Saint's Sacrament - Sins of the Father (80 page)

Saint exited the room, leaving Bomb inside,
and secured the entrance with a bike chain.

“Where are you goin’ man?!”
Bomb shouted out, as if on cue. He’d come alive like an animal suddenly realizing it’d been trapped.

“I’ll be back, man. Go ahead and relax.” Saint started to walk away. He heard a loud thud as Bomb began to pummel the walls. Even in his state, he was still making the pipes rattle.

“Open this fucking door, Pharaoh!”

Saint ignored him and kept walking as the pounding, shouting and cursing grew louder and louder. Now, Saint was no longer ‘Little Pharaoh.’ He was ‘motherfucker’, ‘cocksucker’, ‘sperm run-off’ and other unkind titles…

You are going to sober up whether you like it or not, Bomb. We have a deal, and I’m going to make sure you stick to it…

~***~

The flame propagated and danced on the steaming hot Hibachi grill as Saint and Raphael’s family huddled around in awe at the show. Saint bounced Isis up and down on his lap, the baby girl drawn to the flaming onion rings and the cheering from strangers as their food was used to not only nourish, but entertain. Not one empty table in sight at Ariang Hibachi Steakhouse on Fourth Avenue in Brooklyn, and Saint hadn’t been that relaxed in weeks. He nursed an ice-cold draft while Xenia and Latrice spoke about the television show and their children. Raphael’s eyes gleamed as he snuck contemplative looks at Saint, while drinking his beer.

“So yeah, man, that’s what happened with that
,” Saint said as they finished discussing a conference to be held soon. “Lawrence is taking care of it. There was too much on my plate. I speak at all the conferences but after the car accident, they could either postpone, go on without me, or cancel it altogether. They’re waiting.”

“You bring in too much revenue. You are the main reason the crowd is as big as it gets. They want to hear you speak.” Raphael took another swig and glanced at their wives, smiling and huddled up close. “Xenia sure looks good, especially for a woman that rolled around in a car down a damn hill, man. I was sick when you told me what happened.”

“Yeah.” Saint looked over at her then kissed the top of Isis’ head. “She could’ve died. She’s a fighter though…”

“Not one scratch that I can see…” Raphael teased, knowing full well what happened. “Just like the rabbit you healed in class.” He chuckled.

Saint warmed with amused embarrassment. He had no idea why, but talking about him healing his wife made him feel that way. He knew Raphael understood what he was capable of, what he could do, and what he’d done, but it made him feel odd—not in a bad sort of way, just kind of removed from it all, as if the man were speaking of someone else.

“And I called your pops man, to make sure he was okay now.” Raphael refused to let the whole healing conversation die.

“Ahhhhh!” Several people joyously screamed from a nearby table as their grill went up in happy flames and sake was passed around like wine at a church communion.

“Yeah, what did he say?” Saint already knew how his father was. He stared straight ahead, his eyes glazing over from the smoke.

“He said he felt brand new.”

“He should, he gotta woman now.” Saint cackled.

“You’re kidding me.” Raphael grinned.

“Nope. Her name is
Kyung Mi, and I can tell in her hay day, she was a sight to behold. Very nice lady. She’s still pretty, and she’s cool. I like that. You know my Dad likes those Koreans, man,” Saint said real slick, a naughty grin on his face as he took another gulp of beer and watched a shrimp being tossed onto his plate.

“Ohhhh man, I gotta tease him about this next time I see him. He always acted so straight laced, you know, acted like he never paid any attention to women. I’m happy for him.”

“I am, too.”

“Do you feel any kinda way, like deep down though
, man?”

“Nah.” Saint looked at Hassani and Dakarai snickering as they challenged each other to eat a raw onion they’d begged for. “I told him several times he needed to find him a woman. Mama wouldn’t want him to be alone. She doesn’t have any use for that. He’s still in the flesh, he still needs somebody, you know?” Saint gripped the neck of the bottle, his lips pursed as he turned toward Raphael.

