The Apostles

by Y. Blak Moore

  Captain Bellows fingered the release forms in front of him. He chuckled as he pulled a gold pen from his crisp white shirt. “Now I've got to sign this shit. Don't have a choice. I have to let you out of here so you can get started on your adult life of crime. Believe me, I know what you're going to do. You're going to be a criminal until someone kills you or you go to prison for life.”

  Gold pen flashing, Captain Bellows began to scribble his name on the necessary lines on the release forms. Without looking up at the young man, he said, “This is supposed to be your exit interview, Solemn Shawn.”

  Shawn's eyebrows raised at the captain's use of his nickname.

  The captain saw the look on his face. “I know you're Solemn Shawn. This is supposed to be an exit interview, but it feels more like I'm giving birth when I should be getting an abortion. But that's what we do here. We warehouse baby killers, baby thieves, and baby drug dealers until they get old enough to get out and ply their trades as adults.”

  Captain Bellows finished signing the release forms. He removed a rubber stamp and ink pad from his desk drawer and stamped a big red “Reformed Release” on the top sheet. He smiled at the irony of the stamp, then his smile faded as he pushed the release forms into Solemn Shawn's file. “That's all, Solemn Shawn Terson. I guess I'll see you in hell.”

  An unemotional smile graced Solemn Shawn's lips as he got up and prepared to exit the office. At the door he stopped and turned. “No you won't, Captain,” he said coolly.

  Captain Bellows looked up. “No I won't what?”

  “You won't see me in hell,” the young man said confidently. “I'm an Apostle, I'm going to Heaven.”

  Softly, Solemn Shawn closed the office door behind him.

  WITH HER NOSE BURIED IN A THICK TEXTBOOK, SAKAWA SAT on her sofa. Frustrated, she tossed her book to the side and got up to go and brew herself some tea. As she was about to cross the threshold of her living room, she heard the telephone ring. She learned across the couch and looked at the caller ID before lifting the receiver. The number on the caller ID wasn't one that she immediately recognized, but she knew it had to be China Doll. Her friend was always trying to call her up from some mysterious number and act like she had been on something heavy. She picked up the headset.

  “China Doll, bitch, where you at now?” she said.

  Instead of China's voice, Insane Wayne rasped, “Now is that any way to answer the telephone, bitch.”

  Sakawa shuddered at the sound of Wayne's voice.

  Insane Wayne laughed—which chilled her even more. “You don't sound like you happy to hear from yo man, Saki. I thought you loved me.”

  “I don't love yo ass no more, Wayne,” she spit acidly.

  “Insane Wayne,” he corrected her.

  Anger replaced Sakawa's fear. “Yeah, motherfucka, you is crazy if you think I love yo ass after the shit you did to me! You hurt me and I ain't never done shit to you!”

  “C'mon, now, boo. I know you ain't mad about me getting a little shit on my dick,” Insane Wayne scoffed.

  “You know what, Wayne! I hate yo trifling ass! Fuck you!”

  “Nall, bitch, fuck wit me,” he slurred.

  “Listen to you. You sound like you got a mouthful of shit. You need to get them fucking wires and shit out yo mouth. I know yo damn jaw been healed. That shit ain't cool, motherfucka.”

  “You wasn't tripping on the wires and shit in my mouth when I was sucking yo fat hairy-ass pussy,” Insane Wayne replied. “It tasted nice and sweet like old times too.”

  The thought of that night made Sakawa shiver. Her head swimming in anger, she shouted, “Nigga, fuck you! I hate yo motherfucking ass!” She could hear the laughter stream out of his twisted mouth as he guffawed at her outburst. “Nigga, that shit is funny, huh? You think that shit is funny? Let's see how funny it is when I marry Vee!”

  Abruptly Insane Wayne stopped laughing. “Saki, don't play with me, girl! You ain't finta marry that nigga!”

  Enjoying his obvious discomfort, Sakawa taunted, “What if I do, nigga? What yo punk ass gone do?”

  “I-I-I'll kill both of you bitches!” Insane Wayne sputtered. “Fuck that! Bitch, I don't know who the fuck you think I am! You better respect my shit, ho! Bitch, and you better not keep fucking with that nigga either! I ain't playing wit yo ass!”

