by Tiana Laveen
They were so pleased to have caught Beelzebub while he hid out in the victim’s temple. The ghastly creation thought he could play it safe by staying put for a bit, hiding out, but Saint felt compelled to go and observe the corpse while Lawrence prayed over him. Once they arrived, Saint soon figured out why he’d felt the urge so badly…
Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he tried to concentrate on the matter at hand. As he entered University Heights, his chest grew tight with the sudden ringing of his phone.
Is my life choreographed? If it is, I want to fire the director.
He grimaced at the Caller-ID. Gripping his steering wheel, he swallowed.
The ringtone of ‘Tired of Ballin’ by Tesla began to play…
“I’m so tired of ballin’! ’Cause it’s too many bitches on my dick! … You nevah hear a baller say that shit!”
…and so it continued.
The voicemail caught the end of the track and played into the Bluetooth through the speakers of the car.
“Greetings, Aknaten. I know you are listening right now.” The words were followed by a thick chuckle. Saint answered the call, but didn’t speak. He needed a bit more time to enjoy his newly formed pity party. “Saint, very well… You’re having one of your moods, I imagine,” Krishna said, a smile in his words. “I will speak … you will listen. A dream showed me what you’ve done…” Saint grimaced but remained quiet. “No worries. What you’ve done is right. That is good, a job well done, Saint, but your humanity, your love for civilians keeps you in line, in the form of guilt. You must snap out of this, and treat these situations just as you treat your patients and the men and women at your conferences … with tough love.
“Forgive yourself, son. Your hands are covered in blood and you can never get clean, but you are pure in ways you could never understand.” Saint wrapped both hands tightly around the steering wheel as flashes of the carnage he’d inflicted permeated his brain, as well as the joy he’d extracted from the violence. “The life of a King Angel Child is far from pristine, pretty, and sanitary, Saint. Your glass castle, expensive tailored suits, long showers, and usage of imported soaps, deodorants and lotions and carefully combed coif will all be covered in blood, dirt, and filth in one form or another. And then the Angels and the Creator will bless you again and smile down upon you, the deeper you go…
“You’ve been working very hard. That’s good, because whatever is coming, or, shall I say, whatever just arrived, will require more than what you and your friends have demonstrated thus far. It will take all of you. It will destroy you if you’re not careful. Remember, they don’t just want your blood, Saint; they want your soul. It’s valuable. There’s a price on your head now. You’ve proven to be a worthy opponent. Your fellow King Angel Children around the globe are suffering just as you are. One almost lost his life last night and another has his successor replacing him … because he is dead. I know you are tired, you are weary, and we are nowhere near finished. Never blink. Never take your armor off. Intensify your gifts, learn of all of them and use them! Exploit yourself like never before!”
Saint reached to pick up the phone.
“No, do not feel inclined to speak to me now. You don’t really want to, and I understand why. So just listen.”
Saint smiled and nodded, appreciating how in tune Krishna was to him.
“I am not exactly certain of what is to come, but you must seek refuge and assistance in unlikely places. To survive this next round, you must be creative, resourceful, and more cunning than you’ve ever been. Your ingenuity could be a matter of life and death. Fall in love with your new-found love—demon blood. You’ll need that lust to eradicate the evil trying to swallow the world, through the actions of fellow mankind. Take care, my child.”
And then, the call went dead…
Pam sucked her teeth as she glared up at the parlor window treatment. Sheer white curtains lay flush against deep, thick burgundy drapes with gold rope sashes.
Xenia must’ve put that up there. Looks fancy. She sure as hell didn’t get it from no Sears…
She nursed a cigarette in one hand, and a glass of Arbor Mist blackberry wine in the other. Xenia had finally taken her ass on to somewhere. The woman had been getting on her last nerve this Saturday afternoon, flittering around and being all happy at the wee hours of the morning. She had plenty of work to do, she’d stated. In fact, everyone in that house seemed to be rather occupied. Saint was preparing for another one of his nasty little Black pussy and White dick conferences that he was so damn obsessed with, and the children were with that sneaky little Puerto Rican fucker, Angel.
