Saint And Sinners (3 page)

Like the slow moving wing of an eagle, Koki removed the cape from around his neck.
The thing landed like a memory along the floor, slightly disturbing the clippings
of his hair that lay along the laminated black and white checkered floor. He rose
from his seat, standing tall like the head fucker in charge that he was. Everyone
stood back, giving him room to step down and walk freely. The place grew quiet as
he made his way to the center of the place, and put his hands around his hips. Manhattan,
New York on a Tuesday afternoon had gone from uneventful to full throttle in a matter
of moments.

Two Dominicans sauntered past the shop, glaring inside on their way, giving slight
head nods in Koki’s direction. He nodded back; after all, it was the polite thing
to do and he prided himself on his reserve and manners in public. He was a businessman,
and well, this latest development meant just that: business.

I knew the good times would soon be challenged. This is the type of shit I live for…
Wished it would had happened a bit differently, but that’s okay. I’ll find a way to
work with the hand I was dealt.

He smiled to himself as he rolled in his private thoughts like a caterpillar crammed
in its tomb of a larvae-like cocoon.

Who are you trying convince? Yourself or them?

He continued to converse inside of his head, making sense of the shit.

Fuck! It’s cool… it’s cool…

So, Saint Aknaten is back in New York, and this time, it ain’t just a visit… He’s
here to stay.

He looked up at the ceiling, wishing to set it ablaze, too.

“Give me a minute alone, please. I need to think,” he commanded. Everyone, including
the barbers, walked away into an adjoining area while he began to slowly pace back
and forth.

Something is definitely up. I knew, from a young age, my lot in life. I started early
in trying to secure it. When he left this place, I was put into power. There was fear
was that he’d learn of his calling, and then stake claim. He didn’t. Instead, he moved
away, and things became much easier. Now that he is back, he will try to take it away
from me. I don’t give a fuck about the power, contrary to Ataru’s feelings. I just
want to enjoy myself, and…do what I was designed to do. That is part of dignity. That
is the reason my ass is on top, and everyone else is at the bottom. I follow the damn
rules to a ‘T’. I follow inherently what I am, and what I’m about, and that is to
rule and provide choice.

That’s the whole problem, though. We were designed to do things; it is the way of
our people. Saint and his kind can’t seem to understand that. I respect the mothafucka’s
hustle; he’s just been dancing to the wrong beat. New York is mine though. It’s always
been mine since the moment I was conceived. I guess we’ve been doing our job a little
too well…

Heroin is back on the street in droves…

Scholastic scores have plummeted…

Human morale is at an all time low…

Domestic violence, rape and murder have increased worldwide…but yet, we are supposedly
so much more civilized, right? Education is power? Those born with souls do not acknowledge
them, and those that are born soulless try to suck and taste that of which we never
had…

He grinned and gave a slight chuckle. No one said a fucking word, no one moved as
all eyes glared at him from a short distance. He was sorting some things out, and
he needed not one damn muscle to twitch.

Yeah, well, here he comes. Here the mothafucka comes…

“Alright, you all can come back in, now.” He waved them over nonchalantly. A few moments
later, people were back in the groove of things, moving and talking as if no intermission
had ever taken place.

“Hey.” Koki looked over his shoulder. Clad in his favorite, soft white leather jacket,
he plucked a wayward hair from it, flicking it to the ground. “Pablo, get Zoo on the
phone, please.” Pablo nodded, coasted his cellphone out of his slouchy blue jean pocket
and placed it to his face as he moseyed away into the recesses of the place. Before
anyone could ask a question or utter a word, Ataru was at Koki’s side. He placed his
hand on his shoulder.

“I trust you.” The man’s eyes grew impossibly darker as a sly grin creased that snow-white
face.

“Good, that’s real good, Ataru.” Koki rolled in the words, knowing that Ataru was
pleading with him to take action, to stop this shit before it got too far. But that
was the reason why Koki was in charge, and not him. Ataru was too emotional, too hot
headed and worrisome. No, they needed a mothafucka who didn’t give a shit, one who
remained cool headed under pressure and would follow the guidelines, not crumble down
at the first hint of a problem. They needed a bastard like him, who knew how to fight
with his hands, weapons and his mind. He surmised Saint was similar, or he wouldn’t
be able to command the sort of respect that the son of a bitch drew. He understood
the man was a multi-tiered, South Bronx born and bred, half breed—a cocky, family
man with a penchant for high-octane punanai.

It was a weakness. Saint
loved
pretty women and sex, in particular. Everyone had at least one limitation, and it
wasn’t his fault that his Creator made mankind that way. This was just poor planning.
Word also had it, Saint’s passion for pussy had been squelched once he found his soulmate.
But Koki
knew
people—he knew them all too well—and with a bit more time, invested research and
observation, he’d find out just what ol’ boy had been up to.

Anyone
can be brought down; you just have to find out their favorite flavor, what they treasure
most. And Koki was determined to find out… He’d open up a candy store and dare Dr.
Aknaten to take a stroll and not touch his delicious, sweet wares. But Saint was no
fool so he had to be sly about this shit, stay in stealth mode. No problem. He was
up for the challenge.

Koki lit another cigarette, cocking his head to the side as he cradled it close like
a newborn baby before he blew crack addiction into the tiny victim’s freshly formed
nostrils.

