Saint And Sinners (29 page)

He suddenly had reservations about showing them the shit… It was a spur of the moment
type thing, and he feared they’d look at the run down structure in the Bronx, shrug
and say, ‘Big fucking deal.’ He’d already secured their business building; renovations
were under way, and they knew from his previous declarations,
this
wasn’t it. He couldn’t move the Rainbeau Knights to Hunts Point. It wasn’t up to
par for such a venture, not close enough to the heart of the city and their potential
relocation spots but for Saint to mosey around, talk leisure strolls? Oh yes—it was
perfect. Regardless, he didn’t elaborate with the crew. Seeing was believing… But
there wasn’t much to see, or was there? Besides, he’d seen the building more times
than he could count before moving back home, and it never moved or stirred him in
this fashion. Something was different; something had changed.

Here was just another place in H.P. that people forgot about unless they needed to
turn a trick, take a piss or shoot up. Besides the Hunts Point Cooperative Market,
nothing of monetary value existed in the whole damn area. That didn’t matter to Saint
though; this was home, and that damn building was a long, lost relative that wouldn’t
shake him loose. Now, the damn thing called to him, like a mother to a lost child.
Her weary voice echoed in his mind, haunting him like a ghost within. The ghoulish
creep caught like a fish hook in his soul, making him choke like a chicken bone in
the throat, preventing him from swallowing or taking another bite of anything else
off the plate of life. Yes—this was
death
. The place was dead, yet so very alive…

He felt captive to the damn thing, and like a rabid crack addiction, he longed for
yet another heated hit. Exhaling loudly, he made his way towards the place. It was
either now or never. No need in stalling or arguing any longer and besides, Xenia
would be up soon and calling him to find out why he was out, yet once again, scouring
the land. The fellas had made their opinions clear, and Jagger, though strangely quiet,
was not in a different league. Saint caught evil glares coming from the man’s ice
blue eyes through the rear view mirror. He simply appeared too sleepy to cause a scene
just yet but as the minutes grew older and bolder, he was certain Mr. Military would
get in on the action too, and call him everything but an Angel Child of God.

“Alright…we’ll be there in a minute.”

“Good…and you owe
everyone
in this car breakfast after this. Shit.” Raphael seemed to hack on a sticky globule
of phlegm as he cleared his throat, gearing up to go
in
. “I’m talking steak,
well-done
like Tyga, mothafucka! And some potatoes…not the cheap pre-frozen kind either. I
want the ones that are fresh and loaded with scallions ’nd shit, shredded cheese and
bacon…
all
that good shit! I want sunny side up eggs, too!” Raphael stabbed his thigh with his
finger as he made each requirement loud and clear. “And some damn hash browns, crispy
on the outside and soft on the inside, sizzling hot. And I want fluffy pancakes big
as your damn head with blueberry syrup, the
real
blueberries, not that shit that comes in a damn can and has been sitting on some
warehouse shelf since the days Jesus was walking the Earth! I want the works!” Raphael
blurted, not a smile on his shiny brown face as he rattled off his list of culinary
demands. The man ran his hand over his smooth baldhead and slumped to the side a bit
more, this time closing his eyes.

Saint sighed and turned the radio a little louder. Some smooth early 80’s music was
playing—‘Nights Over Egypt’ by The Jones Girls.

Yeah, that’s good…that should help calm everyone down…

“Breakfast, mothafucka!” Raphael yelled suddenly, as if shaken awake from a dream.
He refused to be ignored.

Saint looked at him lazily from the corner of his eye. “After what you just did to
my fucking floor you’ll be lucky if all you get from me is an invoice,” he muttered.
“You know how I am about my cars! You did that shit on purpose. I’m not buying you
shit
. You can starve for all I care.”

