Saint And Sinners: The King Angel Child of New York

by Tiana Laveen

  “…And I’ve paid for it.”

  “You’re a fucking pain in the ass.” He inhaled his cigarette, his eyes turned to pitch-black slashes. “I should have gotten rid of you a long time ago. You can’t even have a conversation with a motherfucker who was eyeballing you, drawing you in. You had his ass right there, and you blew it! You somehow managed to Fuck. That, Up!” His voice roared, shaking the walls.

  “Fuck you, Koki!” she cried, pushing the envelope, her voice trembling.

  “No, fuck your sister and your whore ass mother, bitch! What a lousy fuck your mom was, though.” He puffed loops of smoke into midair. “You must have gotten your dick sucking skills from your faggot father. I bet he’s goooood!” He burst out laughing, tickled to fucking death as he squeezed the verbal knife in her heart. She needed to be set straight, understand the pecking order.

  “I hope he wipes the damn floor with you!” She turned on a dime, her eyes glistening like a hungry cobra’s. Ahhhh yes, a woman scorned had revealed her true, icy colors; she’d make him pay no doubt for his cruel, callous words. He hated her at that moment for she was weak, unable to accept and handle the truth. And that was something he found simply unforgiveable.

  “You’re such a fuckin’ disappointment, Gigi. The body of a priestess and your pussy is the best I’ve ever stuck my cock in. What a fuckin’ waste.”

  She arched upward, lifting off the bed as she seethed. A ferocious roar escaped her widened mouth, but it was too late. Koki whipped his gun out in a flash and embedded a bullet smack dab in the middle of her fucking forehead. She was dead upon contact, lifeless, turning ash before his eyes as she fell back onto the bed like a tawny feather, her blood barely detectable amongst the crimson sheets.

  Pocketing the gun, he casually zipped up his white leather coat, said a customary farewell, and disappeared in a small tornado of gray smoke, right there on the damn spot…

  *

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Somebody’s gonna tell me something, goddamn it!” Saint blustered as he got out of his car, slamming the door hard behind him. The street vibrated under his feet; he made the shit shake, rattle and roll under his hard, pulsating paces as he navigated his way past the small crowd of children. There they all stood, smacking wads of fragrant gum and toying with their electronic devices, waiting for their parents and caretakers to whisk them away to a place called home.

  Home. Yeah. Where Xenia waited with his second eldest and baby girl, none the wiser as she toiled away over the stove preparing a perfect bounty for their bodies. He’d confess the truth of the details once he had the boy in his grasp, but he wasn’t calm enough to rein himself in, for even the wind couldn’t get a blow in edgewise. The leaves, in shades of burnt auburn and sunset orange, appeared to flutter and flow in slow motion as Saint’s footsteps continued to pound the pavement. In that moment, he caught Hassani’s dark eye and all bets were off. The boy immediately knew what was up, and he stiffened straight as a board—thrusting his palms forward as if a strong gust of air was knocking him to and fro. But to Hassani’s apparent surprise, Saint bumped into him, hurling past as if he were an inconsequential berry bush in his way to the main mothafuckin’ prize.

  “Daddy, no!” Hassani kept hot on his father’s heels, begging and beseeching, his tone chock full of un-cried tears at the brink of cascading down his cheeks. The boy was imploring for mercy, but it was far too late.

  “Please, Daddy!” he pleaded as he grabbed the hem of his father’s jacket, only for the material to be yanked from his grip when the King of the Castle kept on marching towards Angel.

  That’s him… I know that’s his ass alright!

  The boy was sitting rather carefree on the front steps of the school, not a worry in his damn Easter egg-shaped head, not a care in his crazy little Angel Child world. Surely he’d seen him by now but he had to keep up appearances, play it cool. Then, he saw the boy gulp. His long neck stretched and his Adam’s apple bobbed, but the fucker continued to divert eye contact.

  Look at this little grimy lookin’ mothafucka! You little pint sized son of a bitch!

