30/30 – 15 | Rebbie

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My mama died about two days after Cassalinda was born. Yeah, I know, but that was Mama’s mama’s name.   My papa hated the name, but ’cause he got to name me and May-May, he promised Mama she could name the next one. I think she done picked Cassalinda just to spite him. He might have convinced her later to change it to something else, but once she passed on, he ain’t have the heart to go ‘gainst it.  We just call her Cassie.  And May-May is short for Myrna May – my Papa’s mama’s name.  I accidentally nicknamed her ‘cause I couldn’t get my tongue working around Myrna right when I was little and always wound up calling her May-May and it stuck. Me? I was named after some woman in a movie Papa saw.  He thought the actress was beautiful – I was told Mama thought the actress was pitiful looking. I ain’t never saw the movie, and don’t know the name of the actress; so I never could form my own opinion on it.  I just know Mama hated that not only was I being named after some homely strange woman but not even a real one at that. All that just to say, I’m Rebbie, short for Rebecca.

Anyway, I was all of three years old and May-May was six when Mama passed.  Papa raised us girls by his lonesome.  Well, not quite lonesome, our neighbor down the road some, Miss Jackie, came over Saturday nights to do our hair for church and whenever else it was needed.  Since Papa had to leave for work before the bus showed up, she also made sure we got off to school on time. Mr. Hal, Miss Jackie’s husband, and Papa was good friends from work.  Miss Jackie was our Godmama.  We spent nearly as much time at her house, playing with her girls, as they spent at ours. Still, I think he tried to make up some for us not having our own mama by spoiling us a little. Okay, a lot.

We got all the pretty dresses we wanted for church and good dresses for school.  We had all the toys we wanted.  And no one would mess with us.  One, because Papa taught us how to hit like the boys so we usually handled our own problems.  And two, most folks didn’t like how it all end up the couple of times Papa did to get in it.  Like when Ray Porter Jr. hit May-May with a glass soda bottle.  He was something mad because she beat the devil out of him when he “accidentally” tried to trip her up three times the day before.  I guess she ain’t beat him enough to keep the devil out, because he then “accidentally” spilled grape soda on her new yellow dress. He knew to run before she got her hands on him. I think he just threw the bottle to slow her down, but it hit right on the head and broke. When it broke, it cut her good. She’ll always have a little scar right on her left temple going just into her hairline because of it. Twixt the soda and the blood, May-May was fuming and when she got her hands on Ray Jr that time he come as bloody as she be. I probably should let you know that May-May was barely nine and Ray Jr. was a good ten or eleven at the time. When Papa saw her cut, I swear he liked to die from the mad of it. Ray Jr.  mayhap just been a boy, but Papa whooped that boy, pants down, not just in front of Ray Jr.’s own mama and papa, but also on their own front porch where everybody else got to see and hear it.  We girls heard about it second hand ’cause Papa ain’t want us to come with him,  but the kids who saw talked all about it come that Monday.

Now, Papa goes to Yarrow Junction every third Saturday of the month for whatever shopping he needs to do. Sometimes we girls get to go; sometimes we don’t.  Miss Norma is our local seamstress. She likes to get her goods from Yarrow Junction because she say they got better quality.  One day she took a stubborn notion to walk to Yarrow, which is nearly an hour’s drive mind you.  And on a hundred-something degree-day to boot!  Woman could have died in all that heat, trying to carry her goods home by foot. Papa and Mr. Hal found her sitting  by the side of the road that Saturday afternoon about nearly ready to pass out.  All because her husband, refused to help her get her own car and refused to take her himself while always zipping around in his own new car. He was always saying the material in our little ol’ hole in world was just fine for “them po’ ass niggas”.

Well, after a bunch of fussing’, Papa and Miss Norma worked out a deal, where he’ll take her to Yarrow Junction when he goes and he get’s one free shirt, dress or whatever, whenever he asks.  They’d been doing this for a couple of years by this point in the story and I believe she still  waiting for Papa to ask for something.  Anyway, this one Saturday, Papa tells her he gotta go to Yarrow Junction a week earlier than planned and if she want her ride she had to go then or wait until the next month.  Of course, she went with him.

This just happened to be the same day that Papa got into it with Big Ray Porter, Ray Jr.’s papa.  Big Ray told Papa, that Ray Jr. should have cut up May-May’s “little spoilt ass” more than what he had and Papa wound up knocking him out. I guess I should also mention that it be in right in front of the James Street Hotel in Yarrow Junction and Ray Porter Sr. was just coming out of the place with a “too friendly type woman that ain’t his wife” as I heard old Mrs. Tenney tell it later. Papa had asked him why he ain’t done nothing about Ray Jr. cutting up May-May’s face when Big Ray done said what he said and Papa hit him.  I’m thinking now that’s probably why Big Ray ain’t had nothing to say when Papa whupped Ray Jr. on own his front porch the next day. Miss Norma is  Mrs. Norma Porter, as in Big Ray’s wife. She had just came out of Brennan’s Drugstore next door, to meet Papa at the agreed upon time to leave, right after Papa done hit Big Ray.  Big Ray’s unconscious head was being cradled by a half-hysterical woman who ain’t know the why Miss Norma woman was suddenly taking a purse upside her head. I later heard Miss Jackie tell old Mrs. Tenney that she thinks Papa went into Yarrow that exact Saturday on purpose, just so she could see.  Looking back on it, I believe that be true too.

I ain’t quite sure if it was May-May’s or Papa’s whupping that eventually did it, but Ray Jr. sure ain’t wanted nothing to do with any of us girls too much after that.  Yes, we was spoilt, I can see that now looking at from this end of the lifeline.  But, what does a little girl-child know about being spoilt?

We just knew our Papa loved us.

30/30 – 14 | Precipice

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She stands at the precipice.

