GRIT (The Silver Nitrate Series Book 2) (35 page)

There’d been an
unnatural feel to the day, so the outcome was none too surprising. He explored up and down the smooth bottle of wine while sitting inside his car, tapping cigarette ashes onto the street. He dangled twitching fingers out the window. GQ’s, ‘I Do Love You’ played on the oldies station. A light blow from hard knuckles startled him as they rapped against the passenger side frame. He looked through the window at the man who had inherited Degan’s eyes, Talise’s nose, Mom’s hair, and Hiawatha’s lips. On a huff, he pushed the passenger window button, exposing his nephew. The alcohol in his blood was swimming around, making him a zombie. He didn’t have the energy to focus or the heart to care. He rolled the window down anyhow, because whatever the man had to say didn’t matter, unless he was going to change his mind and pay up, anyhow…

Zenith was dressed in a pewter button down shirt and black slacks. His hair was brushed back taut, the slight, natural wave nonexistent from perhaps water and a dab of gel. He’d had it drawn into a snug bun at the base of his neck, so he looked respectable, professional even. But of course, he couldn’t simply blend in; no, the boy kept that damn nose ring in his nostril, a sparkling diamond stud that gleamed in the sunlight like a speck of universe. Zenith contemplated him for a moment, rubbing on the jet black hair that lined his chin.

“Well.” The young man rested his arms along the edge of the windowsill, a toothpick twirling back and forth between his lips. Cool as can be, he looked towards the street at the roving cars, as if simply needing to take a breather, not having much of a care in the world. “Uncle Len, I had to fly out here for one day, miss a concert that people paid a lot of money in advance for.” He looked at him and shook his head. That toothpick kept on twirling. “This mess cost me money, had to share my cut with a back-up drummer. Your fuckery cost me time, too. I could get money back, but not my time… Nah.” He looked at him, dead on, and smiled, but there was nothing pleasant about it. “I can get more money. Money has never occupied my mind to the point that I’d steamroll over other people, over my family, to get it. But time, yeah—time is precious.

“I couldn’t say what I wanted to you because we were in court, but, uh,” Zenith said, “I truly hope this is the end of this.” Zenith’s gaze turned steely, his eyes blacker than black. “I no longer hate you though; hatin’ someone takes too much energy, too much time… and now you know how I feel about time… and you just aren’t worth it.”

“Zenith, are you finished?” He rolled his eyes, took a hearty gulp of the alcohol and ran a hand along his stubble. He had nothing much else to say. Dad and Degan had once again won; only this time, the victory came through Zenith… Dad always talked about triumph through blood, one of his many, outdated beliefs. He and Mom had this strange idea that curses and blessings could come through families. Hell, if that were true, he’d have some damn money, instead of getting a fucking lecture from his dead brother’s arrogant kid. He sneered at Zenith, who was just a child to him. That same little boy playing on the playground, carefree, happy, and believing a fairy tale…

“I should have won this case, you fucker.” He slurred the words, tried to make them come out right, straight and narrow.

“The judge asked for medical records; you had none. I had two witnesses from the funeral confirm through their testimony that you started the altercation, and over ten written notifications. People even volunteered to do it they were so disgusted by what you did, man!” Zenith shrugged. “You would’ve gotten compensation for any medical bills you’d incurred, but that was it. You didn’t go to the doctor after I broke your nose and…” He frowned, pausing in mid-sentence. “And I
wish
I had broken every bone in your damn pickled and alcohol embalmed body.”

Len despised everything about his nephew. Zenith was the perfect combination of all the wrong people, and threats were a thing to be monitored, because he had a family reputation of following through.

“You saw that Paw had been abused, won a lawsuit, and came doin’ what you do. He wasn’t rich, Uncle Len. He won just enough to be comfortable in his last days, and his last days were short. When he was in the home, I was helping pay for stuff; you didn’t give one damn penny. You showed no concern. Paw’s social security helped a lot, but it still wasn’t enough. Not you, not any damn body except a few people from the council, raised one goddamn finger to help me with him! But you were the main one sniffin’ around when some money was floating about. Then, you thought you hit the jackpot after our fight at the funeral… because you found out I was with a major record label, getting ready to go on tour. Once again, you lose!” He pointed an accusing finger at him. “You lose, Uncle Len, not because you didn’t win any monetary compensation. You lose, because you’ve alienated yourself, fucked over, and lost your damn family.

“Your father
died
trying to make you see that he loved you! Your estranged sons will probably put your boozy ass in the ground sooner rather than later, and they don’t want shit to do with you, either. If you’d been the type of son you should have been to Paw, I would’ve taken very good care of you. Hell, if you had even tried a little harder, I would’ve, but you weren’t; you hated Paw, and the way you hurt that man?” He grimaced, played impatiently with the cuff of his shirt. “I ain’t fuckin’ with you, man…you’re miserable. There’s no way. You’re like… poison.”

“Good to know.” He rolled his eyes and yawned.