“Let it go.” Raphael crossed his arms. “I know you, man. You are trying to distract
us, buy time. Just drive to the damn place, stop stalling. You got us out here now,
in fuckin’ Hunts Point during crime season…” He paused and yawned noisily. “So let’s
just go…got us out here to see some damn building… This is some bullshit!” he mumbled.
“When we pull up, there better diamonds in this damn place. There better be slot machines
filled with gold coins like we just flew to damn Las Vegas!” Raphael chuckled.

Saint disregarded him and continued his trek, relieved no one said another word, and
let him simmer, concentrate on the matter at hand. His soul stirred as he drew closer.
Something was happening inside of him, something he couldn’t explain, and it was ripping
him to shreds from the inside out. As soon as he approached the place, he could feel
the hypnotic pull once again—as if enormous, invisible hands came from the sky and
picked the car up like a toy and pulled it along, lining it up with the curb just
so.

I feel like I’m fucking floating…

Saint sat for a moment, took a deep breath as he turned to face Lawrence and Jagger.
The leather of his seat whispered to his movements as he clutched the headrest with
one hand. Much to his surprise, both men’s eyes were so bright, they appeared to be
filled with the burning, crushed remnants of lightning bugs as they cast a brilliant
glow across the car. It was an uncanny sort of thing; yet, he was relieved to see
that they, too, were now in on the action. He was so caught up in the moment, in the
beauty of the shit, he’d forgotten about poor ol’ Raphael who now turned sideways
to stare back at the guys, too.

“What the fuck is going on back here?! You two look like some goddamn flashlights!”

Lawrence swallowed, as he quietly reached for the car handle and got out. He stood
tall, his glowing amber eyes still on the damn building. Jagger followed suit, stiff
like a zombie yet determined to get a closer look. His dark brown leather jacket hung
open, exposing a white shirt that looked dull compared to the glow in his light blue
eyes. The intensity increased…and Saint knew without a shadow of a doubt, these bastards
could hear that bitch of a building calling their damn names, making them crawl towards
her because they couldn’t resist her damn enchanted ways.

Here we are, gentlemen. Hurry now, she awaits…

*

All four men
stood at the entranceway of the large, arched doorway with missing slate gray stones
and smudged remnants of spray-painted words long forgotten. The old hotel fought with
itself on a daily basis. Every day was a struggle for the structure to stay the fuck
together in one, solid piece. It had never been a prime spot, just a pretty piece
of something in the wrong damned neighborhood. According to Raphael, over the years
he’d seen ‘For Sale’ signs on it in the past, but now, there were no indications the
piece of shit was owned, wanted or desired by anyone at all. What a beautiful bitch,
birthed and forgotten, ridiculed for looking pretty in a fucked up borough.

Jagger cocked his head to the side, approached it and threw a brutal kick at the bolted
dry rotted doors. One slightly splintered; the other stood tall, holding on for dear
life. He approached the thing again, this time no doubt determined to bring them tumbling
down, but Lawrence placed his hand on the man’s wrist, halting him.

“Hold on, let’s be a bit quieter, gentler.”

Lawrence raised his hands. A reddish-orange flame soon danced in his palms. He then
placed them over the sooty knobs, melting them into silver globs until they fell like
molten silver onto the concrete. They made their way inside, their feet shuffling
about in the dank, musty darkness. Lawrence struck a match for additional lighting,
and his glowing eyes also helped guide the way.

“Saint…do you feel that?” Jagger asked as he placed his big hand across his heart,
as if falling into some invisible vibe. The man’s voice echoed, causing everyone to
pause and listen.

“Yup. That’s why I brought you here. It feels like someone having a party somewhere,
doesn’t it? That’s the only way I can describe it.” Saint made his way further inside
and realized they were in the lobby of the hotel. He looked down at the floors and
took notice of the fine black lines across what he presumed had once been a well-decorated,
posh entranceway. The ebony veins were etched across something white and shiny.