The dark blue of the ocean stretches out before her, so calm and deep.  The first whispers of the breaking dawn, in the far off horizon. Even the Baracelanra wind, usually brisk this early in the season of Karisnaan, is gentle on the many cuts and and wounds that mark her.

Far off sounds, hidden in the early morning mists of the Asiv forest, loomed nearer.

She couldn’t decide which was worse.

The nightly terrors of the forest, of which she had never encountered before this waning night, the known dangers of the same untamed, dense forest in the daylight, or the far off sounds which she knew better than her own heartbeat. The heartbeat only now beginning to ease to normal levels.

She breaths deeply of the air, heavily scented of the Marlesh blooms native to the nearby mountains.  Even in the near dark, the presence of the Lanig could be felt.

For centuries, her people had attempted to cross over the near razor sharp edges of the mountain; all who tried have died in the attempt.

For centuries, her people had attempted to pass through the mountain; all who tried have  died in the attempt.

For centuries, her people attempted to till the land at the foot of the mountain; all flora and vegetation except the Marlesh died in the attempt.

For centuries, her people have since learned that the Lanig will not be crossed over, passed through or tilled on.  Yet, the Marlesh thrives.

She listens again to the sounds, breaking the quiet of the dawn.  She has time yet to enjoy this view, and slowly, painfully lowers her achinng body to sit on the still dew damp grass of the precipice.  Her feet mere inches from the sheer drop to the ocean below.

She had been born on this precipice.  She had frightened her family to no end during her early youth, with her constant wandering to this place.  At least until she grew older and they were certain she would not go over its steep edge.    Here in the Second Coming of her Etol N’gavet she still cannot fathom her attraction to this place.  Like the Lanig – it just is so.

The once far off terrors of sound are now fully upon her and she slowly rises to face its source.

No words are spoken between them.

The time for words had long since passed, when she tore through the horrors of the Asiv itself in her attempt to escape the inevitable.  The expressions exchanged between them however spoke volumes.

Submit!
Never!
What choice do you have?!

She glanced at her surrounds.  The ocean, an unnaturally brilliant blue in the rising sun of this new day, is to the right of her.  The Lanig, to her left with it beautiful flowers and fierce jagged edges, glinted in the sunlight. The Asiv behind her? She had barley survived her flight through it is trying to reach this precipice.  She knew she would not make it to the terrors of the forest this time, let alone through it again.  And finally, that which she could not escape, unabashedly enjoying this moment of triumph, waiting patiently to claim her.

What choice did she have? The alternative was equally final and eternal as far as she was concerned.

Sighing deeply, resignedly, she feels her soul depart from her body as she takes the final step towards her fate…

..And leaps.

She relishes in the screams of frustration coming from above her as she sails through the air to the rocks and ocean below.

She couldn’t help but smile.

It was a beautiful place to be born.

And a beautiful place to die.

30/30 – 13 | Rule

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The Morgue Makers took over two blocks of Hellraiser territory and are finally seeing a profit in the couriers. It usually takes about two months to see steady profits in the trade, but we managed to pull it off in just over a month.  Little Frankie’s personal cut was over $300 and Frankie is the laziest of our runners. Britch, as Brian is called in the organization, raised an eyebrow when told of Frankie’s take. That meant over $3000 of product passed through kid’s hands that month. Brian shrugged it off as part of the business norm, but when he looked at me, I knew.

Kids.

Frankie’s clients were middle school kids. It was fucked-up and we knew it, but that is the ugly part of the game.  Fuck, it’s how he and I both started out.  Who the hell would’ve guessed two snot-nosed MFers like Britch and I be running the damn show years later? But here we were doing just that and as long as our rules were followed every thing was copacetic.

All organization have their overall commandments. In addition, warlords will have commandments unique to their rule and Britch had his:  you do not deal to anyone 12 years of age and under. Twelve being the unofficial biblical age of accountability for our sins. But that’s Brian, pulling arcane shit like that in the midst of a business like ours.Eventually everything evened out to normal profit levels, but it was hardest on some of the younger runners who lost some serious profit in the beginning.  They learned to work around it, because we all knew anyone caught doing so was going to pay a a nasty price in warning for the first offense and worse for the second.  Anyone who doubted Britch’s rule on that just had to be reminded of one thing…

Mike Bennet.

Britch occasionally sets-up his own stings to keep his people in check. Mike was busted once, had his arm broken, lost a month of runs and warned not to ever do it again.  The asshole was busted again a week after getting his runs back. Britch called a liberty meeting in the back alley behind Kelsey’s restaurant.  Liberty meetings meant you were at liberty to miss the meeting at your own risk.  In other words don’t fucking miss it.

In front of the entire Morguer assembly, Britch called forth Mike and questioned him on his activities.  Of course, Mike denied doing it.  Britch brought forth a video camera and showed it to Mike. He still denied it.  Finally, Britch called in the kid he dealt to who turned out to be one of the Morgue Mama’s son.  After paying the shorty $100 bucks for his service, Britch had Eddie Long, who at thirteen was the most junior person in both groups, was allowed escort the kid home while his mama stayed for liberty.  Then Britch had Mike gagged and tied to a chair.

Britch explained once again to everyone present that no one is to ever, ever deal to anyone under twelve. If you were not sure of your client’s age, don’t fucking sell it to them.  Mike had sold crank to a ten year old, who looked younger.  It was a personal thing with Brian and he did not give a shit if anyone else didn’t like it.  He was Warlord, that was his law and it would be followed or else.  When he reached the word, “else” he was standing directly in front of Mike and held out his hand to me. I gave him the cellophane and watched along with everyone else as Britch simply held the straw and the powder to Mike’s nose.

Mike was gagged so that he could only breathe through his nose.  When he tried turning his head, Britch called Jacks to hold him still. Then he had Tagger hold a straight razor to Mike’s throat.  Every Warlord needs a stone cold killer and Tagger was ours.  He would kill on command for Britch and Mike knew it.

