Saved and SAINTified (66 page)

Saint
nodded, not planning to honor the obligation. He knew Raphael was bullhead stubborn, and he obviously didn’t understand the magnitude of the situation to make such a request. But he had heart, and that is what a real brother, a real best friend, would do. Saint would now have to do the unthinkable. Being evasive and not taking calls would no longer suffice. He’d have to begin lying to Raphael with a straight face, and that hurt him—but it was the only way to keep everything copasetic.

Saint
gave a crooked smile as he shot Raphael a brotherly nod. Their fists met, in their typical acknowledgement pound. Saint grabbed the remote.

“What
do you wanna watch, man?”

“You got anything about a mummy gettin’ fucked up by a black kid from
the Bronx?”

Nizsm stood in his courtyard, under the oppressive afternoon sun, his two eldest sons before him. Trickles of sweat rolled down the sides of their golden scowling faces.

“And that is what you will do. You’ll go out to
L.A. and take care of the baby. I’ll handle Saint here. He
has
to come; it’s his obligation. We have to get him away from his family. If he is there, if he is alive, well, you just can’t beat him. Neither of you is strong enough, even together. I will have to take care of it but it’s dangerous to do it on his own land. It is apparent he has people helping him.”

His sons looked at each other then back at their father.

“Once I speak to his father, he will have no choice. We are supposed to transition.”

“He won’t believe you
,” his eldest warned. “Something about him ... I just don’t know. I think we should stay here with you, to help.”

Nizsm
narrowed his eyes. “No. I’ve thought this out. This is the way in which it must go if I am to be successful.”

He detected the fear in his son’s voice, though the young man tried to hide it. He knew his offspring’s limitations, and with Saint out of the way,
Isis would be a free-for-all.

“
He must heed the request and honor it.” He exhaled and paced back and forth, rubbing his hands together. “And I don’t care what happens to his wife and sons. Kill them all, but I want Saint for myself.”

He sank his teeth into his fleshy bottom lip, and made a tight fist so that his nails dug painfully in his palms.

“Killing him, mmm.” He sighed. “It will be euphoric. I need to feel his blood running off of my bare hands.”

H
atred consumed him more each day, while heavy anticipation built inside of him at the thought of his plans taking root. He went back in his home, leaving his sons standing outside, pulled out his cellphone and dialed Osaze’s number...

****

Jagger slid his heavy palm across his jaw. He’d barely slept and Saint insisted he go home for a little while. The truth of the matter was that he knew his new boss was angry with him and on his way over. He wanted to speak to him privately. He could see in the man’s eyes that he’d had enough—of what, he wasn’t sure. Just as he tried to prepare for whatever battle Saint planned to start with him, his doorbell rang. He sighed, rose from the bed still in his wrinkled blue and white pinstripe pajama pants and trekked across the expansive ranch home. He opened the door, and there Saint stood in gray and white Adidas pants, sparkling white Reebok sneakers, a white t-shirt and matching jacket. A New York Yankees hat was pulled down across his brow, but not enough to hide the glimmer in his eye.

“Hey Jag, get dressed, man. We’re going to go shoot some hoops.”

Saint didn’t wait for an answer. He turned and walked back to his parked bright red Escalade with black leather interior.

Several minutes later, wearing long black shorts, worn Nike gym shoes and his notorious five-o-clock shadow, Jagger joined the overbearing man in his car. He listened to Saint obnoxiously chew his gum with a cheesy smile as rap music blared from the vehicle. It was eight in the morning, yet Jagger was no longer even sure of the date anymore. Finally, Saint broke the silence.

“So, why have you given up on life, man?” Saint asked nonchalantly as he drove ahead.

Jagger grimaced and turned away, staring out the window.

So now the mind fucking officially begins. I don’t want him to try to analyze me, just to leave me alone...

“No, I won’t leave you alone. You’re my employee, you’re a Rainbeau Knight now, and you’re my friend.”

