Saint And Sinners (30 page)

“Oh shit!” Raphael screamed out. “What’s happening?!”

He gripped Saint’s arm as his legs gave way underneath him. Jagger grinned from ear
to ear like a sneaky cat that had happened upon an injured bird while Lawrence moved
his arms outward, like an airplane, a smirk engraved on his face while he expertly
kept his balance.

“Raphael, hold on!” Saint laughed raucously. “We’re falling through! We’re moving!!!
We’re really moving!” And with that, as if being pulled by a strong, seductive current,
they all tumbled back, falling down, down, down…lower and lower, passing crud covered
green and brown piping rusted with stagnant water. They continued to fall, Raphael’s
screams almost muted by the dripping sludge that cried down the basement walls while
a smoggy greenish light illuminated their forms, making them appear radioactive.

“Whaaaat tha fuuuuck!” Raphael kept screaming as he wrapped his body tighter around
Saint’s, causing him and the others to break out into laughter during that hard, fast
ride—the ride of their Angel Child lives. Saint somehow felt no fear upon such an
odd and jarring occurrence. It felt to him as if the Creator himself had reached inside
of him, and was bringing him into the fold of glory. The touch was warm, inviting,
addicting, delightful, whimsical, and all that anyone would ever need and want. Like
falling in love over and over again, and there was no end to the good sensations in
sight. And then, the heart-pounding music swallowed them whole while they fell into
a deep trench of shimmering emerald clouds…

“Oh yes…this is some goooood shit.” Saint felt it immediately, reminded of the days
when he would get high off weed or alcohol, as a teenager. He felt light and airy,
and the music was carrying his ass away into a place that stroked the side of his
face while napping on his mama’s lap. She had been a small woman, but her thighs were
always warm and he’d cried himself to sleep upon her many a night. The music stole
his peace as it grew even louder, yet even in that, he found additional comfort. Sleep
Party People, ‘I’m Not Human at All’ played so loud, his body felt every damn beat
and percussion making his insides melt with delight as he loosened his grip on Raphael,
and fell further into his own concocted, perfect world chock full of marijuana smoke;
hot, tight pussy from the Goddess that owned his heart; Rainbeaus cheering his name
as they fell the fuck in love; Empresses following their hearts; Black Queens wearing
rings and genuine smiles; and the love of the children he’d created with his Bride….

“Ahhhh, shit….yes…” Saint’s eyes slowly hooded as purple smoke drifted out from the
corners of his partially opened mouth. The scent of thick, copious fragrant incense
hit him, and his heart slowed; the damn beat mellowed in his own body as it began
to match the timing of the rhythm of the song.

…And then they landed softly, on their damn feet.

The music continued to play. Long crystals hung from thin strings all around them,
like the curtains that used to be in his home as a child. They reminded Saint of the
ones his mother would walk through while bringing delectable food to the table and
he’d sit there, waiting for her, wearing his favorite shirt that was too damn small.
Yes, he’d sit there, listening to the crystals clash together over and over, sparkling,
as that gorgeous Korean woman with the raven hair and porcelain skin winked at him,
her only son, and asked if he’d washed his hands for dinner…

“Where tha…” Raphael rubbed his head as if he’d had a bad trip. “…fuck are we?”

They all looked around and the music grew quieter and quieter until it was only a
faint whisper. Then, an unknown voice called out, breaking the soft, cushy trance.
Gruff, thick and masculine—slightly foreign and almost threatening…

“It’s about goddamn time!” the man spat as he threw a pool table cue ball across the
room with brisk force, knocking over a pyramid of empty beer cans. “Welcome home,
you son of a bitch!”

*

“E
veryone is a
target, me and you included. I’ve got nothing against the man. It’s only a matter
of time before he meets the others, if he hasn’t already. No one has seen him.” Koki
grinned, an all-knowing grin as he sank his teeth into his lower lip. “But I know
his scent, I
know
him. Honestly, I wish we could coexist, but that’s just not how it works.” He shrugged.
“You see, now I’m considered too powerful, taking over. It happens. People
choose
me,” Koki explained as he looked down at the thick, black towel wrapped around his
waist. The cool shower proved to be refreshing, and gave him new insight into the
bullshit on the horizon. He had several strategies in place, ones so simplistically
beautiful, he had to bow down to his damn self. His brother sat across from him in
his home, holding tightly to a cigarette as he thumped his foot against the floor
to a nonexistent beat.

“So what’s next?” Ataru questioned. “What do we do with Saint?”

“I’ve got some ideas.” Koki smirked, leaned against his vanity and picked up his nail
clipper, casually going over his nails as light gray ether slithered out the side
of his mouth. “I know who I’m dealing with. Actually, this should be fun. Just you
wait ’nd see. Remember, we must do all things with proper planning and dignity.”

Ataru grinned and leaned back in his seat, this time, not offering any protests, just
complete trust for a change.

“Okay, I’m eager to see. There’s a lot riding on this, Koki…a hell of a lot.”