Mike was going to die, it was his choice how.

So he chose.

The disappointment in Tagger’s face was as clear as the fleeting pleasure on Mike’s face as the gag was removed. Before long, the pleasure of the drug was quickly replaced by the demands of that much pure product on the human body.  At least one Morgue Mama lost it as we watched Mike go into seizure, but none of us were crazy enough to leave. Britch stood behind the newly lifeless Mike and looked each Morguer in the face with one final order for the group: to not make him have to do that to anyone else for that reason.

What really made it hit home for the group was we all knew that Brian actually liked Bennet.  We had hung out a lot when we weren’t conducting Morgue Maker business, but a Warlord can allow no one to blatantly disrespect his rule.

No one.

That was the last time Britch had to do such personally to make his point.

It was enough.

Little Victories

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For a month now my apartment has been hostage to renovations. Holes in my bathroom wall and ceiling, the entire wall in my kitchen a fond memory.  If I stand in either room and look up or down, I’m staring into a neighbor’s apartment. For the past two weeks I have had to use the bathroom of the neighbor across the hall because I have not had running water in mine. This is especially problematic at 3am when I need to do a middle of the night to use the facilities. Thrice last week I’ve lost an hour or more of sleep as I could not fall back into slumber after such.

Because dust is everywhere as they somewhat systematically replace the 100 year old pipes in each apartment on my side of the building.  Not having a sink or a stove, I have spent a ridiculous amount of money on take out during this. Buffets have become my good friend to nicely fill my belly without emptying my wallet.

Tonight I arrived home to discover they’ve reached my apartment to for more work. I already had a headache and after two weeks of this I was not in the mood to even ask yet again about the water, just to be disappointed again. But soft! What sound through yonder rooms break? Did I hear water drippeth? Yes!

The bathroom and kitchen are still filthy and looking like a Hollywood set for war zone aftermath. There’s so much work left to be done, the rooms are not getting more than a nominal cleaning until all is finished. They were nice enough to get ammonia and wipe things down. Yes, I cleaned again behind them,  I am a Virgo after all, but at long last, I have a functioning toilet and bathroom sink!

It’s a small victory, but believe you me, I’ll take it – gotta go!

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Slice of Life Story Challenge

Slice of Life Story Challenge

This Whispering Place

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So it has been for many of my years
My dreams do stage all my hopes and my fears

Dreams that come to me when it’s not quite day
Or in the moments before night holds sway

A gale force of winter, a zephyr of spring
Hard as I try, their memory won’t cling
The dreams are but a moment, a most fleeting thing

Leaving just an impression of their core
Hints warning or guidance no less no more

As a true rule of thumb it is not much
But I’ve learned lessons on not heeding such

Never truly day, never truly night
This whispering place between dark and light
So clearly seen to me, but not within my sight

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week 66

30/30 – 12 | Payback

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Out of the subway and close to home at last, Danny sighs.

It had been a day.

His good friend Ben is usually a great boss to work for, but not today. Danny spent the morning with Ben in a rare ballistic mood over something that was the FUBAR of another department and Ben knew it. Ben just needed someone to yell at and guess whose office is the closest. Yeah. Add the pigeon that took an overhead crap on right on the table in front of Danny, just catching his food, because obviously he really didn’t want to eat lunch today. Suffice it to say he wanted nothing else to eat after that. He then spent the afternoon playing peacemaker and putting out fires from some of the staff that conveniently  and mysteriously did a disappearing act for the afternoon. Though it had not happened in over a year, this was not the first time that some people just bolted when Ben went all ape. He knew he would have to help Ben put out those fires  as well. Now throw in the overtime he put in getting his own projects back on track and he had truly earned his pay in spades today.

Danny had reached the office at 6:30am hoping to appeal to Ben’s good graces and leave work a little early. It was now 7:45pm. Best laid plans my ass he sighs again, trudging up the hill.  He promises the next place he gets will be not be on a hill. Or at least on an incline where he’s walking up the hill in the mornings when he’s rested and full of energy, not in later in the day, when he’s exhausted like right now.  Ben is so going to be paid back for this, he thinks. At least it was Friday and he didn’t have to come in tomorrow.

What the..?

He sees soft light shining on the trees in the back yard. That can only happen if the kitchen light is on and the curtains are open. Two things he knows he did not touch in his rush to get out to work early this morning were the light and the curtains. Did he leave them on last night and just didn’t notice this morning?   It’s just not like him to do so, though. Being raised by a mother with an unhealthy paranoia regarding home break-is, it was pretty much in his DNA now to double-check every lock and make sure every curtain is closed before leaving. But he was so brain-dead at the moment he couldn’t be sure.

He opens the door slowly, looking around carefully in the semi dark before entering and fully closing the door behind him. The moment the door lock engages he’s grabbed hard from behind.

Danny doesn’t even think about it. He just reacts.

His elbow catches the assailant midsection, the deep grunt letting Danny know it’s a male. Danny kicks out blindly and is rewarded with the sound of wood breaking as a falling body crashes into his coffee table when the living room lights suddenly come on.

The sudden light temporarily blinds Danny as a cacophony of voices rise.

“What the hell, Ella!”  He immediately finds his twin sister, the only other person with the keys to his place besides Ben. He was about to say more when he realizes there are some thirty people in his living room.

“I told him not to grab you in the dark! But Mr. Nah, I Can Take Him insisted, yeah great job of that!” Daniela shakes her head, coming to the side of a very confused Danny.

“Uh…SURPRISE?! I guess I owe you a new coffee table dude.”  Ben says sheepishly as others help him up from the remains. “Good thing we put the cake on the side table.”

Cake?  Danny looks around.

