Saint's Sacrament - Sins of the Father (82 page)

“Fighting is more mental than physical.”

Bomb looked far away into the distance as he gripped that pamphlet. The one with his name etched across, with the title ‘trainer’ before it. He was blown away. He’d never seen his name printed out,
except on a rap sheet held by a judge and used against him. He’d never even seen his own birth certificate. He blew out more smoke then glanced over at Little Pharaoh. The haze absorbed the man as they sat in that desolate part of town. Two broken down old cars were parked out front, but no one walked about and there were no signs of life. It was a short street, and it had no name. The sign was gone, and all that surrounded them were remnants of death. A torn piece of clothing here, an old shoestring there, shattered glass and soiled debris. Saint took him to hell and made him stand by the gate. He licked his dry lips, reached behind himself and undid his ponytail, allowing the strands to drape his back and cloak the sides of his face.

“There are two beasts inside every man.” Saint took a draw from his cigarette and gave a slight smile. “I want you to fight for yourself now, Bomb. I want you to fight that tiger within, the tiger that makes you try to do the wrong thing because it thinks you’re not worthy to do what’s right and reap the rewards.”

“What is the other beast?”

“It’s a tiger, too. That tiger is what is good in you. The power, the strength. It’s your natural born talents. You’re a survivor, Bomb. You have the gift of gab and you are one of the sharpest cats I know. Look how awesome your memory is, man? You’ve always been like that. You are a man that can be told something once or twice, some complex shit, and you’ve got it. I remember that, Bomb. I remember all of it, but my memory still isn’t as sharp as yours. That’s called genius, man and now, you’ve soaked your brain in drugs, and you still remember everything. Can you imagine how badass you’d be if you hadn’t fucked with that shit?!”

Bomb had never considered who and what he could be without mind-altering substances. While in rehab, time after time, he only considered what he needed to do to get out and make the counselors believe he’d changed his ways. It was all smoke and mirrors.

“You have a way of making people feel safe, even when there are a bunch of knives and guns around. You stay cool. The worse shit looks, the calmer you are. That takes a certain persona. I’ve seen you knock out dudes two times bigger than you, knock them out cold.”

Bomb smiled and looked down at his shoes covered in dried piss. His hands hung leisurely between his knees, the smoke swirls from his lit cigarette floating on by like all the wasted dreams and time that danced around in his honor.

“Tell me about that, a bit more
.” Saint took a deep drag of the cigarette and blew out more smoke. “Tell me about the safety, where you learned that ability from.”

Bomb had a haunting suspicion that Saint already knew. Something deep within him told him,
this boy already knows my story. I don’t know how he knows it, since I never told any fucking body, but he knows it, nonetheless…

He turned away from Saint and took a deep breath. “Tryna protect my mother, my family.” He sucked his teeth and looked to his right, thinking he’d heard something, a distraction to allow him to run away, the same way the drugs had. But there was nothing but a dingy ass stray cat, its stomach distended
, walking with a limp. The cat reminded him of himself—a survivor. He lowered his head and scratched his scalp.

“My mother, Saint, wasn’t like a lot of these bitches out here now. Poppin’ out kids and don’t care, or just for a check. She was okay. I wouldn’t say she was a good or bad mom
. She had her shit. I think she kinda regretted getting married and having a family, but that was the thing to do, you know. But, she made sure we went to school and were fed and everything. She never treated us bad or anything like that. My father was a junkie,”—he shrugged—“so he was better off not home.” He cleared his throat after a brief pause. “I don’t know what the fuck happened, but she lost her mind, man. People were talking shit about her, you know, sayin’ our mama was crazy ’nd shit. I didn’t like that shit and my sisters and brothers were being harassed in school with people saying shit about her, so I had to go to their school and fuck some people up since some of my brothers and sisters promised these dudes I would.”

They both laughed
then—a moment of intimacy shared between friends who’d been through thick and thin. No, not friends—family.