“So tell me about this woman.” Raphael goaded. He was always ready for a sordid tale of lust.

Saint grinned and looked straight ahead. “She’s a librarian. She’s quiet, like
Mama, but, she likes a lot of the same stuff my father likes. It’s a good match. She’s a widow, too. They have that in common. She has grown kids that live on the west coast.”

“So y’all just be one big happy family huh? Step brothers and sisters on your way?”

“You know, I never thought about that.”

“Does she uh, know about your dad?”

Saint smirked. “Yup. I healed him in front of her. That’s how we let her know what the deal was.”

“I would like to see a healing
,” Raphael said pitifully, envy infused in his words. “What do you all do at a healing?”

Saint gave a light chuckle.

“I heal.”

“I know that, man
—but like, what do you
do
?” Raphael hunched down closer to him, for they
were
discussing something that was top secret.

“The process?” Saint looked at
him eye to eye.

“Yeah, man. The process.”

“I find out where the problem is, and I take care of it. It’s kind of hard to explain.”

“Is it freaky looking?”

“Raphael.” Saint chuckled. “Shit, I don’t know. I mean, shoot.” He looked down at the top of Isis’ head. “It probably is. Most people aren’t supposed to see it, but I figured, under the circumstances, it would help her.”

They were quiet for a while as their food was piled high on their plates and everyone dug in. Saint
stuck his fork in a bite of grilled zucchini and offered it to Isis.

“You want some, baby?” The little girl opened her mouth wide, he slid the fork inside and she took it in fast. She worked the zucchini over, assessing
whether she liked it or not. She whined a bit, letting him know she did in fact like it and wanted more. He placed more on the fork and gave her another taste.

He felt good all over. He wished he could stay in that moment forever, just freeze
his emotions in a Ziploc and keep them in his heart, forever. Xenia had a smile in her eyes as she spoke to Latrice, fully engaged and animated. If someone had told him when he was sixteen that one day he’d be married to someone like her, have three children, be a successful businessman and help people all over the world, he would’ve never believed it. At that time, his visions and dreams were no farther than three feet ahead. He didn’t plan for the future; he planned for right then and there. His life was living day to day, and all he wanted was some weed and pussy and a roof over his head. Nothing else mattered. Now, his sons sat next to two pretty young girls, Raphael’s daughters, and Raphael Jr. sat wedged between these young bucks, feeling like a king amongst tiny folk, no doubt. It was good, it was great, it was gravy. In less than a couple of hours though, he’d have to go back to Bomb and then after that, he’d still be here in the city, dealing with the man while Xenia and their children flew back to L.A. He wanted to keep everyone in New York with him, huddled close. He started daydreaming about the Rainbeaus being in New York and he and his family living somewhere nice and his children attending good schools like Is 187, or PS 35 Lenox.

He’d told Xenia he didn’t want the kids in private schools unless it was necessary. He felt public schools would prepare them better for the real world, but he’d have them at good ones, the ones that gave a damn about the children
, and sometimes those were hard to find. One thing Saint couldn’t shake—the street still dwelled within him and he wanted his kids to be smart and wise. He didn’t want them to see or endure the same shit as he had, not at all, but he didn’t want them broadsided by the facts of life, either. This was why he didn’t ever want to lie to them when they came with questions, and he was still pissed at himself for not telling Hassani the truth when he asked about his mama being in the hospital. Saint had fallen into the parent trap, of hiding all that was ugly from small eyes, but small eyes were wise, and only the truth would help them stay that way…

~***~

Saint slumped outside that musty ass door, onto that musty ass floor, next to that musty ass wall as Bomb shouted at him in ways that broke his damned heart. In a couple of hours, his family would be on an airplane, and he would be still right there, dealing with trouble. Jagger remained at the hotel. He told him he could go on, escort his family back, but he insisted on staying, just in case he needed any help.

“
Cágate en tu madre!
” (fuck you/fuck your mother)  “
Te odio!
” (I hate you.)