Only then does he notice the Happy Birthday streamer overhead.

Ben had him so warped at work Danny totally forgot his own birthday.  He looks around at a grinning Daniela and Ben and the rest of his friends and family in the room.  Exhaustion flies out of the window as he bursts out in laughter at being so perfectly set up.

“Payback is mother dude – you’ve been warned. Get me some damn beer!”

Thanks for nothing, Disney & Barney’s

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First Disney and MAC Cosmetics pulled out the cyber liposuction on Disney’s Ursula character for their Venomous Villains line in the spring earlier this year. Now with the help of Barney’s, Disney is out to ruin more childhood memories by transforming their classic icons Mickey, Mini, Daisy and Goofy into modern-day runway models…

Women’s Wear Daily: http://wwd2.wwd.com/eye/design/cartoon-capers-barneys-new-york-the-walt-disney-co-team-up-for-holidays-6202984

They say it’s a team-up, I say it’s just another subconscious gang-up on the psyches of girls and women. Another under the table way of saying taller and skinnier is better. It’s one thing to make Mickey, Minnie and Daisy slimmer. That is annoying enough in it’s own right, but not surprising in this current social climate of the slender body image. What is the deal with making them several inches taller to boot?

If even fictional characters must redesign their bodies to fit some designer’s clothing, what chance do most of us poor humans have of such? Because heaven forbid, those same designers actually design the clothes to fit their bodies, let alone ours.

Come the hell on it’s Mickey, Minnie Goofy and Daisy for Pete’s sake! Changing Ursula was bad enough, she was a secondary character, but this? This is just insane. Do you know why they are iconic characters? Their basic look does not change – that is what makes them icons.

“The standard Minnie Mouse will not look so good in a Lanvin dress.” explains Barneys’ creative director, Dennis Freedman. I call bullshit on that. Did Lanvin and company even try to design for the character’s bodies as they are? We know it can be done in two words: Miss Piggy.

A hot commodity in haute couture, her “weight” may go up and down, but Miss Piggy is always fierce, fabulous and unapologetically fat.   Proof is in the porker that designing for iconic fictional characters, without changing that which makes them iconic,  can be done with something Lanvin and company obviously do not have – imagination.

What’s next? Tommy Hilfiger and Ralph Lauren designing pants for Pooh Bear? Barney’s, but especially Disney should be ashamed of themselves. Children’s characters should not be yet another mirror of some unattainable ideal for adults. Children’s characters should be remain just that children’s characters.

30/30 – 11 | Three Litte Words

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I’ve rehearsed it all in my head for days now. I still wasn’t ready to face her. I mean, it’s not like I didn’t have an idea of what her response would be. It is just three little words to the most important woman in my life.

Carla D’Scalia – the world knew the single mother, put herself through college, achieved her masters and then her doctorate all the while raising two children. Now an ordained minister, she was well loved and respected in her church. But I knew Carla D’Scalia the woman. For instance, I am one of maybe three people maximum who know, reverend or not, she can cuss up a might fine blue streak in the privacy of her own home, to relieve tension on those rare occasions she gets majorly upset. My love for her and all that she has done for herself, her children and her community, knows no bounds, yet I’ve been ducking her for a while now and considering how close we were she’s understandably confused and upset by the distance I inexplicably put between us.

But I can’t do this any more. I need her in my life. I had to be honest with myself, with her, that this is the path I wanted / needed to take. She knows how I feel, I know she knows, but I still need to say the words aloud. And once I do – well, that’s on her. After nearly six weeks of being chicken shit, I finally called her up for dinner at my place. Ate some serious crow to get her here, but I had it coming.

So here we are sitting on my couch face-to-face. The only sign of her nervousness of the moment is the rapid tapping of her pinky against the stem of her wine glass as she patiently waits for me to get on with it.

It’s just three little words I had to say right? So I take a deep breath and say them…

“Mama I’m gay.”

30/30 – 10 | Picture

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He stares at the spot on the wall.

All around it, empty geometric shapes, where the sun had faded the wallpaper, marked where photos, plaques and knick-knacks once were.

He stares at the spot on the wall.

Somewhere subconsciously, he acknowledges movement around him as the remaining odds and ends of their life are carted out of the house. He knows he should be helping; doing something constructive. Hell, doing anything other than what he was doing at the moment.

He stares at the spot on the wall.

His sister, passing by the doorway at the time, thought she may have seen it, but the now familiar melancholy that had become his normal expression of late was back in place so fast she was sure she was mistaken. She let him have a quiet moment alone and walked away.

He stares at the spot on the wall.

When she returned twenty minutes later, he still had not moved. She entered the room and stood next to him as he stared at the spot on the wall or more precisely at the sole remaining picture on any wall in the house.

The framed oil landscape, not more than a few inches square, was in that exact spot when he and his wife first moved into the house. He thought it was the most hideous thing paint was ever wasted on. She, of course, loved it. She joked about it being removed over her dead body. In the beginning he felt she kept it just to spite him. After a while it became just a part of the décor. They occasionally forgot neither had purchased it in the first place when asked about it. Since both liked the wallpaper that was there when they moved it, neither had touched the walls in five years. It dawned on him that it was highly possible that neither of them had ever touched the painting except to dust around it.

His sister shook her head in confusion and made a move to take it down. He grabbed her by the shoulder, a little more forcefully than he intended. It all showed in his expression as she backed away from it.

She watched as he gently took the painting down. He felt something unexpected on the back of it, turned it over and burst out first in laughter, then in quiet tears. He peeled the yellow paper from the back of it before handing the painting to her. She returned the picture to its spot on the wall. Let the new owners decide. With a long deep sigh, he handed her the note he had removed from the painting.

I had better be so dead if you’re taking this down babe! read the Post-It Note.

She smiled a bittersweet smile; it was so like her sister-in-law to leave such a note.

