Smite

by J Moon

  Langston cracked an uncomfortable smile. “Come on then, I believe the house is only a few blocks.” They walked again, taking a few steps before Langston awkwardly stopped Nia, and walked around to the other side.

  Nia cocked her head. “Umm…why do you that?”

  “You know.”

  Nia’s face made it painfully obvious that she didn’t. “Know what?” she wondered.

  Langston grinned. “I was taught that a gentleman must always walk near the road. Just in case a car might swerve, or if racists wanted to throw anything at us or attack us as we walk by..”

  Nia’s eyes grew large. Here she thought walking the Tompkin Houses of Brooklyn was rough, so was life in the 1920’s. Just last year she witnessed two cops get killed right outside the main entrance. “Really?” She looked at him for a long time. “I would think that’s only necessary in the south.”

  Langston buttoned up his jacket. “Well think again. It happens here in the north as well.”

  Nia shrugged it off, “Okay, that’s sad.”

  As the two continued their stroll, a police car rumbled near them. Nia looked an officer in the eye as the car hummed by them. Together they crossed the street, and the car swirled around behind them. Right outside her peripheral, Nia could see the car speed up as the cops closed in on their heels, and her heart thudded tremendously. Nia thought to herself that this was too much in one day, being a millennial had spoiled her.

  Nia groaned when she really wanted to curse. “You have got to be kidding me,” Nia snapped.

  “Just be cool,” Langston said as he pulled her next to him. “Keep walking,” he instructed with his stride becoming a little more relaxed and casual, it was obvious this was not his first encounter with the cops, and he knew how to play the role of non-threatening black man.

  Nia started to walk faster, but Langston placed a hand around her signaling her to slow down.“Just relax,” he said.

  They kept walking and heard two doors slam behind them. Together they crossed another block. Nia peered over her shoulder. The officers were so close that rNia could feel them on her heels, and she even caught a whiff of one of the officer’s aftershave as a sudden breeze blew by. Nia glanced over her shoulder to get a good look at them. One was tall and thin, the other husky with broad shoulders. Before Langston could cross another block, he got pulled backward with brute force, quickly he was snatched and held, a hand gripped him firmly on the back of his neck. On an instinct Langston tried to struggle free but was pulled back harder. The wide one kept his hand on Langston’s neck.

  “Where are you two headed?” Broad shoulders barked, his jaw set hard, and his eyes searching for a reason to inflict more harm on either one of them.

  Nia read the nametag on his uniform, Fraser. “Excuse you ?Get your hands off of him!” Nia demanded, her hands trembling.

  “It’s alright,” Langston said in a calm voice. He was all too familiar with police treatment, especially after his recent summer road trip in the deep south. What did bring him concern was Nia, and he was totally confused as why she was so shocked at this behavior from the cops.

  Nia pushed at broad shoulders. The officer stood almost a whole foot over her, yet anger made her his equal in her mind. “Get your fucking hands off of him.”

  She was pulled back by the wider officer of the two, Ricks, who looked at the other and said. “This one has a mouth on her.”

  Nia almost snapped her neck as she looked over at him. “Damn right this is against the law.”

  “Officer… officer If I may.” Langston spoke up, fearing Nia was about to make the situation go from bad to worse. Silence was granted as the two officers gave him their attention. “We have an appointment up the street. We are both here to work for the good doctor in this neighborhood.”

  “Really?” Fraser released the grip on Langston’s neck. “So you're out here for an interview?”

  Langston kept his answers simple and believable, “Yes sir. I’m going to be attending to the yard work while my friend here attends to the children's needs.”

  Ricks started chuckling, the fleshy meat below his chin waddled as he laughed. “Well I hope she doesn’t damage the kids with a mouth like that,” he quipped.

  Fraser put both hands on his hips and curled a brow. “And who you interviewing with?” He asked in a tone that sounded like he was searching for holes in Langston’s story.

  Langston spoke quickly, “The Masons.” In these instances, he knew that if he had to lie, then he had to be absolute in his resolve. His objective was to make it home alive and not spend the night bloody, beaten, and thrown in a jail cell.