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Bomb
,” Saint said woefully as he picked up a piece of plaster, rubbed it between his fingers and watched it disintegrate.

“
déjame ir!
” (Let me go.) “Pharaoh!!! After all I’ve done for you…you’ve turned psycho…
déjame ir!!!
”

“I can’t let you out, Bomb. I have some water if you want it. And, I brought a bucket in case you need to use the bathroom.

“Yes.” Bomb slicked the word out, welcoming the opportunity for the door to be opened. “I want the water…I want the bucket.”

Saint slowly rose to his feet and leisurely removed the bike chain. As soon as it swung open, Bomb was on him like an enraged panther, clawing and grasping, pulling flesh
and leaving a slow burn. He kept right on fighting like mad, drawing blood like a lunatic on a mission. He hit Saint several times on the chest, the blows so hard and powerful, Saint was taken aback. He expected this, knew Bomb would attack him, but he was also confident he could get the situation under control. Bomb had worn his body out with drugs and excessive alcohol, and the chronic cigarette smoking left his lungs functioning at half capacity. He fought the man down to the ground, but Bomb’s strength continued to push him through as he kicked, lunged, spit and clutched a fistful of Saint’s hair. Saint didn’t want to hurt him, he fought it all he could, so he continued to withstand his big brother’s blows.

“Bomb, please stop
—please stop struggling! I don’t want to hurt you!”

In the heat of it all, through all the horrid commotion, Bomb finally settled. The man stared into his face as if a light had been flicked on and in that tiny, dark
, dank space, a glow filled the room.

Oh shit…

He knew what had happened; his eyes were shining, changing colors, glowing hot. He was in a heated physical battle, rolling in the man’s piss, and now this light hovered around them, seeming to have a life of its own.

“What…what is goin’ on with your face? Your eyes?” Bomb was half scared out of his mind and much to Saint’s surprise, he not only was lucid enough to notice, but called him out on it. Saint had never seen Bomb afraid,
ever.
But this was definitely fear. Saint offered no explanation, though he wanted to. He wanted to say,
‘Shit man, remember when you saw me levitating and thought it was only because you were high? Naw man, you didn’t imagine it.’
Saint also wanted to say,
‘Yeah, my eyes man, they change colors because I’m pissed. They are like mood rings. Whatever I feel, they show the world. Some people wear their emotions on their sleeves. I wear mine in my irises.’
But he didn’t. He didn’t offer any explanation at all. The fight was over, and Bomb scooted away from him as if he were the Boogie Man.

“You some sort of devil?” Bomb asked, slightly trembling. “That ain
’t natural, man…”

“I’m not going to hurt you
,” Saint said as he got to his feet then handed the bottle of water to Bomb. The terrified fellow kept his eye on Saint, clutched the plastic jug, tossed the cap and downed the entire thing.

“I gotta piss
,” he said after a long silence. “I already had, but, I don’t want to do it on the floor any more. You made me sleep here.”

“I had to, and I know. I can smell it.” Saint’s nostrils flared. “You can do it in the bucket from now on.” Saint scooted the plastic red pail over into a corner.

“So, you just gonna keep me caged up in here? Your brother? I kept you safe, Saint. I took care of you and this is what you do to me?” Bomb said cautiously.

The glow
in Saint’s eyes had subsided, and he probably hoped he’d just been seeing things since Saint never really acknowledged it. But Bomb knew deep down the shit was real.

“You did, and that’s why you are right here, right now. No rehab center will be able to help you, Bomb. You don’t listen, and you never get clean because people on the inside help you stay high. You’re too resourceful from all those years in Sing-Sing and everywhere else you’ve been. You’ve learned how to make drugs out of fuckin’ vegetables, for God’s sake. If it can be lit on fire, you find a way to smoke it and get high. I need you, Bomb. You are too valuable to me. Call it selfish,”
—Saint looked away, feeling a bit of moisture in his eyes—“But I can’t let you kill yourself, man. I care about you, I love you. I can’t let this go on.”