GRIT (The Silver Nitrate Series Book 2) (20 page)

“He looks like
a miniature pimp, a Ken doll dressed like Super Fly. I didn’t know they were filming a new Toy Story movie in here.”

“Zenith, cut it out.” Silver reached for a glass of sparkling red punch, her hand slightly shaking. Matter of fact, she’d been acting odd all night, certainly not the way she should be, following the great news she’d received the day before. Her game was scheduled for testing with a final control group, the toughest crowd yet, and the first rounds were complete. So far, so good.

“Why in the shit would he do pelvic thrusts at a damn wedding? I bet the next song is going to be, ‘I Wanna Fuck You’ by Akon. That’s a wedding classic, right?” Zenith rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, watching the buffoonery play out. “He’ll probably grind against the ground while he’s singin’, too, damn Prince wannabe… wiiinding, and diiiining, you allllready know! I wanna fuuuuuck you, fuck you! You already knoooow!” he sang, feeling a little tipsy, a little silly, and a little angry, too.

Silver’s lips twisted and turned like a towel being wound up tight to smack someone near and un-dear across the cranium. Glaring with beautiful dark eyes at him, she drained a cup of punch to the head, like the shit was spiked. Hell, maybe it was. Zenith had fallen asleep twice during the nuptials, snoring included. A sharp elbow to his ribcage let him know he’d drifted away. He’d gotten exhausted from arguing back and forth with the woman earlier in the week, pulling a fourteen hour shift the previous night, and wrestling a soup can opener out of Paw’s hand that morning, trying to make him understand it wasn’t his gun and he had no hunting trip in Canada to attend. Just another damn day in Helladise…

“They performed well tonight though, don’t you think?”

He didn’t like the little smile on her face, nor the way she stood there in her powder blue long sleeved chiffon shirt and matching short skirt. She looked good as fuck, but he was in no mood to entertain thoughts of seducing her in some backroom of this huge place; or perhaps he was, but his animosity at the man dressed in red leather from head to toe, singing like some wannabe pornstar, had destroyed and demolished a good bit of his desire to do just that. They both were to blame for this bullshit, but it was what it was.

“They was aiight.” He chin checked, then turned away from her, tired of her condescending demeanor. Well, it wasn’t necessarily condescending but it looked that way to him. Truth be told, he couldn’t actually blame the woman. Her coworker had approached her in her time of need, and Silver did what she was supposed to do—try to help the lady out. But it was Javier, of all people! He fisted and unfisted his hand, seething, as he glared at the fucker from across the room…

I tried calling you I don’t know how many times. If it weren’t for my girlfriend, you wouldn’t have even gotten this payday! Look at this shit… These mothafuckas rich, and YOU of all people got the gig. You don’t deserve SHIT!

He marched up to the bar and got another bottle of beer, giving this one barely a chance to waken his taste buds, be savored. Rearing his head far back, he guzzled the damn thing down before looking about the place, itching to have a fight or two. Silver had meandered across the room now, standing daintily with her ankles crossed, chatting with two other women, one of whom was a bridesmaid. To his left and right stretched out a sea of smiling white people, all seeming as inebriated as himself. But straight ahead, front and center, stood Javier…

They locked eyes, black eye to black eye… man to man…. motherfucker to motherfucker…

Finally, Zenith raised his empty bottle in the air, blurting, “I challenge you to a duel!” He played back in his mind when Silver had said that to him at the skating rink, and how amused he’d been by her corny outburst. He set the damn bottle down on a nearby table then burst out laughing, tickled at his borrowed line.

“Oh! That’s my shit!” He snapped his fingers to an instrumental karaoke beat of ‘Sweet Love’ by Anita Baker that began to play softly in the background when the band took a break. Picking the bottle up once more, he began to sway and serenade himself.

“Sweeeeet Looooove! Don’t you evvvvva go away, you uh shady ass little shit, tuh-day! Elf King Bastard! You ain’t shit, you know that, mini-man?!” A few heads turned in his direction, but he didn’t give a damn. “I know you hear me, Javier! Of mice and men… Eddie Murphy in ‘Delirious’ lookin’ mothafucka! You look like a bright red dildo tonight, you two-foot tall asshole! You and hatin’ ass Miguel can go eat uh dick! Pimps up, hos down, toy pimp! Can you dig it?”

Before anything else could be said, Silver rushed over to him, looped her arm around his forearm and pulled with all her might, attempting to escort him to some dark corner like a military sergeant with a detainee. She wanted to quarantine him, ostracize and alienate him.

“Heeeey.” He grinned, twirling his beer bottle in the air. “If you wanted some of this fantastic voyage I got here in my pants,” he said, suggestively pumping his pelvis, “all you had to do was ask, sweet thing. Or…” He slicked his long tongue out at her and wagged it. “Maybe you’re pulling me aside to get tasted. You passin’ out samples, baby?” Saying nothing, she tightened her grip on his arm. It kinda hurt, but he wasn’t going out like no punk.

“You two need to talk.”

“We did.” He tooted the bottle up to his lips for another sip.

“When?”

