by Tiana Laveen
“I’m glad you’re being honest, Roman.” Saint took another taste of his beverage. “Let’s get this out of the way.” He turned towards him. “I don’t hate black men. I’m tired of explaining that, but you’ve brought it up, so now I have to address it again. Look, that theory isn’t even coherent and I’ll tell you why. I cannot hate black men because you are the fathers of the women I covet. I am a scientist by trade.” He raised a brow and pointed to himself. “I think like a scientist; my principles are scientific in nature, regardless of the spiritual over and undertones. That is why my official, professional name has the word, ‘Doctor’ in front of it. I cannot love someone, genuinely love them, Roman, and hate the source from which they came—the very person that created them.
“I look at you, Roman, and see half of the equation. I see half of the DNA that created the woman I adore. Without you, there is no her. So, let’s get that straight, first and foremost. Secondly, as lame as this sounds, my best friend, Raphael, is black. I know people throw that up to try and say they aren’t racist, sexist, homophobic and whatever else, but it’s true. He is a man that is very much into his culture. He at one point in time also had issue with what I wrote in my books and said at the conferences I speak at. I do not hate black men, I do not think black men are evil, useless, and any other negative adjective you can throw out there. What I do think, Roman, is that, as a whole, black men devalue black women. That is my right to have that opinion, and it is based on daily actions and behaviors. I’ve studied this shit since I was a child, and that’s real.
“I believe that you—not you personally, but American black men in general—try to control their women through acts of selfishness and mental, verbal and emotional abuse and regulation. There is an obsession going on, especially as of late, with telling black women that they need to change and simultaneously exposing that they are not wanted while the accuser mentions nothing of himself that needs reflection, altering or a complete face-lift. So…” Saint threw up his hands. “What the fuck are they supposed to do, huh?! Bow their heads and say, ‘Yes, Sir, we ain’t shit.’ Are they supposed to thank the degrader, and then want to stick by his side? No, they are not! Black men are institutionalizing a form of mental slavery towards their female counterpart. When you control a woman’s mind, you control everything else about her. That goes beyond race; it is simply a biological fact. That is why I explain in almost every conference I do, that you must first make love to that woman’s mind before you touch anything on her person. Are you following me, Roman?”
The man stared back at him with pure, unadulterated astonishment. Not a word came out of his mouth. He probably couldn’t believe Saint’s nerve, his audacity, but that’s simply how it is, and Saint refused to not keep it one hundred with the guy. Yes, he wanted him on his team, he wanted him bad, but it was no use playing games to try and charm him, make him come running in his direction. This is who he was; this is what he was about. Straight, no mothafuckin’ chaser. Get at me…
“No other person is told, ‘You aren’t shit, but stick with me anyway’, even though I am treating you the worst. You see? That is a form of mind control, which black men in this country learned in part from the European culture that was here during colonization. Slavery was successful because it first controlled the West African’s mind. You cannot make anyone into a slave unless you use degradation first.” He held up his finger. “Degradation immediately breeds fear. After fear is established, you use consequence and punishment. These are the simple laws, the rules for how to enslave, how to pimp, how to socially and morally bankrupt a nation. All one has to do is observe! The black male mentality in this country, and some parts of Europe and Africa, is to do this to the black woman—and it is working! Don’t sit there lookin’ at me like that, man. Do you understand what I’m saying or not?”
“I understand you all right, and I can’t believe this shit…keep going though.” Roman smirked and shook his head before taking another gulp from his glass.
“Fine, I will. What you do is, you mind fuck your opponent. You extract their self esteem, as if sucking it through a straw, and you swallow that shit so that the person you stole it from never gets it back. Then, you tell that person they aren’t shit without you…and violà!” Saint gave a mirthless laugh and threw up his hands. “They believe you! It is mental, emotional and spiritual servitude. The black woman is the new American slave.”
Roman ran his hand over his face as if he were exhausted. Both men sat quietly for quite some time.
“The fucked up part is that she hears the damn chains, but can’t see them! She has no idea she is even shackled. Now, that is what you call some good ass pimpin’…” Saint winked at the man, snatched his drink off the counter and downed it like it was nothing.
“First of all, Saint, you really do have a way with words. Secondly, I’m a logical man, not prone to emotional stuff, but, though I understand what you are saying, I disagree. You do not understand the dynamics of black women and their relationship with us, as black men. You did not experience our history. With all due respect, and I am not doubting your intelligence and passion, Saint, but you are on the outside looking in.”
Saint nodded and grinned, going over the words spoken to him for a moment or two.
“I can respect that viewpoint, Roman. Now, may I ask you a personal question?”
“Yes.”
“How many black women have you dated?”
Saint clasped his hands, leaned a little forward, and smiled. Though Roman was dark complexioned, it was obvious a reddened glow was forming along the man’s prominent cheekbones.
“…A few.”
“You have a preference for white and Hispanic women, correct? I’m not judging you. I’m in no position to do such… This is just a question.”
Roman cleared his throat, took a nervous sip of his drink, smiled and nodded.
“What’s that? A yes?” Saint’s brow arched.
