Power (Romantic Suspense) (41 page)

Chapter 28

Noah

A Fool followed custom and cremated his dead father. He ran home and said to his ailing mother:
"There are a few fire-logs still left. If you want to stop suffering, get yourself cremated on them."

–Philogelos (The Laughter Lover)

O
nce
we woke back up, Mary Jane was in not in a mood for love making. My baby was determined to get me out of this street life and the both of us safely away from Butterfly. She rose to shower, not even giving me a kiss or letting me cuddle that fat ass for too long. Minutes later, she’d dressed in a t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers, while I still held my dick and wondered how I was going to get it inside of her.

Once she’d put those kinky curls into a ponytail and for whatever reason smeared Vaseline over her face, she stared at me with her hands on her hips. “Noah?”

Still, I sat in the bed, gripping my dick. “What?”

“Focus, Noah.” She walked out of the bedroom and yelled over her shoulder, “Let’s get this field trip to the haunted house over with.”

I groaned.

She’s fucking making me crazy. If this house doesn’t slaughter someone, I damn sure will.

Although we headed out to Aristotle’s house during the day, storm clouds hovered over during the journey and cast out the sun. So dark and cold around us, it looked like the middle of night. The scent of rain hung in the air. Lightening zig zagged across the black sky as thunder crackled with each mile.

Fear didn’t run in my men’s hearts, unless someone brought up two things—the Ebony Forest or Aristotle’s house. The guys understood bullets, guns, and all the different forms of man-made items designed to kill another human. But when it came to unexplained things, odd happenings, and spooky legends, my soldiers turned into scaredy cats really quick. On these streets, one knew they could die, but Aristotle’s house had the wrong odds. Each visit someone was guaranteed to never walk out again.

Stop thinking about that stupid shit. Focus.

I’d told Mary Jane that the house was haunted to scare her. It wasn’t that I didn’t think a curse hovered over the property, but. I didn’t spend my time pondering crazy things. Either it was or wasn’t an evil place. It never killed me, so I didn’t fuck with it.

But now, Mary Jane sat on my left, and slowly I wondered, if she and I would make it out with no problem.

Everything will be fine. 305 and them are just getting this crap in my head.

No one was happy about today’s mission. Crusher played no music. He drove with a deadly concentration that caused me to push the divider up between us. Mary Jane sat next to me and tightly held my hand. Rasheed, 305, and Mo sat across from us with stony expressions. Ten different cars followed my limo. Without seeing them, I knew men shook inside their vehicles. If Aristotle’s property had been on Rasheed’s death list, triple numbers would’ve hit the chart.

Twenty-one people will enter the house, if I count Mary Jane. How many will leave?

Far out in the south, among Din city’s farmland, Aristotle’s two floor house stood on unfertile ground. Nothing grew there. He’d tried a garden and it died before anything sprouted.

The roof pointed up like the end of a knife. No trees or bushes hung around. Just scattered, brown grass and rocky sand. On the house’s top level, no curtains hung in the cracked windows, just this dreary blackness that couldn’t be overpowered by the sun. In fact, the windows appeared more like the place’s eyes. I swore they stared at us all as we drove up the long, lonely road.

Mud-smudged panels planked the huge surface. They barely hung in place. A few had fallen the last time I’d come here, two years ago. A fanged mouth sat on the house’s bottom level or more like this ungodly door that was six feet wide and creaked whenever we opened it. Carved wood and peeling burgundy paint, the door’s creatures never looked the same when I came. Sometimes, I swore I spotted angels fighting with demons. Other times, it was men, women, and children stabbing sharp things and gnawing at the others’ flesh. Slanted windows flanked the door as if to symbolize the corners of the house’s evil smile.

“Noah, what do you think of this place?” Aristotle held his big hands out and widened his mouth into a huge smile.

His brown dreadlocks sat on top of his head and had been shaped into his signature bird’s nest hair style. His dad called him Vanilla when he was young because his skin was lighter than everyone else in the family. Like the house, he towered over most in sheer terror and delivered sheer terror. As usual, he had a crumpled paperback stuck in his back pocket.

“Come on, man?” Aristotle grabbed the blunt from me and pointed to the house. “I just bought it. What do you think? Doesn’t she have character?”

“She has something,” I said. “I’m probably going to put a condom on my dick, before I walk in there.”

“Man, don’t be taking your dick out on my new property.” His laughter filled the decrepit field. Aristotle blew out smoke and handed the blunt back to me. “You’re just jealous, man.”

Aristotle’s mom came from the East, his dad from the West. His parents were destined to fail from then on. Neither family excepted the other. Friends mocked the short lived relationship. And then a baby was born that went back and forth from the East to the West each week during visitations. Half Puerto Rican and Jamaican, Aristotle never fit on either side. However, he found peace with me, since I was the only blue-eyed white boy in a Jamaican neighborhood.

In some ways, Aristotle introduced this life to me. The streets ran in his blood. Both families had known gangsters. His father even expected him to take over the West Gang when he grew up. Aristotle complained about it to me all the time. The stories romanced my young mind. By middle school, we were both heavy in the streets, but didn’t talk much. I served for the North, and Aristotle reluctantly stayed loyal to the West. But when we saw each other, we always showed love.

