When Saint Goes Marching In (3 page)

Saint parked up front, next to a black Benz, white BMW and a red and blue Harley. He got out of his car, put on his Ray-Ban tech carbon filter sunglasses and headed towards the front revolving door. As soon as he entered, the greetings began. The seemingly normal bank lobby with braided, velvet red ropes and shiny gold pedestals welcomed him. An array of tellers, dressed in crisp white shirts and tailored pinstriped black pants, looked up and smiled, nodded, cut their eyes and turned away slyly.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Aknaten,” many said in unison.

Saint nodded as he swiftly made his way closer to the elevator. A short, curvaceous African-American woman with big green eyes approached him, handing him a latte.

“It’s just how you like it,” Erin said with a huge smile.

Saint took it from her. “Erin, you know I don’t drink coffee. I swear you are trying to get me hooked on these lattes,” he grinned as he put it up to his lips, the hot sweet liquid with the whipped cream topping leaving a small dollop of creaminess on his upper lip. He licked it away and nodded at her. Erin smiled wider as she saw he enjoyed it.

“I know, but you liked the last one so much I figured, what the heck!”

She waved as he disappeared behind the closing silver elevator doors.

Saint stood erect, holding his hot beverage in one hand and his laptop bag under his arm. The slow music relaxed him as he reached the top floor. The elevator stopped on the fifteenth floor and a red light flashed, prompting him to put in his access code before entering. He leaned over and quickly punched in his seven digits, placed his hand up to the scanner for identification and heard the familiar computerized voice greeting, “Welcome, Dr. Saint Aknaten.”

The doors opened, exposing an area that looked like something from a futuristic sci-fi movie. Saint stepped out and nodded to the men who sat on a long, sleek black leather couch with their laptops and cell phones open and ready for use. The rounded, tinted glass walls allowed brilliant light into the area without causing too much of a glare. Saint’s feet sunk into the high grade, light gray carpet as he approached his office. Several East Indian men talked in their native tongue as he rounded the final corner.

“Hello, Dr. Aknaten,” one of them said in a thick accent.

“Good afternoon, Ratash. Good afternoon, Tamal and Yajnesh.”

The other two men waved and smiled. “Good afternoon, Dr. Aknaten.”

Saint opened his office door and quickly made his way to his heated, black leather chair surrounded by a clear, half-moon shaped desk. Out of his window, directly behind his desk, he could see the highway. At night, it electrified him with all of the bright lights, usually red from bumper to bumper traffic during rush hour.

Saint paced the floor as he gathered his thoughts. It was his typical routine before he would speak. He looked briefly down at his desk, admiring the gold framed picture of his Queen and his two Princes. The smell of the nag champa incense still filled the room from the previous day. After a few minutes, he unzipped his bag and retrieved his laptop. He removed his sunglasses and left his office to go to the large conference room with its large black double doors. He entered to find James and his constituents engaged in small talk. “Excuse me gentlemen for my tardiness. I deeply apologize for being late. Thank you for waiting for me,” Saint said humbly as his heavy footsteps clapped against the floor.

Everyone nodded as James stood up. Saint took a seat right next to him.

“Gentlemen, we can begin now. I called this meeting because of the dire situation going on in Missouri that I brought up to you all yesterday. Mr. Richard Clayman was brutally attacked. His wife was tied up and sexually assaulted. This seemed like a remote situation until similar crimes in surrounding areas also took place. All that is known is that the perpetrator seems to work alone. He is a white male, approximately 5’9” and 180-190 pounds. He wore a mask, but his eyes and the skin surrounding them prove his race. Everyone that he has targeted has been a white man married to or dating a Black woman. The police refuse to acknowledge the racial connection, saying it is random.”

There were sighs from the men as they shook their heads in disbelief.

Saint immediately zoomed in on the photo James brought up on the large screen. It was a picture of Mr. Clayman.

Saint drummed his fingers on his thigh, itching to blurt out what he felt deep within. “He knows this man,” he observed. “The person doing this is befriending these people in some way first. He isn’t just running in. These are premeditated. He has killed several people.” Saint kept staring at Mr. Clayman’s picture. “We are dealing with a serial killer who targets white men with Black women. His victim is lucky to even still be alive, as well as his Queen.” Saint clenched his teeth as quick, blurry flashes of the bloody assaults ran through his mind.

“We also need to offer more asylum to young Rainbeau men who are being harassed. I have been reading stories daily from men as young as fourteen being tormented by their family, friends and strangers for dating a Black girl. Some have even been kicked out of their homes, hospitalized and have nowhere to go because they won’t relinquish the relationship,” James digressed. He rubbed his forehead and winced. Saint figured that a painful migraine and exhaustion consumed his friend. “There’s just so much to discuss, and this is so upsetting, I really don’t even know where to begin.” James closed his eyes, his face a tense mask.

Saint stood up and slowly approached James, ushering him to his seat. “James, I’ll take over. I reviewed what you sent me.”

James nodded as he slumped down in his chair. Saint made his way back up to the front of the room and stood there, surveying the crowd of neatly dressed men.

“Guys, here is what is in James’ plan.” Saint caught the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger and bit on his bottom lip as he looked down at a piece of paper on the podium. “He wants to build a center for Rainbeau men and their Queens that need protection and a place to stay. The center would not be here. We have less of a problem here with these sort of crimes so he wants to place one in the Midwest and one in the south. We’d pay their airfare if they aren’t local and have them start a new life. They’d get a ninety day stay which would include a room with a bed, desk and dresser, three meals a day and counseling. There would be a library for each facility that would have computers, reference books, fax machines and your typical items needed for correspondence and business matters.”

