Saint's Sacrament - Sins of the Father (76 page)

Bomb hung up as Saint was getting ready to ask him another question.

Fuck it.

He rose from the bed and stormed into the living room
. His children had made the place look like a train filled with Christmas toys had crashed through it and all that remained was colorful debris.

“Saint! Ugh!” Xenia had Hassani by the arm and Dakarai by the waist while Isis sat in the middle of the floor studying a deflated bright green balloon
with great intensity. “I swear they are trying to kill me before we board this plane tomorrow morning. I’m trying to get the place cleaned up, but—”

“Xenia,” he
said quietly. He looked down at the ground then mustered enough courage to make eye contact with the woman. “Baby…”

“What is it?” His stomach curled
when he saw the expression on her face. She knew something was up, something she wasn’t going to like.

Shit.

“I need to stay a bit longer.”

Dragging
the boys with her, she stepped over to him, worry on her face. “What’s wrong? Are you sick again?” She let Hassani go to run her fingers across his face.

“No, I’m great
—good.” He sucked his bottom lip and ran his hand nervously over his hair until he reached his nape, and kept it there; he needed someone to have his back, even if it were only his own fingers.

“Then what is it?”

He pushed his lips out and twisted them to the side.

“Remember Bomb?”

She paled at the mention of that name. “Yeah…” she said with hesitation.

“Well, he needs some help
.”

She just stood there,
her lips not moving but her body saying a whole lot of something as her hands fisted and unfisted and those big, pretty brown eyes got real small, like tiny chocolate sprinkles—only she didn’t look very sweet.

“
Here is what I need to happen. I need you and the kids to go on home tomorrow. Jagger will escort you and then—”

“
You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said, a clear, cool threat in her tone. She didn’t raise her voice, didn’t jump up and down, but she issued the challenge. She wanted his hide and she wanted it right at that moment, not a second later. If the children weren’t there, things would have panned out much differently.

“
Xenia, now look, I have to do this. I’d be dead or in prison if it wasn’t for this man. I have an opportunity to do some good here.”

“
What about Raphael and Latrice and the kids? We’re supposed to get together with them tonight but more importantly, why do you think you have to go savin’ everyone that ever did you a favor, Saint? Shit, you even help these bastards out here who don’t care about you at all! When am I going to have my husband back, for just a little while, huh? You give me a consolation prize, like at the library. You promised me we’d spend more time together after that, but it was all a lie!”

Oh shit…

“I help nurse you back to health as I’m supposed to, as your wife, but then you go and run off to play Superman again. I’ve been
very
understanding, you know I have, but this really takes the damn cake!”

The little vein on the side of her neck protruded as she strained to get all the harsh words she had piled up inside laid out at his damn feet
. And once she was done, she no doubt planned to stomp his toes with her thick, black platform shoe and throw hot water in his face as her explanation point on the end of a very long, emotional sentence.

“
We’ve been through
too
much in too short of a time, and I’m not saying it is all your fault, but it doesn’t matter whose fault it is when the repercussions are the same.”

She turned away from him
, buying herself a second to calm down. He hoped she’d take three or four. The boys were quiet, their expressions kind of glum. Isis was the only one smiling, like she knew a secret no one else had heard yet. He drew closer and latched hold to Xenia’s arm.  She resisted, so he pulled harder, making her turn and face him.

“I know, baby. You’re right, you’re right about everything you said.” And he meant that. “I
’m still on with Raphael, we’re still going out and I promise you, after I settle this matter, you will have more of my time because we need it, and I want it.” He ran his finger along the side of his nose as his nerves jumped and did a spastic jig. He was pushing his damn luck with the woman.

Xenia sighed
and released Dakarai. Putting her hand on her hip, she looked him up and down. “So what is going on?”