“Koki,” Pablo declared. “Zoo said ain’t nobody seen him today, but they’ll be on the
lookout. He got some friends, too.”

“Good. Fine.” Koki smirked as he blew out rings of carmine smoke. “We all need friends,
right?” He grinned extra wide. “Make sure no one confronts or touches him. I don’t
want
any
of you anywhere near. He’ll smell you, and it could start some shit. We don’t want
to rattle his cage just yet.” He kept his back turned then walked out the shop. Soon,
his two cohorts were by his side. He sniffed the air and smelled death, despair, depression
and destiny. The shit was mouthwatering, fit for a buffet of buffoonery.

…And that’s what these people are, clowns!

Koki sneered at all the people moseying about on the streets, feeling nothing but
contempt and disgust.

They make fun of their own lives by acting so fucking ridiculous on a daily basis,
and yet I am somehow the bad guy?

“For now, boys, it’s business as usual,” he announced. “Well, just keep tabs on him
is all. I don’t want to be broadsided. Let’s try to hope for the best, and if the
worst comes into play, we’ll be ready for that too, okay?” He shot Ataru a reassured
glance. His brother nodded right before the trio made their way down the slightly
sloped street. As they passed several individuals, Koki waved his hand, feeling the
human turbulence rising off their auras like smoke from a barbecue pit.

Soon, the night would fall and they’d really get into it.

“Supposed to be a full moon tonight,” Pablo huffed, breaking the silence as they marched
shoulder to shoulder down the street. “We’ll be busy.”

“Indeed we will. People always act like idiots on full moons. Mix that with alcohol,
some drug-use and overall pisstivity, and you get entertainment for a lifetime.”

“The emergency room will be packed.” Ataru piped up, a tinge of excitement in his
voice.

Soon they arrived at the parking meter where Koki’s navy blue, Cadillac Elmiraj awaited.
It glimmered, as if dripped in sopping wet paint. They slid inside, got situated on
the white leather seats as Koki started the engine and pulled away from the curb,
noting an eager woman waiting to take his place for the prized spot. He caught the
twinkle in her eye through his rear view mirror, winked at her, then heard her scream
when someone swooped into the spot, almost side swiping her. As he drove away, he
knew the police would be there soon. That woman had had a very bad day…and things
were going to escalate faster than a crackhead doing the Latin hustle for a hit. All
he’d done was look in her direction, and wink…a simple closing and opening of his
dark brown iris, and she was well on her way. She made her choice, and now the chips
were falling where they may. How sweet it was to reign supreme.

But he wouldn’t close his lids and fall into a cushy dream. Oh no…there were more
pressing issues at hand. He desired to sit back in his apartment and smoke a few pineapple
blunts, drink a little Patron, but now wasn’t the time. He had work to do and if he
failed, it would all be gone within the blink of a demonic child’s eye…

*

“I
saw you! …
And hiiim, and hiiiim… Walkin’ in thaaaa rain! You were hoooldin’ hands, and I’ll
nevah be the saaaame! Remember that shit, Xenia?” Saint hooted as he danced around
the middle of the vast living room, the wistful memories of the music taking him away
to a time long ago. He didn’t miss her smirk and eye roll as he did a turn, pivoting
perfectly as if he’d been trained in the Juilliard School of Dance. He shimmied his
narrow hips and gamboled closer and closer to her as she lounged about on the couch,
her purple cell phone tight in her grip and her concentration elsewhere.

The woman pretended not to see him under the swaying, dull lights, or hear him amongst
the simple rifts and blaring music. He sang even louder now, his shaky voice off key.
“I saw you, Xenia! I saw ya, damn it! Yeeeeah!” Jetting his long tongue out, he made
the moist tip touch the bottom of his chin in an obscene way. He snapped his fingers
to the damn beat, pushing his white Nike sneakers into the plush cream rug with each
smooth slide and glide. “…I missed you too, yeah, I missed you so much I followed
you today! Ha ha! … Do uh Rambo! … cancelled all those credit cards, yeeeeeaaah…everythang,
Xenia!” He kept on singing the lyrics, putting her name in the middle of the mess.

Now she was laughing, slumped over on the side of the couch.

“Saint, you have lost your damn mind again. So silly… You need to put on a shirt,
too. Lawrence and Donna will be over here soon.” She sighed and cradled her phone
a bit closer.

As if a needle had skipped abruptly across a spinning album, Saint came to an abrupt
halt. “What? Donna and Lawrence? For what?” His brows bunched as he tried to gain
understanding. He had an entire evening planned, at least in his mind—a full spread
of all-you-can-handle fabulous fucking—and now Lawrence’s cock blocking ass had thrown
a torpedoing boomerang, in his case, a fucking bow and arrow dipped in poison, decapitating
the sexual strategies, ruining the whole damn naughty notion. The kids were with Mama
Pam and Porsche for a few hours, and he was certain that tonight would be an evening
fit for a King and his Queen, a night in which he’d slowly sink his teeth into Xenia’s
soft, delicious ass. So many plans…so many wicked, dirty, soiled, filthy plans…

“You don’t remember anything lately!” She dramatically rolled her big, dark brown
eyes and tossed her cellphone haphazardly on the nearby table as if in disgust of
his lack of retention. “I
told
them I would watch the baby while they went and got a bite to eat.”

“Watch the baby? Bite to eat?!” He turned the music down, as if he couldn’t believe
his ears.