“I know, but the key, Ataru, is simply to do what we do best. Truly, nothing else
is required.” He sealed his words with a sly smile and a wink…

*

The room was
somewhat rectangular in shape, obscure with strange twists and turns that led into
nothingness. Black shiny and matte heliotrope tinted walls were spray painted with
vibrant graffiti, here and there, the artistry extreme, dripping from the unknown
hand of a talented touch. Five pool tables were lined up, all of them showing proof
of active games in session. They looked brand new, practically sparkled, but there
was no question that this was a common pastime for the people dwelling under the black
and white marble floor. A crease of light could be seen in the far distance, letting
Saint know there in fact was an exit and entrance on that level after all. He stored
that data in his mind, and went on with his observations.

A large, bubbling red lava lamp sat to his right. He almost ran into it, crashing
it to spiky fragments, as he tried to gain his bearings through the distraction caused
by his irregular heartbeat now thumping out of control and the sights before him.
The room was
filled
with them—at least one hundred glowing eyes, belonging to a minimum of fifty Angel
children, perfuming the stagnant air so pungently with their spastic energy, he thought
he may pass out. Lightheaded, he leaned cautiously against a black lighted wall. The
odor of stale beer, recently snuffed cigars, premium weed and burning cigarettes now
intermingled, creating a concoction he was accustomed to and in some ways, one that
never left his consciousness.

“Man, you aiight?” the deep, rumbling voice rang out again. This time, Saint steered
his attention towards a large man with blood red eyes holding tight to a pool table
stick.

Is he going to throw that, too?

The man donned a thick, gray bomber coat, the hood covered in ivory fur. Jowls hung
from his chubby face and a small pair of lips disappeared into the beige flesh, leaving
behind only two thin lines through which to communicate. Saint could tell he was the
type of mothafucka that always looked mad, even if he were happy as a damn lark. He
stood there in his dark baggy jeans and worn, brown Timberlands, his New York black
and white Yankees ball cap placed on his head just right. He snarled in Saint’s direction,
waiting for a response.

“Yeah…I’m cool.” Saint ran his hand down the front of his coat and sucked in the cool
air, trying to fill his lungs with some oxygen so he could catch his damn breath.

“We didn’t know
when
your ass was comin’, but we knew you were on your way. At least that’s what we wanted
to believe,” the man said, his eyes searching Saint, as if he should’ve known better.
“The fucked up part, my man, is that there were so many close calls. You been teasin’
the hell outta us.” The big guy laughed, but sadness loomed in his tone. “Like a surprise
birthday party that never got off the ground, you kept fucking with our minds.” He
pointed upward from where they’d all had come. “We could smell you a million miles
away.” The man never moved his dreamy gaze from the ceiling. Perhaps he was remembering
something real special, something near and dear to his big, beating heart. “Everybody
would be like, ‘shhhh…’ He turned his attention back to Saint and placed a finger
over his lips, as if to say, ‘hush.’ “We’d be like, here he comes! But you never came
inside…you just would be out there, walkin’ around. It was frustrating as fuck. We
weren’t allowed to interfere, but uh, my boy Free ova here,”—He shot a glance at a
small, skinny dark-skinned man with a droopy eye, who loitered in a deep, dark corner.
His eyes blazed a fabulous shade of orange, the kind that didn’t seem to really exist
in nature, or anywhere for that matter.—“…he tried to usher you in. He moved the fucking
clouds, giving you an invitation of sorts. He gotta pay for that, you know.” The big
guy looked him up and down, as if Saint should be ashamed of himself for putting the
sleepy-eyed man in such a precarious position. “We were getting impatient though…”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying.” Saint shoved his hands in his pocket and
brought out a cigar. Before he could light it, a small flame shot from a palm as Lawrence
stood by his side. He glared at the man for a moment or two.

“Thanks…”

Lawrence nodded, but kept his protective post. Saint took a puff of the thing and
leaned casually over a nearby chair. Everyone remained quiet. This grated Saint’s
nerves to no end.

“Well?! I asked a question. You had so much to say a second ago. You want to tell
me the fuck is going on?” He couldn’t help but feel angry, all wound up inside. He
felt at a disadvantage and for the life of him, couldn’t understand what the hell
was happening. Whatever it was, it explained at least part of the reason why New York
pulled his collar and made his ass come back home.

The big guy clicked his tongue against his teeth, appearing rather disgusted. “You
really don’t know?” He shook his head and mumbled, “I can’t believe this shit. Goddamn!”
He turned away and threw his hands up in frustration, as if he’d had all that he could
take, all he could endure for one night.

“You were chosen, man!” He turned back towards him in anger. “We do
whatever
the fuck you tell us to do. If you tell us to play in traffic, that’s what the fuck
we do!” the man yelled.

“What’s your name so I can figure out who the fuck I’m dealing with right now?” Saint
puffed on his cigar, drawing weary as this whole thing played out.