Saint And Sinners (79 page)

“Well Saint, that is what we do. You and I alike. Ultimately, at the end, it was her
decision, just like it was for Mr. Fernando Martinez.”

“Yeah, Bomb took those drugs from you on his own, but once again, you knew his weakness.
Here is my problem with you, Koki.” Saint sighed, puffed his cigar and blew out purple
rings of smoke. He paused, placed the cigar again between his lips and blew. The azure
flame was extinguished. Gone. History. “You’ve continued to do what you are designed
to do, and you do it very well by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“However, just because we are created a certain way doesn’t mean we have to be that
way. You had so much potential…and though you practically destroyed my life since
we were children, I do not hate you. I was told I may not, because of how you carry
yourself, and now I can see what people were talking about. Regardless, I will enjoy
killing you, Koki. I will enjoy it immensely.”

“…Better than a climax, Saint?” Koki grinned as they continued to walk in unison.

“Yes, better than the best nut I could ever bust.” Saint smiled wide.

“Again, we are on the same page.”

“That’s good to know. Koki, tell me, how was your family life?”

“It was divine.”

“Was it? Hmmm, that’s the first lie you’ve told me. When someone lies, it shows they
have something to hide, correct?”

“Not always. Maybe that person feels it is none of the asker’s business. Especially
since his home life was a fuckin’ wreck and he has no room to inquire about mine.
Furthermore, your background in psychology and sex therapy has afforded you the admirable
ability to take a little bit of information and fill in the blanks. I am certain you
already know the answer to your question, Saint.”

“I do. But I ask because I want you to think about it, Koki. I want you to think about
the hell you were born from, and what you essentially became.”

“I admire that you are half Korean, Saint. We both have Asian blood. Of course, I’m
full blooded Japanese, and you are only half Korean, but I accept you all the same,”
the man joked, causing Saint to grin.

“Well thank you, Koki. I appreciate you letting me into your elite group.” Saint smirked.
“My mother was an Angel Child as well, and she taught me some things before she died.”

“I saw her die…”

Saint’s gut balled up and his fucking heart stopped. True or false, the words were
meant to cause harm. Could Koki have been responsible for that, too? Could he have
caused the driver of the car to be intoxicated? Could he have influenced him to drive
away, and leave his mother for dead? It was all possible, but it also could be nothing
further than mind-fucking—which Demon Children were known to do.

“If you
did
see her die, Koki, that means nothing to me. For you see, she is gone, and someone
witnessing it doesn’t make it worse, better or anywhere in between.”

“She was in pain…”

“I’m sure she was, Koki.”

“She bled internally for over ten minutes while her brain swelled in her skull. She
didn’t die right away, she died slowly…”

Saint’s head felt like it was going to explode. Krishna had warned him about this,
about how he’d lose his hold on the situation. He fought an urge to strike Koki, fought
it hard. Koki bathed in the weaknesses of others and stepped out of the muck, crystal
clear and clean as a whistle.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Koki. What matters to me right now though is that she lives
on. The Creator gave her the gift that keeps on giving…something you will
never
get the opportunity to experience. Eternal life.”

…And zinger! For the first time throughout their entire conversation, he saw the man’s
face twist in angst. Saint had finally found his sore spot. Koki hated that he would
never have the opportunity for eternal life. He’s seen too much, helped too little,
and done way more than ever required.

“Saint, I provide a service and I do it with dignity, with honor. That is important
to me.”

“I’m certain that it is.” An assortment of birds flew towards Saint, against the wind,
away from Koki.

“You see, these pedophiles need to be punished. It’s my job to expose the lying preachers,
the women cheating on their hard-working husbands, the drug addicts bringing the property
value down. I did not create the sins and deviant behavior. I cannot be faulted for
the weaknesses of others. Someone such as yourself should understand the need to make
the deviant pay.”

“Yet the problem with you, Koki, is that you whisper in the child molester’s ear,
telling him or her it’s okay to see a mere child in a sexual manner. Then when he
proceeds, you influence the judicial system, swinging to whatever side would give
you the most satisfaction. You are the cause and the ending of the trouble; for this,
you do not receive special favor. You are the mouse
and
the mousetrap. There will be no brownie points given for such a thing.”

“Saint, how would you like to proceed?”

“Hmmm, that’s a good question.” Saint slid his hand into his pocket and thought about
it, as if the question had never entered his mind before. “Well, I think we should
get this over with sooner rather than later.”

“We agree on that, man…yeah.” The man cracked a crooked grin. “You want to set a date?”

“Nah, that won’t be necessary. I’ll just come for you.”

“And I’ll be waiting and ready.”

“You’ll be waiting, but you could never be ready.”

They both stopped walking and faced one another, Koki never losing his grin. Giving
each other a pound, they turned and went their separate ways as if it all had been
planned, orchestrated, discussed in great detail prior to their park meeting.

As Saint drew closer to his car, sucking his teeth and feeling emotionally beat up,
he paused by a trashcan and retched up his lunch. Clinging to it, he threw up, his
stomach twisting and knotting with each lunge. He reached into his jacket pocket and
removed a Kleenex, patted at his mouth. People moseyed by and he smiled sheepishly,
offering quiet apologies for the scene they witnessed.

