Silence of the Nine

by T. Styles

  “Is there something I can help you with, gentlemen?” Kerrick asked the Leader before looking at the Boyfriend.

  The Boyfriend observed the African native, laughed and said, “Naw, I’m good.” He placed his arm around the woman’s shoulder and proceeded to enjoy the rest of his meal.

  Kerrick assumed everything was over but the Leader’s eyes told him otherwise. He didn’t like how the Boyfriend had dismissed him in front of his squad. He felt he violated but was too afraid to do something about it. He was one of them fake ass thugs the world knew all too well.

  “What about you, sir? Can I help you with anything?”

  The Leader looked up at Kerrick and said, “Naw, you not up for it. Now get the fuck out my face.” He turned his attention to his crew but Kerrick wouldn’t budge. He stood like a historic New York City building. He stood tried, true and strong. “What do you want, African?” the Leader yelled looking up at him. “I said get the fuck up out my face.”

  “You said I’m not up for it. I want to prove to you I am. What would you like me to do?”

  The Leader finally considered Kerrick. His uniform gave off the misconception of dishwasher but his stance whispered…killer.

  The Leader readjusted in his seat and said, “Okay, first, what do you want from me?”

  “A chance to make money. To live the American dream like you. That’s all I ask.”

  The Leader nodded. “Okay, okay. I hear you.” He looked over at the Boyfriend who hadn’t given him a second look since him and his girlfriend gave him their backs. “The dude over there disrespected me. I want that handled.” He was certain that the dishwasher would run after hearing what he desired.

  “Any particular method?” Kerrick questioned.

  “Just make it violent.”

  Kerrick repositioned himself and walked toward the back of the restaurant. “I knew the nigga was a punk,” the Leader chided. “Just what I thought.”

  But when Kerrick returned with a butcher knife large enough to slice a human head in half, he was prepared to eat his words.

  Kerrick gently tapped the Boyfriend on the back and when he turned around, he swiped over his face with the blade, slicing into the outer corners of his eye while severing his nose completely.

  Blood splattered on Kerrick’s apron and the girlfriend’s new hairdo. She ran out of Mama’s Kitchen, leaving him alone. It was every bitch for herself. A few other patrons dashed toward the exit, unsure of what the African would do next. The Leader stood up from the table, frozen, until his men rushed him toward the exit before the police came.

  In the end, no one remained in the dining room except Kerrick and his screaming victim.

  But before long, there would be police and a sentence of five years to keep Kerrick company.

  CHAPTER 4

  KERRICK

  1971

  “So wise so young, they say, do never live long.”

  -William Shakespeare

  When the gates opened, the clinking noise was music to twenty-three-year-old Kerrick’s ears. He looked up at the sapphire sky and squinted. He couldn’t believe he was free. After five years in prison he was going home. It had been a long road. And a violent one too. Not only did he have to fight to gain respect, he was worried that the prison authorities would learn that he wasn’t Damien Trevor, but Kerrick Khumalo, an immigrant from Zimbabwe with an expired visa.

  He didn’t mind the slaughterhouse battles in prison, or the altercations that gained him gashes across the neck and down his left thigh. The only thing he feared was being shipped back to Africa without making his mark in America. If he failed, everything would have been in vain, including the mauling of his wife Thandi. He had to become a success. He had to become king.

  When he swaggered out of the gate, he saw a silver Volkswagen van with the engine running. The driver’s door opened and a beautiful Latino woman with long, brown hair stepped in front of the vehicle. She took a moment to observe Kerrick and then, as if on cue, tears streamed down her face. She couldn’t believe he was free. She covered her mouth with her trembling hands and wept into them.

  Kerrick stood solid, never showing his emotion. He learned to be cold inside of the pen and he would keep that trait throughout his life, no matter who he was dealing with.

  When he moved closer to the woman, the dirt crackled under his boots until he stopped in front of her.