The devilish teen had taken the trio to some restaurant. He walked around like he damn near lived there, and Pam for the life of her could not understand why Saint and Xenia let him loiter about the way he did. Every time she looked up, the string bean built boy was looped over some couch, bobbing his bean-shaped head to music, smelling of ripe hormones and cinnamon chewing gum. Saint said he was a mentor to Hassani, but she’d heard that slick little bastard on the phone; he acted one way when Saint was in earshot and another when he was ghost. Angel cursed something awful—every other word involved four letters and it was obvious he’d been birthed from the rotten, rugged streets. Pam could spot her own… Angel was shot out of the Devil’s ass, breech delivery. Not one to snub her nose, she still felt some sort of way about the kid, but oddly enough, she understood his likability, too.
He was charming, handsome and seemed to really take a liking to the kids, especially ’Sani. She was concerned nevertheless about all three of her grandbabies going with him. True, the place was only a couple of blocks away but she felt somewhat at ease knowing they’d also be accompanied by one of Saint’s Jolly Green Giant officers, although the fellow left a long leash for the children, allowing Angel to somewhat do his own thing. According to Saint, he didn’t want his kids afraid to breathe and live their lives.
Angel said he was taking them to some place that specialized in vegan milk shakes and bean burgers. Her stomach bubbled at the mere thought of it. She shook her head in disgust at the notion, but then chuckled at herself for being so uptight about her family’s Nature Valley granola ways. Crossing her swollen ankles on the comfy couch, she checked the time on the nearby clock.
I think I’mma make a good dinner tonight. Maybe even something Saint will like. Chicken lasagna? No, I like to make mine from scratch and I ain’t got the patience for that today. Oh, I know, I’m going to make some cabbage, bake a couple of Cajun seasoned chickens, fix some beans and white rice wit’ butter.
She smiled at the idea, her mouth salivating from the mere thought of it all.
BOOM!
She suddenly jerked, turning towards a noise coming from what sounded like the kitchen.
“Oh shit! Xenia home early. She tol’ me she wouldn’t be home until 4:00!” Pam leapt up from the couch so fast, her knees cracked. She made a mad dash to the bathroom. Flinging the door open, she tossed the half-smoked cigarette in the toilet and watched as the orange glimmer sizzled into a soggy gray mass of ash. She flushed the toilet, hoping and praying it wouldn’t pop up again like a burp or a tiny turd determined to not go to sewer-land. Grabbing the bottle of Hawaiian Febreeze from the back of the latrine, she hurried back to the parlor and sprayed hard and long, until she began to cough, overdosing on the scent of fruit and flowers. When she was satisfied with her cover-up job of smoking in the house against her daughter’s wishes, she raced to the kitchen, almost tripping over her feet. Wearing a fake smile plastered across her face ready to greet the woman, she stood at attention, out of breath, tits sweaty like she’d run them under a faucet of water. But, there was no one…
She stood there, breathing heavy, perspiring about the brow as confusion reigned supreme.
Now this don’t make no damn sense. I know I heard something. It came from right back here.
She stood there waiting for someone to appear…
You mean to tell me I did all of t
hat for nothin’? That cigarette was still good!
“Ahhhh!”
Pam jumped when a man in a neatly trimmed white beard materialized at the back door. His hands were cupped around his bright blue eyes like goggles, his face smashed against the glass as he peered into the place.
“Get yo’ crazy, Father Time lookin’ White ass away from here!” Grabbing a knife from the butcher block, she barreled towards the tall stranger, prepared to open the door and slice him open like a hoagie roll. The fellow’s eyes widened, his mouth fell open, and he stood up straight.
“Hello, I—”
“Who are you and what the hell do you want?!” The man chuckled and waved his hands as if to surrender.
“I’m so sorry. I’m trying to tell you actually. You see, I’m a friend of Saint Aknaten’s. My name is Gaspar.” She could hear a slight accent when he spoke.
