Saint's Sacrament - Sins of the Father (103 page)

God Bless,

Payton Bishop

P.S. I got baptized last week.

~***~

“Yeah, man, the party is next week,” Saint said gruffly over the phone. He yawned and ran his hand along the back of his head.

“We are packing getting ready to move, but I’m going to try to come.”

Saint could hear the familiar noise of the city while Raphael moved about. He now had a franchise, five jewelry shops that he owned, one of which was in the heart of Queens. He was damn proud of the man.

“Raphael, if you don’t bring Latrice and the kids down here for this, your ass is mine!”

“You’re not in any position to demand shit after how you’ve disappeared off the radar. We hardly spend enough time together anymore. The damn Rainbeaus can kiss my ass!” Raphael laughed heartily.

Saint smirked
. “I know, I know. But I miss you, man, and I need you here. It’s been a fuckin’ nightmare, and it’s time to party. Xenia and my schedule finally jived, and we are able to throw this shindig. It’s going to be out of this world. I’m talking catering, professional fireworks, performers, the whole nine, man!”

“Oh
, shit! You’re doin’ it big, huh?”

“You’re damn straight. You can stay in the guesthouse, don’t even have to pay for a hotel. Oh…and guess who is getting married?”

“Who?”

“My dad, man.” Saint laughed.

“You’ve got to be shitting me! I’ve got to call him and tell him congrats. When is the wedding?”

“Not until next year, but I’m so happy for him. He called me and told me
. You would have thought he was eight years old. He sounded just that excited.”

“Has he bought an engagement ring for her? I could hook him up.”

“Maaaan, you know my dad is too cheap to buy anything that you might have! You have a diamond ring for ten dollars?” Saint burst out laughing. “He probably found a piece of twine tied into a knot and said, ‘Here.’”

Both men hollered loud into their respective phones, their laughter blending as if they were face to face. After a
while, they said their goodbyes and Saint glanced at the clock. It was almost seven at night. He still needed to look over some details regarding the next Rainbeau conference. He stretched his legs and before he knew it, he dozed off. A few moments later, he woke abruptly, looking around wild-eyed. His computer had made a loud ‘bing’ noise, startling him out of a series of odd dreams, alerting him of a new email.

Isis’ vision…

He grinned as he opened it up and saw the sender’s name: Fernando “Bomb” Martinez.

“Holy shit…” Saint covered his mouth, as if to tell himself to be quiet
while he read the email:

Little Pharaoh!

This is the one and only, your big brother, Bomb. I believe you may have called to check in on me last week, but I was out. Anyway, things are going quite well. I did have one relapse. It is important that I’m honest with you. I had it two weeks after the last time I saw you. I don’t know why I did it, but I got sick right afterward and I was really disappointed in myself. But, I immediately turned around and got myself straight, man. I saw how you looked at me before you walked away. You were depending on me to not fuck up. You are one of the few people in the world I don’t want to let down but I know that I have to stay clean for myself, too. I hated you when you did that shit to me, locked me up in there. But after how good I feel, I know it was the only way. I had a tough, hard habit, and the only way for me to stop was for the treatment to be the same. I don’t type too much, so this has taken me like thirty minutes and I only got a few sentences down.

Saint smiled.

Anyway, the guy I’m training, his name is Juarez Quiroga. The man is a beast! You were right, he’s got raw talent but he is undisciplined. I think I can make him into a star. I fixed up my apartment here real nice. I haven’t had a decent crib like this in forever. It’s kinda small, but it’s clean and roach and rat free. Thank you for helping me get on my feet with all the clothes and food and everything. It helped a lot, especially since I didn’t get paid right away. I had to prove myself and I did. If you ever get the urge, you know where to find me. I’d love for you to see my guy fight. He has a bunch of them coming up. I attached the schedule to this email as well as a short video of me training him. One of the guys here had to show me how to do all of this. I don’t know anything about sending out any emails. I suppose I would have learned it fast if this was the only way cocaine could be bought. LOL

Saint shook his head.