Being in such close proximity with evil always made him sick. It took everything in
him to keep quiet and focus on his path to reach the inevitable goal. Through all
of that, Saint felt sorry for the cretin. Koki was smart, soulless down to his core
and envied by thousands. Regardless, he lived a very cold existence, devoid of emotions
and sympathy. Some would call him a sociopath, a puppeteer, preying on the fragilities
of the needy and impaired.

Koki was extremely dangerous, a bigger force to be reckoned with than Saint ever imagined.
Mentally agile, he could bounce back from his own adversities.

Saint reached his silver Lamborghini, unlocked it and slid inside, then let his head
fall on the steering wheel. He turned on the radio and heard his wife’s voice, which
instantly calmed his nerves. The woman was in mid-interview with someone, and as usual,
she sounded cool under pressure.

“Hi baby…I know you can’t hear me, but your voice is music to my damn ears.” He pulled
away from the curb and entered the thick traffic to make his way back to the office.
As he approached a red light, he grabbed his phone and dialed Lawrence’s office.

“Hey Saint, how are you doing? We were wondering where you were. The meeting starts
soon and you’re not on the premises. There is a—”

“Yeah, Lawrence, hold that thought. Get Jagger on three way, please.”

“Of course.”

Soon, Jagger joined the conversation. “’Sup, Lawrence and Saint, what’s going on?”
he huffed, seemingly just getting settled in his seat.

“What’s going on? Let me tell you what’s going on, man. I just met with Koki, had
an interesting conversation.”

“…Holy shit. Are you okay? You seem rather calm considering,” Jagger stated.

“I’m fine.” Saint quickly looked over his left shoulder and switched lanes. A cab
driver honked at him, angry because he’d been cut off. “Oh, get tha fuck outta here!”
Saint yelled at the guy. “Look guys, this man is no joke, okay. After our meeting
about the Bronzer case with the Rainbeau Knights, we need to huddle and come up with
some strategies. Now I see firsthand why he appears untouchable.”

“What did you discover, Saint?” Lawrence questioned, his tone full of concern as he
searched for a read of the situation.

“I discovered he isn’t afraid to die. That’s not a motivation at all for him to stop
and back off. He’s not alive to even care what death really feels like… He’s soulless.”

“And what else?”

“He has hated me since the day I was born. I could feel it as soon as we shook hands.
Gentlemen, this is now personal…”

*

X
enia patted her
hands dry in the cozy studio bathroom. The soft earth tones served to lull the most
amped person on any given day into sedation, but had no affect on her bubbly disposition.
She was in rare form, happy as could be. She shimmied a bit, adjusted her shirt, causing
her vibrant, gold bangles to click and clank together like a hand against a tambourine.
She couldn’t wipe the bright vermillion lipstick smile off her face. The day had been
just
that good. She’d had a wonderful interview with Miley Cyrus, causing their ratings
to soar through the damn roof. Reliving the moment in her mind, she delicately wrapped
a Kleenex tightly around her index finger and dabbed at her mouth, taking care of
the slight smudging as she gave herself a once over.

Today had been so good, it felt hypnagogic. From the time she awoke to discover Saint
had asked Florence, the nanny who’d arrived a few minutes early, to make her blueberry
waffles, she thought she’d died and gone to ‘Blessed Day’ heaven. The added pecan
syrup on top of the already amazing day was the fact that the sexy son of a bitch,
the man she’d given her heart to, had lingered about to join her for mealtime, sealing
their morning with a seductive, minty kiss. He’d made love to her twice in the wee
hours of the daybreak—slow, easy then hard and pounding. Her thighs still quaked from
the memory of his thrusting, proficient cock moving steadily between her legs…

She’d even had a worthy hair day, she thought as she admired the large, thick, halo
braid wrapped securely around her head. She patted it, enjoying the spongy softness
as it bounced against her fingertips.

Alright, time to head home.

Out the bathroom, she maneuvered up the hall, her black leather purse swinging with
each exultant step she took. Upon entering the elevator, she waved goodbye to some
of the staff that passed her way. A Latino man in a mustard yellow sweater and dark
tan slacks joined her on her ride. His outward appearance didn’t match his stance.
Chunky and a bit overwhelming in build, like a slightly overweight linebacker, he
had mild mannerisms and a gentle smile. He looked respectable enough, and with the
day she’d had, she couldn’t help but to smile back. He nodded sweetly in her direction,
then looked back down at his brown loafers, his thick hands clasped together. As they
approached the first floor to enter the parking garage, she exited first, only to
have the man clumsily trip and fall smack dab against her ass, so hard he almost knocked
her completely over.

“Ahhh!” she cried, winded, as she caught her fall against a nearby receptionist counter,
hitting her hip at an awkward angle. A second later, she observed her purse sail several
feet away.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, ma’am!” he blabbered, his big, reddened face turning an even brighter
hue with embarrassment as he got to his clumsy feet. Humiliated, he scattered away
like a rodent, grabbed her purse and handed it to her, bowing and apologizing, partially
in Spanish.

Despite her annoyance, she couldn’t help feel a pang of sympathy. “It’s okay,” she
said, looking him over as she placed her purse back over her shoulder. “Are you alright?”
She glanced at the sooty smudges on the poor man’s left knee where he’d landed on
the darn floor. He’d no doubt be left with a nasty bruise.