  He was calm but the beauty couldn’t take it anymore. She snatched him toward her and embraced him passionately. But it was as if she was hugging a teddy bear that could not hold her back. Her soft breasts pressed against his chiseled chest. Her body trembled as she held the man she had dreamed of for the past two years. When she gained her composure, she released him and looked into his eyes, “Damien, I can’t believe it’s you.”

  “Francesca.” His eyes wheeled up and down her body. “You’re as beautiful as I remembered.”

  It had been two years since he’d seen Francesca in person. Mainly because she belonged to another man and could not visit. He and Francesca met in a peculiar way.

  She had been visiting an inmate, Money Mouse, a drug dealer from Michigan, while Kerrick was with Victoria. The entire visit, Francesca couldn’t hear what her boyfriend was saying because she was too busy lusting after Kerrick.

  It wasn’t because he did anything spectacular or that he was so good looking. She found him irresistible because he carried himself like a prince. Like nothing happening around him fazed him in the least. In prison he was God or God-like. And she was a sucker for men with power.

  Every week for the next year, Francesca visited Money Mouse, a man she met through a pen pal organization. But after some time, it had become obvious to everyone that she had eyes for Kerrick.

  Unable to win a battle against Kerrick, and needing to save himself the embarrassment, Money Mouse told Francesca never to visit him again. Part of him wanted to step to the bold African but while Kerrick was in jail, he associated with natives of his homeland, who were all killers and were ready to fight for the love of Africa.

  Before long, Francesca was writing Kerrick and he wrote back. In each note she pledged her allegiance once he was set free. She claimed there wasn’t a thing he could ask that she wouldn’t do. She even gave him a contract for her soul and signed it in her blood. And through all those years, she never gave her body to another man. So when it came to sex, she was way overdue.

  After the greetings were over, Francesca drove away from the prison while Kerrick observed everything around him. He hadn’t been in the states long but he was now a changed man. He now viewed Americans as being beneath him and intellectually he believed that if he tried hard enough he could rule the world. He came from Africa and as a result, his blood was uncontaminated, to hear him tell it. And the African Americans in the United States were nothing more than glorified cotton pickers.

  After the long drive to Francesca’s home, in a suburb of Maryland, Kerrick took a bath and thought about his next steps. When he was done, he walked into the bedroom and she dried him off before rubbing lotion over his body. Her touch, although sensual, could not break him from his thoughts. He was a man on a mission.

  “Your body is perfect,” she admitted.

  He grinned and said, “Thank you.”

  Although focused on his plans, he gave his aspirations a break when Francesca raised his foot and ran her warm, wet tongue around each of his toes. His dick stiffened and the fire he suppressed in prison, because it could not be fulfilled, returned powerfully.

  He was a man and she was a woman. It was time to attack.

  Like a lioness preparing to kill her prey, she crawled over top of him. She lowered herself until her warm box smothered his throbbing manhood. Kerrick bucked into her hard and at first it appeared he was angry because he was so rough. But when the fire in his eyes burned bright it was obvious that he was enjoying being inside of a woman. Beating his dick year after year could only go but so far.

  Unwilling to cum a
fter only two minutes, Kerrick flipped her over and pounded her from behind. Her creamy skin against his chocolate dick looked picturesque. He pressed his hands on her lower back so that her belly touched the bed and her ass rose in the air. Once he had explored every inch of her, only then did he explode.

  Satisfied with the experience, he slipped out of her and lay faced up on the bed. The black lacquer ceiling fan spinning over his head hypnotized him for a moment. Suddenly he was reunited with his thoughts again and he felt at home. How would he go about becoming a rich man? That was the question.

  Feeling the disconnection, Francesca placed her head on his chest and played with a strand of his coarse hair. “Damien, I’ve been thinking. I mean, I know you can live anywhere you want. But I was hoping that you would stay here with me.”

  “You got any money?” he asked disregarding her statement.