  It was Sakawa's turn to laugh. “Listen to the big, tough, booty-hole bandit. Fuck you. You had your chance. Nigga, you the one that left me after them niggas robbed you and beat yo ass. I woulda helped you get back on yo feet. I loved you. Woulda went through anything with you, but you left me. Then when you finally come back, you tie me up and rape me. What type of sick shit is that? That's some sick-ass shit. I bet you ain't done nothing to the niggas that done that shit to you, but you feel good about fucking me in my ass. Well, you got the name right. You really is insane. You's a sick bitch.”

  Insane Wayne's voice was like a bitter-cold Chicago winter wind as it whistled through the telephone. He seethed, “Bitch, I got you! I got you and that nigga, bitch! I got some business to take care of, then I'll be to see you, ho! I'mma kill you and that bitch-ass nigga Vee! Ho, I hope you got yo papers in order ‘cause you dead, bitch! You and—”

  Softly Sakawa replaced the telephone receiver into its cradle. She sat on the sofa thinking for a few moments before rising and going into her neat but small kitchen. She collected all four of her butcher knives and began to place them in strategic hiding places throughout the apartment. In a few seconds she was done and returned to the sofa and plunked down on the cushions. The placement of her weapons, coupled with the fact that the landlord had changed the door locks, gave her a small sense of security.

  The telephone chimed. Casually she leaned over to pick it up with a string of curses ready to go if it was Wayne again. “Hello,” she said warily into the telephone receiver.

  Vee's voice came through the headset. “What's up, ma? I need you to come downstairs for a minute.”

  Sakawa moaned, “I really don't feel like it right now, Vee. I'm getting ready to study for a test I've got to take in two days at work to get a good evaluation, so I can get a gotdamn raise.”

  Vee wasn't trying to hear that. “Girl, bring yo butt down the damn stairs. I got something I want to show you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Just come down.”

  “All right,” Sakawa conceded. “But I ain't going nowhere with you. I ain't even dressed and I got to study for this fucking data entry test.”

  She slipped her feet into a pair of white Classic Reeboks and grabbed her door key. She thought about the silk scarf wrapped on her short hairdo, but she decided against removing it. Fuck Vee, she thought as she went out the door. I know I still look better than every other bitch that he probably fuck with even when I ain't fixed up.

  In front of Sakawa's building, Vee was leaning against his truck with a big-ass grin on his face. “Damn, girl, you look like a hot mess,” he wisecracked as she stepped onto the porch.

  “Fuck you, boy,” Sakawa retorted. “I was in the crib chilling. Now what is it that so damn important that you got to show me now?”

  “Girl, you better watch yo tone of voice,” Vee threatened playfully.

  She wished that he would wipe that stupid grin off his face. “Quit playing, Vee. I told you I ain't got time for this shit. I told you that I'm studying and that shit is hard as hell.”

  “Bring yo evil ass here,” Vee commanded.

  As she walked down the stairs and over to him, Sakawa grumbled, “My one totally free day that I got to study and you come over here playing and shit.” She stood in front of him with her arms crossed and a slightly aggravated look on her face.

  Vee found her attitude amusing. He laughed and handed her a thin sheaf of hundred-dollar bills. “I want you to take this stack and go shopping.”

  Sakawa didn't soften as she accepted the money. “Is you finta take me shopping?”

  Vee shook his head. “Uh-uh, I got a funeral to go
to. I'm on my way to my tip, so I can take a shower and change clothes.”

  “I ain't finta get on the bus. I get enough of the fucking CTA riding that motherfucka every day to work and shit. China Doll used to be trying to come get me, but that bitch had me late two days in a row.”

  “Who said you got to get on the bus?” Vee asked with his smile widening even more.

  “You ain't gone take me. How the hell else is I supposed to get to the mall?”

  “In that,” Vee announced like a game show host as he pointed to the midnight blue Chrysler Sebring coupe parked in front of his Excursion.

  Sakawa's hands flew up to her heart and mouth. “Stop playing, Vee. Vee, stop playing.”

  He dangled the car's keys in front of her. Looking pleased, Vee bragged, “Girl, that ain't shit. I told you if you was my girl you would be straight.”