  The two officers looked at each other and awkward silence followed. Langston cast his gaze at Nia and then towards Officer Fraser. Officer Fraser sighed. “You two better go ahead then. Now get on!” The two officers walked off and Nia stood there, feeling exposed—violated in a way she’d never experienced.

  Red hot tears bubbled in Nia’s brown eyes. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

  Langston dusted off his shirt and buttoned his blazer. “You act like you’ve never seen the police get rough before. They aren’t like that in the future?”

  Nia paused for a moment and thought about all the unlawful killings of black men that still occurred in her time. A whirlwind of sorrow twisted her stomach into knots. With a hard exhale she said, “Sadly yes.”

  “Why are you so surprised then?”

  While trying to appear as unfazed as possible, she wiped away the tears at her eyes with her sleeve. “It’s just not right,” she huffed as they continued to walk.

  Nia’s anger became cooled by the time they reached the house. Dr. Miracle lived in a plainly looking townhouse on Fuller Ave. The row of other plain townhouse around the doctor’s house did great to cloak his whereabouts. It seemed to be an average typical townhouse suburb with bright green grass, nice trimmed trees, and blooming flowers planted in small circles across the yard. Langston knocked at the door. There was a shifting at the door. Someone was looking through the blinds. Langston waited for a moment, thinking someone would answer. Once the movement stopped, he knocked again.

  “Excuse me. We are looking for a, Dr. Miracle. I have a friend who is badly injured and could use a doctor.”

  Langston raised his fist to knock again and suddenly the door cracked open. “What do you want?” A British voice shouted at him.

  Langston looked into the doorway to find an older man that was rapier—slim, with a sharp studious face that was saved from the seriousness, by wry lines at the edges of his mouth and ironical glint in his level eyes. His eyes burned with intelligence, but there was nothing there that was threatening about him. He didn’t seem like a wealthy man, but the large house said otherwise.

  Langston shifted his head over so they were eye level. “We are looking for Dr. Miracle. My friend needs help. Is that you?”

  The man glared at Langston as if he’d caught a burglar breaking into his home. He pursed his lips and then opened his mouth to say, “What’s wrong with your friend?”

  Nia walked up to the door, “He’s injured…. badly… and he needs help.” She was about three seconds from prying open the door.

  “Take him to the hospital then.”

  Langston fixed his mouth to say something and then course corrected his words. “We can’t take him to the hospital. He’s not human and his injury isn’t all that natural.”

  The man started to close the door, “If he’s a demon then I want no part of this.”

  Nia shoved her foot in the door, “He’s not. He’s an archangel.”

  The man’s eyes grew wide. “Did you say archangel?”

  Langston and Nia replied in unison, “Yes.”

  On the other side he paused for a moment and looked back almost as if he was talking to himself.

  Nia was quite impatient and became belligerent. She stuck her foot in the door and pried it open. “Look man he doesn’t have much time. Can you help him or n
ot?”

  He glared at her for a moment and stepped aside. “I think you better come inside.”

  When Nia and Langston entered the house, they were welcomed to a bright tidy home. Everything was in a precise order. Nia wrinkled her nose once she crossed the threshold. The smell of age, meaning undifferentiated time, had settled throughout the home, a rank stale odor, as if fresh air never swept through the house. A slight feeling of uncertainty crept through her head.

  “Please shut the door behind you and let’s talk in my study.” The old man said as he shuffled along. “And don’t you mess up my bloody carpet.”

  Nia did as told and followed behind Langston.

  “So are you Dr. Miracle?” Nia asked making the man halt the line he was leading.

  “Yes I am. My real name is Charles B Murdoch III. How do you do? ” He greeted as he rolled his hand and bowed.

  Nia placed a taken aback hand on her chest then said, “I’m fine and dandy. Feel free to call me Ms. Carter.”

  Dr. Miracle was not amused in the least bit. “Charmed.” He turned to Langston. “And you sir?”