Jagger hissed, realizing Saint had infiltrated his thoughts once again. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, closing his eyes—and letting Saint know without a shadow of a doubt, he just wanted to go back home.

“Do you know how many Queens have asked Valerie and
Xenia about you, man?” Saint shot him a look. “You’re a lady killa. They love big guys like you and you’ve got a good personality, but no one would know it, because your guard is always up. What happened with you and Traci?”

“Nothing.”

“Exactly, and that was your fault. She was right for you, Jagger.”

“Saint, I don’t want to do this with you. My love life is off limits. Don’t try to hook me up anymore; it never works out. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I appreciate your efforts but I’m just not cut out for it. Not everyone is supposed to be married.” He huffed then looked back out the window, brooding.

“That’s true. That’s very true, Jagger.”

“So what, is that it then? Can you just drop it?”

“Nope. You’re not one of those people, though. You were built to be married and you already know that we, as Angel Children, have issues if we don’t have intimacy. It’s how we are programmed, and I’m not just talking about sex. I’m talking about female companionship. Now, if you don’t want a Queen anymore, then—”

“No, it’s not that,” Jagger spat, exasperated. “The dating sites didn’t work. I don’t have the patience for it and I just ... I just can’t do it again,” he confessed.

Saint pulled up to the basketball court and parked. The two men sat silently for a few minutes then exited the car. Saint dribbled the ball, still smacking noisily on his gum.

“I’m not like you and Lawrence. You two are the loverboy type, romantic. It’s different for me.” Jagger laughed mirthlessly.

“Nah, not really, Jagger. We are all cut from the same cloth. Matter of fact, Lawrence is with Xenia, Beset and the kids right now—and of course, some of the retired Rainbeau Knights, the law enforcement guys stationed around the house. He chose to do that, whether his Queen is in town or not. Doesn’t sound very lover-manish or pussywhipped to me.”

Saint frowned. Jagger knew he was pissed that he had to treat his family like prisoners for the time being.

“Anyway, our heads aren’t up our asses. We have business to attend to. I’d like to be home right now, too, but I’m here with you. I told you before,” Saint stopped dribbling and tossed him the ball, “it’s about
you
. Lawrence is in a good marriage, he loves his wife, but she is now travelling a lot and he misses the hell out of her. It’s a sacrifice he is willing to make, due to the new job she got and her need to see her family more frequently. You have to make sacrifices for love, sometimes, Jagger. That’s your biggest pitfall. You’re afraid to sacrifice again, and end up with egg on your face, but that is the chance we have to take.  The risk of not trying to find that special someone is much more costly than never having her at all.”

Jagger gripped the ball tightly between his fingertips, frozen. The fact of the matter was that in the brief time he was able to speak to Traci, he’d enjoyed her immensely. She finished several of his sentences and she was funny. He didn’t laugh much lately, but she made him grin more than once, and it was totally impromptu—she didn’t even have to try.

Then, he ran. Though he’d never confessed to Saint, he could tell the man knew. He stopped responding to her emails. What initially was truly phone tag had turned into an avoidance game. He was terrified of falling in love, afraid of a part two of what had happened before, but his heart called out for his soulmate over and over again, regardless of the earplugs he tried to use in his soul to block its cries.

“You don’t have to be with Traci if you don’t want to be.” Saint shrugged. “But, I know that you are at least intrigued by her. I know a part of you would like to go out with her, see more of what she’s about. You don’t have to do what I did, Jagger. It’s no pressure. I met my soulmate and married her like that!” Saint snapped his fingers. “I wasn’t afraid of commitment or of getting hurt, but before that, yeah. I didn’t want to be married because I was having too much fun being with a lot of women. Then, everything changed and I spent years trying to find my wife, man. I knew it wouldn’t be easy. I accepted that I may not find her, but I refused to give up. I couldn’t wait anymore. I know you want what I have, what
Lawrence has.” Saint’s eyes narrowed on him. “I’ve seen the way you watch us at dinners, the parties ... all of that. I see how your heart breaks when we have ‘family knight’ and you are sitting there, alone, drinking while little kids run past you laughing, and their mothers calling after them. You want some of that, just a little bit.” Saint put two fingers together to emphasize those last words.