“Uncle Len, we’ll probably never talk again after this.”

“That would be ideal, Zenith.”

“Yeah, I think we can agree on that. But uh, let me hit you with something and be on my way. I have a plane to catch. Life is real short, man, and it offers no overtime or extensions. Death can come swift and sudden, or linger on, but one thing we know for sure is that it’s
coming
. Try to get your life together before it’s your time, man. You’re filled with so much self-loathing and hatred, I don’t know if you can. You aren’t hurting me by acting this way. I’m happy, in love, and as you saw, I’m living my dreams. Instead of trying to crush my spirit, why don’t you go and create some positivity in your life? You tried to kill my serenity as a child, all because I was Degan’s and Paw loved me.

“Serenity as a child?” He chuckled. “Serenity built on a bunch of lies. Hiawatha was good at that, hiding the truth. You should be thanking me for bringing some honesty to the situation.”

“You’re just sad, man… just sad. Yeah, us not speaking again is for the best. Forget you ever knew me, Uncle Len…forget you even know my name.” And then, Zenith walked away.

Len rolled up the window and hit the lock on the door before taking another swig of the alcohol. Placing it back into the glove box, he started the car and pulled out of the 5
^th
district city court parking lot. A part of him hoped he would simply not wake up the following morning, that he would just vanish and die. Perhaps a horrible car accident would suffice. Yet another part of him wished to run over anything that moved. Such a strange thing to be trapped between the desire for violence and self-hatred, but that was his world, and what he loved. The alcohol was no longer softening the blow. Perhaps another vice would help?

He wasn’t sure, but of one thing he was certain: his nephew had his grandfather deep inside of him… and around him, too. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it wasn’t… but as Zenith had stood there, demeaning him, sitting on his high horse, he could faintly hear the water drum playing. Yet, no one was around. Zenith kept on talking, seemingly oblivious, but then, the smell of that damn pipe came, and got stronger and stronger, making it hard to even respond.

The final kicker hit after he rolled the window up, and Zenith had walked away. He looked over and caught Paw’s fleeting reflection in the glass. It was only there for a second, but long enough to be noticed, to put a ghastly chill in his bones. Hiawatha’s brows were bunched and an eerie scowl lined his damn face. His normally light eyes were blazing in bright shades of vermillion, and then, he simply faded away. Perhaps the curse was real after all…

Len swallowed harshly and faded in a daze as he realized at that moment that he’d been cautioned. He could never speak to or see Zenith again, under any circumstances, for this had been a patriarchal warning—a warning that was promised through the blood. Zenith had told him to forget him, leave him alone and simply vanish and Hiawatha made certain he’d hold true to the request, for if he did not, he just may live to regret it…

…Two months later

C
entral Park looked
like party central. Zenith couldn’t believe how picture perfect the weather was. He sat behind the drums, smiling from ear to ear, as the crowd released their red balloons into the air. The strings were wrapped with scarlet satin ribbons, with names of their loved ones etched across them in black ink. Getting up from his seat, he put his drumsticks down and took the microphone from Javier.

“I want to thank everyone for coming out! Some people who didn’t know our origins, where we came from, were surprised that Pure Grit would perform a free concert. Hell yes, we would! We from New York, son!” El Debarge’s ‘I Like It’ played in low volume as his soundtrack as he spoke.

The electric crowd jumped around, waving, screaming and cheering.

“Not only that, you see those two red balloons tied to my drums?” He pointed behind himself. “That’s because HIV and AIDS has affected my life, too… yeah, so this is important to me on so many levels. My parents died from this disease. So, just like you miss the people you lost, I miss my people, too. They brought me into this world, and this disease took them out of it. The details aren’t important, but this disease doesn’t care who you are, how sexy you look, how much money you have, if you believe in God… none of that. It doesn’t give a damn if people are going to alienate you, make you feel bad. It doesn’t care if you’re gay, bisexual, straight, transgender, or lesbian… It don’t care!”

“Amen!” someone shouted through an outburst of cheering.

“Luckily, though, things are different from when my parents were here. Now, people don’t have to die from this disease. They can live a long time, have good lives.” The crowd broke out in more applause. “We still need more HIV and AIDS awareness, we need support groups, we need education to combat some of this ignorance that’s still out here. And a lot of that takes time, and it takes money. None of us up here want a dime for playing for you all today. Every balloon you bought, t-shirt, drink,
all
of that, 100% of it goes to Aaron Diamond Aids Research Center, right here in New York!”

More cheers and whistles. New York was alive and well, her heart beating with solidarity.

“We have to find a cure, a vaccine, and we need to find better and more affordable medications for people living with HIV and AIDS. Pure Grit, this band I play drums for, every single one of us has been touched by this disease. We know people who have perished or are living with it. Every single one of us…it’s just that real. Please, get tested. Please use protection when you make love and should you not strap up, you should stay in a monogamous relationship in which you both are tested regularly.