“He just got out of prison and rehab. That’s why I don’t want you all with me when I deal with him, Xenia. I don’t want the kids seeing that sort of thing.” He shot a look at Dakarai. The boy was straining to understand what they were saying as he pretended to be preoccupied with his toy train set.
Dakarai was not a seasoned actor, though he believed he had Shakespearean qualities nevertheless.

“Don’t even try it
,” Saint warned, as the little one began to try to infiltrate his thoughts since overhearing wasn’t working. Piece by piece, the little thought thief went to work. All that was missing was a dark skullcap over his tiny head and gloves to prevent any small fingerprints at the scene of the psychic crime. Dakarai abruptly turned away, duly chastised. Saint turned back to Xenia, refusing to let her go until she understood where he was coming from.

“You can’t afford to do another healing right now, Saint.”

“Oh, I know. That would probably kill me. No, it’s not like that and besides, it’s against the laws but I can get more into that later.” They both glanced back at their children then returned their attention to one another. He took a gander at her bulging breasts and shook his wayward thoughts to the side. “So, I’m going to handle him. I don’t know how long it will take, but I promise you, I won’t be gone terribly long. I will get this done and over with as soon as possible. Were it not for the nature of the situation, I’d understand you staying but also, you really need to get back to the show, Xenia. This has gone on long enough.”

She sighed and looked down at the floor. The woman was sad, tired and angry and he was the
damn cause of it. He felt guilty and pitiful for disappointing her and he wished he had something to make the pain in her heart go away. He wished he could tell her, ‘Okay, baby, I’ll tell him never mind.’ But it would be a lie, and if he did go through with that notion, he’d always regret it.

“Alright
.” She sighed and shook loose from his grip. “Are you taking the rental car you and Jagger just got, or is that free to use?”

“I really need to take it. For what I have planned, I need my own ride. Now, speaking of that, I’m going to have Jagger go down to the rental car place and scoop up another one, just for today so you all don’t have to depend on the subway or cabs
while I’m away. I’ll have him do it right now, okay?”

He grabbed her arm once again, brought her close
to kiss her. She turned away from him before he was able to complete the act of affection. It stung.

“Come on, baby, don’t be this way.” He nudged close
r to her, speaking softly into her hair, causing her small dangling earring to gently sway.  She wrapped her arms around his waist, then backed away from him, as though she thought better of it. Saint shrugged his shoulders and walked into the bedroom, spotting his missing shoe almost immediately. The damned thing had been behind the curtain and the back end of it peeked out just a tad. He figured one of the kids must’ve done it the day before. He finished getting dressed, grabbed his wallet, the hotel door key and rental car keys to a money green Toyota Highlander. As he prepared to leave, she had her back to him while he stood by the open door, gripping the doorknob, wanting her to turn around and smile, wink…something. Instead, she kept looking straight ahead. She wasn’t going to stand in his way, but she sure as hell didn’t have to like it, and that was her way of making him understand that simple fact. His shoulders slumped as he walked out and closed the door softly behind him.

Bomb, you son of a bitch!
Now my woman is mad at me again! Thanks a whole fuckin’ lot! I’m going to get you straight, though. We’re going to get to the bottom of this…

~***~

Timberland’s, ‘Indian Flute’ was playing in full blast when Saint pulled up to King’s, a disreputable hole in the wall, a bar on Putnum Avenue in Lafayette Gardens. Bomb stood there in jeans two times too big for his skinny ass, a grin on his pale, banana-colored face and his black wavy hair down to the middle of his back. A slither of gray streaked the side as it was pulled back in a loose ponytail. His arms were covered with dark tattoos, most of which appeared to be prison tags, but some of the artwork was pretty good nevertheless. He waited for a crowd of loud teenagers to pass before getting in the car, and opened the door with one hand while his cigarette dangled from the other.

“Little Phhhaaaaarrrrroooooaaaaahhhhh!”
He rolled the nickname off his tongue, making that Spanish ‘r’ roll with extra emphasis. His husky voice hugged the words, dragging them down into the gutter then spewed them out onto the pavement, sticky with urban funk. “Thanks for gettin’ me, man.” They slapped hands before Saint pulled away from the curb.

