Saved and SAINTified (44 page)

“If you think I’m going to allow you to drag James’ name in the mud, you are sorely mistaken, Brooks. You want to keep the races separate
, do your thing, but you fucked up when you crossed the line, under the guise of being a Rainbeau. The Knights ... and I ... do ... not ... play. We are a brotherhood. We are cult-like without the brain washing; we are like gang members that clean up well. We will fuck you up in a heartbeat. I don’t hire pussies. Believe that without a shadow of a doubt, because your ass would’ve never got past me. That is for damn sure, fucking weasel. ”

There was a brief silence.

“I don’t have any punk asses in this group and the people I’ve personally screened are no new jacks to this interracial thing we call love. No one here is afraid to dismantle a person like you, either. If I got on the phone right now and asked a few to come back down here, explained the situation, you’d be dead.”

“Are you threatening me, Dr. Aknaten?”

“Of course not.” Saint got right in his face, forcing Brooks to veer back. “I’d never threaten you, Brooks.” Saint grabbed Brooks’ collar and straightened it, along with his crooked black tie. “I don’t make veiled threats. I hand-deliver promises.”

He let his voice trail away, and t
he room seemed to get colder.

“Now, before we get going with phase II, you know, before you get into
—”

“Phase
two? Saint, can’t we just talk about this?”

“No, I’m finished talking to you, Brooks. Talking to you was as much fun as the notion of a game of leapfrog with unicorns.” S
aint waved at Jagger, urging him to come closer. “Now, as I was saying, before you get into your car after all of this is over and hit a red light—know that a black man invented that. I just thought you should know that a black man invented the traffic light.” Saint waved. “You know, the lazy, shiftless black people you despise, that want shit for free, tiny brains ’nd all.”

“
And once you get home and open the refrigerator to get something to eat, remember, a black man helped you keep that shit cold so all of your food wouldn’t spoil. Yeah, that nice new refrigerator you just bought, that basic technology was invented by a black man. I don’t see any gorrillas getting any patents, Brooks. Once you drop the cheesecake on the floor and make a big mess, you’ll have to grab your mop—a black man invented that as well. And when you get on your computer and tell everyone that you are unemployed and don’t recall certain aspects of your life in recent months, you can thank Dr. Mark Dean, a black man, for his IBM inventions, which helped make it possible for you to type out that email.” Saint folded his arms across his chest and looked down at Brooks in revulsion.

“What are you talking about? Don’t recall? What are you going to do?!”

“Yo, Jag, let’s get started.” Saint took a seat while Jagger rounded the table.

Grabbing
Brooks’ arms, Jagger handcuffed his wrists to the armchair. Brooks twisted and turned, struggling and cursing one moment and pleading with them another.

“Let’s say you had an opportunity to right a wrong
.” Jagger grabbed his ankles and began to tie them together. “Let’s say, you could be forgiven for everything bad you had done, just by forgetting all about it and everyone you’d told about anything that could harm others, their memory of the incidents vanished just like your own.”

“What are you talking about?!” Brooks
pulled at his restraints, almost falling over in his chair. His eyes wild and jumpy, he looked about the room, then focused Saint. “You all are crazy! You’re absolutely insane!”

S
aint chuckled and rested his elbows on the table. Cupping his chin, he said nothing.

“We’re going to make sure you right this wrong, Brooks,”
Jagger continued. “Now, Lawrence read through all of your emails. You were building a case, but couldn’t close out. You haven’t said anything about the organization, besides your own opinion, as of yet. Nevertheless, we are a secret group for a reason—and it needs to stay that way. So, here is how this is going to go. I’m going to erase your memory, and the information you shared with others about us will also vanish from their minds. It’s like a domino effect and I’m quite good at it. It took
years
to perfect, but now, I have it down pat. After that, I will implant false memories to fill in the majority of the gaps for you, okay?”

Brooks stopped struggling and looked into
Jagger’s eyes, then burst out laughing. “This can’t be really happening? Saint, you and this spectacle you’ve got going can’t—”

Jagger
grabbed Brooks by the back of the neck and pressed his hand firmly on the top of his head. Brooks struggled violently then, after a few moments, he fell limp, as if a tranquilizer dart had shot straight through his heart. Saint watched eagerly, paying attention to Jagger’s every utterance and move.

“Mmmm, hmmm
... erasing almost complete,” Jagger said after several minutes passed. “I’ll stop right before he was told about the group.” Jagger closed his eyes, his lids dancing about as he watched in fast motion Brook’s entire life history for the past several years.

S
aint grabbed his nearby water bottle, took a long gulp and continued to watch. Jagger’s body shook as if he were being electrocuted. The lights in the room flickered on and off. Finally, Brooks slumped down to the floor, as if dead. But he wasn’t; he was very much alive. Jagger went into trance. He made his thoughts visible, causing Saint and Lawrence to snicker—images of pink horses, Leprechauns and other strange imagery filled the memorial cavities. Jagger began to relax and smile. He was enjoying the twisted event, the contagious pleasure almost euphoric, like a contact high.

“Hey
Jagger.” Saint sported a mischievous grin. “A, put a memory in there where he is in love with black chicks ... only! Program his ass. Yeah, do it man. He can’t even get hard anymore unless the woman is black. Put that shit in there!” Saint was psyched. “Then have him go and declare that to his bigot friends in Michigan.” Lawrence and Saint looked at each other and burst out laughing. “Yeah, that would be some sweet ass justice.”

“Sure thing
.” Jagger laughed as he finished the job.

