Saint And Sinners (7 page)

“No, I didn’t! Okay…well, I showed you a
few
pictures but it wasn’t that bad.” Donna leered, causing everyone to laugh.

“It
was
.” Lawrence’s brows bunched. The man was clearly suffering from sexual deprivation,
a desire for quality alone time with his wife. “But anyway, Xenia, thanks so much.
We really appreciate it,” he added, trying to calm his nerves, no doubt.

“No problem at all! And if you two want to do it again soon, just give me a call.
It takes practice, guys. You have to train yourself to take a break,” Xenia explained
matter of factly as she watched them and her mother, sister and niece say their farewells
and walk out the door. The boys went to their playroom, putting back silence in the
room, as if they hadn’t been out playing and horsing around just moments earlier.
In that instant, it was just the three of them standing there.

“Juiiiice!” Isis demanded, obviously feeling as if she’d been long forgotten.

“Of course, my princess!” He smiled as he plucked her from the ground and carried
her inside of the kitchen. He placed her on a white breakfast barstool, then opened
the refrigerator. He removed a jug of homemade tangerine juice and her coveted pink
princess cup from the cupboard. After carefully pouring some inside of it, he handed
it to her. Isis gripped the glass with both hands and gulped down the contents frantically,
barely breathing between hearty sips as her cheeks swelled with liquid over and over
again.

“You were really thirsty, huh? All of that racing around and playing,” Xenia said
as she joined them. Saint reached towards the backsplash and pushed an embedded button
to turn on a bit of music.

“I’ll Be Good” by Rene and Angela began to play. He giggled, snapped his fingers a
few times and looked at her casually from over his shoulder. Xenia shot him a glance,
no doubt believing it was planned. He knew she loved this song…took her right back
to her childhood at family barbeques and the memories of belligerent, drunk relatives
arguing over a craps game with high stakes.

Isis just kept chugging away, her eyes larger than life as she gripped the cup possessively
tighter, tilting it back to get the final precious drops.

“So…when did you want to take a trip there, honey?” Xenia offered a warm smile as
she sat at the kitchen island and crossed her legs.

“In the next couple of weeks…is that cool?” He put the citrusy beverage back in the
refrigerator. The door smacked shut as he faced her once again.

“That’s fine. I’ll make arrangements at work, ask Mama if she can keep the kids for
a few days.” She played with the edge of a paper towel, seemingly disappearing into
herself. A soft smile lined her face while she slipped into private reflection. Saint
stood there for a while, then moved behind her, circling his arms around her warm
form. He kissed the top of her head.

“Thank you, baby.”

Xenia patted his arm affectionately, her other hand still on the paper towel as she
folded it to and fro.

“You don’t have to thank me. It’s just your turn to shine, baby. It’s just your turn
to shine…”

*

S
aint sat at
his desk in the L.A. office building with his onyx and shale colored headphones on.
At seven in the morning, the last thing he wanted to do was wake the weary world from
a sleepy slumber. He, on the other hand, needed some motivation. He tapped his ink
pen along the desk, his right hand playing a mean percussion as he sucked his bottom
lip and stared at his computer screen. He was checking out the panoramic maps of Brooklyn,
New York and wishing he could reach out and actually touch the top of the damn buildings.
After his Queen gave the ‘Ok’, he was surprised to discover that only made his hunger
for returning to his place of birth all the stronger and more voracious. His stomach
literally growled, as if looking at a five-course banquet and he hadn’t dined in weeks.
‘The Strange Fruit’ Project album blasted in his eardrums, and ironically enough,
a new, deeply disturbing case had landed on his desk, which he unaffectionately titled
the same. A black woman and her Cuban American fiancé had been threatened to receive
a modern day lynching, ‘Southern style’ and that was just the tip of the harassment
iceberg. Saint ran his palm down the side of his face, catching his sideburn and feeling
the silky tresses in need of a trim.

I’ll cut my hair soon, growing out too long again. Let me stop procrastinating and
get my ass in there.

He turned off the tunes, shut down his laptop and stood from his seat, causing the
chair to swivel as he navigated his way around the wooden maiden. As if they’d just
finished making love, he caressed her shoulder before departing and whispered, “You’re
coming with me…”

Clearing his throat, he exited his office, pulling at his sky blue shirt with several
of the top buttons undone. No doubt his black leather necklace was showing as it lay
against his chest hair. He debated buttoning it up, looking a bit more professional,
but there was no point in trying to look any different than he did when he’d arrived
that morning. No need to tip anyone off, cause alarm…at least not just yet. As he
made his way up the hall, without as so much as a word, Jagger approached from the
right and Lawrence from the left until all three were walking in unison, their footsteps
hard, heavy and reverberating. The men stood shoulder to shoulder, their expressions
tight and their arms swinging, as if the shit had been choreographed. Once they reached
the large conference room double doors, Saint stood back while Jagger grasped the
knob and pushed it open.

Saint immediately entered, nodding and greeting the Knights as he made his way to
the front of the meeting room table. He stood there in his black suit clearing his
gullet, a sneer on his face while he adjusted his Cote D’Azur sleeves, pulling at
them, getting them nice and even. A strand of his hair sprung forward against his
forehead. With a cool hand, he smoothed it back into place. Saint leaned against the
table, glaring at each and every man, taking in the entire scene. Jagger and Lawrence
took their seats towards the middle of the table, clasping their hands together. All
that could be heard—the occasional swallow of water and light tickle of a cough.