“Like the friendly ghost? I tell you what, unholy spirit, you almost became a ghost for real, bumbling around in the backyard without the common courtesy of ringin’ the bell! That’s trespassin’. You out here hangin’ in the backyard like some Halloween prop. Your name suits you just fine.”
The man burst out laughing again, but Pam didn’t see what was so damn funny.
“Ma’am, my name is Gaspar, not Casper. It’s a Portuguese name.”
“I don’t give a shit if it’s Belize, Navidad Feliz, bless you I just sneezed, or makes you weak at the knees, make you feel all right! You still ain’t explained why I shouldn’t slice you up like a ham.”
“I am trying to tell you that—”
“Let me go on ahead and call 911.” She huffed and shook her head. “Tell ’em Santa’s beard ain’t even all the way growed out for the Christmas season but he’s doing an attempted breaking and entering. I won’t play any of his little reindeer games and he desperately needs his jingle bells shot off.”
“Wait! PLEASE BE QUIET AND JUST LISTEN!”
Who does he think he is hollering at me like that?
“I do a little landscaping work on the side and I told Saint that I’d drop off some things to get started this weekend, that’s all. There is nothing going on, ma’am. I’m supposed to be here.” His smile seemed genuine enough.
“That sounds fishy. What’s plantin’ a bush and pullin’ a weed got to do with you peerin’ through the damn door like some peepin’ Tom? And it’s fall. Who does landscapin’ in the fall, ’specially in New York? You lucky the police ain’t here right now!”
“Actually, landscaping is a yearlong practice and what I am doing will help him for next year but most importantly, why bring up the police again?” The man shrugged, no hostility in his tone.
“Saint told them to take the day off. They stay posted around these parts like notes, probably ’cause of some shit Saint done did with his shit startin’ ass. He got a real smart mouth and terrible temper. But never mind that, the police might be off the clock but I’m all the way on, believe it, and I know how to use any weapon of choice!”
The man looked genuinely worried. “Well, it seems you don’t believe me but I’m telling you the truth. Uh, I’m sorry if I bothered you, ma’am. I think I better get going.”
“No, hold up. I’m Saint’s mother-in-law, and you still ain’t told me why yo’ creepy ass was lookin’ in this house like some cat burglar. That’s all I want to know and then you can go on ’bout your business.”
“I was peering inside just to check and see if by chance he was home. He’s got some broken concrete back here that needs repaired and he never mentioned it. He probably didn’t know.” The man pointed behind him, never taking his eyes off her. “But no worries,” he said with a nervous smile. “I’ll just call him.”
“You do that. I apologize if I scared you half to death, but you scared me, too. Next time, just knock on the front door.” She fixed her tone, seeing as how the man seemed to be telling the truth. The man’s smile grew bigger. She wasn’t sure if she liked it or not. The jury was still out.
He kinda cute… What am I sayin’?! He’s from the Russian mountains probably, right up there with the email hackers that cost Hillary Clinton that damn election because they meddled with the votes. He probably in cahoots wit’ Gorbachev! I mean, uh, shit, the Gremlin, I mean, the Kremlin dude, Pew, Pooh, I mean, Putin’s ass. Hold on, Portugal ain’t in Russia! I need to stop messin’ with this New York weed. It’s messin’ with my mind.
The guy stood there in a thick green coat, the hood hanging half off his silver hair. His eyes reminded Pam of glaciers, light blue and sparkling, and his smile was the thing compassion was created from. There was comfort in the bow of those lips and the gleam of those teeth, as if all their mutual worries would melt away just by the man being there.
“You’re quite pretty.” He held his chin a bit higher as he regarded her. “Uh, I hope you don’t mind me saying that.”