I love you, man. You saved my life. You say that I saved yours, maybe I did, I don’t know, but it is really strange to be clean and sober this long. I see things in a whole different way. I thought it would be scary, and it is, but it ain’t so bad. It’s a good thing to be able to think clearly for a change. I still can’t bring myself to stay in counseling. One step at a time, I suppose. He wants to do like you did, the one guy I went to. He wants me to talk about my mother. I’m not ready for that. I’d rather just leave it in the past, you know. That’s over with. Anyway, I’m leaving my cell number for you here, I just got it today. Please call me on it, no need to call the main office. Let me know how you are doing.

You will always be my little brother.

I love you, Little Pharaoh.

Sincerely,

Bomb

Saint rubbed the moisture away from his eyes and sucked his bottom lip to stop the slight tremble. He pu
lled up the video clip and sat back in his seat. Bomb looked amazing. He was still a thin son of a bitch, but he’d bulked up and had clearly defined muscles. His eyes were clear, not reddened and dull. His hair was silky and clean. His facial hair was trimmed up and Saint detected a new small tattoo on his right forearm. He zoomed in on it and paused the video. It was his name.
‘Little Pharaoh’
written in thick, black italics for the world to see…

Saint
’s eyes brimmed over, but he managed to watch the whole six minute clip. The way Bomb commanded attention and demonstrated the punches, his ponytail bouncing around as he hit the bag so hard—it was like spitfire. He blocked all of Juarez’s punches and the old fart was still cooking with gas. This was what this man was supposed to be doing, directing all that fire and pain into something constructive. Bomb felt he’d only taken baby steps, but these were gigantic leaps of faith for the one person Bomb never trusted. Himself…

~***~

Xenia propped her feet up and crossed her ankles. She’d thrown one of the pillows toward the bottom of the bed and felt her body relaxing, finally, after a long day. The big party would happen tomorrow, and she’d spent most of the day going over the last details with the caterer, about twenty million times in her opinion. Saint was just as tired, if not more so. Raphael and his father had gotten into town, and he decided he’d take them all around, being Mr. Show-Off. Now it had caught up with him and he was sleeping so hard, he was actually snoring.

She held the remote and flipped from channel to channel, hoping to find something entertaining yet lighthearted. Nothing was on, so she resolved on the evening news. She picked up her glass of water and took a tiny sip, glanced at the baby monitor
to check on Isis who was fast asleep, then shifted her attention back to the tube.

The newscasters chatted and delivered gruesome details of homicides and armed robberies and then, she heard something that made her ears perk up.

“A missing person’s report has been filed for the disappearance of a well known music producer and videographer here in the San Diego area, Sinclair Grayson. His brother, Nieson Grayson, reported his brother missing after several unreturned calls and the police entering Mr. Grayson’s premises. No foul play appeared to be discovered at the scene, however, Mr. Grayson’s car is also missing. If anyone knows the whereabouts of Sinclair Grayson, please call the Riverside Police…”

Xenia sat there, clutching the remote, her jaw tight. She looked over at her sleeping husband, then back at the television. They’d gone on to another story, as if they’d only reported a missing hen from a chicken coop. Her mouth
felt dry and her brain rattled with questions. She narrowed her sights on the back of Saint’s head.

I know you had something to do with this…

She’d warned Traci to not step in areas she really didn’t want the answers to, and now here she was, tiptoeing in the garden of madness, sure to stir up some real funky shit. Saint hadn’t said one damn word. He’d played it cool. Xenia knew he was going to get that man, especially after the car accident; she simply didn’t want Saint going to prison on account of a chump like Sinclair. She was so grateful that Lawrence had talked him down on several occasions, such as stopping him at the hospital from—as Saint said—‘Popping a slug in that mothafucka’s head.’ However, it appeared that Saint’s need for revenge had won. She reached out slowly and touched his shoulder. He squirmed a bit, then turned and faced her.