Marble. They actually had marble in here…amazing…

Marble was a poor conductor of sound, which made the feeling he got in the place even
more of an oddity and mystery. The walls appeared to flourish, throbbing to a throaty
drumming that happened right below his feet. Raphael’s eyes darted from one man to
another, yet his lips were sealed. He was no doubt confused as to what transpired
as he toured the area, but people were mindful of their steps, loath to engage in
unnecessary chatter. Several minutes passed before he broke the silence.

“I haven’t been in here in years. This place was a dump, but you know what?” Raphael
spun slowly around, doing a three-hundred and sixty-degree turn. “I’m surprised it’s
still standing. It was built in the 1950s to help bring more business over here. It
was too late; the neighborhood was already starting to go down.”

Saint nodded in agreement as he moved closer to the hotel lobby counter. An assortment
of grotesque debris sat upon it. The collection of discarded junkie needles lying
about didn’t go unnoticed, either…

“Alright,” he said upon a sigh. He couldn’t take it anymore. Lawrence and Jagger’s
silence was killing him. “What are you two thinking?” Saint crossed his arms as he
surveyed the men who were casing the place, looking at boarded up windows and odds
and ends, no doubt left from the people who had illegally crashed there a time or
two.

“Saint, I can see why you were drawn here. There is an electrifying energy,” Lawrence
began as he put his hands in the air. “How do we get downstairs?”

Saint shrugged. “I have no idea. I see that old elevator over there. I’m sure it doesn’t
work so I wouldn’t take the chance.” He pointed to the golden-framed door, now covered
in soot and cobwebs. “There are the stairs.” He pointed to the other side of the room.
They could barely be seen with the naked eye. “We’d probably fall right through…and
they only seem to lead upward, versus down.”

“But it’s down
here
.” Jagger stomped his feet against the floor. “It’s in the walls, too.”

“This place is creepy. Let’s get the hell outta here,” Raphael protested. He zipped
his jacket up as if in a gesture of self-protection from the cold. And he probably
had felt something—the temperature had dropped but even more notably, a heavy base,
like a subwoofer, began to vibrate under their feet.

“Whoa!” Jagger called out as Saint fell to his knees. He placed his ear to the dirty
ground, uncaring that he’d be soiled from head to toe, covered in the dusty fragments
of hideous scenes from yesteryear.

“It’s music! It’s
fucking
music! We
have
to get downstairs!” Saint jerked himself up from the floor, his legs carrying him
away but not fast enough for his own liking. He had no idea where the fuck he was
running off to, but he went like a lightning streak across the damn sky to the staircase,
disturbing the dust along the way. He squeezed the rail so hard, it stung his palm.

“I need to figure this out; it’s like a puzzle, a riddle!” he screamed out, his voice
echoing as he spoke. Soon, Jagger, Lawrence and Raphael were by his side. He felt
his face grow increasingly wetter as sweat poured down it, like he’d been running
a marathon of thirty miles, not three hundred feet. “
None
of this is real!” He looked up at the ceiling, noting the peeling lead-filled paint
that promised to fall upon their faces, threatening to bring with it cobwebbed rubble
and asbestos flakes for their choking displeasure.

“Saint…I’m not sure I follow you, but whatever is going on here,
you
have to do it.” Lawrence slicked his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels,
as if waiting for a simple solution. It was so damn hard to explain. The heart and
soul of the place had been corrupted somehow. Something was going on
behind and beneath
the veneer.

I’m complicating this…

Maybe that was true; maybe this was easier than it looked. Then, a thought returned
to him. Jagger had stomped on the floor. The way Jagger clomped his foot against the
marble flooded his mind. He was knocking…knocking…knocking…

Saint fell back to the ground and pounded it with both fists.

“Let me in! Let me in, goddamn it!”

Suddenly, a dark hole appeared in the middle of the floor and spread faster than any
of them could escape. The floor seemed to turn to liquid silver and gold right before
their eyes, yet they stayed on their feet, slightly steady but rocking, as if the
ground had transformed into gel-coated metallic waves.