“Oh, and one more thing before
we send Mr. Brooks on his way.” Saint stood and walked over to the two men. “Let him get a sample, a taste, of what it felt like to be an African slave in America. I want him to feel what it may have been like to see your family sold, the love of your life hauled away and your children bought right in front of your eyes, as if they were no better or worse than a bag of flour. I want him to have hallucinations about this shit. Make him have nightmares about it for an entire year—the duration of time he has been in this organization, lying and scheming. Make the shit vivid. He needs a wake up call. No one infiltrates the Knights without retribution, and the time will always fit the crime. Jagger, proceed.”

“Y
es indeed.”

Nizsm sat on the side of his bed, peering across his darkened, cool bedroom. The night air blew inside, swaying the sheer navy curtains and providing erotic fragrance from the blue lotuses right outside the open balcony window. He gripped the side of the bed as a feeling of euphoria rushed over his bare chest. He rose and leisurely went to the balcony doors. Standing under the luminous full moon, a tiny smile cracked across his face, until it blossomed into a full-grown, toothy grin.

“S
aint, good boy,” he whispered aloud, his voice carried away by the blustering breeze that tickled his ebony pajama pants, causing them to flap in the late evening wind.

For three days, he
’d tried in vain to reach the Princess of Life. It excited him, made his blood flow ten times faster than normal. He almost passed out from exhilaration. The icing on the cake was in a dream played out in stereo for his listening pleasure, this very evening.  He saw her still as a mannequin—no signs of life; she was gone. Now, once and for all, he was certain and could call off his plans to pay a home visit. He didn’t have to go to America, to California. He had no idea what Saint may have planned should he step on the soil. Yes, this way was much better. No heartbeat, the child is dead. No child, his position was secure and all was well with the world...

Nizsm
walked back into his bedroom, closing the balcony doors behind him. He picked up his phone and called Ali.

“Ali,
you were right. She has no heartbeat. Either Saint has carried out my wishes or his wife has had a miscarriage. Either way, it works out beautifully.”

“Yes
, I feel that that is true as well. No energy, no heartbeat, you can rest assured now.”

“This
is wonderful news.” Nizsm sat on his bed, beaming, filled to the brim with excitement.

“I still can’t read Saint
. He appears to be blocking himself and everyone else, for that matter. Regardless, your problem is taken care of. Have a good evening, Nizsm.”

“I shall.”

Nizsm hung up the phone and looked over at his sleeping first wife. This was cause for celebration. He grazed her skin with his fingertips and lowered himself over her, after removing his pants and casting them aside. Her eyes fluttered open as they made visual contact. Without hesitation, he crudely spread her legs apart and entered her, thrusting deeply, celebrating the death of a child with vehement, carnal pleasure, all throughout the night...

****

“This will do.” Saint looked over the shirt.

“I don’t know if I can reach it.
”

“Reach what, baby?” S
aint asked as he exited the closet, his naked body glistening from freshly applied spearmint scented oil.

He heard a creaking noise and a slight grunt
, then a whimper.

“
Xenia, what are you doing?” he asked gruffly as he made a mad dash into their master suite bathroom. “Xenia!” She strained as she teetered on the toilet seat, trying to reach the blown light bulb above it.

H
e grabbed her around the waist and pulled her off the toilet seat. Although she pushed at his arms, she was no match for the hold he had on her.

“
I was trying to change the bulb. It’s blown. I don’t need any help. Put me down, will you?!”

“Why were you up there? I’ve told you several times to please not do things like that.” He placed her down on her feet.
“Just ask me to take care of it.”

“S
aint, I’ve about had enough of you being over protective lately. This is getting out of hand. You are acting like some he-man orangutan! Planet of the Apes mess.” She aggressively brushed past him and entered the bedroom.

S
aint charged after her and playfully tackled her to the bed.

“S
aint!” she screamed, giggling as he made loud monkey noises and pinned her down. “Stop it!” She writhed underneath him, her gown bunching up around her waist as she kicked her legs and flailed her arms.

“Ooh Ooh Ahh Ahh!”
He playfully bared his teeth and shook his head as if he were an enraged primate.

“Oh Jesus, you’re a nut!”
She laughed so hard, she began to cough.

S
aint slowly released her and sat up on his knees. He looked down at her as if she were a meal prepared especially for him.

“Oh no
.” Her tinkling laugher was music to his ears. “Not the look!” She ran her hand over her stomach and sat up. He slid off the bed and went to the bathroom. When he returned, he had a clear bowl of water, a towel, soap and essential oils. He made eye contact with his wife, enjoying the bewilderment that crept across her face.

After he set the items down beside him, he
sat cross legged before her and placed her feet flat on his lap. He blew her a kiss, then took one foot and brought it up to his mouth. He kissed the top of her feet softly, sweetly, as he stared into her eyes, making her sigh. He picked up the other, and lavished it with the same affection. Saint then dipped his hands into the warm water and rubbed the liquid warmth all over her feet, taking his time as he massaged each one, slowly moving his thumbs and fingers along her heels, ankles, the balls and finally, her toes.

Rubbing
the soap between his hands until both were covered in soft, white, frothy suds, he cleaned her feet just as carefully as he had while massaging them—pushing his fingers between her toes and working over every inch of flesh from her ankle downward. Xenia flexed her toes, obviously enjoying his manual movements as slow sighs kept escaping her lips.

After he was satisfied, he
adjusted one of her feet above the bowl, cupped some water and let it run over her skin back into the basin. He rinsed repeatedly, until all the suds were gone. Flaunting a crooked grin, he then opened up a bottle of caramel apple scented oil—one of Xenia’s favorite scents. He poured a dime-sized droplet into his palm, rubbed his hands together, then massaged her feet once again, coating them in a thin layer of the silky, delicious scent. When he’d finished, he kissed her feet all over, sucking her toes lightly and enjoying her soft, sensual whimpers. After a few moments, he released her feet, and placed them back on his lap.