  Two fast assed girls sat next to the pompous prick, their eyes full of stars and their smiles filled with child-like silliness, admiring the raven haired Puerto Rican in their midst, but not for long. Saint yanked the boy up by the lapel of his jacket, as if it was nothing and Angel weighed the same as a warm piece of dog shit left out in a field of grass.

  “You leave my son alone, do you hear me?!”

  Angel’s legs dangled in midair and his mouth hung open, his hazel eyes widened in surprise. He offered nothing but that silly look on his face, which only caused Saint to become impossibly angrier.

  “Because of you, Hassani has been doing the wrong thing! I know he’s been skipping school, you punk! He would have never skipped out on school if you hadn’t influenced him!” Saint could feel the rumble in his chest from his own thundering voice and even though he knew what Krishna had said was true, he could not stop himself, reel himself in. This was his son, and he would die protecting him if he had to!

  “The butler is an A.C.!” the boy squeaked, a strange expression on his contorted face as he persistently kicked his legs wildly about in Saint’s grip, causing the two girls to scatter away from him like startled mice. Their screaming suddenly brought Saint into full focus. He looked around, realizing he was now the focal point of frightened, small eyes and little mouths agape. He gulped and slowly lowered Angel back down from where he’d snatched him upward like a drawn shoestring. Hassani ran a soft hand across his elbow, bringing him back even more firmly into the moment. Saint swiped his palm over his forehead, feeling delirious and confused, but still marinating in the thick sauce of fury. He couldn’t shake it…but he was monitoring how he simmered now.

  He is an Angel Child, too…

  Saint sniffed around the boy, inhaling deeply the familiar, cologne type sweetness and the boy’s hormonal youth mixed together that created an interesting aroma.

  “I need to speak to you. Privately,” Saint snarled, taking the boy roughly about the neck, practically dragging him and Hassani along the pavement like garden tools needed for a big haul.

  “Aaaaaah man! You hurtin’ me, damn! What chew doin’?!” the boy shouted.

  Saint ignored his groans and demands for information and to be released from his grasp. Soon, all three stood close to Saint’s car. He crossed his arms and looked down at the little fucker whose nostrils spread as he looked up at him, trying to still look tough. Saint returned the stance with a special one of his own, causing the boy to turn away; he even shuddered as he looked towards something, anything but Saint.

  Don’t try me you little half grown piece of shit. You obviously don’t who I am but you about to find the fuck out…

  He knew the guy was only a kid, but he had a man’s heart, like he’d lived a thousand lifetimes, and Hassani didn’t need that sort of drama around him. Father and son stared at one another for a long while.

  “Daddy, I—”

  “Be quiet!” Saint yelled at his son, his face now heating as more anger poured into his very being. “Don’t …say…anything!” He pointed at Hassani, his fingertip dancing dangerously close to his nose.

  “What do you want with my son?”

  “…What?! I didn’t know he was this type of mothafucka! His energy is stranglin’ me! You coulda got me killed, man! You aint tell me your father was an A.C.! A multi-tiered one at that!” The boy shot Hassani a look as if he, too, wanted to do the little nine-year-old harm.

  “Watch your mouth! Now you tell me why you’ve been hanging around with my son. You are at least thirteen! Too old to be hangin’ with a little boy.”

  The boy looked up at him, fear all over his face. For the very first time in the whole incident, Saint felt his resentment marry with tinges of sympathy. He placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder and lowered his voice.

  “What’s your name?”

  “…Angel,” he said
in almost a whisper.

  “Don’t be afraid…” Saint attempted to soothe the situation. There was no way the boy would offer the truth if he kept coming at him like that, like a ram ready to impale him and throw his shredded remains in the nearest garbage bin. “I’m just upset that you’ve been asking my child to play hooky with you…and I want to know why.”

  “’Cause he needed it, dat’s why,” the boy snapped, sounding suddenly indignant. “People are coming for him, messing with him. He didn’t want you and his mama to come up here and embarrass him…you gotta remember how that is.”

  Suddenly, Saint’s chest flooded with pain. He gritted through it, knowing it was emotional, knowing he was reading the little guy…

  So much pain…so much similarity…so much truth.

