King Maker: The Knights of Breton Court, Volume 1 (7 page)

  "What's the matter? You afraid of a little bitch?" Baylon asked.

  "Dogs make me nervous is all," Parker said.

  "Look here, Sideshow Bob." Baylon focused on Parker's Mohawk, so ragged it looked like a small village of crows nested in it. He snapped once and then pointed to the ground next to him. The dog came and laid down where he aimed his fingers. "You just have to know how to handle bitches."

  "What's her name?"

  "What the fuck I'm going to name a bitch for?" Baylon demanded. "Now, someone mind telling me what the fuck is going on?"

  "I'm a-tell it to you straight." Junie tapped his fist into his open palm. The loudest one in the room, by Baylon's reckoning, was usually the weakest one. Junie was too quick to step to a man and jump into foolishness, which usually led to a bigger mess and a greater headache. He was out of his depth and long overdue to be demoted. "Me and Parker went down to represent, just like the man said to."

  Parker nodded. Young and inexperienced, but he had potential. He was smart, anyone could see it in his eyes. If he put that mind of his in some books, he could be an engineer or a scientist of some sort. Not into a lot of the flashy bling nonsense, not overly ambitious, he took the long view on situations. Rarely speaking unless he had something to say, he also had a streak of crazy to him. It danced in his eyes, ready to step up, when needed, as needed.

  "So you went down to the school to scope out what's what…"

  "And it was just like you thought. Night's boys be out there grinding. Green his self out there overseeing."

  "Green? No shit?" No charge ever stuck on Night because Green took them when the police thought they had a case to make. Green's was the same old story: soldiers fell on their swords and the king survived. After his bit, and because he stood tall, Night promoted him to his number two man.
Promote
wasn't the right word. If the rumors were true, Baylon didn't understand Green at all. Green could step out on his own any time, but he preferred to defer to someone else when he could. It was like he was beyond ambition and was in the game strictly for the love.

  "True, true. Now, we's about to step to them when your boy comes up the street," Junie continued.

  "Who?"

  "King."

  At the mention of the name, Baylon's face tightened. A more perceptive eye might have noticed the slight hitch to his breath as if suddenly troubled by an old, dull pain he thought he'd learned to live with. "Go on."

  "I'm not saying King stepped into it, but he got caught up in some back and forth."

  "Even though you were there to deal with Night's boys." Baylon knew Junie thought all of his fast talking would save him. He wanted to tell Junie to save the bullshit, but he opted to indulge the little performance.

  "I done said Green was there."

  "So you…?" Baylon's voice trailed.

  "Sent a message to them through King."

  "And this… message… how do you think it was received?"

  "I would have to say… mixed," Junie said.

  "A mixed message?" Baylon lowered his head and rubbed his eyes as if that would stop the migraine that threatened to crush his skull in a vise. Speaking of skulls, he wanted to crack Junie's open if only to see what passed for brains in him.

  "I'm just saying, it wasn't as clear as I would have liked."

  "Are you trying to be cute with me, motherfucker, or just trying to piss me off?" Baylon got up and paced. Junie opened his mouth, but Baylon's curt gaze shut him up. "So what I'm thinking is that since our message may have gotten muddled in the delivery, we need to send a stronger message."

  "Parker and I are already on it."

  "You two sit still. I'm gonna need to think on this for a minute, see what's what with Dred, and get back with you."

  "Maybe if I was to explain it to Dred…"

  "You don't get to speak to the man." Baylon knew his control on the men was constantly being tested. Despite their failings, they had the nerve to question whether he could still run things. The shit stopped with him and it was only a matter of time before someone took him for weak and made their move. Or Dred would. So Baylon damn sure couldn't leave his fate in the less-than-capable hands of the Junies and Parkers of the world. Experience beat youth every time, and right now, their crew was way too youthful.

  "I think what Junie's getting at is that we want a chance to handle this ourselves," Parker spoke up. "Without bothering Dred. Show him, and you, that we can handle our own end. Like men do."

