The Tale of the Blood Diamond (26 page)

To keep up appearances, he argued with her, told her if she continued, she would be on administrative leave. But she kept on pushing, telling the man that he and his family and everyone’s loved ones were in danger. All she wanted to do was have the guys be more forceful, and show them a new gun that was issued from their military. It was a lie, but the scheme was backed up by the ones that mattered. This was about survival; there was no room for any other discussions.

Captain Jasper remained hesitant, so she pushed a bit harder.

“All one needs to do Captain is turn on the news. I’m not asking anyone to kill innocent people. You know my instinct is good. When have I ever led these men and women astray? If I’m wrong, we lose little but if I’m right, we may lose everything…”

Then she presented the box of goods…weapons these men had never seen before. She explained quickly that a Glock upside the head was sometimes more efficient than a misguided bullet in the wrong place. No, she wouldn’t tell them that the bullets from their standard guns wouldn’t work quite as well but she would arm them appropriately. Soon, they were outfitted with the new guns. She was relieved that many of them had similar functionalities to the revolvers the officers carried. Xzion ensured that he ones he gave her looked similar. However, the bullets were an entirely different entity…that was where the secret lay. It was no ordinary bullet, made out of titanium. Oh no…these had a special internal chamber that would rip a Yuledrake to shreds. Even if not shot in the ribs, it still would render a mighty blow. That still left the Morphitians and Lyalts… Luckily, there were far less of them, but they were just as dangerous, if not more so.

Jayme glared at herself in the smudged mirror that hung on the back of her office door. Strapping her guns to her body, she worked up her damn nerve and stomped her foot, to ensure that her extra blade was still in the sole of her black boot. She watched herself as she pinned her hair up, almost not recognizing the woman before her. She’d gotten word as she left her home that night, that the president had sent troops out into the streets as well to help watch over the city. Of course, the American people didn’t know this, but Aton did, and he made sure she was aware of it. They were dressed like civilians, so as to not rouse the masses into further panic, but they were there, and they’d been properly trained by Zarkstormian Warrior soldiers at the compound.

I don’t know what you think you came for, Yuledrakes, Morphitians and Lyalts, but you are going to leave with something far different. Weakness is not in my vocabulary. And trust me, I am fluent in the art of the war. Never separate a mama from her baby. You’ve aroused my inner beast, and it is far scarier than the Lyalts ever were. Welcome to my world, motherfuckers…

She removed one gun from her holster, checked the bullets, cocked and loaded…and off she went into the streets, to become all that she could be…

*
***

The toothpick twirled like a ballerina spinning off her axis out the side of Lorenzo’s mouth. He sat in the electric tape covered booth of the ribs and soul food joint, Savory’s, on Holbrook street in Trinidad, a place where Preacher may as well have been crowned mayor. He sighed, picked up his glass of water and took a thoughtful sip as he kept his toothpick teeter tottering just so. He’d spent the last few days gathering information and keeping his ear to the street. He kept a low profile, but was relieved to be out of that damned hotel and back home. Running his hands nervously together, he finally admitted to himself he’d hit a brick wall.

The man that killed his brother refused to show his fucking face. People shrouded in dark clothing came and went from the odd-shaped dwelling — a massive ranch house flooded in blue lights. He was unable to tell who was who. He debated bringing in help — putting a bounty of his own on the man’s head, but then, he’d have loose ends once again to tidy up and he was not in a ‘spring cleaning’ sort of mood. To make matters worse, his business in New York was hanging on by a damned thread. He’d been negligent with his dealings while in D.C., and it seemed he needed to make a trip to Brooklyn to check on his ladies, his property and his money. Nevertheless, this issue right here was putting a damper on him. Every time he figured one angle out, another one popped up.