She gestured towards the front door and he nodded, picking up the box with the last of the belongings as they stepped out. For the minutest span of time it felt like the very first time they opened the door as the new homeowners and the first thing he saw was the painting on the wall. He took one final sad look around, the painting being the last thing he saw before closing the door and stepping over the yellow and black tape of the police line.
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30/30 – 9 | Challenge Pt. 2

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If this is your first time visiting my blog, the following will make a little more sense to you if you read PART 1 of it first.

“And speak of the demoness and here she comes!” A familiar shape caught Marcus’ attention. I followed he ’ gaze to Delia and a couple of her friends as the passed by the store where we were.

When the hell did Delia get so fine!

She was always a cute if chunky girl. Even as a tomboy she was pretty and she always had that big ol’ butt! We used to ridicule her viciously as kids. It just seems like overnight the rest of her body caught up. Still, she was just Dee to me. The pigtails and barrettes that used to be all over her head were replaced with one curling pony tail, held in place with one of those stupid looking scrunchy things that the girls wear now. Her hair almost touched her shoulder blades with the scrunchie, it had close to mid back when set loose. I remember threatening to kick her ass a couple of years ago back when we were still speaking and she mentioned cutting it. I know I’m not the reason why she hasn’t done so yet, but I am glad she hadn’t.

I was joking earlier, but I realized now I was right. The rest of her body had caught up with, giving her a very, very curvy shape. Wearing a t-shirt under an over-sized shirt, bootcut jeans and some kind of biker looking boots she was the most casually dressed of the three of them. Hell, she had on the most clothes of the three of them and she was still the best looking of the three of them. Now, if she just had on Lisa’s mini skirt and Mercedes’ snug crop top . . . DAYUM! I caught myself in mid thought.

I never really thought of her as a woman before. But a woman was damn sure what I was looking at now! Which again was stupid, I know guys are always all over her. I also know she is still a virgin. Her reputation as a cock-blocker was well in place. Sometimes, I’d swear guys step up to her just to see how she’s going to shoot them down.

“I was thinking about hooking up with her, you know. The woman is cold! But I think I got what it takes to get in that!” Marcus smirked.

“Huh?” I snapped out of my trance, hoping Marcus didn’t notice.

“Damn man!” Marcus snapped fingers in front of my face as we were walking out. “If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn you were seeing Delia Larson for the first time in your life!”
So much for that thought, I shrugged more to myself than him.

“Come back to earth, yo. I was saying I was thinking ‘bout hittin’ on her.” He repeated, indicating Delia with a nod.

“I don’t think so!” I spun on Marcus so fast I surprised myself. What the fuck was wrong with me?

“Say what?” Marcus stopped in his tracks.

“You don’t touch her ever!” I stated slightly less vehemently than before.
Where the fuck was this coming from?

My sheer confusion of the moment was apparent. I rarely have to speak to my peeps in that tone of voice anymore to get my point across, least of Marcus. Especially not over some damn girl! I couldn’t decide if it was this edginess or something specific to Delia.

“Do I get to ask why?” Marcus asked, as curious by my sudden hostility as I.

“Fuck no.” I leaned against the railing looking down the center of the mall to the lower floors.

“You plan on hitting it?” I knew Marcus knew he was pushing his luck. I knew he knew he probably felt it his duty to force me to confront whatever this was that I was feeling. But the boy could not have know how close I to the edge I was – shit I didn’t know until someone does something to make me see it.

“Don’t say it again.” I warned and I didn’t bother to pretend it wasn’t a threat. Hittin’ it was what we did with the Morgue Mamas, our sister group. Hittin’ it was what we did with the girls in school. Hittin’ it was what we did with any stupid and not so stupid female we could bullshit into giving it up. “Hit it and forget it” as they say, she was just a fuck.
You “hit” what you don’t want or care about and…

Whoa!

I felt my head literally snap to attention as I stood up and realized Marcus was staring at me and smiling; easily following my train of thought. This was definitely about Delia. What the fuck was going on with me? I really didn’t know how I felt other than the extreme relief that I didn’t have to deal with her at this moment. And before Marcus could inquisition me further, the topic of the conversation walked out of a boutique a few doors down.

Lisa and Mercedes, Delia’s running buddies, definitely looked as though they wanted to come over and talk to us. Something Delia was saying was holding them back. Delia and I made eye contact just before I pulled out a pair of sunglasses and pretended not to watch the exchange. A literal split decision was made. Delia walked off on her own as Lisa and Mercedes came towards us. I leaned against the railing, watching Delia as she walked away. She had an edgy energy about her. I knew that walk. Something was on her mind as well.

Marcus and I flirted with Lisa and Mercedes, just killing time. I was just beginning to feel like I could relax when my edginess went up a tempo.

Fuuuuuuck!

I was glad I already had on the sunglasses and started to scan my perimeter. Marcus felt the change. Without missing a beat in the conversation, he casually leaned against the railing next to me and tapped out a code. I nodded in acknowledgement. Lisa, slightly more perceptive than her partner, noticed the silent exchange between Marcus and I and wisely decided it was time to go. Then again, her brother Ray is a Morguer. She may have recognized the code. Marcus turned to face opposite me. Between the two of us we now had a 360 degree view of our surroundings. Mercedes had started to protest about leaving until her cell went off.

Marcus tapped my elbow nodding to a spot over my shoulder. Delia was standing in front of Dushay’s Music store about half the mall length away from where we were standing holding her cell. I reached out and took the cell phone from Mercedes before she could answer and held up my other hand to cut off whatever stupid shit I knew was going to come out of her mouth.

“Talk to me.”

“’Raisers. Trendy’s at six down two. Bennett’s has a couple. Hank is with Jermaine Robles. Hank’s under – deep. Told them you’re running silent. Please, please tell me you’re not running silent.”