“Yeah, you know it.” The night was coming down
fast like dirty-ass panties on a five-dollar hooker. It seemed to catch hold of the sun and say, ‘Shit, Saint is with Bomb, let’s turn the lights off on this motherfucker.’ And the night would soon release her children into the streets, like packs of wild wolves. They only crept out after the sun told everyone to kiss her hot ass. The night’s children were dope fiends, tricks, prostitutes, junkies, pimps, pushers, gamblers, rapists, thieves, party-animals, little kids pretending to be grown and killers who just didn’t give a fuck.

“I need yo
u to uh, take me down to Harlem. But, I wanna make a quick stop first if you got tha time, man.” Bomb scratched at himself; the crack-head itch was doing a number on him. His nostrils flared as he spoke and he dug in his pocket real hard, like he was trying to find a golden piece of lint to sell to some fool who only had half a brain.

“Harlem?” Saint shot him a look. “Who you fuck wit’ in Harlem? I thought you said too many cats wanted you dead and I know Harlem is waiting for your ass.” He chuckled, though Saint really wasn’t amused at all. It was just something to do, to keep the conversation light before things turned to a whole different page.

“That’s my best connection, man. Here.” Bomb pushed a crumpled ten-dollar bill in Saint’s hands. “I’m staying with this broad in the hotel around the way. Rochester is dead, man. But they made me stay there for the night. I could never afford it on my own. I got a new spot now… I got me a woman takin’ care of shit. She ain’t got any more money though, but this is a little for your tank. I know it ain’t much, but, you know I don’t like handouts,” he said pitifully. “If I didn’t need it, I woulda never called you about this shit. My high is coming down, I’m fucked up.”

“We agree on that shit.”

Bomb shot him a look, like he wanted to fight again. Saint could see him clearly out the corner of his eye, but the man didn’t pop off; he needed to get that money first and feed it to that hairy ass monkey hanging off his back.

“So how is your family and that pretty little lady you married? I remember those photos, man. I bet you lovin’ that
new little girl, huh? I bet she pretty as a picture.” He grinned, exposing the missing tooth.

“The family is good, man.
Isis, that’s my daughter’s name, she is a wonderful child. I love her hard.” Saint turned the corner and leaned back in the car, his leg extended to the brake like he was a 1970’s pimp. He ran his hand across his chin and came to a light. They were in Brooklyn. Damn. He loved Brooklyn. It had its own flavor, just like all the boroughs, but they were in a bad part of town, and he expected the fabric of the place to unravel and roll out the soiled, blood-drenched red carpet just for his arrival.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s good man.” Bomb
was getting anxious. They approached a red light and immediately, like magnets, women in scantily clad clothing, matted weaves and bodies that once belonged to gorgeous ladies moved about, trying to make eye contact with Saint and Bomb. The money lust in their eyes was rich. They believed they had fresh meat, a new john to shake like a coconut tree, make his balls fall and milk his dick and his wallet with one long slurp of a silver tongue.

“Hey, Daddy!” A Hispanic woman, skinny and small,
waved to them. Her tits sagged and swayed as she approached the car in her hot pink leather halter top and matching short skirt. A tattoo of a leopard covered her entire left arm.

Oh hell.
Fuck this shit.

Saint glanced lazily at her.

“What you two playas doin’ tonight, huh? You are a fiiiiiiine mothafucka!” She slicked her tongue over her glossy lips as she studied Saint up close and personal. “Damn!” she added with a feminine giggle and sigh. “I’d almost fuck you for free, Papi!”

“Get the fuck away from my main man’s car
,” Bomb spat. “This is my little brother.” He flicked his thumb in Saint’s direction. “He don’t want none of that rotten ass, funky shit you got.”