He couldn’t take the chance of someone linking him to the chain of events, or messing up his plans to avenge his brother’s death. Worse yet — he now had to contend with the fact it all went deeper than that. He came to that realization once that informant’s body hit the water and he drove off, the fog surrounding him in its fuzzy arms and the cool night breeze giving him the kiss of death in appreciation for a job well done. He’d had a nightmare about Centipede; that whole sordid situation really messed his head up, but what could he do? Centipede would have squealed if someone offered him a decent price for a lead. He wouldn’t have been able to help himself, that’s what addicts do.

“You want some more, baby?” A chocolate-skinned woman asked, her cropped natural hair haloing a round face framing large, open eyes, despite her hefty cheeks pushing up on her bottom lashes like fleshy, ruby mounds.

“Nah, I’m good, Charlene.” He shoved his half eaten plate away as if it disgusted him and dabbed at the sides of his mouth, removing a smidgen of dark, sticky sauce. After the clanking of his plates dissipated and the waitress carted them away, he turned back towards the window and people watched. The open market for drug dealing was truly amazing.

Even though the streets were wet with fresh fear from the strange killings, it appeared many people still conducted their business as usual, but there was a definite drop in the prime-time population. The ones that stayed were milking a cash cow until the damned thing was dry and coughing dust, taking advantage of a lucrative opportunity. More demand, fewer dealers, prices soared — it was the American monopoly way.

His thoughts drifted back to Xzion Khrome. No one had heard of him; no one could truly describe him. He found that to be more than peculiar. The man had murdered thousands of people, possibly millions, yet, he was still considered vague. There were no photos of him, nothing, only a description from the informant and a stack of papers with the word Zarkstorm and secret meetings at the White House. Lorenzo’s ground roots research had broken in half like a twig, and then it dawned on him. The men walking around that home were probably keeping this fucker in protective custody. He tapped his chin and narrowed his eyes while shadowy figures glided past the window, to and fro, blending in with the frosty, dismal landscape. He balled a sauce-covered napkin in his hand, squeezed it tight and exhaled. This was harder than he’d imagined, but one thing Lorenzo prided himself on was patience. He had the endurance to stay the distance, even when others threw in the towel. He pulled out his plane ticket to New York from his pocket and glared at it. He’d be leaving in the morning, but he’d be back soon. The time away, he figured, would allow him to really get to the meat of the issue, and settle this once and for all.

A new strategy was underway, and right there, sitting at that table, inside the depths of his complicated mind, he’d figure it out. Piece by jagged, bloody piece, he’d figure it out all right…

*
***

Xzion wiped the thick, splattered blood from the tip of his boot. Five freshly dead Yuledrakes framed his body like flesh art, lying haphazardly over top of one another, their bodies divided in halves from the ribs and covered in their own shimmery gore. Against the graffitied brick wall, under a tilted lantern with melting, jagged icicles dripping onto flaxen hair, was a half dead Yuledrake, hanging on by nothing more than stretched flesh. A spike jammed in his neck fixed him to the wall like a flag as he thrashed and gnashed his ghastly sharp teeth. In the faint distance, from a bar, a Christmas tune played. Bing Crosby sung to all within listening range, “Siiiiilver Bells…Siiiiilver bells…”

Xzion ran his tongue over his upper teeth, mulling over the information he’d just been given. He thought he had more time. Mother Life wasn’t playing fair and he wanted her to fuck off. His acute hearing picked up muted screams as feet pounded and beat the pavement in nearby alleyways and secret coves. The streets were alive with delicately delivered delirium, murders that would be discovered in the early winter’s dawn.

“That’s what he wants!” The half-dead Yuledrake laughed, his pasty skin becoming almost clear as his life force slowly but surely left his impaired body.  “And that is what Jatorn will get! Your son! That mutant bastard!” The man continued to laugh as blood oozed out the side of his neck and mouth. Xzion glided the tip of his finger across his bottom lip and looked into the night as the snow fell a bit harder. The roar and hard crunch of a salt truck gliding down the street grew closer and closer, almost covering Bing’s enchanting Christmas carol, crashing into the festive spirit. He turned to the struggling Yuledrake. The laughter of the henchman waned as his vibrating body was soon shrouded in rubicund light.

