Saint And Sinners: The King Angel Child of New York

by Tiana Laveen

  “You know how some people believe there is a demon on your right shoulder and an angel on your left?” Saint questioned.

  “I’ve heard similar shit, yeah…like bad and good influences over our lives.”

  “Well, that philosophy is somewhat true. You see, Angel Children, people like me, are not the only ones here that roam the Earth. There are also Demon Children and they are created, designed if you will, to play on our weaknesses. It doesn’t matter who it is. It can be regular civilians such as you. It can be other Angel Children and at times, probably other Demon Children, since they are in fact human beings. Everyone I’ve mentioned to you is a human being. That is good and bad because it means we know all about the human condition; we know what gets us excited about life and living. Demon Children, though, pride themselves in understanding limitations and frailties.

  “We all have weaknesses. No one comes into the world, in this flesh, and does not experience temptation. There are things we want that we should not have. There are people we are attracted to that we should not be around. There are places we wish to go, we should never set foot in.” Saint slid a cigar out of his pocket, then motioned to Bomb to borrow his lighter. The man reached for it and placed it in his palm. Saint lit the damn thing and leaned back, a proud smile on his face, despite the physical pain he continued to endure at that very moment. Oh yes…he’d figured it out now. And in that, he had some peace.

  “Big brother, that little boy who gave you those drugs, the one you suspect did it to get you into a world of trouble and ensure I was gone before you got back…yeah, I know who that mothafucka was.” Saint grinned wider, took a long, hard drag on his cigar and watched the lilac hazed nirvana coil from between his lips. He fell into a soothing groove, and his eyes warmed. Ahhhh yes, sweet bliss…

  “Goddamn,” Bomb said in almost a whisper. “I just sat here and watched your light brown eyes turn fucking bright ass green…”

  Saint nodded. “…And you’re sober. … Problem is Bomb…” He poked out his lips, making circles of smoke. “There is this guy who has been studying me, trying to stop me from reaching the point I am at today. He’s done that for a very long time and I just came to this realization. He’s tried to tempt me, to mess up my life. He couldn’t directly influence me, but he could do it from the sidelines, by presenting a choice. Now, thanks to you, I know another part of his motivations that I was previously oblivious to. I barely remember him. Matter of fact, if it weren’t for a hypnotic trance I entered thanks to my friend Lawrence, I wouldn’t have understood that, the boy you were referring to and a current situation I am dealing with now are one and the same.” Saint shook his head and grinned. “Man, you’re still protecting me, Bomb. You never stopped.”

  They looked into each other’s eyes for a long time; a current of love, electricity and a taste for revenge passed between them.

  “As long as you thought about me, you were protecting me in some way. This is the third time since we reconnected, that you’ve said something that changed the tide, made things make sense. You have a lot of wisdom, and…it’s specially designed just for my ears.”

  Bomb looked down, partially veiling his face with his hand.

  “Our discussion has unlocked things inside of me, that…damn.” Saint paused, gathering his thoughts once more lest the emotions choke him up to the point his voice gave out. “Things that I would have thought were only a dream or some movie I saw. It’s almost like…like my memory was erased or something and now all the shit is coming right back.” He swallowed hard. More and more of the puzzle was coming together with each word he uttered. “It’s harder, scarier, and worse than before.” Another tinge of pain tried to reclaim the vessels in his heart, constricting them and twisting them up like rusty car wires in a junkyard.

  “So, you think that lil’ boy had more plans than to just remove me from your life? This was on a bigger scale?”

  “Indeed. He’s grown now obviously, ’round the same age as me. His name is Koki, and he is a Demon Child. I didn’t expect to be getting into all of this. Do we have time to discuss this or do I need to come back later or something?” Saint glanced down at his Rolex, his brows bunching in frustration. He wanted to stay in that man’s apartment until all of this was discussed, worked out.

  “I got all the time in the world for you, little brother.”

  Saint reached past Bomb and placed his cigar in the ashtray. “You thought you told me something wild, well, I got something wilder. It all fucking makes sense now.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I got shot about ten years ago.” Saint motioned weakly towards his back. “I got shot, Bomb, tryna save Xenia when she was visiting me in New York soon after we got married. … Shot in the damn back, in the angel wing of my tattoo.”