Jagger sighed and turned his back. He walked closer to the basket and began to slowly bounce the ball.

“You’re right.”

“I know I am. So what are you going to do about it?”

“It’s been so long, she’s probably found someone else by now.”

“Maybe. But you have to call her to find out.” Saint tossed him his phone.

“I don’t have her number with me...”

“Bullshit. You have it memorized still.”

Jagger grinned and dropped the basketball, letting it roll a few feet away. He looked down at the iPhone, sighed loudly, then put the number in as he began to pace back and forth on the court, his hand on his hip.

“Uh, hi, is this Traci?” He stopped walking and glanced over at Saint, who nodded and smiled in approval.

“Okay, hi, Traci ... uh, this is Jagger. I’m Saint Aknaten’s friend. We spoke some time back ... oh good, you remember.” Jagger smiled, briefly looked up at the sky and slowly began to pace again, with Saint’s eyes boring into his back. He felt as though he was being filmed for a sitcom.

“Well, I have a little time tomorrow, and I ... wanted to know, if tomorrow night you were available ... like, maybe I could take you out to dinner?”

He looked back at Saint, floundering—his face flushed red. Saint grimaced and waved at him, reassuring him telepathically to just be cool, act natural.

“Oh, I see...” Disappointed and totally lost, he looked back at Saint, who was smiling and mouthing words to him.

Ask her about Wednesday night, then!

Jagger
frowned. “Well, um, how about Wednesday night?”

“Oh, you are?”
Her response made his heart flip a few times. “Okay, great. Is six-thirty okay? Would that work for you? ... It would? Alright, then let me get your address and I’ll pick you up or we can meet somewhere, if that would make you more comfortable ... oh yeah, sure.” And the conversation continued for several more minutes. Jagger disconnected the call, walked up to Saint, and handed him back the phone, smiling—and at a loss for words. He picked up the ball and began to shoot it into the basket, back to back.

“So, you just gonna do free throws and not say shit?” Saint laughed.

“Man, you already heard what happened! You already know.”

“Wear casual clothes and don’t take her to a Chinese place. She doesn’t like Chinese,” Saint offered, knowing that was Jagger’s favorite cuisine.

“What? How’d you know that?!” He shot another basket to warm up for the one-on-one game.

“I scanned her a little bit when I met her. I touched her hand,” Saint offered indifferently.

“Well? What else did you find out? Help me out, man!  I haven’t dated in years, Saint, I mean,
really
dated. I’ve just been having sex every now and again. That’s not even me, but,” he shrugged, “I needed some company. I want more than that. I need all the help I can get.”

“First, have you seen her?” Saint grinned mischievously.

“Yessss, you already know that though, too. She texted me some pics the first time we spoke, and I did the same. She’s really pretty; I see you knew my type. She’s in great shape, too. I’m surprised she’s still available actually.” He became suddenly suspicious. “What is a woman like her doing single, Saint? What if she is getting ready to play me? I refuse to be anybody’s fool again.”

“This is exactly why I brought you out here, Jagger. You have some issues. I don’t want you taking that shit with you on a date, into a relationship, nothing. You both have been through some things, I’m sure—but don’t self-sabotage. Look, call her ass back and cancel if you aren’t going to man up and put the past in the past!” Saint barked as he walked briskly over to him, forcing the phone back in his palm. “I’m serious, Jagger, call ’er!”

Jagger sighed and lowered his head, the ball cradled against his hip. He helplessly looked back at Saint. “Help me, please.” He hated feeling so weak. His ex-wife had broken his heart so badly, he’d rather jump off a bridge than feel that kind of pain again.