“You are an only child, Saint, so you didn’t have that shit but believe me, if someone fucked over your brother or sister, you’d have to go defend them, and that’s what I did, you know. So after a
while, I got a reputation for fighting.”

He
stopped for a bit, needing to take a moment before he dug a bit deeper.

“We needed to split. This white lady started coming around from the children’
s services asking where my mother was. I’d lie and say she was sick or was out, when really, I had no idea where the fuck she was because it got to the point where I had to stop going out looking for her and draggin’ her home. I couldn’t keep leaving my little sister, the baby, Natalia, at home while I did this shit. She was only like two or three at the time. So, we didn’t have any money or anything, and I needed some bread and to get them outta there before that white lady came back with the police. They’d be able to come in and I knew that was the next step, you know. They’d come in, and see we only had, like, a mattress, a television and a bunch of kids in there with no lights and no food. I don’t know why they took an interest in me. A lot of kids was around there with no lights and food, but,”—he shrugged—“their mother was home I suppose. No one gave a damn unless it inconvenienced them in some way, ya dig? They couldn’t have a bunch of Puerto Rican kids roaming the streets with no mother, you know, ’cause then, they’d get in trouble and there’d be no one to pawn ’em off to after they got arrested for shopliftin’ or whatever it was they got into.”

Saint nodded, shot Bomb a glance and turned away. Bomb stared back out at the dilapidated cars.

“So, at that time, I got involved with the Savage Skulls and they took all of us in. We slept at different places, but in all of them, we got fed, we got cleaned up. I learned some ways to make money, you know, to survive. I made sure my brothers and sisters went to school, even though I dropped out. There was a lady, the mother of my main man, Jules, and she would pretend to be my mother and sign all the paperwork, go up to the school and what not, to get everyone squared away. She was good like that. Jules was lucky to have her—to have a solid mother like that in his corner.”

Saint threw the cigarette butt down and rubb
ed it out with his shoe on the step.

“Eventually, my brothers and sisters made their own way and my oldest sister, Mariana, took the younger ones with her. She didn’t like me selling and using drugs, so when she got big enough, she got away from all of that. I was really into what I was doing though, man. I liked it. I felt important and then
…” He glanced at Saint, a big smile on his face as he looked at that golden child he still couldn’t believe was no longer a little boy. “I saw you wondering around, following me. You asked me if you could hang with me. I told you ‘No.’ You kept asking, day after day, following me until finally, I just gave in. I think you knew I liked your little rotten ass hanging around to some degree.”

Saint laughed lightly.

“Because I knew you were watching, there was some shit I didn’t do. And then, you started to grow, and you wanted to be a part of what I was a part of even more so. I had never had anyone think I was so great, the way you did. Your respect was real, and it messed my head up. I respected my boys, I respected myself, and I had mad love for you, Little Pharaoh.”

He looked into Saint’s golden eyes and a chill went down his spine as he recalled how the damned things
had glowed and looked blood red just days earlier.

“There some strange things in this world, Saint.” His slowly closed his eyes and hugged his knees. A few moments passe
d when the Earth seemed strangely silent. “Are you one of those strange things?”

The air was thick, and heavy, swirling past them, mixing their scents together, forming something new
, both foul and lovely.

“Yeah, Bomb. I’m one of those strange things.”

Saint kept looking straight ahead, his voice monotone. That was all he said.  Bomb wasn’t certain if he needed anything else. He didn’t know if he had shared a smoke with the Devil or God, but either way, this experience was on some other level. Out the corner of his eye, he looked at Saint, really looked at him. The man just kept staring straight ahead.

Black hair…sideburns…strong features…thick eyebrows like mine…skin complexion pretty close to mine…big hands…long legs…big feet…
His ears used to stick out a little. They don’t anymore. He looks normal. He looks like no demon or God, but demons and Gods live within all of us. I’ve known Little Pharaoh practically all of his life. How can this be? Has he always been this way and I missed it? Maybe that was the magic in the boy, this shit he got… But he’s always been smart, had a way about him. Maybe it wasn’t Little Pharaoh that needed protecting. Maybe it was me.