  “Sure…uh…how much do you need?”

  “All you got.”

  Fran eased out of bed and switched toward the dresser. Her hair cascaded down the middle of her back and she resembled a model. She was hoping that Kerrick would view her curvy body and be inclined to stay for the rest of his life. Instead, he paid her no attention. “Here you go,” she said extending three hundred dollars. “It’s all I have on me right now.”

  He snatched the money, hopped out of bed and got dressed. When he walked out of the room and strutted to the front door like he had just been paid for his services, she felt humiliated. She was right behind him and before he left he asked, “Can I use your van?” He picked a few pieces of lint off of the shirt he was wearing.

  Her mouth opened and at first nothing came out. She was surprised at how he was treating her. “But how will I get to work?”

  “What about your best friend?” he yawned. “When you wrote me you said she lived down the street. Call her.”

  She moved uneasily in front of him. Who was he? He acted so differently than the man who wrote her just to trap her mind. “Damien, I don’t know if I can—“

  He immediately grew angry and his brows lowered. “You said you would be willing to do anything for me.”

  “And I am.”

  “Well do this one thing and I will take care of you for the rest of your life. But if you deny me, I want you to remember this moment. Always.”

  Fran took a few moments to think about her decision. She glanced around, avoiding eye contact with him. She spent so many days thinking about their lives together that she didn’t want to be without him. So with hunched shoulders, she walked toward her room and returned with the van keys. “Can you at least tell me where you’re going?” She handed them to him.

  “I have some things to care for. But I’ll call you when I’m settled so I can bring your van back. A few days at the most.” He placed a knot of her loose hair behind her ear. “Thank you for being loyal.” He winked and walked away, leaving her with a dripping pussy and a broken heart.

  ****

  After going to a pawnshop, Kerrick pulled up at Victoria’s tiny house in Baltimore City. It had been six months since he’d seen her at the prison because she took on two jobs to raise enough money to buy him new clothes and a car once he was released.

  Life had been hard since Kerrick was arrested. She didn’t have the job at Mama’s Kitchen anymore because they learned that she had been altering Kerrick’s timesheets. To make ends meet, she took on a job as a waitress at another diner and at night she bartended at a local club. But for Kerrick she would have done more.

  When Kerrick made it to the apartment, he looked behind him for strangers and lifted the red mat. He removed the key, opened the door and entered the apartment. Everything was clean and it smelled of lavender. Although the furniture was shabby, Victoria kept a clean home and her love for him was displayed everywhere. Pictures from their visits had been blown up and placed in nice frames on the wall and smaller versions sat on the living room table.

  Exhausted, he walked to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. Everything was as neat in the room as it was in the living room and he felt at home.

  When something caught his eye on the table beside the bed, he picked it up. It was a pink envelope with the words I Love You written on the top. He opened it slowly and read Victoria’s words:

  Damien,

  I have been waiting for this day for five years. To hold you again and to have you back in my life. I feel horrible that I’m not there to share your first moments of freedom. But I’ll be home soon.

  P.S. There are new clothes waiting for you in the closet. And I made a turkey sandwich for you. It’s in the fridge.

  Kerrick took a shower, ate his sandwich and took a nap. After making love to Francesca and running a few errands, he was spent. When he woke up, about two hours later he was staring into Victoria’s eyes. He stood up and hugged her as she sobbed uncontrollably in his arms.

  Unlike when he saw Francesca, he greeted her with a secure hug. He planted a kiss on her face and looked deeply into her eyes. “I need you to stop crying because I want to ask you something. But you must think clearly before saying yes.”

  “Of course, Damien.” She wiped her tears with her fingertips.

  “Your loyalty is amazing. And it kept me alive in prison. So I want you by my side for the next level of my life.” He took her small head into his hands and gripped it while he stared deeper into her eyes. “Victoria, would you do me the honor of being my wife?”