“Yes…”
“Okay, so, here I am,” he said, placing his hand across his torso. “A man that is going to be completely honest with you about something I am not proud of, got it?”
“Got it. Free your mind, and the rest shall follow…” Roman teased, causing Saint to smirk.
“Nice play on our conversation… Anyway, I have dated almost every race of woman under the sun. However, the majority have been black. Caribbean, West Indian, African American, Northern African, South African, you name it. You have dated a few, I have dated hundreds… That is not an exaggeration, man. That is truth, no filter. Now, think long and hard before you answer. Based on that information, who would you say has more knowledge about black women? You or me?”
“Now, wait a minute, Saint. You—”
“No, no.” Saint put his hand up. “Just answer the question.”
“Based on your example, it would be you…” Roman grimaced.
“Exactly. I will tell you why, Roman. Just because you have the same physical appearance as far as skin tone and culture as black women, that doesn’t mean you know them better than I do, okay? You were not even alive when Martin Luther King Jr. was marching, nor was I. You were not in existence during slavery, either, so to say that you share a history with a woman based on that, is flawed. Yes, you have a history, black history—but you did not experience that directly, you simply read about it and witness some of the results of a racist system in this country, based on the groundwork set from that precedent. You share the results of white supremacy, you share the racial condition in this country and abroad, as it exists today, but to truly know a woman, it far exceeds her historical timeline. To truly know a woman, it is about being present in her existence and investing time, effort and energy into her so that you may be a part of her future…”
“Well damn.” Roman broke out in a wide grin.
Saint smiled and waved the bartender over to order a refill of the sweet, blue stuff.
“You know white women, Roman. That’s who you know,” he c
ontinued, wanting to drive his point home. “You know them far better than I do. You may even know Hispanic women, Roman, better than I do, but you do not know black women better than I do. Not because I’ve had sex with hundreds of black women, but because of the mind fucking, that I, too, am guilty of doing to black women, only differently.”
“Okay, Saint, explain this mind fucking to me. I get the whole, you know…” he waved his hands about, “controlling a person’s mind, but you’ve kind of explained it in layers and I want you to break this down to me. The conversation we’re having is fascinating, by the way.”
“Good, and I’m glad you asked that.” He took a gulp of his refreshed drink and continued on. “In order to properly mind fuck someone, you must study them, get to know them, find out their strengths and weaknesses. You have to know who you are trying to convince, dominate and control. I, too, was a slave master; only, I did not know it. I used my mouth and cock to enslave women and since black women are my preference, it was to enslave black women. How unlucky for them, right?” Saint teased, though the truth of the matter made him queasy. Suddenly a flash of his daughter’s face entered his mind, and he wanted to hurl. He pushed the emotions aside and stayed on track.
“As you know, I have children now, Roman. I have a wife, a beautiful, successful woman who knows me almost better than I know myself. How do you think I feel now, looking in the mirror, knowing that to some degree, I was a part of the problem, hmmm? I took my skills and used them for wrong doing, instead of helping to solve an issue. Now, I am trying to make up for it by teaching Rainbeaus what not to do, in order to get what they want and need.
“I will spend the rest of my life knowing all the shit I did—horrible shit—to get my way. Though I think I’m a beautiful mothafucka…”
Roman cracked up laughing, exposing his gums, at Saint’s statement.
“There were even some women, believe it or not, who were not initially that into me, and I had their panties dropping and them chasing me around the damn city after I got finished with them.” Saint tapped his temple. “I used this brain to mind fuck the best of ’em! I paid dearly for it, too,” Thoughts of Payton crept back into his mind.
“But my debt is still not paid in full. I must continue to do what I am doing. It is helping too many people, saving lives, marriages. My daughter is half black. Many will view her as completely black, negating my existence all together. Others will see her as not black at all, as if Xenia has no part in her creation. Regardless, she is half of my wife and myself, and that makes her a mixture of ethnicities. If a man treated my daughter in the manner that I treated women in the past, I would want to keel over and die…after I killed him first, of course.” Saint’s heart beat a bit faster as emotions climbed up his throat once more, threatening to make him fall apart.
Roman looked at him intensely, taking it all in.
“I’m sorry…” he offered.
“No, I’m sorry.” Saint huffed and turned briefly away. “One day, she will know what type of man I was, what I was doing. She will know because I’ve talked about it, and I use it as a teaching tool. Even if I wasn’t teaching, she’d know, because one day she will have questions, and I will have to answer. I use my past dysfunction to aid others. It sickens me to know that all of those women I treated like mere objects were someone’s daughter, just like my baby. At one point in time, they were little like her, believing they’d grow up and fall in love with a great man. Instead, I came along. I didn’t lie out of my mouth, but I lied with my dick. That’s actually worse…” He swallowed, gathering his thoughts. “Roman, I’m doing important things. If you can’t stand behind them, I understand, but we needed to have this conversation since I am trying to steal you from home. Also, there is another component to this. There is something even greater going on.”
“What’s that?”
“This information is confidential. You must swear to me that you will not tell one soul.”
“I promise!” Roman drew closer, his face drawing in a serious expression.
Saint put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Have you ever heard of Demon Children?”