  In that moment, that boy reminded him so much of Bomb. He shot Hassani a look. His eldest stood there with a quivering bottom lip, silent tears streaming down his face leaving a satiny finish in their wake.

  “…Yeah, I remember how that was. But skipping school isn’t the answer, Angel. I saw your drawings by the way.”

  A brief silence ensued as the boy seemed to size him up, confusion reigning supreme.

  “You went down to the tunnel?” he asked hesitantly.

  “No.” Saint smirked and tapped his temple. “I saw it in my mind. You’re good, damn good. You’re wasting away, you know that? All that talent…you need to do something positive with it.”

  The boy looked away, blushing a bit.

  “Angel.” Saint looked over his shoulder, noting the fact most of the students were gone. “No one picks you up.”

  “Nah.” He shook his head, keeping his voice and head low as he kicked the ground with his sneakers. “I take the subway home. My little brother goes to a special program after school, so a bus comes and picks him up and some other kids, and takes them over to the center and then home.”

  “I’m sorry about your parents, Angel. Just because they gave up doesn’t mean you should.”

  The boy’s mouth opened and he suddenly looked up into Saint’s eyes. He clearly wanted to ask something, say a thing or two, but then he retreated back into himself and looked away again.

  He is completely open. He wants me to read him. He wants me to see it. He wants my help…

  “Look, tonight isn’t ideal, but what about in the next few days you come over to our house for dinner, okay? I can pick you up after school and—”

  “I ain’t no charity case!” he blurted, rage in his tone. He took a few steps back, giving a safe distance lest Saint decide to physically attack at such a declaration. “I don’t need your goddamn help. I was tryna help yo’ little bitch ass son!” He pointed to Hassani angrily, popping his collar, a slight smirk on his face. Hassani’s mouth dropped open, as if he wanted to scream and holler, but nothing came out except the silent roar of hurt and astonishment. He recoiled into Saint’s leg, gripping the material of his pants in a tight grip and sobbed even louder now, leaving a trail of wetness against his knee.

  “I was tryna help him! You think you better than me, than everybody, ’cause you multi-tiered, huh? Well you ain’t! I ain’t scared of you!” He took more steps back as he continued to talk shit. He stumbled, almost fell.

  Saint didn’t feel angry—only pity for the boy. This was how Angel had trained himself, to protect his heart. So many times he’d trusted adults, only to discover they really didn’t give a damn about him, didn’t want him and rarely even saw him. He was done with that, but a small part of him still wanted to believe Saint was different, yet this overwhelmed him. He was so damaged, Saint felt like he may never even have the chance to help restore his faith…make him whole again.

  “I’m out, man! You ain’t got to worry about me talking to your little man again or tryna lure him away from this lame ass school.”

  “That’s good to know, Angel. Regardless, this is my son, and I needed you to respect that. Try to calm down so that—”

  “He couldn’t come to you, so he came to me.” Angel cut him off, stabbed himself in the chest with his fingertip as he made his point. The boy held his head high despite his rapidly pounding heartbeat that Saint could clearly overhear. “Respect? Ain’t no such thing as respect! And it ain’t my fault he ain’t wanna talk to you… Fuck you!” Fear dripped from his words. And with that, he ran off, looking over his shoulder a few times until he disappeared behind the school building.

  Saint stood there for a long while, looking at nothing. All of the cars were gone, except his. He became aware once again of the cold wetness against his leg, as well as the small form that shook against it, letting him know things had just gone from bad to worse.

  “Come on, Son,” he said quietly, gathering Hassani in his arms. “Let’s go home.”

  “Da…da…daddy!” The boy wept as he tumbled into the car like an overturned pile of laundry in a washing machine. “He…was all…I had! Now…I ain’t…got…nooooobody!” he blubbered, his heart now beating double its usual rate.

  “Baby, I mean, Hassani, you’ve got me and Mommy, okay?”

  “No! You don’t…understand.” The tears continued to pour. “I know…I did wrong…but…now, it’s going to be badder!”

  “…Worse. It’s going to be worse,” Saint softly corrected as he pulled from the curve and merged with traffic.