Marcus was just signaling to me about the two Hellraisers he spotted behind me and two levels down at Trendy’s while she spoke.

Fuck!

“Cool.” I spotted the reverse reflection of at least two more Hellraisers about three stores down from us – Bennett’s. I purposely didn’t answer her question. “Take your girls and go – now.”
“Brian Kendrick Palmera!” She hissed at me using my full formal name. She was not happy with me at the moment. She only used my name like that when she was pissed or scared! Unfortunately, I was a little too preoccupied at the moment to indulge her.

“Hey, looks like your girl wants to go, NOW!” I closed the cell and handed it back to Mercedes. Lisa pulled a protesting Mercedes and walked off.

They went off in one direction as Marcus and I walked off in the opposite. Lisa was already on her cell calling Ray. Marcus pulled out his to call in more reinforcements. If Marcus and I were lucky, some of our guys were already here just hanging as we were. If not, we were on our own.

“Are you silent?” I asked Marcus already knowing the answer.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I knew we were coming here. I didn’t want the noise either.”

I couldn’t argue that. Normally our going in the mall without any heat wouldn’t be a problem. Carrying a piece is asking for trouble. You set off sensors like crazy. Even when you make a legal purchase you go off because you’re carrying. Depending on the store, that may actually get you busted for carrying as some cops work part-time as security and will call it in just to fuck with you. We either leave the gear in a vehicle, or as Marcus and I did, leave it with Ronny who was on door detail today, just for that reason. Unfortunately, Ronny was a good three levels down. Marcus started calling, but I knew we wouldn’t meet up in time.

All the local organizations, Morgue Makers, Hellraisers, Bloodworks etc., had an unofficial truce about malls; their parking lots and similar places were there was a lot of the public around. One group does something stupid in a place like this; we all catch fucking hell from bitch ass cops for weeks afterwards. Most of the time, the minor bullshit wasn’t worth the ensuing headache.

This was not minor.

A Morguer went under deep. He switched organizations, to our main rivals the Hellraisers.

This wasn’t even a challenge – this was an out-and-out fucking assassination attempt.

FUCK!

Henry Innis called Hank just like Aaron, was trying to make his mark within the Morgue Makers. He’s young and has a real mean streak in him. He likes to hurt people. This makes him useful as an enforcer, but he has little sense of self-control. I was hoping to hone his skills and his mind, but I knew he was going to be a problem after I had to take him down in front of the guys for jacking up some young girl because she pissed him off.

And he wants to be a power – bad. He beat the shit out of Frick – our former Arsenal. He beat the shit out of the guy in a challenge for his title. As thanks for the twenty-something stitches and the trouble of it all, Frick lost his job. If you can’t protect yourself you can’t protect our ammo, that’s law. Still, there was no way in hell I was letting Innis anywhere near our gear. I gave the title of Arsenal to Tagger instead, which pissed Hank off royally because even he knows he can’t beat Tagger. Point blank, every Warlord needs a killer and Tagger was mine. Tagger was short for Toe-Tagger. Even Hank didn’t need that shit explained to him. He had the chops to eventually equal if not replace Tagger someday, but not now. So, Morgue Makers and I weren’t giving him what he wanted fast enough and he thinks he’s going to get it from Hellraisers instead? The boy has a lot to learn, and I could not wait to begin class.

Hank was at the office when Marcus and I left. He knew we were going to the mall and we were running silent. Does that mean he also knows there are only a few other Morguers here? Or is he taking the chance that by the time they arrive the damage is done? Does he not realize that no matter what happens he’s a dead man? No one likes a turncoat. Your previous alliance will take you out because you turned on them. Your current alliance may take you out because if you turn once, you could turn again. You’ll be used for whatever info can be gathered and then you’re put down.

Almost always permanently.

Marcus and I heard yelling not too far behind us. The yelling did it; even Marcus had to grin under the circumstance. The woman was a royal pain in my fucking ass. What part of Take your girls and go – NOW was misunderstood? They were making such a commotion I had to look.
Somehow, Jermaine was on the floor tangled up in the bags Delia was carrying. He was cursing her out and she was cursing back. Hank was laughing at the both of them, which caused Jermaine to turn on him. Then they both saw Marcus and I and remembered why they were there. I didn’t see Digger at first. I just heard that heavy ass chain with all those keys he always carries with him and knew he was to my left. I signaled Marcus out of habit, but I could tell he already spotted the situation.

As Jermaine and Hank started to come toward us, Lisa and Mercedes accidentally into them. At least Lisa had – that was too bold a move for chicken shit Mercedes. But it worked out perfect, because in Mercedes’ haste to get the hell out of their way she wound up tripping Jermaine again, who fell into Hank, which caused Mercedes to fall on top of them. God, it was beautiful! I couldn’t have planned that if I wanted to. I swung around and sucker-punched Digger just as he was about to come down on me with brass knuckles. Marcus ducked as a guy the ‘Raisers call Jimmy swung.

Digger was strong but he was slow. The key with him was not to let any of his hits connect. At least not more than once! I heard a commotion below me, then a whistle and I smiled. Morguers were here! I didn’t know how many were in, but I knew by the whistle that at least one was Lisa’s brother Ray. Only he could whistle that damn loud and clear! The two Hellraisers at Trendy’s were now accounted for. That left it at a two to four ratio, between Marcus and I.

Easy.

I was still tangling with Digger when Jermaine jumped in. Marcus and Jimmy were at it. Hank was off to the side, just watching; the plan being to tire me out. Jermaine must have thought of it, because Hank has no head for that type of subtle strategy. Putting Digger and Jimmy on me was a pretty damn good plan. When Hank finally does make the challenge, I won’t be quite as up to par, while he’d be fresh.

Only thing, I just wasn’t having it.