“He’ll get
something
all right…” Xzion relished the fear in the fretful man’s eyes as his iris coated his victim in red death. A blood-curdling scream echoed as he carved the motherfucker in three strips, like a turkey banquet, in a flash. The body dropped from the wall with a clumsy thud and joined the others in the ugly heap. In less time than the snap of a finger, Xzion disappeared into the night, joining shadows and city sights and sounds muted to a mere whisper of what they once were before the plague hit. He swallowed down his breakfast, his only meal of the day, as it tried to return and make him re-taste its bloodied pallet. The knots in his stomach tossed and turned around the unmistakable thoughts of, ‘They know about my Zachary…’

There was no going back now, but the timetable had flipped. News travelled fast. The magnitude of everything that was happening suddenly hit him hard and heavy and he could no longer see straight.

It’s cool…roll with it, this can still work…

Despite his best efforts to self-soothe, he was a walking time bomb. He paused when a steel street pole beside him slid to serrated pieces, crashing onto the street, taking a car with it and causing the vehicle alarm to blare from the heavy, crushing weight of the metal. He looked at his handiwork — he was unable to control himself as he continued to pound past, his weight a hindrance as he wished so hard to be light and airy and fly towards the skies to murder the one they called Jatorn. Snapping himself back to his senses, he swiftly made his way to his parked car, wedged between a nearby alleyway and cleaned of blood splatter on the tires just an hour earlier. He wasn’t taking a damn shred of evidence home with him.

As his ancestors had done, and their ancestors too, he made sure to keep his nose clean by outside appearances. He couldn’t afford any delays. He was not a second into his car when a bloodied Yuledrake raced towards him, his face half hanging off, one tusk in place while the other tooth hung on to a thin string of oral tissue. Xzion immediately revved his engine, prepared to run the bastard over and have to quickly clean his tires again. But the fiend started to yell out, his hand raised.

“Stop! I have a message for you…Jatorn wants to negotiate!” A splattering of blood trickled from the side of the Great Messenger’s mouth. 
Sahee.
There was no doubt in Xzion’s mind that this would be the animal’s last memorandum. Xzion smirked at the obvious handiwork of a human who’d attacked the damned thing. A Zarkstormian Warrior, even an Intellect, would have ensured the monster would never escape. Now, he was amongst the walking dead.

Looks like Jayme’s crew are out and about…

He got out of the car and slammed his door shut as a zephyr of cool breeze oozed from between his lips. The black leather of his jacket made a slight rustling sound as he reached into his pocket, removed a tissue and slid it casually across his nostril.

“What is the message, Sahee?”

“He will…he will retreat, pull the troops, if he can have your child. All of this will be over. We, the Morphitians and Lyalts will leave at once.”

Xzion smiled at the man and leaned casually against his car, crossing his ankles as he slid the tissue back in his pocket. Taking a deep breath, he shook his head.

Here we go again… Predictable. I couldn’t even leave the fucking scene without talk of my son as some fucking present coming up once more.

“You all are losing the war. He is in no position to negotiate.”

“We’ve killed three Zarkstormians tonight.” The fiend laughed. “One was a Warrior, what a prize.” He smiled, forcing more blood to pulsate from his grotesque mouth. “All of the Lyalts have not even yet arrived, and more Yuledrakes are coming. More and more and more… The Morphitians are feasting right as we speak. We outnumber you. Be rational.”

Xzion thought long and heavy about what was being stated. He already knew that some of his people were dead in honor of this horrible situation, and he also knew, this was only the beginning of something that could literally take months, if not years. They’d win, but they could be fighting forever and the Yuledrakes knew it. This wasn’t quite how he envisioned things going, but nevertheless, he rolled the possibilities over in his mind then stood erect, spoke slowly, succinctly.

“I wish to speak to Jatorn personally about this.”

“He figured you’d say that…” Sahee presented a bloodied receiver from his pocket and made skittish steps towards him. Xzion snatched the phone out of Sahee’s quaky hand.