“Yeah, baby?”
he asked in a husky voice, his eyes still closed as he rested his head on his hands.

“A story was on the news…”

“Mmmm hmmm...”

“It was about Sinclair
being missing.”

“Mmmm hmmmm….”

“You know anything about that?”

“Yup.” He yawned and
nonchalantly turned away.

Xenia knew it was wrong. She knew now without a shadow of a doubt that she was just as sick as her husband for relishing in the truth of the matter. An uncontrollable smirk cracked clean across her face like a sledgehammer against concrete. She grabbed the remote and turned off the television, the bedroom now shrouded in black. After a few moments of hearing her own heartbeat racing, she felt his arms around her, and his minty breath close to her ear. She ran her hand lightly against the soft, downy hairs of his arm as he
pulled her to him, and no matter how she tried to shake, rattle and roll it, that damn smirk just wouldn’t disappear…

But Sinclair sure had…

~***~

The entire house was packed with people
, from neighbors to the Rainbeau Knights and extended family. Over half of the people in attendance had no idea what the big celebration was about, and most didn’t care. A party was going on, and that was all that mattered. The rare occasion of the children being up late was thoroughly enjoyed. Their typical nine o’clock bedtime sailed past like a boat, and eleven o’clock knocked on the axiomatic door. The children were so amped up from the loud music, boisterous laughter and fun and games, they’d fight sleep as if it were enemy number one. Hassani and Dakarai raced around with their friends, being told to settle down to no avail. The aroma of the baked chicken, candied yams, assorted pasta salads, grilled asparagus and other delicacies set the pallet on fire. Saint gripped the scrawny neck of a pineapple wine cooler. The owner of the beverage had disappeared and he knew exactly where to find the little honey.

Xenia sat right next to Donna, plugging away, grilling her with questions. Donna was five days overdue and would be induced if the baby didn’t come soon. Xenia pleaded and begged for information, and to be notified at the first contraction, causing Donna to laugh and ignore her swollen ankles for a moment or two. Saint approached the women and handed his wife her beverage while she sat on the arm of the couch, peering down into Donna’s eyes and talking over the noise.

“Thank you, baby.” Xenia took a sip from the bottle and continued on her inquisition. Saint studied the room, zooming in on Jagger and Traci who sat in a far corner, sucking each other’s faces clean off. They’d had their honeymoon in the Bahamas and Jagger returned three shades darker and with a permanent smile on his face. He looked good and he was living the dream.

Ahhh, newlyweds…

Saint smirked.

Lawrence
stood amongst a group of Rainbeaus discussing Jimmy Carter’s handling of the Panama Canal being reinstated back to Panama. Saint smiled and shook his head. Only Lawrence could make such a rather mundane historical event entertaining and lively. He moved through the thick crowd, spotting Mama Pam with a bright red number on. It dazzled and she’d paired the ensemble with a glittery crimson hat. She made sure she was the life of the party and her loud, witch-like cackle was more amusing than anything she could possibly be saying. Well…maybe not.

Osaze stood with a stoic expression, his arm wrapped snugly around
Kyung Mi’s waist. He looked dapper in his dark green shirt and black slacks. His father had impressed him by actually purchasing a new outfit. It was from Walmart, but that was beside the point. He still looked great and the engagement ring on Kyung Mi’s finger wasn’t too shabby, either.

Saint stepped outside only to discover Raphael shooting hoops with a bunch of Rainbeaus, along with Roman, the police officer who’d come by to share the good news. Saint marched up to him and extended his hand.

“I’m so glad you could come, Roman.”

“I wouldn’t miss it
,” the man said cheerfully.

“Make sure before you leave, you introduce me to your wife and daughter, okay?” Saint grinned at him, watching the man’s eyes sparkle. He looked a bit different out in his regular clothing, but the same kindness was on his face.