Not only is Digger big and lumbering; he also doesn’t have a lot of endurance. He was already starting to slow down. Good. I circled around so that Jimmy was behind me, with Digger in front. Of course, Jimmy tried to jump me from behind. It was so easy it felt as if he had literally jumped into my throw. I simply turned around, picked him up as his feet left the floor, turned again and used his own momentum to throw him over Diggers head into the Crazy Comics window. The impact didn’t break the glass, but it cracked. Unfortunately, Digger started to charge at me just as I released Jimmy. A flying kick to his midsection sent him flying into the same window before Jimmy had a chance to move, the glass shattered all over them.

“STOP!” I yelled it at the top of my lungs.

The stupid motherfucker Jermaine actually stopped! Marcus sucker punched him and he dropped like a rock to the floor. It was so easy I couldn’t even enjoy it. Without missing a beat Marcus got behind me to cover Jimmy and Digger in case they actually had some fight left in them.

That just left Hank and I.

I held my arms out to Innis. He came off the wall and stood less than five feet in front of me, grinning, but not speaking. I’ve seen images of demons with less deadly grins. He lowered into a fighting stance, his hands up, but not completely closed into fists.

“You know the rules Innis, you gotta say it or it’s just Britch giving out another ass kicking.” Marcus reminded him.

“Shut the fuck up bitch!” Hank hissed, “First thing I’m gonna do is kick your ass, when I become the ‘lord.”

“When you become the Lord?” Marcus shook his head, inching over to a slowly recovering Digger. “Oh hell, Britch, you knew he got a Messiah complex too?”

“What?” Hank looked up confused; I smirked. I could just make out the butt of a gun tucked in the front of his jeans under a loose shirt. I knew he wouldn’t be silent, I just wondered how loud he was going to get. He could simply issue the challenge and shoot me. Technically, he would win, but he would never have either org’s respect, because I was unarmed. Not to mention the complications of going deep. Since he officially left the Morguers, Marcus automatically ascends to my title. And unless Innis shot Marcus immediately afterward, he would be a dead man within five minutes. I had no doubt Marcus would kill him. I know I would kill Innis over Marcus were the situation reversed. That means I had to keep him talking somehow and either mentally or physically out-maneuver Innis.

“Never mind.” Marcus threw up his hands and stomped Digger back into unconsciousness. “Do what you think you gotta do. Just don’t blow your balls off with that thing, or we’ll be calling you Henrietta.”

Marcus was purposely pissing Innis off; an angry fighter was a stupid fighter. Innis had great physical instinct, but he wasn’t exactly a brain trust. If he wasn’t smart enough to not let himself get goaded, who was I to stop him? He drew the gun on Marcus.

Okaaaay.

The .380 was not silent at all.

Marcus froze and I could literally hear the change in his breathing as he switched emotional gears. I liked the sound. The last time I heard Marcus breathe like that the result landed someone the other person in a coma. In this mode Innis was truly a dead man if Marcus got close enough to touch him. The only thing that could stop him would be a kill shot. Unfortunately, I also knew Hank would do nothing less.

I decided now might be a pretty good time to end this shit.

“So, are you issuing the challenge, or are you just going to keep primping bitch?” I still had not lowered my arms. He turned the gun on me. The muzzle was less than a foot from my face. I grinned. Innis glared at me totally baffled on why I suddenly smiled and then did exactly I expected of him – he got mad.
“You think I won’t bitch!” He yelled.

Our eyes never left each other as my smile broadened as I dropped kicked him.

As he fell, he cocked the gun, pulled the trigger…

…and nothing.

That’s why I grinned, in his anger the stupid little bitch forgot the safety was on!

He was totally confused for only a second before realizing his mistake, by then I had kicked the gun out of his hand. I could tell by the noise there was a little bit of a scramble as people got out of the way of the weapon. My eyes never left Innis, this was not Digger; he recovered quickly enough. I swung at him with the intention of giving up a left upper cut when he slashed my arm.

Where the fuck did the knife come from? This thing was no fucking joke!

The blade itself was about ten inches long. One side was razor sharp, the other side serrated. Not just serrated, but it edges curved inward like hooks. I glanced at my arm then returned my focus to him, he was grinning again.

Fuck, I knew that look.

I’ve seen it on Tagger enough. Hank was really ready to deal and finally issued the challenge for my title. My arm hurt like a motherfucker, but I could not afford to check it. I knew the moment I took my eyes from Innis I was dead and all Marcus would be able to do was avenge me.

All organizations respected the rules of a challenge. Once issued, you fought with what you had on you at the moment or whatever you could make do with. No one could assist you in any manner other than ensure that no one from opposing orgs number up on you or assist their member. I could feel the blood starting to run down my arm, but I opened them in challenge again. I heard Marcus curse under his breath, which meant the cut was worse than I thought and the true pain would kick in the moment my adrenalin faded.

“That’s cute, Hankie. So did your Mama buy that for you from the Star Trek store? You got the little communicator thingy too? Spock calling Hankie. Mr. Worf would like his apple corer back.” I don’t know what he expected me to do, but it damn sure wasn’t to mock him. Innis blinked rapidly. He was totally baffled by my behavior. There was a reason why I was Warlord and the little fuck still didn’t get it. Someone laughed hard at that corny ass shit I said, but it was enough to get further under Innis’ goat and that’s all I wanted.

“Bitch!” Innis charged at me.

I could tell he was expecting me to swing sideways so I dropped down to the floor. He was committed to his forward motion, and the blade went way over my head. I grabbed his blade hand on the way up twisting his wrist. He back flipped out of it. I front flipped back into it, and landed a solid punch in his gut. He bent over double. As I said, Hank was no Digger. The little motherfucker punched me in the balls. It hurt enough to stun me for a moment, but it wasn’t full contact, I came out of it faster than he expected and saw the blade coming.