  With her face totally covered in awe, Sakawa snatched the keys and walked over to the car, then she hesitated.

  “Gone get in the motherfucka, girl. It's yours. It ain't brand-new, but it got low mileage and it's paid for. The bill of sale is in the glove compartment and it's in yo name.”

  At the driver's-side door, Sakawa hesitated again and turned to Vee. “I can't take this from you. This is real nice, but I can't take it.”

  The look on her face said the total opposite, but Vee could tell she was just refusing because in her head refusing such an extravagant gift was the thing to do. “Girl, you better take that whip and ride it. I don't need the motherfucka and I know you got to be tired of riding the fucking bus and shit. Gone sit in the motherfucka.”

  The locks popped smoothly with a barely audible click as she hit the button on the alarm remote. She slid into the well-kept leather interior and looked around. Even though it was a used car the interior looked new. Vee walked to her side and closed the door. He made a twisting signal with his fingers, telling her to fire it up. She stuck the key in the ignition and the small coupe instantly came to life. With the touch of a button the window rolled down.

  Vee leaned onto the car door. “Gone to the mall, girl.”

  She looked up at Vee. “Thank you,” she breathed. “I really needed a car. You just don't know how much.”

  The note of sincerity in Sakawa's voice touched Vee. “Don't even trip, ma. I know it got to be a bitch trying to get up and do your thang on the bus and shit. The last bus I was on I was going to the penitentiary. That shit made me swear I wasn't never going to get on another bus again in my life. Now gone go shopping, ma.”

  “All right,” she said softly.

  As Vee stood up and stepped back, she checked her mirrors, then pulled out of the parking space. In her rearview mirror she could see Vee watching her drive away. She stopped and put the car in reverse. It responded nicely as she carefully backed up until she was level with Vee again.

  “What's wrong?” he asked.

  Huskily, she said, “I was just thinking. When I'm at the mall I could stop in Victoria's Secret and pick out something nice for you to see me in. Then later on you can come over here and I can show you what you been missing out on all these years.”

  Expressions of amazement, then happiness, then disbelief alternately crossed Vee's face. “Stop playing, Sakawa. You ain't never let me in yo crib.”

  “Oh, then that's okay,” she said, reaching down to put the gearshift back into drive.

  “Hold on, hold on,” Vee said hurriedly. “You for real?”

  “Call me tonight around eight or nine to see if I'm playing. And a small hint. I love fresh pineapple slices and Moët champagne,” she said before zooming off. She had to laugh at the look on Vee's face as she sped down the block. At the stop sign on the corner, she turned the radio up and opened the sunroof before pointing the car's nose toward the nearest mall. She looked around the interior of the Sebring again.

  “Wait till I tell China Doll this shit,” she said aloud.

  The funeral home chapel was packed with family, friends, Governors, and curious onlookers. It wasn't often that a set of twins were laid to rest at the same time. The two pale blue coffins were placed end to end. Toobie and Tonto looked peaceful laid out in the silver interior of the caskets. For once they were dressed alike in Governors' colors: green-and-yellow Akademiks jogging suits with matching Green Bay Packers fitted caps lying on their chests.

  “… and the end that befell these two young brethren shall befall all who walk their path!” the fat-faced Baptist preacher bellowed from the pulpit overlooking the coffins. “Young men caught up and don't know when the Lord comes He don't care about what set you claim! The Father don't care about what gang signs you throw up! Lord Jesus don't care about yo money, cash, hos! Almighty Jesus only cares about your soul!” Pastor Beacher could see that his sermon was making many of the young gang members in the crowd uncomfortable, but he kept shouting. “How have you been treating your brothers, that's all Jesus care about. Here's your chance now to get right with God! Here's yo chance to join God's gang! On behalf of the church, we extend our hands to you, young brothers! Join the church and get yourself saved now! The way you boys be riding, you need to get right with God! You can't pay off God! You can't scare God! You ain't gone be able to jump on God! You ain't gone be able to shoot at the Lord! You ain't gone be able to intimidate God! The only thing you can do is accept his son Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior!”

  The thirty or so family members of the twins and those who were not Governors in the chapel amened and applauded loudly.