  "Like men do, huh? Is that it now?" Baylon itched for a drink, nothing alcoholic or anything like that. Just something to steady him. He imagined something civilizing, like a hot cup of tea. Something a gentleman would drink. He stood, his prize bitch cocking her head in trailing attention, anticipating his command. "Everyone had their say? Now let me tell you
men
something. Business is good. We have a quality product and a quality pipeline. We will always have competitors, but we don't need to escalate things to knucklehead level without cause. The right statement, the proper show of force should be… elegant. You two aren't suited for elegant, but that's all right though. You don't send a bull into a grocery store for eggs. But I tell you what, I'm gonna let you prove me wrong. Within reason, step up and move up. If not, I'll bring in someone, or someones, who can."

  Though quite likeable and charming most days, Baylon had grown quite disgusted at Junie. At the quality of soldiers in general, these days. If he passed for their muscle, that meant their shit truly was weak and Baylon hoped Dred hadn't concluded the same thing.

 

"Where is she?" Dred asked. This world could not contain him, yet it managed to hide her. The room was thick with smoke as he needed to get his head up, to reach the next plateau for his thoughts. Stoking the dragon, like a distant furnace, he needed to sow terror, to bury teeth of hate to raise an army. For now, he was at war and his immediate enemy had revealed himself, but Dred knew she also remained a loose end.

  The room had grown hot with closed-in heat. Thick tufts of smoke issued from his mouth. His mahogany skin glistened with perspiration – the cloying scent of chronic barely covering his mild BO – from the exertion of summoning. His vacant eyes viewed a dream, bending and reshaping it to suit his needs. That was the true magic, sculpting dreams and calling them forth. Which was why he loathed interruptions, preferring the clarity of his own thoughts.

  "You got a minute?" Baylon hated dealing with him when he was like this and hated entering the room even more.

  "I know she's out there."

  "Who?"

  "My moms. I know she's out there and she has one lesson left to teach me."

  "What's that?"

  "That's between a boy and his moms," Dred croaked, his voice cracked as it grew distant. "I'm conjuring."

  "I can see that."

  Dred rolled into view. The sight of the once so vital man strapped to a wheelchair never failed to alarm Baylon. He bent over for the forearm-to-chest hug. Dred's wheelchair notwithstanding, the ring must be respected and kissed. The chamber, bereft of any furniture, seemed more cavern than room; steep shadows gave the illusion of it being deeper than it was. Bay windows faced the moon, yet the light didn't seem to much penetrate beyond being a dim glow. An ethereal swirl of the smoke coalesced above the mounds of uncut heroin mixing with their product.

  "Word has it Junie and Parker have made a royal mess of things," Dred said.

  "Not to hear them tell it, but yeah. Worse, Dollar and 'em will have to come back on them. On us."

  "Worse still, we're going to be seen as incompetent. Weak." Despite being confined to the chair, Dred had a better read of the streets than those who traipsed in them. His arithmetic of the situation arrived at the same unfortunate conclusion Baylon had.

  "We just don't have the soldiers. We've got to have more bodies. Parker has potential, but not if he keeps up with Junie. All he's learning is to be bold to the point of crazy. Sees everything as a test to make sure he's ready to go to the next level."

  "First things first. It's time for a leadership shakeup."

  "What do you mean?" Baylon felt the tremor in his voice even if his ear couldn't pick it up. Maybe Junie wasn't the only one overdue for a demotion. Suddenly the same anxiety of being called to the principal's office overswept him.

  Dred waited a few extra heartbeats to let Baylon stew in his discomfort.

  "Junie and Parker have fucked up one time too many. More than even they realize." Junie, like no other, made Dred miss the use of his legs. He wanted to rise up and kick the living shit out of him.

  "How so?"

  "Assuming Green leaves Dollar to handle things, that's one thing; but he may want to get involved personally on top of things. That's two fronts if Night truly wants to push back. Then our own fools brought King into the mix, which drew the attention of the mage. He may not be what he once was, but I wanted more time before that happened."

  "What does King have to do with it?" At the mention of the name, a pain shot along the base of Dred's back, a lightning bolt which faded to nothing as the pain rippled to below his waist, a black hole of sensation. Dred remembered when it happened and thinking "My God, did everything just change for the rest of my life?" He rolled his chair backward and inhaled. "I'm calling in the Durham Brothers. They'll be reporting to you. They'll be our new hitters. Put Junie and Parker on some corner work, cool them out for a while. That solve your problems?"