He looked down at the pamphlet once more, turning it over and over.

“I spoke to the owners there,” Saint said as he continued to stare straight ahead. “That’s how I got you in. Bomb, you’ve been living under water. Everyone knows who you are. I didn’t have to say much once I told them you’d like to train the new cat they had. The guy just looked at me and asked if I was serious. I told him yeah. He said you were good, everybody wondered why you never did anything about it but that everybody also knew you were a base head.”

Bomb didn’t like being referred to as a base head; there was something about it. He was getting ready to protest, but there was no need. That
was in fact what he was. He had no issue calling other people what they were, regardless if it was slang or derogatory. He had to be willing to accept the same treatment.

“I told him,
‘what if I promised he was clean and sober?’ He said ‘hell yeah’, and he’d set you up, give you a spot to dwell in.” Saint stretched his leg. “But you’re addicted to the streets, so am I. I’m home sick, but there’s good shit in the streets, too. Like music, food you can’t get anywhere else. Culture. Vibe. And you.” He glared at Bomb. “I want you to do what you were made to do. It’s never too late. It’s never too late as long as you’re still breathing, man.”

“So
.” Saint reached for the slouchy bag beside him, and started to remove items. “I got some shit in here for you.” Saint glided his hand across his forehead, then dipped his arm into the sack as if he were Santa Claus. “I got you some clothes. Clean, fresh shit.”

Bomb grabbed one of the shirts out of his hands, a white T-shirt that felt like it was made of something expensive.

“This is nice, man, thank you.” Bomb checked the size and smiled.

“Yeah, you’re welcome. You got some jeans in here, two pair
s, and they actually fit properly.”

Bomb smirked.

“You have a metro MTA card for the train and buses. I loaded it up; it should last you at least two weeks. That should cover you until you get your first check.” Saint reached into his pocket and handed Bomb the card. “There is underwear, undershirts, a toothbrush and paste, mouthwash, deodorant, comb and brush, pony tail holders, all that shit. There is also a pair of new Reeboks in there; you wear like a ten, right?” Saint looked down at the man’s shoes.

“Yes.”

“Okay, cool. I threw some food in there, too. You know, canned fruit, soups, crackers, things of that nature so you can have your pantry stocked. You can go over to your new crib tomorrow. They’ll have it ready for you. Tonight, I have you set up at a hotel. Catch the train over to the Hotel Le Jolie. I paid for one night and you get room service for one meal, too and they serve a complimentary breakfast starting at 6:00 a.m. Stay away from the alcohol.” He looked at Bomb sternly.

“There’s some shit in the room for you, too. Some sports magazines
’nd shit I had them set you up with, help you pass the time. Enjoy yourself. It’s all under my name.”

“You shittin’ me, man.”

“Now why would I shit you when you already shit yourself? Speaking of which, I’m tired of smelling it. Go over there right now and wash your ass.”

They both laughed.
No one had ever done anything like this for Bomb in his entire life. He was touched, his heart heavy with gratitude.

Saint stood slowly.

“What if I slip up and get high again?” Bomb asked him, while his back was still toward him. Just then, a car pulled up, the same one Saint had kidnapped him in.

Saint didn’t look at him and started to walk away.

“You won’t. But, if you do, then that means you just lost your first fight with the bad tiger within. You let the bad beast ruin you, just like it ruined your life. Took your children away, took your love for self away, took your freedom away. Took your mama away and your papa, too.” Saint kept walking and talking, his voice growing quieter and quieter, but Bomb could still hear the man, loud and clear, the words vibrating through his system. He felt some kind of way. It seemed like every cell in his body jumped and the earth was dancing to Saint’s words. A masculine scent of cologne passed that smelled just like his little brother, but he was no longer sitting there. A man with piercing blue eyes looked out the window of the green car, his arm hanging over the edge. Those damn eyes glowed, brighter and brighter… He wondered if he, too, was a demon or God, like Saint.