  “Langston. Just Langston.”

  Dr. Miracle nodded and then turned back towards the study. “Now let’s get back to the matter at hand shall we?”

  Dr. Miracle led them down a dim hallway whose dark paneling lined with the dusty portraits of astute looking gentlemen in ruffles and lace.

  They followed him along a hallway hung with gleaming coats of arms in carved wood, up a muggy, cobwebby stain case, and rounded a corner to a heavy oak door which was his study. Dr. Miracle opened the lone door, and they entered a well-lit study that had books from wall to wall. Just as the two walked inside, Dr. Miracle slammed the door behind them. Strike two, Nia noted. He had one more weird thing to do before she was out of there.

  Nia and Langston examined the room with its high stretched ceiling stacked with hundreds of books. It would appear that his study was about the size of Langston and Zora’s apartment all together. There were three towering walls of inset shelving, each one teeming with ancient tomes and rare books. Besides the books on the shelves, there were mysterious artifacts hung on the wall, and sprinkled throughout the room.

  “As you can see I’ve done a lot of studies in the mystical arts. I know every monster that goes bump in the night, and I have extensive knowledge on the battles of Good vs Evil throughout the ages.”

  Dr. Miracle strolled to the right side of the room, toward a stack with a ladder leaning against the books.

  His face beamed with a boyish curiosity. “I can’t believe it an archangel…. a real archangel.” He went straight to the stack of books near his desk, traced his fingers down the volumes of books, looked behind and asked. “What was the poison you say”

  “Hellfire,” Nia spoke up.

  Dr. Miracle pulled a book from the stack and read from the pages, “Hellfire was created by the demon Balthazar and used against the archangel Jophiel. Jophiel was killed by Balthazar in 452 B.C.” He paced the room, after putting on his glasses and reading the text more. “There are instructions here on how to make it… and if I think about the alchemy…. I might… I just might be able to reverse this poison inflicting your friend.”

  “So you think you can help him?” Langston asked, his voice almost a shout at the thought of good news.

  “Sure,” He said as he closed the book. Then he paused and his face became intensely serious. “On one condition.”

  Langston and Nia looked at each other. Langston began fearing the worst. “What’s that?”

  With the book in his hand, Dr. Miracle walked over to them. “He has to promise to bless me.”

  Nia raised a brow “Bless you?” Then she tugged at Langston with a look that asked is he crazy. She turned back to Dr. Miracle. “Sir, we might be willing to pay you but we can’t make him do no freaky deaky foolishness with you.”

  Dr. Miracle casted a long eye glance at her. “I beg your pardon!”

  Langston pulled Nia back. “No I think you misunderstand him.” He looked back over to Dr. Miracle. “Do you mean bless your life?”

  “Yes. I don’t have to search my archives for this. There is a story in the bible where Jacob wrestled with an angel all night until he blessed him. If I save your friend he has to bless me.” He coughed and cleared his throat before he continued. “I might be a very wealthy man but I am a very sick man, and despite all my wealth I have not been able to find a cure for my own ailments. It’s almost like I’m cursed with the ability to heal and work magic for others, while still having a thorn stuck in my own side.”

  Langston shrunk his shoulders, “Sounds like a fair trade to me, but you have to come back with us now. He doesn’t have much time.”

  “Splendid. Where is he?”

  Nia breathed hard. “He’s all the way in Harlem.”

  “Let me grab my coat and I can drive us there.”

  Nia looked over to Langston with the glimmer of hope in her eyes. “Just hold on Gabe. We are coming.” She murmured.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Benjamin spent his Saturday morning chasing leads on Gabriel to no avail. The Shepherds knew an exchange for the staff would happen soon, but when and where they needed to find out.

  There was no way Benjamin could go back to the Shepherd compound empty handed, he couldn’t bear to hear the Colonel rip him a new one as time continued to dwindle down. What separated Benjamin from the other Anointed who worked for the Shepherds was that he was resilient. He had to find Gabriel and capture him if anything else. With no leads left he sought to follow one of the Shepherd’s biggest targets, Owney Madden.

