as he raised his fist in the air and laughed obnoxiously.

  Hassani felt himself growing warm again. The conversation was becoming irritating. He fisted his jeans, trying to sooth his nerves. On one hand, Angel seemed vastly mature for his age, someone Hassani wanted to grow up and be like. On the other hand, though he knew his parents said silly stuff sometimes, Angel could be cruel and just plain senseless. Mommy and Daddy were smart. Angel was talkin’ out the side of his mouth as Grandma would say. The guy didn’t know them. Who was he to judge them? More importantly, why did race, color and hair have to even be an issue? Why was it so important to Angel? None of this mattered in L.A. He was makin’ a big deal about nothing.

  “I’m not all Egyptian.”

  “Well I figured that.” Angel took another long glance at him. “You got some black in you. Which parent is it?”

  “My mama black, my daddy half Egyptian and half Korean,” Hassani offered, wanting to squelch the boy’s curiosity and hopefully put the entire conversation to rest.

  “Ohhhh man, you got a bunch of shit mixed in you, boy. That’s alright though.” He nodded in approval. “That’s pretty fuckin’ cool, actually. I like that…yeah, that’s pretty damn cool.” His voice trailed off as they neared their stop. “And by the way, it don’t matter what race you are, if your mama got an afro or not, none of that shit. I just like lookin’ at people is all. I’m an artist. I put people in boxes, not because I’m hung up on race, little man, but because I see colors where everyone else only sees black and white. And you are burstin’ bright as the mothafuckin’ rainbows…”

  *

  Chapter Fifteen

  Saint’s pursed lips thinned further, an action that stiffened his face. He sat on the edge of the bed, grinding an axe Xenia was thrilled he didn’t actually have. She continued to take in his image in the mirror’s reflection, his crisp white shirt partially unbuttoned, exposing a thin trail of hair and glinting platinum chain that he twirled slowly between his thumb and forefinger. Listening to the lyrics of ‘’Til the End of Time’ by Timothy Bloom made her already throbbing pussy quake a bit more. She was going to say it—some shit she knew her husband didn’t want to hear, but she couldn’t have him sitting there, getting re-dressed to go out into the streets, and take his aggression out on some poor soul.

  “Look, Saint.” She sighed. “I can’t believe I’m sayin’ this, but you’ve got to trust your gut on this. It will all fall into place. I hate this for you… I hate this for us.” She gripped the raspberry satin sheets tightly in her hand, almost painfully, and looked at them bunch in her palm. The man had come clean, had a horrible outburst as he came within her just moments ago. The ugly, horrid truth rolled out like wheels off a bus, crashing into her, making her face the reality of his situation…their situation. He’d been having awful nightmares; everything had come to a head.

  “I have a meeting with Krishna, soon. It isn’t going to be a fairy tale. Once he schools me…”—He slowly ran his palms together during the chorus of the haunting song, pausing as he undoubtedly listened to the lyrics.—“…the shit is going to really start rolling. As soon as he gets in town, Xenia, I’m going to be let out into the wild. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I’m about to find out.” He looked at her sitting behind him, his glance cast into the mirror, his eyes glowing a bit brighter, brimming
with scattered emotions,

  “And you will.”

  “There’s no learning curve!” he shouted. “Baby,” He slid up the bed and gripped her knee, his fingers faintly trembling against her flesh. The sheets provided little barrier to the heat of his touch. His concerns came through loud and clear from that gesture and the fretful look in his golden eyes. His nose was now so close to hers, one more centimeter and they’d bump foreheads. His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, then his soft lips parted as he stared at her a bit deeper, causing her damn heart to beat faster. “This guy…he isn’t like the others, Xenia. I haven’t even laid eyes on him but I can promise you, he’s worse than anything you could imagine.”

  “…I know.” She stroked his chin, fighting her own internal crusade, squashing her need to react. Now, she was simply trying to not lose her nerve. Lord knew she wanted to shelter him, make him stay close to her heart, but with all that had transpired as of late, it was more than obvious their journey would have a reason bigger than either of them could have ever envisioned.