Pam suddenly felt herself flush with warmth. She looked at herself in the window’s reflection, taking note of her clothing and appearance all over again. She was wearing her high waisted skinny jeans and a lime green empire shirt that accentuated her curves in all the right places. Recently, losing 9 lbs. had helped her get into them once again. For some odd reason, she’d felt like looking nice that day. She even took the rollers out of her hair and finger combed her tresses into place, and put on some dangly gold earrings. She’d also wore a little bright red lipstick she’d picked up from Duane Reed, and a dab of blush Xenia had given her. If she said so herself, she cleaned up well. Besides, Xenia and Porsche got their good looks from somebody, and it sure as hell wasn’t their toucan lookin’, no good for nothin’, short-dicked daddy.
“Thank you…”
“You’re welcome. Uh, well, I’ll get going. I’ll come back tomorrow and get started. It was nice meeting you uh—”
“Pam. My name is Pam.” She ran her fingers along her collarbone, resisting the urge to flirt with the White man, Portuguese, whatever the hell he was. The fellow smiled and waved, turned on his heels and disappeared from the backyard. Pam made a beeline to the front of the house, almost slipping and falling as she watched him get into a new looking black mini-van and pull off.
“Gaspar, huh? A friend of Saint’s … does landscapin’ on the side. From the look of that ride, he ain’t broke, neither. That was a nice van, looked fresh off the lot.” Getting resituated on the couch, she lit up a fresh cigarette, crossed her ankles, and smiled with delight.
I should take the chickens out to defrost soon…
“He was cute for an old White guy,” she mumbled to herself as she snatched an Essence magazine from the diamond-shaped coffee table and began to flip through it, searching for perfume samples to stash away. “He looks like he says, ‘Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!’” She chuckled. “But he wasn’t fat, or at least didn’t appear to be … and his facial hair was nice, well-trimmed. Hmmm, I wonder what other gifts Saint is hidin’ up in the North Pole? I like the garden gnome that waltzed over here just now… Now that’s a toy I wouldn’t mind windin’ up and lettin’ it do what it do!”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
There must’ve been some mistake…
Perhaps the man needed to be rushed to the hospital. He surely had fallen ill.
Saint couldn’t believe his ears. There Gaspar stood in his kitchen, drinking Pam’s freshly squeezed famous pink lemonade, the recipe that included sliced strawberries and berry puree with a sprig of mint when she was feeling swanky. The man had been standing there whispering about how funny and good looking the fiend of a woman was. Saint gripped the kitchen counter as his head spun. He thought he might be getting sick. The world was filled with demonic energy, and people were going about their daily lives none the wiser as he and his cohorts worked behind the scenes to try and make it right … and now this! The haggard succubus who dined religiously on pickled foods and Twinkies had managed to attract one of his most reliable men. How could this be?!
“Pam?! Are you sure you saw Pam?!” Saint cocked h
is head to the side at the man. “I mean, that just couldn’t be. Maybe we should get you an eye exam. Your insurance covers it. Owwww!” He rubbed the back of his neck where Xenia had slapped him, making his skin burn. She cut her eyes at him as she slid a bag of freshly washed red Delicious brand apples into a large crystal bowl on the kitchen counter they’d received as a wedding gift.
“Well, she said her name was Pam.” Gaspar shrugged. “Uh, she had on a green shirt … and jeans … very nice eyes, too. She had pretty, curly hair.”
“Yes, that was my mother,” Xenia stated proudly. “She’ll be back soon. She went to church this morning.”
“To be exorcised…” Saint said under his breath, and was met with another icy warning stare from his wife. “And you’re sure you want me to uh—”
“Formally introduce us.” Gaspar was smiling far too big and wide. Apparently, the mere notion of his name passing through the horrible woman’s lips gave him joy. The man had been widowed for almost four years, and had been ready to get back on the market for the past two. He had an adult son from that union, owned property, and enjoyed a variety of hobbies—but none of them included swap meets or a riveting game of racial slur bingo. He was full of vigor and spritely for a sixty-nine-year-old, and despite his short, white beard, didn’t look a day over fifty-five. He was one of the elite Rainbeau Knights and had transferred from L.A. when they’d made the initial migration. “Yes, I wish to speak with her, perhaps have coffee?”