  “You…can’t protect me. Only…only…he could! Now, he hate me! He don’t…want…nothin’ to do with me!” the boy wailed, falling apart right there in the back seat. Saint shot him a look in the rear view mirror. He’d never seen Hassani act like this before. Usually, his son was always trying to pretend to be grown and too big to cry. Now…he looked exactly like what he was—a nine-year-old little boy with the world on his shoulders, being crushed under the weight.

  “Hassani…there are some things going on that you don’t understand. For one, Angel is a very complicated child, okay?” he said sternly. “Secondly, what he said to you also wasn’t true. He doesn’t hate you. He was scared, Hassani. He didn’t know what to do. I caught him by surprise, and he felt like since you had someone like me in your life, you’d have no use for him anymore. He didn’t realize you had a father like me, at least not at my level. He felt worthless so he lashed out. Everything will work itself out, okay?” Saint said calmly as he continued to pilot through the traffic.

  Hassani said nothing. Instead, his poor little body slumped on the leather seat like a crooked letter ‘C’, causing his seatbelt to twist awkwardly around his form. He continued to tremble and sob, breaking Saint’s heart.

  “…And I won’t tell your mother, okay?” He shot him a quick look in the rear view mirror. No, those plans had to be cast away considering the new circumstances. “I was going to, until I figured out what was going on. It wouldn’t help, only make her upset and more worried. She doesn’t need that. She finally found a nanny…starts her job soon. I need her to be calm, at peace, not worried about you. I’ll worry about you enough for the both of us right now.” He gave a slight smile, but it quickly faded.

  “You can’t…help me…Daddy. Nobody can help me…but me, and Angel…”

  An icy chill crept up Saint’s chest upon hearing his child’s words.

  “We can do this together, Hassani.”

  “No.” Hassani sat up a bit higher and wiped his reddened eyes with the back of his hand. “We can’t. And you know… we can’t. You might be the best Angel Child in the world, Daddy, but… that isn’t enough… I gotta prove myself, and…can’t nobody else do it for me…” The boy sobbed loudly, a new gush of tears rolled. “Not even you…”

  *

  “Do you like those tiny oranges, baby?” Xenia held up the plastic red bag of succulent citrus fruit and waved them above Isis’ head like a carrot overhead a ravenous rabbit.

  “Yeeeeeahhhh, Mommy!” Isis smiled wide and nodded vigorously as she grabbed for the thing.

  Xenia relished these times with her little girl, just the two of them out on the town, sh
opping and having fun. She’d discovered some of the most adorable shops for children’s’ clothing, and the boutiques really called her name. This was the kind of day memories were made of, and she treasured it all the more. She cocked her head to the side and gave Isis a good once over.

  She’s growing so fast. Where did my itty bitty baby go?

  It would be a while before they got to do such a thing again on a Wednesday afternoon. Her job at WOR 710 would soon start and she’d already been to the station several times to simply observe and sit in. The employees there were right up her alley, sparking her vocational juices with their enthusiasm. And she delighted in the fact she’d actually be getting her own show—starting new.

  She continued to browse the bins of garden-fresh produce, stopping here and there, collecting juicy lemons and zesty green limes along the way. Pausing every so often, she’d bring one to her nose and inhale its aroma. They smelled almost as good as the ones in California. She glanced at the sticker on the limes and saw ‘organic’ written above it, then tossed a few in a plastic sack.

  As she approached the bread aisle, she noticed two attractive African American women huddled close together, laughing raucously. Xenia cast them a surreptitious sideways glance, very much recalling the way she was at twenty-five, the age they both looked to be about. This was her first time in this particular grocery store, so she was learning her way around. She’d been tempted a time or two to track down an employee, but instead, decided to turn the experience into a fun hunt. Besides, this way she wouldn’t miss any sales and cool items of interest.

  As she looked here and there, she thumbed through cellophane-wrapped loaf after loaf, desperately searching for the Honey Wheat Brownberry brand she and Saint so enjoyed. As she continued her search, she couldn’t help but overhear the two young ladies conversing.