“Just now. I challenged him to a duuuueeeel!” He burst out laughing again, certain he was turning red. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“
Everyone
did… I hate you so much right now.” Wincing, she shook him loose, crossed her arms defensively over her breasts, then marched away. He liked how her ass hiked up in her skirt with each angry step…but then, she was gone, only a whisper of her perfume lingering around him. Suddenly, the room felt colder, less fun and charming. He’d wrapped a thick coat of negativity snugly around him and now the liquor was doing the talking. Still having a fraction of his faculties about him, he looked over at the bar, as if it were a long lost lover he had desperate need of.

His heart got heavy, beating in strange, jagged rhythms. Silver was speaking to Javier now, her gestures animated and high strung. Both looked mad as hell. He shook his head and turned his back on the scene, certain the woman was pushing her nose in his business, trying to be some sort of angel of peace that no one wanted. The damn friendship was over; what was the use? He’d been the bigger man, kept trying to call the stubborn bonehead—but Javier, Mr. Wounded Pride, would hear nothing of it.

You only gotta hang up on my ass twice! Okay, it was five times, but still! Fuck you, Javier! You short chunk of shit!

He stomped back in the direction of the bar, ready to give himself some much needed medicine to forget the entire sordid ordeal, at least for tonight. A few moments later, while he stood huddled with his glass of rum and coke, an all too familiar voice echoed into the microphone.

“I would like to hear one of my favorite songs being performed tonight!”

He turned on a dime, facing the speaker.

I don’t like Silver’s smile right now. I don’t like how she’s jumping around, happy, like she wasn’t just in an argument, angry… She’s up to something…

His eyes narrowed on the little succubus in a blue dress, and if he were closer, he would have entertained plucking her from the podium and dragging her away before she could finish her scheming madness.

“Hey Pure Grit.” She looked behind her at an equally confused band of thieves. “Can you play, ‘Come With Me Now’, by Kongos?”

Javier simply stood there, surely wishing he could shoot lasers out of his eyes, like some damn Godzilla doll in tiny Tokyo.

“I… I don’t know that song,” the new drummer mentioned. Zenith couldn’t hear him, but he sure could tell by the expression on the man’s face and the way his lips were moving that in fact, that was the understanding. Silver turned back towards the crowd, her smile slick, deceptive and nasty like some killer clown out on a murder rampage. She extended her hand, gesturing as if throwing Zenith a lasso, and she was simply hauling in her stubborn prize.

“No worries! I’m sure Zenith can help. Zeeeeniith!” she yelled out so loudly, the microphone vibrated and shocked ears with the intense, screeching feedback.

The rum and coke was no longer strong enough. Laughter wasn’t the best medicine anymore, either.

This woman has challenged me to a duel and struck me down before I had a damn chance to fight back! Damn you, Silver!

…Never trust a woman if she turns her back on you and storms off, including the one you love… It means she’s up to something.

He hesitated for a moment, but then started to walk to the podium, not in the least hiding his dismay as he elbowed, shouldered, and cursed his way through the gathering of people.

“Would y’all get back? Damn! All bunched up like white raisins in a box, Jesus!” he muttered as his newly found buzz dissipated from the current events.

“They’re called
golden
raisins, not white, you rude prick!” some smart ass shouted, no doubt as inebriated as himself.

When he reached the small stage, he surveyed Silver’s form up and down with narrowed eyes, promising untold retribution… later. Her long ass feet, encased in high heels, made her look a bit awkward—but he loved that about her, too. He tried to find something to hate, place a bounty on her head, wanting so desperately to rip off a piece of her hide. But, she didn’t wait to see what he’d come up with. No…she just sauntered off as if she’d done not a damn thing wrong, and a burst of laughter escaped her mouth as she disappeared, the sound swallowed by the multitude he’d just bulldozed through, as if to say,
’Mothafucka, my job here is done.’

Z
enith and Javier
once again locked eyes. The second time was far less funny, and a lot more heart wrenching. They faced one another, their chests heaving. He could feel the glare of Flip and the other bandmates as they duked it out, all without saying a word. After a couple of seconds, the paper doll of a man pointed over to the drummer.

“Dean, yo, man. Get up for a second. You can sit this one out.”

The guy nodded and rose from his seat. Zenith made his way over and promptly sat down. Zenith’s butt cheeks were furious, and so was he. The damn chair was all warm from the previous resident. He felt violated, even though the shit wasn’t his to begin with. He’d helped pay for that kit, so he resented how another motherfucker had taken his place. He looked the kit over, inspected a couple of screws that looked suspect, and hand tightened one for good measure. Carefully, he picked up the sticks that sat upon an amplifier, and waited as Javier gave the countdown for the song to begin…

…And it did.

And the damn wedding reception attendees got completely hyped, morphing into a brand new crowd that was difficult to recognize. He’d not seen such hooting and hollering and awkward dancing in a long ass time, and though he hated to admit this, he loved the shit out of it. He missed this… he missed it so damn much. It didn’t matter who could dance and who couldn’t; they were having a hell of a good time. They cheered and sang the lyrics along with Javier. Zenith pummeled the damn drums to the tempo, following the simple rhythm and making it stick, sting, and sigh. His heart broke a little as he played, and he didn’t miss how Flip and the other guys looked over at him a time or two, with big, wide smiles on their faces. For just under four minutes, things felt back to normal. For just under four minutes, they were a family again… For just under four minutes, they all made sense, and he made sense, too. For just under four minutes, he wished he could freeze time and do it all over again.