  "The trolls? That's all you had to say."

  "Don't let them hear you call them that."

 
 

Wayne got the phone call at 7:30 in the morning. A wave of unruly locks fell onto his face as he reached for the phone. His mattress groaned in protest as he rolled over. Typically, he didn't take calls that early because clients had to respect the boundaries of his life. As much as he might have cared about them, he wasn't at their beck and call nor was he their taxicab, nor their nursemaid, nor their errand boy. Their lives were steeped in (mostly self-created) drama and he had to carve out rest from it or be forever caught up in it. Kay sniffed at the back door, pawing quietly to be let out. Wayne poured food into his bowl and refilled the water bowl. He opened the back door and stared at his phone. "One missed call. Parker." He always checked the messages left on his voicemail. The frantic-edged voice of Parker Griffin trembled through the poor connection of the cell phone.

  "Hey man. You got to ring me back. Someone dropped a body on my block."

  Wayne sighed. He wouldn't have time to run into the offices at Outreach Inc. and his mouth watered for the taste of too-strong coffee sweetened with honey if he was lucky (donations were down and they hadn't been able to buy sugar in a while). Two phone calls later, and he was on his way to the address Parker gave him. The other call had been to the office to let them know it was going to be one of those days.

  The battle for Parker's soul had been waged in earnest for the last year. Parker was one of the many boys on the cusp of manhood who could go either way. Extremely intelligent, Parker's laconic drift through his daily routine belied his eyes which little escaped and keen mind which analyzed street scenarios with the acumen of a political strategist. Wayne only wished that Parker could imagine himself as anything but destined for street soldiering. Wayne would get him into a GED program; Parker would nearly finish, then drop out. He'd get him into job training; he'd nearly finish, then drop out. He'd get him a job, he'd nearly get through probation and then quit. Yet there was something special about Parker – a desperately clung-to innocence or the measure of something salvageable or maybe he simply saw a bit of himself in the boy – that made him keep trying. All Parker needed was to sink his hooks into the straight life and not be tripped up by the lures of short cuts and the promise of easy cash.

  Every war demanded an enemy and in this war the enemy came in the form of Junie Walker. As Wayne approached, Junie smiled stupidly, high on whatever he'd managed to get a hold of that morning. The skin of his face stretched tight over his skull. Wayne took the measure of the man in one meeting. A would-be soldier not nearly as competent as he aspired to be. If Wayne could spot that Junie was losing his own battle with the needle, surely Junie's employers had to know that he was a catastrophic fuck-up waiting to happen.

  Parker led Wayne down the alleyway, the path suffering from the erosion of green as grass sprouted in the many cracks of the sidewalk. Bushes – more branches than leaves, brown and long unpruned – overtook fences. A gap-toothed grin of missing slats, the remaining posts of the wood fence were either broken or spray-painted with the latest gang tags. ESG. Treize. The letters ICU within a circle. MerkyWater. Non-stop traffic ground along the road, dogs marked their trespass in harsh barks, and air-conditioning units barreled along like over-worked engines. Wayne stalked the too-familiar scene as if he were home.

  "He's in there." Parker stopped short and pointed to a trash can.

  "He?" Wayne asked, still studying Parker. He was troubled, though neither Parker nor Junie set off any survival alarms. However, Parker's posture bothered him. The careless shrug of his shoulder. The faux deference to Wayne. No, there was something calculated about this performance.

  "The dead dude."

  Wayne pulled the lid free from the bin. Arms and legs sprouted up, a potted plant of limbs. He jumped back, holding the lid as a shield. Inching forward again, as if at any moment the limbs might snare him, Wayne risked peering into the garbage can again. A naked black man was folded into the container. His head cocked at an unnatural angle, a small entry wound dotted his forehead. Bruised purple with a burned black rim, a small-caliber gun had done its work close up. Wayne couldn't help but note that his knees were ashy. Funny the things the mind chose to lock on to. A hard heart had to have walked up on this man whether he was in the life or not and ended him. Wayne searched Parker's eyes, but no longer saw any hope in them. Only a deadened hardness.