  “Fuck man, you never told me this. What the hell happened?”

  “Bomb, due to my line of work, I get harassed sometimes. That’s nothing new.”

  “Your black women obsession?” Bomb teased.

  Saint rolled his eyes. “Yeah…so anyway, this white supremacy group tried to holla at me. I ignored them, as I do anyone else that fits into the vein. But then, their harassment of me increased to the point where I had to let others know about it, like my bodyguard and so forth. Anyway, one night, I saw him at the dinner I was at, but I thought he was a Rainbeau. He and I even spoke. It never even clicked until right fucking now. Though I haven’t laid eyes on this guy Koki since I’ve been back here, I know it has to be him. And he is Japanese by the way, not Chinese. Anyway Bomb, there are some events that have taken place in my life in which this cat has shown up…all of them bad.

  “The next incident was some real fucked up shit that happened to me a few years after that. I hate talking about it—it kills me, but…I was sexually assaulted by an ex-girlfriend, man.” Saint wanted to look away in shame, but he refused. He held strong, kept his back straight and looked that man directly in the eye. As humiliating and upsetting as it was for him, he would not allow that woman to continue to steal his dignity. She’d done far too much damage, and she would not pilfer another moment from his life.

  “Maaaan! I’m sorry ’bout that, Lil’ Pharoah. An ex-girlfriend? Damn! You know, bein’ locked up that shit happened to guys all the time but you don’t really hear about no chicks doin’ shit like that to men. Other women maybe, but not no man and no disrespect, but you a tall mothafucka, you done filled out a bit, too. Still thin, but got some muscles now… You don’t look like someone an average Joe would wanna fuck with. How the hell did she do that shit?!”

  “Yeah, well, she put some shit in my drink. I could barely talk, defend myself. I just had to lie there and take it. My wife came out and saw her fucking me, thought that shit was consensual. Needless to say, it almost cost me my marriage.”

  After the weighty words left Saint’s mouth, he recalled Lawrence’s warning a couple years earlier about how he’d never been cleansed, and all of the negative energy and demonic attraction towards him had been increasing, never letting up. Since he’d turned thirty-five, his life had turned into a chess game of survival. Much like a forbidden puzzle, tossed at him to figure it all out fast, while a blood-tinged sandglass timed his every move. It was all coming together now, piece after jagged piece, in his brain! Krishna cleansed him and things had gotten much better…and now, that demonic energy could no longer cling to him in the same manner. The day of reckoning was approaching.

  As if having an allergic reaction, Saint loudly sneezed—then again.

  Bomb sighed loudly, apparently still feeling the emotions of Saint’s most recent confession. He stood, closed his eyes and ran his hand over his face before disappearing to the other side of the kitchen. When he returned, he handed Saint a tissue. Saint took it and blew his nose.

  “Thank you. As I was driving home man, you know, after she did that to me…” he said, clearing his throat, “…I noticed a car by me at the light. I was on the phone with Raphael explaining what happened, and this Japanese g
uy in this souped up red Mercedes, rolled his window down and winked at me. I was so messed up in the head that night, I just blocked it out, didn’t think much of it.” He shrugged. “I figured he was drunk or maybe gay. Shit, I didn’t know and didn’t care. I didn’t pay it any mind because that was the second worst night of my damn life, hands down.”

  …When Mama died takes first place…

  “I got home, saw my wife’s face and knew there wasn’t a damn thing I could say to make that shit right in her mind. If I had…if I had lost her, Bomb… I don’t even want to think about it.”

  Bomb nodded in understanding. He’d confessed to Saint he’d lost a good woman a time or two. He knew the pain it left, regardless of who the person at fault happened to be.

  “All sorts of shit happened, Bomb. Some of it, this guy had nothing to do with; some of it, he did. There are other things I have no idea if he was involved in or not, and may never know. The funny thing is, I’ve never laid eyes on him, but after what you said I can just tell…”

  “How you know then? Break this down to me.” Bomb crossed his arms, his curiosity no doubt piqued.