  Few understood the sudden rise of Owney Madden in power, wealth, and status. He went from a mediocre mobster to the kingpin of New York in three years. After release from jail in 1923, he and his gang of strong arm men sought control of the most profitable cab stands along Broadway. Soon he became involved in bootlegging and high jacking liquor shipments belonging to his street competition, which led to him putting the competition under his heel, and giving him control of all five boroughs in New York.

  Madden and his former gang rival turned partner, Big Frenchie De Mange, began to open or acquire some of the flashiest speakeasies and nightclubs of the era, most notably the Cotton Club.

  The former street level mobster did what many tried and failed, he turned what used to be Club Deluxe into the most successful club in the United states. And the club was the perfect outlet to sell his branded number one beer, which was highly profitable during prohibition since the Cotton Club was one of the few venues serving alcohol.

  Owney also had his hands in everything else illegal including drugs, prostitutes, numbers and neighborhood enforcement.

  The cops weren’t an issue because Owney owned the cops. He was known as the Killer in the streets before but now he was known as the Kingpin of New York. The Shepherds knew all of this could not have been accomplished without demonic backing. Which demon backed Owney they were unsure, but they made sure to keep watch over him.

  Benjamin sat patiently in a dented cherry colored Austin seven that was parked across the street of the Cotton Club. Sweat trickled down his forehead as he watched intently, occasionally taking puffs from his cigarette, but never taking his eyes off of the front doors. Just as he began to think he was following another dead lead, a gleaming silver Rolls Royce Ghost sighed up to the curb of the Cotton Club.

  A rather dapper looking chauffeur in an immaculate all black uniform stepped out of the driver’s seat, straightened his jacket, and then he hurried to open the door. Legion in his human disguise as Mr. Carraway, stepped outside the vehicle, looking around the exterior of the club with his usual rather smug look.

  Once the chauffeur closed the door behind he had to scurry to open the doors of the Cotton Club. Benjamin relaxed as he watched the two men walk in the club. He had no idea who the fellow in white was, but something told him he was at the right place at the right time.

  In
side the Cotton Club was a madhouse. Performers stood by waiting to practice, others tried to put together outfits, and then there were a few patrons at the bar drinking their troubles away. Mr. Carraway walked in with intentions to see Owney. Mr. Carraway made his way left, walking backstage and towards the basement. As Mr. Carraway walked by his dark eyes moved to Josephine, and she felt his gaze, like cold fingers tracing along her spine.

  She was just finishing her audition to perform for the night when the menacing stare of this man stopped her dead in her tracks. Mostly she was able to put what happened the night prior behind her to focus on taking the audition. The sounds of clapping tore Josephine’s eyes off the man. It was Ida coming from backstage. Shook and disturbed, Josephine looked over to catch another glance of the mysterious man, but he was gone with not so much as a trace left behind.

  “Thank you sugar,” Josephine said as she hugged her friend. “I was just a little bit nervous,” She stated as Ida tore away from her and called over the director.

  With a grin that stretched from ear to ear, Ida asked “For what hun? You can still out dance an alley cat in the back alley.”

  Thelma, the cotton girls’ director, hurried towards her. “Not too bad Ms. Baker,” She said as she raked Josephine up and down with her eyes. “Ida tells me you’ve been dancing over there in Paris.”

  Josephine beamed. “Yes ma’am I have. Now I’ve come back to check the world famous Cotton Club off my list.”

  Thelma smiled slightly. “Well we can always use a good looking girl. Go backstage and get your costume. And you better be here eight-thirty p.m. sharp. I’m not talking nine p.m., eight-forty-five, or eight-thirty-one. Either you on time or you might as well stay home.”

  Josephine became giddy as a school girl and started bouncing in excitement. “No problem, I’ll be here even early.”

  Thelma frowned. “You had better,” She said as she walked off with a switch of her large hips.

  Josephine turned to Ida, and they clung onto each other while shouting and laughing in excitement. “I can’t thank you enough Ida.”