  “This is almost like some horrible movie, Saint. I wish it wasn’t happening. I don’t know what else to say… There isn’t any title for this though.”

  “I can borrow one.” He smiled at her sadly, his necklace bumping into her collarbone as he kissed the bridge of her nose.

  “What did you borrow?” She looked up into his eyes as he lowered her back down on the bed with one hand and undid his shirt buttons. He seemed to have changed his mind about going out and blowing steam. Before she knew it, the man was undressed and pressing his big cock between her legs. He slid his arms under her back, crisscrossing them just so, and clutched her shoulders, bringing her far down onto his thickness as he shoved himself inside of her.

  “Ahhh…” she moaned, rearing back and propelling hard and fast inside of her over and over again.

  “The title, baby…is…Something Wicked This Way Cums…”

  *

  “Man, we ain’t had no down time like this in a minute! How are the renovations going for the new place?” Raphael asked as he reached across the table, gripped the salt, and made it rain on his thickly sliced piping hot fries.

  “Smoothly, I’m glad to say.” Saint grabbed the white handle of the coffee mug and took another sip of the hot peach ginger tea. He sighed and looked around the restaurant, delighting in all the New York vernacular. It was as if he’d never left home. The Lucky Cafe on First Street in Midtown East, Manhattan was packed. At five minutes after twelve, there was barely elbowroom, yet Saint stretched his muscles and flexed a bit, all the same. The back of his eyes throbbed with tension. He glanced down at his watch.

  Krishna will be here soon…

  For some reason, the notorious healer wanted to simply appear. He asked that Saint follow his typical routine, and he’d find him. So, he didn’t cancel his lunch date with his best friend. He simply went about his way, and then, he got a whiff of something in the air… Yes, Krishna was close.

  “You can sense him, can’t you?” Raphael tossed a ketchup-drenched French fry in his mouth and chewed vigorously.

  “Yeah…he can’t be more than twenty minutes away.” Just then, his cell phone rang. Saint glanced curiously at the number that popped on the caller ID, which he didn’t recognize. “Hold on, man.”

  Raphael nodded and continued to eat, gripping his greasy, humungous cheeseburger with both hands. His mouth grew wide as he hunkered down on the thing, taking a big bite and drawing the juicy meat and bread into his pie hole.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, is this Mr. Aknaten?” came a high-pitched feminine voice.

  “This is he…”

  “Hello, Mr. Aknaten, this is Ms. Safar from Speyer Legacy School.”

  Suddenly, Saint didn’t feel so well. All he’d eaten was half a plain bagel as he nursed his tea, but the queasiness grew stronger while the woman kept speaking. He causally ran his palm across his stomach and grunted, shifting his weight a bit in the chair. Although Hassani’s home room teacher spoke in a low voice, he heard her just fine.

  “Yes, what can I do for you, Ms. Safar?”

  “I just wanted to know how Hassani was doing? He has been out sick and if a child misses more than two consecutive days, we require a doctor’s note.”

  Saint swallowed and turned towards the window, trying to keep his damn cool. Many things ran in his mind, and the biggest one consisted of him getting his hands on his son and doing damage. He hated he’d gone there, sunk to that level, but his heart couldn’t take much more.

  “Yes…I see. Ms. Safar, I assure you that you will have everything you need.”

  “Uh…okay. Is he alright?” She came back for him, wanting answers.

  “He will be. Just a bit under the weather is all.” He forced a smile, hoping with all of his might that it bled into his tone and convinced her ear that all was well.

  She appeared to have bought it, her voice relaxing a bit as it married with a faint laugh. “Okay, wonderful. I know sometimes new students get the jitters and unfortunately, he got in a fight with two other students on his first day. He is such a bright and pleasant boy…”

  “Thank you, Ms. Safar. I appreciate that. Yes, his first day was rather…upsetting.” Saint looked down at the table and tapped it with his fingertips, playing a mean percussion.

