Saint And Sinners (12 page)

His brother ignored his rude greeting. “Tonight, what is the plan?”

“Ataru, we will do what we always do…”

“But this is precarious. If they feel we are suspicious, they will shoot.”

Koki laughed lightly, albeit dismissively. He ran wet fingers over his face, growing
rather weary of Ataru. If the man hadn’t been his brother, he would have tossed him
aside years ago; he was certain the fucker was giving him an ulcer. He could not believe
they shared the same bloodline. Ataru was full of fear and reservations—an awkward
coward, passing himself off as an intellectual with cunning, discriminatory skills.
Zoo was more his brother than Ataru could ever be. Zoo knew how to handle himself,
how to respect their calling and do what they were destined to do, without a question
asked. The man understood sacrifice, loyalty… Ataru only understood worry and then,
he’d act too quickly, without thinking things through, and bungle the whole mess.

“You can stay home if you don’t want to play, but then of course, you won’t reap the
rewards. I’m aiming for my continued protection from the Creator. Without it, I am
prey to others and I will not receive my promotion. We all have a quota, Ataru. You
know your number, and I know mine. Now, you do what you wish, but I will be in attendance.”
Koki shut the call short, a befitting abrupt disconnection, and placed the cell phone
on a small clear curio in his bathroom. Stepping into the shower, he ran his fingers
through his hair, saturating the strands, massaging his scalp and relaxing before
his big night on the town.

I just make it easier for people to do what they do…and it feels fuckin’ fantastic…

*

O
saze stood on
the corner of Riverdale Avenue in the Bronx. The older man kept arms tightly crossed,
his shiny, thick glasses tilted down the long bridge of his nose, and his graying
temples a bit wiry and unkempt. Saint glared at the man as he and Xenia pulled up
with the real estate agent, a well-dressed but plain Polish woman named Anne. This
was not his choice. He wanted to see the new listing over in Pelham. Pelham was much
closer to the city, but Xenia insisted they take a gander. He didn’t want to appear
rigid and unyielding, so he didn’t make much of a fuss. Also, he could see why the
woman was so damn excited. The property was a sight to behold—an eight bedroom, Normandy
Estate over one and a half acres of land. The fucker even had two swimming pools,
a large library, and double balconies overlooking a garden chock full of pale pink
tulips.

Shit. I’ll be damned…

“This is nice,” he murmured as he got out of the car, pissed that he had to do the
honorable thing and admit the truth. He glanced at the listing in his hand, reading
word for word and previewing the photos once again. “…wood beam ceilings, too. For
eight million dollars, I’d expect as much.” He scratched his ear as he kept his eye
keenly on the structure. “A, pops! Where are ya goin’?” Saint called out. The older
man had already made his way to the front of the house as soon as the car had pulled
up the curb.

“Saint!” Xenia chastised before her father-in-law had a chance to respond. “Why are
you so loud? We are in a quiet community, can’t you tell?” She softened. “You can
even hear the birds.” She spun around in a half circle, a big smile on her face as
she reached towards the sky, looking every bit like a happy woman in some tampon commercial.

“Look, don’t start creamin’ and gettin’ all wet over this house, Xenia. I agreed to
look
, not make an offer.”

“Hold up!” She pointed her finger in his face. “You said originally that if I agreed
to let us move to New York, I could have any house I wanted. Therefore—”

“But—”

“But
nothing
. Now come on.” She yanked him by the wrist, ushering him forward.

Goddamn it!

He huffed, suppressing an urge to stomp his foot in resignation as he made his way
up the cobblestone driveway. She released him and carried on about her way, forcing
him to trail behind the agent and his high-paced wife. He observed Xenia’s ass swinging
to and fro in her form-fitting black slacks and her sling-back heels could barely
stay level on the uneven pavement.

“Look!” Saint pointed from behind, laughing and carrying on. “You can’t even walk
up the damn driveway, baby! This isn’t the place for us.” He grinned wide and raised
his arms as if surrendering. “Let’s not waste Anne’s time.” He was desperate to derail
what was happening, to pull his pants down and shit on the entire operation. He knew
what he’d said, what he’d agreed to, but he had to follow his gut. He didn’t want
to end up like Raphael. The man got himself a nice nest egg and moved out of the city
and ended up hating every damn day of it. He got the hell out of dodge as soon as
the opportunity presented itself.

I should be grateful that I’m even back in the state. She could have said ‘No’, but
shit, we can’t live here. What if she likes it? What if she falls in love with this
damn house? Doesn’t matter…just have to try to keep her happy for now. She could pull
the plug on the whole damn thing if I get too upset.

And with that, especially after an angry glare from Xenia, he kept quiet.

Osaze reached out and shook the realtor’s hand, then gave a hug to Xenia, a tight
one, causing Saint’s brow to upswing. The man then added insult to injury—he smiled
brightly and kissed Xenia’s cheek…the perfect cherry on top.

“Nice to see you again, Xenia,” his father said proudly as he took a look at Saint
standing directly behind her.

“Come here, boy!” Osaze navigated past his daughter-in-law and took Saint into his
long arms. Saint smiled faintly and hugged his father back, a bit startled at his
outpouring of affection. He glanced down at the old man’s wedding band, still a bit
pissed that the son of a bitch had taken his bride to the Justice of the Peace, instead
of allowing a full-fledged wedding to take place. Osaze had refused, stating the marriage
was far more important than the nuptials. That was true, but Saint knew the real reason
for this was that his father was a damn cheapskate. The man didn’t want to purchase
a Twinkie, let alone an entire wedding cake. He probably even grumbled about the filing
fees.