“I called this very important meeting, at such late notice, for a reason. I am sorry
that you all have been inconvenienced this morning, taken away from your important
schedules. You are here because you are about to witness history. This organization
is about to make a major change.”

He could feel the energy in the room immediately shifting, like volcanic plates beneath
the Earth after he unveiled his announcement. He could almost smell the mingled sparks
of worry, excitement, and extreme curiosity.

“Our founder, the honorable James Kessler, may he rest in peace, began this secret
organization and it was officially launched in 1963. He resided here in California.
He knew the people, the clientele, the ideas and the state like the back of his hand
due to his life-long career in politics. Should
anyone
have found out his secret dealings with such a group, one dedicated to the cultivation
and protection of non-black men and African American and black women around the globe,
it would have come to his vocational detriment and possibly even resulted in his death.
However, he felt the risk was more important than what he did in Washington. Well,
I feel the same way.” He cleared his throat, and dared himself to look Jagger and
Lawrence in the eye. Once he did, it was plain to see that they were confused as fuck,
and trying desperately to drill into his damn skull with psychic jackhammers. He effectively
blocked them, and carried on.

“I’ve gotten an opportunity to live some of the most important years of my life here.”
He clasped his hands together. “I can thank L.A. for
many
things; most importantly, I found my wife, my queen, my soulmate on Los Angeles soil.”
He paused, briefly reflected on his radio interview with the woman, and how their
worlds had collided at that pivotal moment.

“My first child was conceived and born here. My second and third as well… So, though
I suffered in silence regarding my bouts of discomfort, L.A. has given me precious
gifts, not just curses.” He ran his index finger wistfully over his chin. “It allowed
me to meet all of you good men, too. No…” He smiled and shook his head, placing one
finger in the air. “
Great
men. Due to a case I was working, it allowed me to also indirectly meet Lawrence.”
He pointed to the man, who nodded and offered a faint smile as he tucked his long
black hair behind one ear, then clinched his hands together on the glossy, ebony table.
“Lawrence and I are
very
close, like family, and we have the best interest of this company in mind. Through
Lawrence, I met Jagger.” Jagger nodded, yet his brows dipped in obvious perplexity
and frustration.

Saint hadn’t shared one word of his plans with them. No, he wanted a chance to explain
himself without interruption, a chance to lie out what he had in store without the
inevitable showdown.

“Both of these men are competent, good people who care about us going higher, better
and brighter into the future. With that said, since this is my company…” He stood
a bit straighter, ran his fingers along his suit jacket buttons. “I am taking us where
I deem appropriate. This location will remain open; however, with only half the staff.
I am opening another main branch in New York, gentlemen.”

Mouths immediately dropped open like castle moats, waves of utterances poured fourth,
an inundation of unrecognizable comments and jumbled questions amongst the sea of
rippled confusion. It was a soft ruckus of sorts, so Saint spoke a bit louder to cut
through the noise, bring it to a stop.

“Hold up!” He put his hand in the air, and soon the men quieted. “No one who doesn’t
wish to relocate will be given an ultimatum. If I am unable to do a 50/50 split, then
I will do the best I can, and we will sort out the rest. If
any
of you, though, have desires to relocate with me, then the opportunity is there.
I don’t know
where
in New York yet, I just know that is where I will be setting up the new location.
You will have all the same privileges that you have here, including snow days.”

A light chuckle carried on the air.

“I want to add that at this location, here in L.A., I will appoint what I refer to
as, ‘Landlord officers.’ There will be three of them. I also will be visiting here
often, probably at least once a month until the transition is running smoothly, then,
it will more than likely drop down to every two months, for a one week stay.”

“When are you leaving, Saint?” one of the men asked, a touch of sorrow in his tone.

Saint shrugged. “I’m not exactly sure. It won’t be for at least a month or two. There
is too much that has to be done first. Like, I have to find a new home for my family,”
he counted on his fingers, “and getting a bank location in New York is much different
than getting one here. There is also the issue of basically getting a sign-up sheet
for everyone who wishes to join me, what your new duties may entail, things like that.
It’s going to be really busy and a bit stressful, but when I am internally at peace,
I thrive better.” He pointed to himself. “As of right now, I’m fighting with only
one arm. I’ve been unhappy for quite some time; I just haven’t voiced it until now.
The reason being is, I had to make sure my family and you all were happy, while honoring
James’ memory—that was imperative. Then, I realized, the best way to honor that man’s
memory was to do what
he
did—to step out on faith and run this company in the manner that he trusted me to
do. No one is losing their job; you are simply gaining an opportunity.”

George nodded as he sat silently at the end of the table in a regal chair. Saint had
briefed him on his plans ahead of time, as a show of respect for the co-founder of
the company, and much to his surprise, George was gracious and understanding. He also
had expected it to occur at some point in time, just as Xenia had predicted. Furthermore,
James had let him know before his passing that he believed Saint would return to New
York, and that the Knights organization would continue to thrive.