Roman’s face twisted as if he’d smelled something rotten.
“Of course I have. I run into them here in L.A. all the time. They are oftentimes behind a lot of the crimes, instigating, causing problems. They rarely take the fall though. Charles Manson is a Demon Child, for example. Did you know that?”
Saint nodded. “I didn’t know he was specifically, but it makes sense… Well, there are some…shall I say, territory wars going on in New York.” He circled the rim of his glass with his index finger now that the bubbling had come to a halt. “A serious situation is going on, Roman.” He looked at the man grimly. “And, I believe a police presence would be beneficial. I’m not even sure how or why, but when I got back here on L.A. soil, I was compelled to reach out to you. Something is about to go down. I need an officer I can trust. I know they’d snap you up immediately. Your record is exemplary and you’d also get a promotion and the recognition you deserve. You carry yourself well, you are professional, and an Angel Child. What do I need to do, Roman, to convince you to come with me? To be a part of this?”
“…You’ve already done it. Can I tell you what I think, please?”
“I’d like nothing more than to hear your thoughts, Roman.”
“You’ve opened yourself up to me tonight, explained some things, your passions. As a man, I can respect everything you’ve shared. I don’t have to co-sign with all of your beliefs, but I understand them now. You say you need me, that something serious is going on, I’m there. You are the rarest type of Angel Child that exists, the strongest, the most powerful. I’m not sweating you; I know at the end of the day, you’re just a man, like me. But, I’m just amazed, in awe of you nevertheless. I give respect to you because of what you are and what you stand for, and how you carry yourself. I know you are selective in regards to who you have around you. I’ve seen a lot of people gravitate towards you, but you keep a close-knit circle of friends. Some may say you’re even a bit paranoid, untrusting of people. You’d have to be, for your own safety. I know this, just by being close to you, like this.
“You’re naturally guarded, secretive, yet you’ve trusted me with this information. When the Creator makes one of you, people like me have to listen. I knew the moment I first saw you in your basement, and your friend Jagger, that we’d met for a reason. The feeling was that I’d see you again, even after you moved away. I liked you instantly and wanted to be a part of whatever it was you were doing because it had to be positive, and for the greater good. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. Besides, I have extensive experience with Demon Children, more than most. They don’t touch; for the most part, they keep their hands clean, but they influence and manipulate others to the point that the aftermath is often death. I see them constantly and they know what I am, too. Being in law enforcement, it kind of goes with the territory.” He shrugged. “Now, what do I need to do from this point on out?”
Saint smiled and took another sip of his drink.
“Give your two week notice tomorrow morning. I will have an employee of mine, a highly regarded, retired ex-cop from New York, make some calls and get you interviewed, put your foot in the door in the next few days. Tell your wife you’re moving, and that whatever the police pays you once you get the job offer, I will double.” Saint took another sip of his beverage, swallowing hard. “I live in Manhattan now, though I’m from the Boogey Down Bronx. I’m back home, Roman…I’m back home where it all started, where it all began. I have so much to show you and share with you, Roman…amazing things.” Saint extended his hand, and they shook on it, made it official.
“Welcome to the Rainbeau Knights…”
*
“It’s called a CD.” Hassani grinned as he spoke to a new kid after class. The final bell had rung and he walked out the place, free at last. He’d had a pretty good day. No one had harassed him; it was like some sor
t of miracle. The new kid, like himself, happened to be a transplant from California—From San Diego—and the two immediately buddied up. The little white boy with dark brown hair and glossy, sad blue eyes, grinned too, showing several missing teeth as he held the earphones to his head.
“Warren G is his name?” Todd asked.
“Yeah. My mom said she grew up listening to him. I found the CD and the old player in our garage the other night. We gotta bunch of old stuff in there that my mom and dad packed up from the old place. I was bored, you know, looking around. The song is called, ‘Regulate’. The guy singin’ is Nate Dogg. I think he passed away though. Anyway, I liked it; it reminds me of back home. That’s the sound of L.A.”
“Yeah!” The boy gripped the headset a bit tighter to his head. “I like it, too!” He bopped about awkwardly, attempting to dance. Hassani stifled a laugh. He didn’t want to make Todd feel bad. Besides, he liked him. Todd was a fabulous musician. He could play the cello, violin, viola and the flute like a grown man. He’d won all sorts of awards and prizes and they even featured him in the paper. To be with this musical prodigy hardly seemed real. Hassani found him utterly amazing.
As he stood outside of the school, waiting for Mommy, Frederick and the cookie-faced boy approached. Hassani could suddenly taste remnants of his lunch slinking their way up his throat. The cheese pizza burned as it slid back down into the popping and fizzing pit of his nervous gut. He fisted and unfisted his hands, even flung his backpack to the ground, waiting for them. Yet, he was shocked to see they weren’t looking in his direction. No, they weren’t gunning for him at all. Matter of fact, they hadn’t messed with him since that first day when Angel made it clear what would happen if they did. But they now had a new person to shake down, and his name was Todd…
“A white boy!” Frederick laughed heartily as he practically skipped towards him, for all intents and purposes on cloud nine about his catch of the day.