  Victoria’s face reddened and her eyes expanded when she heard the big question. From the moment she first met him at Mama’s Kitchen, she loved him more than her own self-respect and life. “Of course,” she said emphatically. “I want nothing more than to live for you.”

  Kerrick reached into his pants and pulled out the small black box that he’d gotten from the pawnshop. He got the money from Fran and although the ring was small, he had planned to buy her a larger one when his plans for kingdom came through.

  Taking her hand into his, he lowered himself on one knee and looked up at her. He slipped it on her finger and surprisingly it was the right fit.

  When the ring was secure, he stood up and gazed into her eyes. “The diamond is small. But if you stick with me, I’ll put a bigger one on it when I make our dreams come true.”

  “I don’t care, Damien. All I want you to do is love me. More than you’ve loved any other woman.”

  Kerrick frowned and he immediately thought about Thandi. What Victoria asked of him was impossible. “I love you, Victoria. I really do. But I will never love you as much as you want me to. That place in my heart has already been taken.” He paused. “Can you deal with that?”

  Her body tensed upon hearing his words but she had no choice. Kerrick was the only man for her. “Yes.”

  “Good.” He smiled, pleased that she was willing to take second place.

  “So when do you want to do this?”

  Not being a man of patience, he fervently announced, “Tomorrow.”

  ****

  A few days later, the sun lit up the old, black Volkswagen Beetle Victoria bought Kerrick at an auction. She saved up just enough money to buy him a bucket but it was reliable and he cared about her for it.

  As he drove down the street, he contemplated over and over that he was a married man. He hoped he wasn’t being disloyal to Thandi with his vows. He didn’t even marry her with his real name. He knew the wedding at the courthouse was not what Victoria had in mind but he had a plan and wanted everything executed.

  When he glanced up at the Greenmount Avenue street sign, pulling up to where a dopehead told him he could find Yori earlier, he parked the car. Although he and Yori had only met once, Kerrick did five years for him in prison and wanted to request an audience. In Kerrick’s mind not only had he proven his loyalty when he slashed Marcus Camp’s face and severed his nose, he felt Yori also owed him a favor.

  When Kerrick first made it to prison, Yori would put money on his books in the hopes that if Kerrick beat the case he would come and w
ork for him. Besides, a goon as vicious as Kerrick came once in a lifetime and Yori needed him on the cold streets of Baltimore. But his good Samaritan behavior ended when he was made aware how much time Kerrick received. Had it been a year, Yori would’ve continued his charade, but courting a goon for five years seemed outlandish. So the money stopped.

  Kerrick didn’t mind much. He was appreciative that Yori did what he could for as long as he did. And it wasn’t like he didn’t have Victoria and Fran in his corner. His books stayed straight and his commissary account stayed full. But now that he was free, he wanted the riches he felt he were due.

  Kerrick approached a group of five men who were talking in a huddle in front of a red row home. They seemed unaware of the monster approaching them. Kerrick felt that was a bad move at best. Had he been a man with less than honorable intentions, the five of them would’ve been face down kissing concrete.

  Kerrick observed the pack. Although he couldn’t see their faces, he knew which one was Yori. He had studied him so much at Mama’s Kitchen that he memorized his gait and how he carried himself. So he stepped to him.

  “Yori,” Kerrick said plainly with his hands stuffed in his jean pockets. “I’m home.”

  At first Yori spun around in an aggressive manner, prepared to deal with whoever thought they knew him enough to call his name and interrupt his conversation. But when he saw it was Kerrick his expression softened. There was a smidgen of uncertainty behind his glare because he didn’t know if Kerrick was angry that he was given five years on account of him. But he would try to fake it.

  With a wide, counterfeit smile on his face, Yori yelled, “I know that’s not my nigga Damien.” He jogged down the few steps it took to greet Kerrick eye to eye. He pulled him into a masculine embrace and slapped him hard on the back. When he released him he asked, “When did you get home, brother?”