“And here we are!” Anne unlocked the door, leading them inside.

Shit. This place is incredible. Fuck! There is no way Xenia isn’t going to try to
talk me into buying.

It would be an uphill battle to get Xenia to turn her affections away from the house.
She looked like she was going to cum on herself, and they’d only been inside for a
minute or two. The bodacious brick and magnificent mortar were seducing her right
before his eyes. The house’s pimp game was tight.

“How’s Kyung Mi?” Saint asked, trying to distract the process, though he really did
want the answer.

Osaze lit up with delight. “She is doing well! That reminds me, she made lunch.” He
turned towards Xenia.” Would it be okay if after you and Saint look at the properties
today, you swing by and humor her with a much wanted visit?”

“Of course!” Xenia responded. “I need to congratulate her in person, anyway. She is
such a sweet woman, Osaze.”

Nobody asked me shit. Maybe I have something I need to do, Dad. I guess zero fucks
are given…

The man nodded proudly. “Yes, she is…we are very happy.” The old guy couldn’t get
the silly grin off of his face.

Dad is in love. Man, I still can’t believe it. That’s what’s up. Amazing.

“…I will let you all take a look at this first floor on your own, but if you have
any additional questions, let me know. When you’re finished, we can take a look at
the backyard. It has an amazing garden.”

“Yeah.” Saint casually looked back down at the now crinkled listing balled up in his
hand. “I saw the pictures. Can I grow marijuana in it?” Saint asked, looking quite
seriously at the real estate agent who now had turned tomato red right before his
eyes. He stifled a snicker, but his mischievousness etched on his face quickly erased
once he felt a slap across his back. Xenia’s brows dunked lower than a greasy donut
in hot coffee and her lips tightened into a scowl fit for a sea hag.

“You are getting a little carried away with this hitting business, Xenia!” he chastised,
as if he were on his way to calling a domestic hotline and reporting the little woman
to the authorities.

“Stop…playin’!” she said between gritted teeth, clearly having her fill of his buffoonery
and hostile antics.

Saint rolled his eyes, shoved his hands in his pockets, and kept walking, hunching
ever so slightly.

“Just ignore him…” Osaze whispered to Xenia, giving her a friendly tap on the shoulder
as if a grungy puppy nipped at her heels on her way to deliver the damn mail.

“Don’t treat me like I’m some idiot you all have to simply deal with, like I’m some
nuisance!”

And yet, he was still ignored as the two went on their way.

His father knew that was one of his pet peeves, being spoken about as if he weren’t
in the room, third person with a face-lift. So what. He was acting childish and that’s
just the way it was. Damn it, he was allowed to act up a little, right? This wasn’t
what he had in mind and closed mouths don’t get fed. He had to demonstrate his displeasure
somehow, even if it had to be in a passive aggressive way. It was a rough internal
battle. On one hand, he was grateful his wife even allowed this; on the other, he
had to have it go down a certain way… but how could he go back on his promise? Well,
he wouldn’t. He was so certain the woman would shoot him down, he rolled out the red
carpet, making it as appealing as possible but he hadn’t thought out all the details.
Now he’d run smack dab into a sticky snafu. He had to downgrade the situation, make
the house look less wonderful. Yes…that’s what he’d do. Rubbing his hands together
like a fiendish fly about to land of a plate full of hot shit, he lulled behind them,
concocting devious deeds to deliver. They were now surveying the expansive library,
which boasted of wall-to-wall shelving, making his current book collection look like
child’s play.

Shit. This is spectacular.

But, oh no, he refused to acknowledge it. He needed this house to be elsewhere. But
it could not be, so plan B was put into action.

It’s prime time baby…

“Hey, Anne, how old is this house again?” he shouted out to the agent as he peeped
out the doorway of the library, his fingers clutched around the frame of the humongous,
arched double doors. The woman loitered in the quiet vestibule, the sunlight shining
through a window upon her, giving her an instant halo-effect as it crowned her golden
hair.

“It was built in 1932,” she said proudly.

“Oh, Saint!” Xenia called out excitedly. “You ought to see this fireplace in here.”

A fireplace—right up Xenia’s alley. The woman’s panties must be
really
soaked now. He rolled his eyes, making sure to keep his back towards her.

“It’s probably haunted in here,” he said crossly. “The children would be frightened.”

“Saint, just stop it,” Osaze chastised, putting his hands on his narrow hips, his
discounted, slightly shrunken brown sweater rising up expose his ten-year-old pleather
belt. “It’s a nice house and you know it. Why don’t you just tell us what the real
problem is?”

Xenia cocked her head to the side, shifted her weight to one leg and gave a ‘sista
girl needs an answer, too’ face.

Saint exhaled and slid against the wall.

“If I could tell you, I would have. I don’t know what it is. It just doesn’t feel
right. We are supposed to be closer to the city. There is no public transportation
close enough here. We can have the best of both worlds if we check out some other
areas.”

“What about Little Ireland? It’s even in the Bronx,” Osaze asked as he briefly removed
his glasses and gave the lenses a careful blow.