The look of surprise on his face that he missed my throat was probably and the same look on my face.

I was losing blood from my arm and already felt it going numb. I didn’t think it would be in my best interest to give up anymore hemoglobin. Somewhere, behind me I heard a cop order Innis to drop the blade. Of course, being a dutiful citizen, he obeyed.

Riiiiight.

Hank came at me again and we both went over a bench. I landed on my back, with him on top of me. I quickly rolled over taking him with me and started beating the shit out of him. I was hitting him faster than he could get the knife to me, but I was still getting sliced like mad on my hands and lower arms. The cop attempted to pull me off of Innis, who used the distraction to bury the knife in my gut.

The pain stunned me so I could not yell out. Maybe I should have, because Hank apparently felt he hadn’t got me enough and twisted it.

Then I screamed.

The cop who had me, held on tighter. I was too stunned from the pain of the blade to break free. Hank stood up with that damn grin and yanked the blade out, with some help from me as I kicked him backwards and I regretfully found out what the serrated side was for the hard way.

Getting stabbed with the smooth edges blade going in was painful enough; to suddenly have it yanked out is worse. This damn thing had been twisted in me and then yanked. Only the cop holding me up as he was trying to pull me away from Hank kept me standing. I felt each and every one of those fucking hooks! I felt rather than saw Hank coming at me again. I knew I would not survive another gut slashing of that blade.

Using the cop as a brace I lunged up and used both feet to send Hank sailing away from me. Now, the damn cop lets go to try to catch his own balance and we both dropped to the floor. I screamed from the effort. I heard a lot of other people screaming, but I was in too much pain to respond. I was damn near blind with it. I rolled off the cop and tried to stand, looking for Hank, when I saw Delia running towards me.

What the fuck was she doing?? I reached out to stop her, but slipped on my own blood.

“Oh shit!” I fell into Delia’s arms and she lowered me to the floor. I was starting to feel dizzy. Shit was becoming this surreal blur of light and sound. Delia was saying something to the cops Marcus was yelling at someone about self-defense. Good, he was all right. Mercedes was carrying on about something else, when both Lisa and Delia turned and yelled “Shut! The! Fuck! Up! Now!” at her.

And all of it sounded like it was happening in a water tunnel, a block away.

I smelled honeysuckle.

Delia likes honeysuckle.

Delia.

Why was she here? I reached out to her.

“Keep still, dammit!” She admonished, “You’re losing a lot of blood. We’re waiting for paramedics.” She grabbed some kind of cloth out of a bag, placed it over what felt like an ever-growing fire in my gut and had me apply pressure. If the paramedics didn’t get here soon I knew I was going to pass out from shock. I had to stay conscious as long as possible. I was incapacitated and Marcus was definitely in cuffs, otherwise he would have been by my side. I didn’t know how many of my boys were, if they were clear of the cops and more important were there any other senior members present?

I saw one of my boys on the other side of the mall. He was leaning on the railing, just one of the many shoppers watching what was going on over here. But his fingers were moving. I was a slow pattern, because he had to keep casual in his moves. I realized he was actually signaling Marcus, correctly assuming I was out of it. I got the message. Three Morguers were down. I knew who two were who was the third? I tried to look around.

“Stop it!” Delia hissed at me. “You trained them; trust them to hold it down ‘till you get back!”
I was not even going to ask how she knew what I was doing. I simply nodded and succumbed to her administrations. She was ripping up a t-shirt and using the strips to replace the shirt barely stemming the flow of blood from me. The price tag scratched my skin as she removed it. Christ! She was using material from the stuff she just purchased.

She was staring down at me. It was more than clinical concern for my well being, but I wasn’t sure how to read it. I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I just knew I didn’t want her to leave, so I asked was what the return policy on all the stuff she was wasting on me.

“Absolutely nothing, which is a hell of a lot fucking more than what your punk ass is worth.” She grimaced, tossing aside more bloodied material. She looked toward the railing where more cops stood looking over the side.

“Innis?” I was starting to feel dizzy again.

She didn’t answer me, just slowly shook her head and looked at cops at the railing. I could hear a lot of noise from down below and it slowly sank in. My desperate Hail Mary kick had sent him over the railing to the main floor.

Four stories below us.

I won. Oddly enough, I didn’t feel particularly good about that and I guess it showed in my face.

“You did what you had to.” She shrugged reading my mind.
“But I’ve lost something important in you haven’t I?” I asked reading hers.
“Does it matter?” She asked her voice was very low, quiet.
“You know it does.” I answered honestly.
She was ripping up something else and had started a makeshift tourniquet on my arm. She looked at me, studying my face, not speaking.
“DiDa…?” I whispered after a while.

She blinked. I haven’t called her DiDa since middle school when her favorite saying was an exaggerated “La-Di-Da!” I wasn’t sure where that had come from, but it felt good, familiar and safe.
“Let’s just say I don’t think I could handle the alternative.” Her voice trailed off near end but I heard it.

“Don’t leave me.” I whispered.

I didn’t know what I was going to say, but I damn sure wasn’t expecting to say that! I knew she was speaking from the heart. I just didn’t know I was until the moment I said it. I think she was about to say something when a sharp pain went searing through me and my head started spinning.

“Oh shit!” I touched her face.

I started coughing. I tasted my own blood. Fucking great! I thought I hear Delia calling out my name, but I wasn’t sure, I was getting that far away feeling again.
“I’m glad you’re here, Dee.” I had left a bloodied handprint on her face.

She was saying something, but I couldn’t hear. I felt someone was pulling her away from me. No! I yell out. At least I thought I had, I. I couldn’t hear me, I wasn’t sure and it didn’t seem like anyone else heard either.

I felt someone grab my hand. Delia, Good.

That last thing I remembered was attempting to apologize for the handprint.

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