  “… I saw his face in a dream I had a while ago. That’s how I know what he looks like.”

  “Saint, we are going to need years to fully catch up. I can see that now.” Bomb grinned. “You couldn’t have told me some shit like this while I was still using.”

  “I know…”

  “But now, I believe you because as crazy and straight up bonkers as this sounds, with what I’ve seen and experienced with you, there is no doubt in my mind you are telling me the damn truth. No doubt it was hard for you to admit this to me, ’specially knowing that I may not take you seriously, or worse, think you were crazy. It has helped me Saint…’cause for years, I thought this shit was just my imagination, or that the drugs had done this to me. But, sometimes I wasn’t high, you know? I hadn’t taken anything and I’d see or feel something in you…and now, yeah, well, it just makes sense is all.” The man took a deep breath. “Tell me though,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “How have you been surviving all of this? What are your vices?”

  “My family, Bomb. My family is my damn vice.”

  Bomb nodded, gave him a lopsided smile and winked. “I can dig it, man… Yeah, I can dig it.”

  “Bomb…this man has been in our lives since the day you and I met,” Saint said solemnly. “He removed you from the equation, knowing I needed you and you protected me. Without protection, I was vulnerable. All Angel Children, Bomb, are vulnerable, especially the multi-tiered ones like me. My father wasn’t helping me, and this fucker probably knew my mother wouldn’t be around much longer.”

  “I ain’t protect you, man! Stop sayin’ that! I let you down! Maybe all of this shit could have been avoided if I wasn’t doing what I was fuckin’ doing! I had a job to do, and I blew it!” Bomb became a fireball of emotion, erupting as if he were a grenade and someone had snatched out his damn pin.

  “Don’t argue with me about this, I needed you more times than you needed me. I’m not sayin’ the points you’ve made aren’t valid, Bomb, I understand and appreciate it,” Saint spoke calmly, trying to bring the volatile man back down. “And I understand I played an important role in your sobriety, in your life in general, but let’s just agree to say that we helped each other out. I refuse to let you do this to yourself.” Saint clasped his hands together over his knee. “I’ve come to the understanding that men like me need guardianship in our younger years. Especially from where you and I were from, Bomb. We had the cards stacked against us. I needed you there, with me; there is no doubt in my mind, and there never was. People like you have been guardians of people like me since the beginning of time.” He didn’t miss the way the man’s eyes glimmered from the revelation.

  “Sometimes, we get guidance from other Angel Children; other times, from normal civilians, just like you. You’re right. Everything you said today was correct. Nothing sounded crazy. He knew your weakness and used it. He knew that the day would come when I would return here, and he has been trying to circumvent it, to stop it along the way. Someone’s been schooling him, and he has been taking his duties seriously. But now I’m back because his efforts failed.” Saint smirked. “This time, he will no longer be a shadow, hanging close to me, trying to tempt me or those around me. A light has been shined on him. He’s been influencing people, making me the target…no more.” A green trail of dense smoke snaked out the corner of Saint’s mouth.

  “You will need to kill him,” Bomb said so smoothly, so matter-of-factly, it sent chills up Saint’s spine. The man kept his face impassive, as if he’d simply mentioned movie times at the local theater. “Blow his fucking brains out. I don’t care, but it will need to happen.”

  Saint looked down at his plate, the delicious food remained undisturbed. It would be wasted for his belly flipped, turned and churned like freshly made butter in a barrel from the revelations and stress of the matter at hand. Bomb’s statements had come from somewhere deep, dark and personal. He craved vengeance in a way that was fiercer than his preceding drug dependence.

  “Are you afraid to do it?” Bomb dared him with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. He rubbed his five-o-clock shadow, making a scratchy noise.

  “No.”

  “Little Brother.” Bomb’s smirk grew fucking wings and spread wide, graduating to a full-grown grin. He cocked his head to the side, his eyes turning to dark slits. “Have you killed before?” He said it like he enjoyed asking, as if it were a great honor to snuff another human being out like the amber glow from a cigarette butt.