  He caught Raphael out of his peripheral vision. The man was spying him like a detective, his brow raised in concern.

  “But, sometimes these things happen and hopefully, it is behind him,” Ms. Safar said, but he was only half listening.

  He wanted to bolt from his seat and rush to find his son, but then, the scent grew so strong, he was rendered almost speechless. The woman finally brought the call to an end and before Raphael could rattle off his litany of questions, Krishna appeared in the doorway. Dressed in a cream shirt and matching pants, his smile lit the room. He pointed to Saint.

  “Saint…come. It is time.” His voice boomed, despite all the voices bouncing around the place. Yes, it was definitely time…

  *

  “Are you cold?” Saint asked, removing his jacket and offering it to the man as they walked slowly side by side on the busy street during lunch rush hour.

  Krishna smiled at him then looked ahead. They moved like twin oceans tides, psychically crashing along their chosen paths.

  “No, thank you.” He nodded as they came to a cross walk. “Saint, I am going to speak to you telepathically, so that you may understand me clearer. I know my accent sometimes clouds the clarity of my words. You may answer with your voice, if you so wish.”

  “I will answer verbally. Thank you.” He cleared his throat and rubbed the top of his iPhone with nervous fingers. His newfound distraction, courtesy of his eldest child, had triggered escalating anxiety within him. Krishna immediately read his mind.

  “The boy is fine. He is with another boy, in case you hadn’t known, looking at art.” A small smile broke across the Indian man’s clean-shaven face. He tucked his intricately designed, illustrious black cane under his arm while they continued to wait for the electronic go ahead. “This is not the first time your child avoided school. It is the third.”

  Saint said nothing, though he did feel a bit better. He’d already gotten a read on Hassani, but the boy’s mental state would not come through clearly. He suspected intense blocking. Regardless, he could track his children no matter where they went in the entire wide world. He just needed some alone time to sort it out.

  Looking at art? Hmmm…

  They crossed the street and Krishna once again placed his cane in front of him, as if needing the assistance of an old friend to lean on. It seemed to be more for ornamental purposes than anything else however, for the old timer had pep in his step and moved like silk dangling in a cool summer breeze.

  “Now, we will begin with our discourse. First and foremost…” The man coughed hard into his tight dark brown fist. “You did right to conduct your business as usual. You were
drawn here, back to your hometown, due to a needful event. The scales are unbalanced. Typically, Koki and you would know of one another but have no reason to fight. You see, you both coexist and serve important purposes. Regardless of any judgments one could hurl, there is a significant place for the likes of him in this world, and those that share his same proclivities. Also…” He turned slowly towards Saint, his brow slightly raised. “He knows you are here, and he is waiting to see what you do. When you make your first move, the war begins. If he makes a move, the same. Koki does not relish confrontation or domination. He prefers to play under the radar, just as you do. While you do nothing, it increases his anxiety though, and this may cause him to do something he could later regret. Now, what questions do you have thus far, Saint?” he asked telepathically, his tone clear and crisp.

  “Krishna, I’m…afraid,” Saint admitted. Such admission punched him in the gut, deep and hard, leaving a shameful soreness after he’d uttered it. “Not of Koki,” he further explained. “But of the malevolent powers from others that will be released onto innocent people… It sickens me.”

  He paused and caught his breath, taking a look at all the New Yorkers racing back to their respective work places, their feet moving faster than their brains, words jumbled in their minds as they tried to stay ahead of any pitfalls that may come their way. All that twitching, nervous energy was alive and invigorated, waving to the world then zooming away in a cityscape blur. The yellow and black taxicabs lined the streets like bumble bees on a honeycomb. The incessant honking played a familiar symphony to his ears. All the while, fast-moving men in their uniforms unloaded items from enormous white trucks, pouring skids of goods into local grocery stores, restaurants and clothing boutiques. All of this touched him in a special way. He ran his finger over his left brow as he contemplated and tried to gather his thoughts.