“How does our program fit into this? Such as conferences?” Davis asked, a retired firefighter that now worked with building codes.

“There are strict criteria. The Rainbeau would also have to participate in a conference since they still aren’t co-ed.”

Davis and James shook their head in understanding.

Saint smiled and looked out into the audience of men. “I think this is a fantastic idea. I could have really used a place like this when I was younger. It’s not that my father so much disapproved of my lifestyle regarding my dating preference, but he often kicked me out of the house after my mother passed away and one of the core reasons was because of my behavior, partially due to this drive in me. I wasn’t accepted everywhere and I didn’t get much support at home. My father didn’t hinder, but he also didn’t help. He couldn’t understand it even though he himself had dated mostly interracial his entire adult life. It wasn’t Black women though, so that territory was foreign to him. So, while I was trying to go out with some Black girl I had a crush on, I would break his rules for curfew. I didn’t feel comfortable bringing them back to my house because he…” Saint sighed and looked down briefly. “It doesn’t matter. He just never really made a welcoming environment. We’d subsequently argue and it just became a situation where I was more out of the house than in it. Luckily, my best friend’s mother allowed me to live with them several times, but I could have been homeless, out on the streets. There is no telling what would have happened to me out there. I grew up in a rough area and I know that I probably would’ve resorted to doing something illegal, just to eat. So, this is personal to me.” Saint looked at the men in the room, a small smile across his face as he touched his chest. Several of the men smiled back at him, their pain was similar based on circumstances and upbringings that overlapped, all due to whom they were attracted to.

 “There are so many of us that were disowned by our parents because of who we were attracted to, who we loved. We lost friends, we were threatened, physically attacked and some of us even lost our lives. Loving vs. Virginia helped pave the way for us and all interracial couples. We just want to be left in peace. So, it’s really important that we get this up and running as soon as possible because every day, dozens of young people are kicked out of their house or ostracized because of this. They are getting their asses kicked and can’t go through an entire week without an incident happening, some sort of harassment. We shouldn’t have to apologize to anyone about our attraction or feel compelled to explain it. This, this is who we are. It makes us happy. We need it. It’s in us or we wouldn’t even be here, fighting. This is one of those cases where being in love hurts.”

Saint reflected over some past early teenage puppy love relationships. He could feel the sting once again, from angry mothers and fathers slamming their door in his face when he’d show up to take their Black daughter out. He recalled the painful memory of being with the girl he lost his virginity to. Her mother had walked into the girl’s bedroom and screamed at the top of her lungs. Not because of the sex act itself, but because she was ‘letting a Spic fuck her.’ He recalled how the girl, two years Saint’s senior at the age of sixteen, pulled up the sheets around her and said, “Mama, he isn’t a Spic, he’s half Asian and half Egyptian.” Her mother proceeded to curse him out and demand he leave.

Saint cared about that girl. He had been saving up money to buy her gifts, some of which he stole if he couldn’t afford a necklace or shirt he thought she would like. He chased her with all of his might, waiting for her after school, dreaming of her – infatuated with her curves, her toasty brown skin and shoulder-length, wavy hair. It seemed all the boys in school wanted her but her interest was in him. They would take the train together after a while. He thought he was falling in love. He did not understand the difference between infatuation and love quite yet. They had attempted to make love in the park one night but Saint was too nervous about being caught and was concerned about not having a condom. That night, he finger-fucked her – his first experience at that. He sucked her breasts and kissed her long and deep. She told him he was a natural, but he felt shy and was so nervous, he thought he would mess up and turn her off in some way.

After that time, he asked Raphael about condom usage, got a crash course, and was set for the next time he saw her. She was Saint’s first, and he would never forget her. He never forgot either about how being caught having sex with her daughter didn’t seem to bother her mother at all – it was his race that she focused on.

Saint cleared his throat and reverted to the matter at hand. “Back to the topic of Mr. Clayman though. I’m glad, James, that you’ve brought all this to our attention. Let’s try to help him and the other victims. We can do as we typically do, the way you trained us, to give our apologies for what he and his wife endured. After that, we can start our own investigation. This person needs to be caught. I’m sure he’ll keep on. This isn’t isolated. People that do things like this don’t strike once and then disappear into the background.”

“What about police involvement?” one of the Knights asked. “We need to try to get them re-involved.”

“Well, because of James’ position in government, he can’t personally go and say anything to the authorities – for the same reason he has to stay low-key at conferences and all of our other engagements and honestly, Stewart, I don’t think the police care from the information James gave us.”

James nodded in agreement as he took a sip of his water.

“I will help you all,” Saint continued. “I want to be more involved in this aspect versus just focusing on the conferences and my personal ventures. Speaking of conferences, it was also brought to my attention that some of you thought it may be wise to offer an all Queen one, once a year. James actually brought this up but I understand most of you seem to agree. I think this is an exceptional idea but I’m not sure I’m the right person to do this.”

“Why not?” James said. “You’re the perfect person to do it. You’ve been married now almost six years. You’ve been doing this for over a decade. You’re the perfect person to do this.”

Several of the other knights nodded in agreement.