  “Yes.” Saint answered without hesitation, knowing that if anyone in the world would judge him for such a thing, it surely wouldn’t be Bomb.

  “You’ve got blood on your hands; you’ve already watched a man lose his life on account of you.” He pointed to his chest. “I won’t incriminate myself, but you know I—”

  “Yeah.” Saint rolled his eyes and chuckled. “You won’t throw yourself under the bus, but I was tossed the moment I walked in here,” he half joked. “Telling you all this shit…”

  “You know I’d give my life for you!” Bomb said sternly, pounding his fist into his palm. “I owe you that and more! I would never repeat anything you’ve told me. Not today, not ever. I don’t know what the fuck is really going on here, and I ain’t gonna pretend like I do. Most of the stuff we’ve discussed doesn’t make any damn sense; my brain doesn’t want to accept any of it. It’s far out there, like being perpetually high, but not in a good way. But what I do know is that you’re a good man, a damn good man. You’re no longer the little boy I watched over. You’re an adult, out here doing your own shit, making the world bend and change. I also taught you the way of the streets, how to survive. Get…his…fuckin’ ass!” Spit sprayed out of Bomb’s mouth as he yelled. “This ain’t just about you anymore!” He snatched Saint’s untouched plate from the table and placed the food in a Tupperware container.

  “…It never was,” Saint whispered.

  Bomb didn’t say anything to that, just slammed the dishes around in the sink. Hot water screamed like a newborn when he turned on the old, stained faucet, caked with hard water deposits.

  “Sorry you went through so much trouble. I wanted the food, I did.”

  Bomb shrugged. “Who gives a shit anymore about beans ’nd rice right now. I can cook for you tomorrow, next week…next month.” He kept his back turned, his body looking stiff as he rapidly moved about, anger pouring out of him to the tenth degree.

  Saint slowly rose from his seat and slid his jacket back on. He walked behind Bomb and just stood there for a bit, loitering. Bomb’s warped reflection danced in the sink fixtures. The man had slowed a bit, but his eyebrows bunched so hard, they almost touched. He gently laid his hand on his big brother’s shoulder…

  How different would Bomb’s life have been if he’d had other parents? A better neighborhood to grow up in? If he could have kept Saint in his life just a b
it longer? Would he have decided to become responsible, more caring?

  Saint didn’t know if it would have made a damn bit of difference, and that blood had already been shed and washed away. It was too late to look back and wonder. It happened. It was over.

  “Bomb, is your number still the same one you gave me last time?” Saint asked quietly.

  Bomb nodded, still keeping his mouth shut.

  “If I call you again, Bomb, I’ll need you to answer your phone. No more going to voicemail, no more messages not retrieved. This is serious.” Saint cleared his throat, waiting.

  “I paid my bill. Sometimes I forget, ’cause I’m not used to having responsibilities quite yet, but it isn’t because I didn’t have the money. I just forgot and I was payin’ online, but the computer was down. I know what happened now… it won’t happen again. I’ll go to the library if I have to…”

  “You can pay it on your phone. Go to the bank tomorrow morning and ask them how to get the app on your phone if you can’t figure it out.”

  He nodded.

  Saint was positive the man would take care of it. “It’s not your fault, Bomb.”

  “It is. If I wasn’t doing all that crazy shit back then, you wouldn’t have gotten away from me without me knowing, and I would’ve realized what was going on. I ain’t sayin’ I would have become some sweet guy, straight laced and square, but I would have still been there for you, like I was supposed to!”

  There was no point in arguing with him. Bomb had swallowed his guilt whole, the skin and bone included, and it choked him as it pushed down his throat, leaving him impaled and barely breathing. He shot Saint a look and abruptly turned back to work at his cleaning routine. He passed rough hands along the rim of a glass with a wet, white dishrag. Saint feared the damn thing may burst in his grasp. In that instant, he saw the craziness growing inside of the man, the craziness Bomb was known for since he was a teenager. The kind of madness you didn’t want to be the brunt of, for there was no way you’d survive it if he unleashed it upon you.