Then I took out the West, and I shot the remaining guys. War came. Many lost and Din City shifted from four gangs to two—the North and South. Aristotle was the only street person in the West. People had wanted him to stand up and do something, but the street life had never been his thing. Instead, he bought this place and only consulted with those who needed advice.

“Be serious, Noah.” Aristotle turned to me. “I’m out of Din City, man.”

“You mean you’re out of the game?” I asked.

“Naw, man. You know I like to shoot a motherfucker. I just don’t want to be for any particular territory. Fuck all of that. Why can’t we just get along?”

I inhaled more of the blunt. “Man, why did you bring me out here?”

“Because I see what you’re doing. You’re going to be the top dog one day. I see that shit.” He pointed to his eyes as if I didn’t get it. “So, I’m telling you that I don’t want any problems. I want to be like a lone wolf and shit.”

“Lone wolf?”

“Yeah. You got to think of it like we’re all supernatural creatures and shit. Shapeshifters. You got a pack. They got a pack. I’m the motherfucker that’s only true to himself.” He grabbed a stick and drew a large circle. “This is Din City.” He drew a line in between the circle. “This is the North and that’s the South. You’re going to run all of this.”

I chuckled. “You didn’t need to draw an image to say that.”

He dropped the stick and put a rock near the South. “And this is me. I’m your rock when shit gets crazy, but don’t take my ass back there. This is where I stay, but I got you.”

“You’re not making any sense, man. I’m not going to give you this blunt. I’m going to keep this shit.” I chuckled.

“That’s why your ass needs to meditate more.” He tapped his head. That dreadlocked bird’s nest wiggled a little. “You have to keep your mind clear so you won’t get crazy. I know shit, man. And I know for a fact that when shit gets crazy for you, you’ll come out here and seek my help.”

“Because you’re my rock.”

“Yeah, mon.” He tried to get the blunt and I stepped away. “Noah, you’re fucking crazy.”

Aristotle had spoken the truth. When I had to plan the tough job of taking the top guys down, I drove out with several people and asked him for help. Of course, one of my guys died, but Aristotle had given me the best strategy to move forward. Time and time after that, he continued to be my council during distress and even convinced me to meditate.

Aristotle read so much, one could never discount the shit that he’d said. He devoured books. Ate those shits up like somebody was paying him. In this house, he sat there every day and read—large volumes on history, ancient spiritual texts, tons of world philosophies, and shelves of studies on any science one could imagine. There were more books in his house than anything else. At one point, he threw out his furniture and used his books for the same purpose. Everything was shaped by books—bed to couch, dining table to shelves.

He never left the house, just had food, supplies, and books delivered. And each time we came over to visit and sip from his knowledgeable mind, a person died.

Here we go.

Crusher parked in front of the house and the crumbling structure smiled at us.

I can’t believe I’m bring Mary Jane here.

Besides Aristotle’s time here, the place boasted a nasty history. It was originally built for a slave owner. By the time the paint dried, his slaves had revolted, killed his family, and fled. The Civil War came next. Many soldiers died during battles on the land. The next owner hung himself, after murdering his wife and three children. A group turned the place into a cute bed and breakfast. Some rare food disease hit the place. Authorities found all of the rotting bodies weeks later. Hurricanes hit Din City, but didn’t touch the house. No one fucked with the property anymore and it remained abandoned for years.

Then my stupid friend decided that this place symbolized a welcoming home.

“Maybe, you should consider somewhere in the city,” I offered to Aristotle.

Cracking sounded from the porch.

“You see that shit.” Aristotle gestured to the house. “You’re making my house mad.”

“Man, don’t say that shit.”

“For real. That’s why I love this place. It’s like the legends gave her breath.”

I took another pull from the blunt. “Man, I better not come here and find you fucking the house.”

Aristotle rubbed his hands and grinned. “Anything is possible with this place, my friend.”

Although we’d parked, no one had exited their car. Even Crusher had not left the limo to open my door.

Is everybody really waiting on me? Jesus, people. Get your shit together.

I turned to Mary Jane. “You stay with me the whole time. No, looking around the place. We get in and out. That’s it.”

“Okay.”

I opened the door and helped her out. The other guys followed, getting out of their cars and holding guns.

“Put the guns down!” I glared at them all. “What are you going to do, shoot the house?”

That shit wouldn’t work anyway. What am I talking about? This place isn’t haunted. The odds are just always fucked up here.

Holding Mary Jane’s hand, I waited for everyone to fall in behind me. Back in the day, Aristotle would come out to greet whoever came. In the past years, he stopped, always sitting in the same place in the center of his living room as if he never moved. Always stayed rooted at the core of the house.

“Come on.” I led us up the steps. Screeching came, but I was used to it. Others took out their guns and pointed to the ground. “Yo, calm the fuck down. You won’t need your guns here.”

On the porch, decaying wood squeaked under our feet. Today, the big door’s carving almost moved a little. People stabbed the other—mothers poking ice picks into their kid’s necks, men slicing the breasts off of women, and children gouging out each other’s eyes. I raised my hand to knock and the door creaked open. Mary Jane gasped at my side.

305 whispered, “Man. . .”

Thanks, house. You just had to show off, huh?

“Let’s go.” I fronted like it didn’t make me nervous. “Aristotle?”

A beautiful aroma wafted through the house—a lovely melting mixture of coconut and vanilla.

“It smells great in here,” Mary Jane whispered. “Is he a good cook?”

“Yeah, but don’t eat anything here.”