  Pastor Beacher mopped his sweaty forehead with a hand cloth. “And now while we receive a selection from Sister Brenda Bohanon, anyone who wants to see their souls saved so they won't have to burn in everlasting fire needs to come forth!”

  The thin, old, wrinkled Black man sitting at the organ hit a few notes as a huge Black woman in a choir robe began to belt out the opening notes to “Keep Your Eye on the Sparrow.” The funeral-goers began to cry and wail, and most of the gang members in the chapel, headed by Vee and the Governors' State Department, excused themselves and took up posts outside in front of the funeral-parlor.

  Outside the funeral parlor the sun shone down on the group of men and boys. Vee was looking dapper in a pearl gray suit with a black satin shirt and tie. His feet were encased in a pair of black ostrich-skin square-toe shoes. A black Dobbs hat with a small gray feather in the hatband sat on his head. Some of the other Governors had on dress clothes, but the majority of them had on their street costumes: blue jeans with football and basketball jerseys, jogging suits, boots, and gym shoes.

  The members of the State Department gathered closely around Vee, while the foot soldiers ringed them.

  Governor O spoke first. “Vee, I'm telling you, Gov, we got to fuck these motherfuckas up for this bullshit. If we don't catch a few bodies behind this shit, niggas gone start thinking we pussy or something.”

  Vee looked at O like he had lost his mind. “Don't you think I know that shit? Nigga, don't say no stupid shit to me on the day I got to put two of my Governors in the motherfucking ground! I know what the fuck we got to do! Them Assholes took two of ours! For that we got to do something special.”

  Looking uncomfortable in an ill-fitting dark blue pin-striped suit, Governor Teddy mentioned, “I know where that nigga Solemn Shawn bitch stay.” All of the State Department's attention was on him—something he loved. “I seen that stud at the mall with his little bitch. He thought he was dipped ‘cause we was out at the Orland Square Mall. When the nigga left the mall I followed him back to the city. From there I followed that stud over to a crib on 96th and Loomis. He dropped the broad off and bounced. He did some crazy U-turn and I lost him, but I still know exactly where his little runner stay.”

  Finishing his statement, Teddy waited for Vee to praise him.

  Instead, Vee snapped, “Nigga, why the fuck this the first time that I'm hearing ‘bout this shit? Why the fuck you ain't been mentioned this shit?”

  That good feeling was gone; now Teddy wish
ed he didn't have the State Department's full attention. “It was a while ago,” Teddy mumbled. “We wadn't really into it with them Assholes like that then.”

  Vee didn't want to hear it. “Poo, hit that nigga in his eye,” he commanded.

  Poo, a short, skinny Governor with large front teeth, promptly whacked Teddy in the eye. Teddy staggered back and covered his eye. After a few moments he regained his composure and rejoined the small group. He took his hand down from his eye. It hadn't begun to swell yet, but it was red and a single tear escaped out of it.

  “The next time any one of y'all see one of our enemies and don't take care of that business, it's gone be Cold War on yo ass,” Vee announced. “Now, you niggas know what the fuck got to be done. Who gone handle this shit?”

  Looking salty, Teddy promised, “I'll handle this shit personally.”

  Heading back inside the funeral parlor, Vee warned, “Don't make me wait to hear about it neither. I want them putting dirt on that bitch inside of the next week. Now everybody get fuck back inside, that fat choir bitch should be through singing.”

  “DAMN, MAMBO, YO FUCKING CROSS ‘BOUT TO BLIND ME!” Big Ant said as the sun bounced off the window of A-Land and reflected off the chunky diamond-and-gold cross hanging on a polished gold chain around Mumps's neck.

  “That's right, A,” Mumps said, giving his cross a swing. “This here is five carats of that stuff that Bugs Bunny won't touch. No cracks, no flaws, baby.”

  Murderman stood in the doorway of the game room, holding a twenty-ounce Pepsi and scanning the street and sidewalk as was his custom. “Yeah, that motherfucking cross is right, A. What that boy run?”

  Shaking a pair of blue dice in his right hand, Mumps said, “This piece cost some unlucky stud about ten stacks, but since I copped it from the pawnshop I only gave them studs thirty-five hundred for it. Sweet as bear meat. I got tired of wearing that heavy-ass platinum shit. I just wanted me some good old gold.”